There was but one desperate course open to them, and that Lieutenant Mackinson ordered at the instant the firing ceased. "Run!" he ordered, in a shrill whisper. "Run straight toward our own lines for about a quarter of a mile and then detour to the south." And off they started, each with all the speed he had in him. The renewal of the machine-gun fire compelled them to take a zig-zag course, however, and in this way for the first five minutes they all kept together. Then Tom Rawle, who, with the lieutenant, had been a little in the lead, gradually dropped back until he was abreast of Joe and Jerry, who were running together, and then behind them, reaching Frank Hoskins and Slim, who were bringing up a loudly puffing rear. Finally, as they began to pass him, too, and his lagging pace became noticeable, he urged them ahead and told them not to mind him. "I got one of those bullets in the hip," Rawle told them, to the surprise of all, for up to that moment he hadn't uttered a sound. "It cuts down my speed, but it's nothing serious, I guess. You keep right on and I'll follow as rapidly as I can." "I'm almost winded myself," said Slim. "I'll stick with Tom; you fellows keep right on. We'll join you in a few minutes after you stop. Joe, I'll give that 'whip-poor-will' call if we can't locate you. At any rate, we know our way back to the American lines." "Not so loud," warned Lieutenant Mackinson, as he slowed down. "I guess you are right," he continued. "You stay along with Rawle, but the two of you try to follow as quickly as possible, so that we can get Tom back to the lines for medical attention. It is necessary that I have the others with me, though, for we must not only accomplish our mission, but also give the commander that intercepted German message." And so the little group parted, there in the blackness of night "somewhere in France," the lieutenant, Hoskins, Joe and Jerry to forge ahead as rapidly as they could in a detour that would again take them back into the enemy territory, but in another place, while Slim and the wounded Rawle came along at a slower pace. The latter had been wounded more seriously than he knew, though, and he had not gone more than three hundred yards further before the loss of blood had so weakened him that he had to stop running and hobble along in a painful, limping gait, leaning heavily upon Slim's shoulder. "Guess I'll have to quit," he said, a little later on. "Can't go much further." And even as he spoke he sank to the ground. While Tom Rawle assured him that it "wasn't much of a wound," Slim, who was doing the best he could to stop the flow of blood with his handkerchief, knew that it was a bad injury, indeed, unless it was given early attention. "I'll try to get one of the others to return," he said, "and then we can send to our lines for a stretcher to get you in." "Nonsense," said Rawle, "I can walk; I'll show you."