Ambulancier Donald Richards, with Washington White beside him, but without his usual grin, drove his much battered car down the military road and across the scarlet-flowered fields in the direction of the battle sounds. From a rise of ground he could see advancing lines of men, some distance apart, moving rapidly for a short space and dropping on the ground; then arising and going forward to repeat the movement--all this carried out with wonderful precision. At one moment there were a thousand men thus spread out, moving swiftly. At the next moment they were all prone on the ground, in perfect unison. Don understood this perfectly. He had witnessed the same tactics a few days before in the charge on Bouresches and they had won. But the attempt to win Belleau Wood had been frustrated for three days by the terrible machine-fire which greeted the determined Americans. Would it be possible to attain their object this time before they were all killed? For he could see also, all over the field behind the charging soldiers, many men who had fallen. In spots the ground was strewn with bodies of the wounded and dead. As he gazed, horror-stricken yet fascinated by the spectacle, he could discern the thinning out of the charging lines, as they swept forward. “We’ve got to get right down there, Wash, and bring some of those fellows out,” Don said. “Down whar? On de groun’ whar dem sojers is kilt? Say, Mist’ Donal’, yu done that-a-way t’other day en’ yu-all knows how dis amberlance looked when hit come out. En’ yu kin see now how she looked. En’ hit wa’n’t no foolishness of ours dat we didn’t get sent to Kingdom Come. En’ ’tain’t always dese yer po’ white Heinies is gwine miss us. Boun’ tu git it some time.” “Oh, forget it, Wash! You always think we’re going to get hurt. You see we haven’t been hurt yet and that’s as good as just starting out.” On the ambulance went, dodging shell-holes, running around natural obstacles, rapidly nearing the ground across which the marines had charged not five minutes before. The boys overtook a light, active fellow, on foot and trotting, though now with lagging steps, and Don knew him for a messenger. Don slowed down and asked the lad to hop in for a lift. But this was only for a fourth of a mile, for they then soon came well within the edge of the zone of flying bullets and shells. Here they met the first _brancardiers_ with a wounded man, so the ambulance came to a stop. Without a word the runner leaped out and dashed on. Don and Wash were filled with admiration for these nervy fellows, who seemed to have no thought of danger in carrying messages to officers in the field. Right here another runner came to Don. “Captain Baston says tell you there are five men, all badly wounded, in a shell hole--over there, near those poplar trees--and they ought to be got out. It won’t do to carry them far, he said. Got the nerve to make it?”