Don and Wash put in the rest of the day overhauling the ambulance. Early in the evening they were again on the road to Château-Thierry and witnessing a sight most depressing. The French were in retreat--constantly falling back. The retirement was orderly. There was no rout, no apparent hurrying and, from the din of battle ahead, it was plain that every foot of advance that the enemy made was bitterly contested. Yet the Huns were gaining, as they had been for five days and for nearly thirty miles, encompassing an area of six hundred square miles in this drive. Success seemed to be written on their banners in this, the greatest effort of all. Thus they forced a deep wedge into the Allied line, the farthermost point of which had reached the town of Château-Thierry. And in the succeeding days what more would they gain? Back, and farther back were swept the French, and the Huns were elated. The blue-and-red clad troops who had fought them so savagely were now no match for the vast numbers of chosen shock troops. Was there no means by which the boches could be checked? “By cracky, Wash, it looks as if these French had pretty nearly enough of it! I don’t believe they have, though. But if they keep on coming this way we’ll have to look sharp, or we’ll run into a lot of Huns.” “Ah doan, want tuh run into no sich!” declared Wash. “Dey eats sauerkraut an’ dis yere what dey calls limberburg cheese--an’ oxcuse _me_!” Beyond LaFerté the boys met platoons, companies, regiments, even battalions, or at least remnants of them, and all along the line more than a mile each side of Château-Thierry the falling back was certain and regular. Then, suddenly, almost as though dropped from the sky, came the Americans. From long distances in the rear and without stopping to rest from their arduous journey, the Yanks eagerly faced the Huns, and foremost among these cheerful, singing, jesting troops from overseas were the marines, leaving their train of parked lorries not far from LaFerté and coming up on foot. The German High Command had received intelligence of the French handing the defense of this line nearest Paris over to the Yanks, and the word had come to the invaders: “Go through these untrained Americans like a knife through cheese!” It is said that this was General Ludendorff’s pet phrase. The Americans took up their positions along the southern bank of the Marne and beyond in the hills. Then night came on. The enemy was too confident of a sweeping victory on the morrow to give serious thought to night attacks. Beyond a few minor skirmishes and some artillery firing, the hours of darkness passed uneventfully.