Lieutenant Whitcomb shook the cobwebs out of his brain; he caught Don Richards by the collar and yanked that officer to his feet, dodging his sleepy blow, and sent Neeley to apprize the guard and pickets, that they might all, observing caution, waken their sleeping comrades. With whispered commands Herbert brought the platoon silently to attention and made his hasty plan known. From a few spare garments a figure not unlike a scarecrow was erected and a few yards away a bull’s-eye lantern was left burning. Then, dividing the men into two groups of ten each, one with Don and the other with Herbert, they sneaked off into the woods in opposite directions and a little toward the rear, each man following the example of the leader by crouching or hiding behind a tree. The signal for action, a combined rush from two directions, was to be the whistle of a bird, as though some belated songster was disturbed on its roost. Each man tied a handkerchief, or white rag, to his cap band to avoid being shot by friend instead of foe. But the Yanks had long to wait and just exactly what they were waiting for they did not know. There was no sound of a definite character in the forest near by; it was not possible to see for more than a few yards. At any moment, back near the camp, they expected to hear the sound of rushing feet and the Hun order of “Hands oop, Amerikaner!” It never came. After nearly half an hour, almost convinced that some mistake had been made, Don took it into his head to do some scouting. If there were a false alarm, a needless scare, he would endeavor to find it out. Asking Sergeant Fetters to take command, the boy went off toward the stretch of more open woods at the base of the hill and just below the rock basin and spruces, the scene of so many recent tragedies and brave acts. The boy knew this spot, even at night; he knew the only way that might be taken without mishap after dark to gain the top. Did he hear some sounds a hundred yards or more away, as of feet stepping on loose stones, a cracking stick, a low command, or was he imagining this? Don quickly and by a slightly circuitous route gained a position at the bottom of the hill and waited. Even now he half believed he was on a sort of wild goose chase; it was probably all quite absurd. But what was that? Another breaking stick, a low word spoken and now quite near. With field glasses one may discern objects much farther away and more clearly at night, and the boy’s handy little lenses came into play. Coming slowly almost toward him, working their way with infinite caution and at a snail’s pace up the hill, were many figures. Were they friends or foes? Did this bear out Neeley’s observations? Don held his place, with some risk of the advancing men’s discovering him, but he was sufficiently curious. Again the little glasses performed their duty. The first man in the van wore a German officer’s service cap.