The squad of Yanks, like many others exceeding their orders, had advanced too far and found their return cut off. Perhaps the corporal in a measure lost his nerve, or perhaps he showed wisdom, for he was unwilling that they should all make an effort to get back. He chose but one of their number, who seemed best fitted for the task, as a messenger. An account of this fellow’s adventures in making his way through the German lines resembles chapters of the pioneer history of the western United States. For sheer daring there could hardly be a parallel. Billy Morgan was the name of this fearless chap. He was a mere youth, in his teens; very tall and large for his age, as agile as a cat, as strong as a young mule, as soft-spoken as a girl. When urged to make haste and report the condition of the squad he had smilingly assented; then had departed at once on the errand. It was after nightfall, but it did not take the boy long to ascertain that his way was barred. The Germans occupied the base of a low hill in front; another bunch of them had fortified themselves in a bit of dense woodland to the right, and to his left were even a greater number, a relatively large encampment that included some sort of headquarters, probably that of the field commander of that section. All this the young fellow had to find out by the most painstaking and silent scout work, during which he crawled half a mile or so, emulating a snake much of the time. Low voices, almost invisible camp fires, seldom seen moving figures and the stertorous breathing of sleeping men gave Morgan his clues. There was no way to get through the enemy’s lines, except between the positions in front and to the right of the unfortunate messenger, and the Germans were practically in touch with each other at this place. Time was flying, the night was wearing on; the order, rather a plea, to hasten and the immediate need of his comrades, their ammunition largely spent and no water to drink, inspired the youth. A small ravine, with exceedingly precipitous sides and a dry waterway or gully along its bottom formed the ground over which he must make his way. Probably the Germans believed this terrain would be impassable to an assaulting or scouting force and hence did not occupy it, except to station a sentry there. An unfortunate sentry he proved to be, for Morgan, after ascertaining that the enemy occupied only the ground at the top of the hills on either side, crept down the gully, spied the light of the Hun’s pipe or cigarette, approached near enough, without being heard, to hit the fellow with a stone and when the sentry showed signs of regaining his wind and yelling Morgan banged him another that finished him for good. Wearing the sentry’s cap, his own stuffed in his blouse, the messenger advanced then a little less carefully and presently he came to another sentry, who took him for a comrade and sleepily let him pass without question.