They did not stand up again, but slowly and with the greatest caution approached a small hillock that stood slightly away from the steeper hills. It was not wooded enough to afford any shelter, nor was it high enough to be a good spot for a gun. For that or for some other reason, the enemy had failed to shell it. On the side toward the Allies a pile of high boulders was tumbled. The rest was grass grown. Beany, whispering softly in his brother’s ear, insisted that the voices came from this place. “Then they are underground,” whispered Porky in his turn. Slowly, ever so slowly they crept up to the little hill and lay in the darkness, listening. Certainly through the grass and stones of the mound came the muffled sound of cautious voices. If they had been speaking English, it is probable that even Beany’s wizard ears would not have caught the sound. But the harsh guttural German, even when whispered, seemed to carry far. “I don’t see how you heard ’em,” breathed Porky. “It’s hard enough to believe now. What do you suppose it all means?” “Search me!” Beany breathed in return. “What they doing over on our side?” wondered Porky. “It’s a good place all right,” said Beany against his brother’s ear as they lay close to the grass. They were silent for a while, when the unbelievable happened. It was so amazing, so stunning, that both boys at first could not believe that they heard aright. They heard a sound like a windlass or crank turning, a few clods tumbled down on them, and a voice once more whispered hoarsely three words: “Gee, it’s hot!” “_Gee, it’s hot!_” said the German voice and the simple words seemed to the astounded boys to ring across the valley! On the contrary, they were spoken in a low whisper. Another voice replied. “He won’t like it if you speak English, you know.” “I can’t help it,” said the first speaker. “We are two to one anyhow, and I am tired of talking that lingo. I’m a good German all right, but I wasn’t brought up to _speak_ German and it comes hard. And this is the hottest place I ever did get in. I don’t like it. Do you know what will happen about to-morrow? I’ll tell you. We will find ourselves miles behind the Allies’ lines, and then what do you propose to do, Peter?” “Bosh!” said the man called Peter. “You think because a handful of Americans are here that the tide has turned. Be careful what you think. I tell you _no_. What can a few hundred of these fellows do against the perfect, trained millions of the Fatherland?” “You don’t know them,” said Fritz.