A little farther on Morgan advanced a hundred yards alone to the entrenched squad, the men of which had begun to think they were doomed to have a sorry time of it on the morrow. Then Grout’s platoon came forward, were received with silent plaudits and very soon the entire bunch of twenty-two was on the way back to its own lines. And they made it, but not as easily as had Morgan and the platoon of fourteen who had sneaked through the German positions. When they were in the ravine again, which seemed to be a place of death, they suddenly encountered a small number of Huns, evidently out to ascertain the cause of the mine explosion, and as the Yanks were upon them before they were aware of it, they offered no resistance, but began to fade away. At the moment good fortune was again with the Americans. A flare had been sent up by the Germans on the hill and Grout saw an opportunity that was not to be lost. At a sharp order the Yanks leaped forward, spread out, heading off the Huns from retreat back to their own lines and so, without more ado, they surrendered and the daring rescuers and rescued, driving nine prisoners before them, made rapidly for the hill to the south of the ravine. To reach it, they again had to pass through the open space and as they came into this, beneath the luminous sky, a machine gun hard to the right, possibly set there to intercept them, opened fire. Pausing not an instant and now without orders, the larger number of the Yanks swung about and went for that machine gun, but at the first fire and before they got the Huns who manned the weapon, several of our boys went down. With both wounded and prisoners the little platoon returned and Grout immediately sent in a report, which brought Major Anderson again to visit the boys back in their old camp, which they had left hardly ten hours before. The officer went with Grout into the shed tent to see the wounded; when they came out the two stood talking of many things. “You’ll get a commission for this bit of work and you’ll deserve it! Every one of your boys ought to have a D. S. M.!” exclaimed the Major. “I wish that messenger--Morgan his name is--could have had one,” said the sergeant sadly. “Yes, isn’t it a pity? And after such heroic work. That fellow is the real stuff. But enemy lead is no respecter of persons. He can’t live.” “No, but heaven be praised, he doesn’t suffer any,” Grout asserted. “Poor chap; only a kid, too. A pluckier, cooler one never drew breath. I found this paper on him; his name and his home. Wm. T. Morgan; sounds like a fighting name.” “Yes, I suspect the T stands for Tecumseh. Named after old General Sherman, I judge.” “Likely. And I found this on him, too; pinned on his shirt. You’ll take charge of them, Major, and send them to headquarters.” The Major held his bull’s-eye to shine on the thing that dropped into his hand; it was a bronze bar without much ornament; across it ran some letters and figures.