"We want him back, too!" exclaimed Roger. "Oh, of course," agreed Jimmy. "But it's something to know where he is." "We don't--that is, we don't know exactly," remarked Bob. "No, only that he's in some German camp. But there's always a chance that he may get out," went on Jimmy. "We'll hope for that." Iggy gave a heavy sigh. "What's the matter?" asked Roger. "I so sorry am for Franz," was the answer. "Besser as I was a prisoner myself than him." "Why?" Jimmy queried. "'Cause he iss of a Germans like. Hims name is Germans, and once anudder time, when he wass a prison camp in good treatment he got not." "I should say he didn't!" declared Roger. "Well, den I am 'fraid like he will of the same treatment gets now," proceeded Iggy. "Maybe he will not of stand it." There was silence for a moment, and then Jimmy said softly: "Well, we can only hope for the best." The four Khaki Boys discussed over again the news Jimmy had brought from the hospital. Gloomy as it was in itself, it was more cheering than no news at all, and for many days they had had none to indicate what might have been the fate of their missing chum. "We may be able to find out what prison camp he's in," suggested Roger. "What good would that do?" questioned Bob. "Well, we might raid it and set him free, as well as any other poor boys of ours and the Allies that are held there." "Fat chance!" murmured Jimmy. "It could be done with aeroplanes, if we could get enough," declared Roger. "The next time I see the Twinkle Twins I'm going to ask them to keep a lookout for Franz at any of the German prison camps over which they fly." "Your intentions are good, but it's a hopeless case that way," sighed Jimmy, and, after thinking it over, Roger said he thought he would have to agree to this. But still he kept on hoping, as did his chums, that some means would be found to rescue Franz. "If he can stand the life long enough, we'll fight our way through Germany and raze every one of their horrible prison camps!" exclaimed Bob hotly. "May that day come soon," murmured Roger. And slowly, but surely, that day was coming. Hour by hour, almost, the great army of Americans was growing in France. Inch by inch the detested Huns were being pushed back, fighting stubbornly at every step. Skirmishes and small battles were frequent, and trench raids took place on both sides nearly every night. It was one nasty, rainy night about a week after Jimmy had received the news that Franz was a prisoner that, as the four Khaki Boys were on duty in a firing trench, word was passed along to be more than usually on the alert. "Why? Are we going to attack?" asked Bob of the platoon officer. "We may, if things turn out a certain way," was the answer. "We have made certain plans which will be disclosed in due time. Just be on the alert."