He turned in that direction. Then, as he passed around a small knoll, he saw three Germans gathered about a machine gun down in a little depression. Something seemed to be wrong with the mechanism, and the three heads were bent over the breech. "The beasts!" cried Schnitz in a hoarse whisper. "They must have hidden here when our lines passed over, and now they're going to pepper them from the rear. But not if I can stop it!" Making sure that his rifle magazine was filled and that he had some hand grenades and that his pistol was where he could get at it, Franz worked his way quietly along until he was within a few feet of the three Germans. "Hands up!" he suddenly cried, leveling his rifle. Whether or not the Huns understood these characteristic American words is a question. But they could not mistake the tone of voice Schnitzel used. Immediately six hands were elevated, and with one accord, as the Germans turned and faced the lone lad. "_Kamerad! Kamerad!_" they cried. "That sounds like it!" said Franz grimly. "Take off your pistols and toss 'em on the ground. Then form in line and march. You're my prisoners!" The men obeyed sullenly enough. By gestures Franz indicated that they were to march ahead of him back toward the American lines. His heart was jubilant at the capture. Not only had he prisoners, but he had, alone, cleaned up a machine-gun nest. But alas for poor Schnitz! He had hardly marched his trio of Huns more than a few hundred feet when, as they turned around a clump of bushes, they came face to face with a large party of Germans led by a pompous captain. Instantly the three prisoners set up a yell, explaining the situation, and with answering yells their comrades rushed toward them. "I guess the game's up!" thought Franz grimly. "This was too good to last!" He fired into the midst of the Germans, seeing two go down. Then some one either crept up behind him and struck him or he was hit by a missile thrown or by a glancing bullet, for he suddenly fell and lost consciousness, and when he revived, under a rain of kicks bestowed on his prostrate body by a brutal soldier, it was to find himself in the midst of a circle of Huns. "Get up, pig-dog of an American!" spluttered the German captain. "You will capture our men, will you? Now you are a prisoner. The tables are turned!" He spoke in German, and, of course, Franz understood. Before he realized what he was doing he snapped back an answer in the same tongue, not thinking what the consequences would be. "I won't be a prisoner long!" said Franz. Hearing his own language from an enemy prisoner, he reached the conclusion that the speaker was of German parentage. This seemed to enrage the Boche captain. With crimson face he yelled: