No doubt the sentry’s ears had been troubled with at least the suggestion of some sound, perhaps the faintest rustle, and this had caused him to remain motionless, listening intently. But it is doubtful if he heard even the crack of the automatic. A man shot through the brain cannot know what hit him. Morgan’s bullet, though a line shot, went high, naturally. The sentry’s tumbling body had hardly reached the bottom of the ravine before the Yank was on his feet and going at the best rate he could down the gully, hearing a short call in German from beyond and hurrying feet in his direction. They must not see him now, he knew, and he would leave them behind, for he was making no noise on the hard earth. But not a hundred yards from where the last tragedy occurred the gully ended, spreading out into a sort of little sand bar over level and more open ground. Ahead of the American was another hill. He could look up and get his direction by keeping a little to the left of the milky way and in line with the bright star Altair, which he knew, having studied a bit of astronomy. Up the steep slope he went, encountering much dense undergrowth and brambly thickets, though these held him back but little. On the top a clearer space lay before him; he could again see the sky and get his bearings. And then right in his path arose three figures, men, but he could not distinguish whether they were friend or foe. The group stood there, silently confronting him. Morgan, pistol in hand, was ready for the slightest hostile move, if he could detect it. Suddenly it occurred to him that the three were similarly in doubt concerning him. There must be a show-down. If these fellows were Germans, the Yank meant to get all three of them as fast as he could pull the trigger, though at least one of them would probably get him before his triple task could be completed. Which side would first make itself known? It seemed to be up to the strongest party to take the initiative, the risk. A rifle was raised a little, pointing toward Morgan and aimed from the hip. There was a sort of movement in his direction. Were they satisfied that he was an enemy? The messenger was on the point of being sure that his first shot would count and was about to press the trigger of his automatic when his finger went straight instead and he dropped the muzzle toward the ground, fearing it would go off. “Come on, Heinie; hands up!” were the words that turned a possible tragedy of some kind into a very welcome reception. “I’m right glad you spoke,” remarked Morgan in his soft voice. “Ho, a Yank! Where’d you come from, fellow?” “From back yonder half a mile or so; the other side the German lines.” “Huh? No you didn’t; ’taint possible! We been prowlin’ and the Heinies is in there thicker’n cooties. You couldn’t shoot in the air without gettin’ a few when she comes down. Nobody could come through ’em.” “But I happened to get through and I’m going back,” Morgan protested.