“A heap better’n wild-turkey shootin’!” grinned Cash. “An’ I got twelve that I’m sure of. There was one, though, I couldn’t get. A he-one, at that. He’s sure some German, that feller! He’s as crafty as they make ’em. I couldn’t ever come up to him or get a line on him. I’ll bet I throwed away thutty ca’tridges on jes’ that one Dutchy. An’ by an’ by he found out what I was arter. Then there was fun, Cap! Him and I did have one fine shootin’ match! But I was as good at hidin’ as he was. And there couldn’t neither one of us seem to git ’tother. Most of the rest of ’em was as easy to git as a settin’ hen. But not him. I’d ’a’ laid out there longer for a crack at him but I couldn’t find no water. If there’d been a spring or a water seep anywheres there I’d ’a’ stayed till doomsday but what I’d ’a’ got him. Soon’s I fill up with some water I’m goin’ back arter him. He’s well wuth it. I’ll bet that cuss don’t weigh an ounce under two hundred pound.” Cash’s smug joy in his exploit and his keen anticipation of a return trip were dashed by the captain’s reminder that war is not a hunting jaunt; and that Wyble must return to his loathed trench duties until such time as it should seem wise to those above him to send him forth again. Cash could not make head or tail out of such a command. After months of grinding routine he had at last found a form of recreation that not only dulled his sharply constant homesickness but that made up for all he had gone through. And now he was told he could go forth on such delightful excursions only when he might chance to be sent! Red wrath boiled hot in the soul of Cash Wyble. Experience had taught him the costly folly of venting such rage on a commissioned officer. So he hunted up Top Sergeant Mahan of his own company and laid his griefs before that patient veteran. Top Sergeant Mahan—formerly of the Regular Army—listened with true sympathy to the complaint; and listened with open enthusiasm to the tale of the two days of forest skulking. But he could offer no help in the matter of returning to the _battue_. “The cap’n was right,” declared Mahan. “They wanted to throw a little lesson into those boche snipers and make them ease up on their heckling. And you gave them a man’s-size dose of their own physic. There’s not one sniper out there to-day, to ten who were on deck three days ago. You’ve done your job. And you’ve done it good and plenty. But it’s done—for a while anyhow. You weren’t brought over here to spend your time in prowling around No Man’s Land on a still hunt for stray Germans. That isn’t Uncle Sam’s way. Don’t go grouching over it, man! You’ll be remembered, all right. And if they get pesky again you’ll be the first one sent out to abate them. You can count on it. Till then, go ahead with your regular work and forget the sniper job.”