It was compatible with the German’s usual methods to shoot all three of these Americans through the head before he made for over the hill to rejoin his friends. The wounded man inside had opposed his entrance and had been flung unconscious upon the floor; the shell-shocked youth might be better dead, but first he would make sure of the fellow outside--the spy-catcher. Faugh! One shot around the corner of the doorway, the pistol held low, would complete the business. “I must think; I must get on my feet; I must fight him, fight him!” These thoughts crowded into Don’s still befuddled brain; he wanted to sink down and rest, to ease the torture in his body, but violent death was hovering near again. He could not give up; he must fight. His eyes were open; his hand still clutched the pistol; he was still kneeling. And then, as he half sank down again, an object round, tubular, shining, came slowly from the doorway, past the end of the big stone. For a moment Don gazed at it with a sort of dumb fascination; then his senses, with another struggle for mastery, became a little more acute. The other’s weapon was thrust farther forward; the fingers of the hand that grasped it appeared. Lifting his own gun and at the distance of hardly a yard, the boy, with a mighty effort at steadiness, fired point blank at the weapon and the hand. The thing that had been his target seemed to dissolve; the struck pistol went bounding along on the stones; the hand was withdrawn. A cry from the shell-shocked man was the only sound then heard within. The result of his shot proved a partial tonic to Donald. He got to his feet, his mind still a little cloudy, and staggering forward, entered the shelter. His antagonist, with another weapon, might have killed him then, for the boy was still far from alert. But the spy stood with his back against the stone wall, a hand thereon to steady himself, and the other hand, a mass of torn flesh, hanging and dripping big red splotches on the floor. “I guess,” said the boy, thickly, “I’ll just finish you now. I know who you are. I’ll just----” and then the sunlight seemed to be blotted out and without a further effort Don dropped. For one moment the spy gazed at him; then he leaped toward the automatic lying on the floor. His good left hand was about to clutch it; he would yet wreak vengeance and get away. “Drop that and stick up your paws! Hello, Don! What’s this? Have you killed him? Then, I’ll kill----” [Illustration: “I GUESS,” SAID THE BOY THICKLY, “I’LL JUST FINISH YOU NOW”] “No, no! He’s all right. He shot me here in the hand--you can see for yourself. I--he mistook me for a German. I came in here to help these----” Herbert motioned the fellow to silence. “You’ll tell that at Headquarters. Stand where you are! My men will be here in a minute and attend to you. I think, too, we’ll have enough on you.”