"Poor Franz!" sighed Bob, as the four talked it over together in the trenches or in some dugout, for they found several that the Germans had been forced to abandon. "It's just his luck to be captured again." "Well, let's hope that he has that luck," suggested Roger. "Of course, it's tough luck, all right, but being captured, even by a Hun is some better than being killed. There's a chance if you're a prisoner--always a chance of escaping. But there's no escape from death. Of course, I know that to be in some of the prison camps is almost worse than death. But let's hope for the best." "The worst of it is we can't do anything!" complained Bob. "That's what gets me--having to sit here and let him suffer maybe." "It is hard," agreed Jimmy. "But we aren't doing much sitting around. There's too much else to be done. I've got to go out on listening post soon." "I'm down for sentry go," added Roger. "I a letter will write to mine mothar!" decided Iggy. "I from being up by de front door haf been, so I get a vacation." "You're entitled to it," declared Jimmy. For the Polish lad had been assigned to a trench where German snipers were active, and more than one American had lost his life by the incautious exposure of just the top of his head. Iggy had had the luck to spot one of these pests, and had brought down the Hun, thereby winning the gratitude of his comrades. But even the hardest kind of duty could not take from the four Brothers the sorrow that was in their hearts over Franz. It was almost worse than knowing he was dead, not to know what had become of him. But there was nothing they could do. Jimmy spoke to their captain about it, but the officer shook his head. "I've made inquiries," he said, "but there isn't a trace of the sergeant. Too bad, too, for he was a fine lad. We can only hope. And, if he is gone, make the beasts pay for him!" It was about a week after the successful advance of the American forces when the spear-head had been wiped out and the German lines smashed completely through in several places that Jimmy and Roger were detailed to go some distance to the rear with messages and information for headquarters. They were assigned to a motorcycle and side car, Jimmy on the machine and Roger riding beside him. "Well, this is a whole lot better than hiking it!" said Jimmy, as they started off. "I don't--know--that--it--is!" stuttered Roger, as the car swerved from side to side over the rough roads. "When you walk you can go slow enough not to bite your tongue, but in this outfit you seem to hit only the high and low spots." "It isn't what you'd call an asphalt pavement," agreed Jimmy, as he steered to one side to avoid a big shell hole. "But we'll get there."