"No, I didn't mean that exactly," went on Jimmy. "But take a look! None of our fellows is anywhere near here. The fighting seems to have been switched over to our right." Roger, who had almost as much blood on him as had Jimmy, took an observation. He soon realized that what his fighting chum had said was true. They were on a little wooded knoll, and the view was so obstructed by stunted trees and underbrush that they could not see very far in any direction. But they had a sufficient view to show that there was hard fighting going on about a quarter of a mile to their right, while all about them the place was still and deserted--that is, comparatively still, for the din of battle was carried to the Khaki Boys where they stood. "I guess we rather overran our objective," observed Roger, as he gazed about for a puddle of water in which to cleanse himself of the blood that was not all his. "If you mean this machine gun nest was the objective, we did," agreed Jimmy, as he looked at the dead Germans. "We ran right over them. But now we'd better get back to the rest of our own bunch, or they'll be listing us as missing or deserting." "Yes, we'll get back," assented Roger. "But first let's clean up a bit. There's a puddle of water over by the gun." It was water, of a sort. In northern France it seems to rain most of the time, or at least it did while our boys were there. There were many shell holes over the ground, and many of them became filled with and retained water for some time. The puddle Roger picked out was half full of--well, liquid would be a better word than water, but the army lads got over being fussy about a thing like that. "It's good enough to wash in, but I'd hate to drink it," observed Jimmy, as he began to clean himself. "You said something!" came from Roger. "And yet I've heard our boys say that they've drunk worse stuff than this and that it tasted good." "Oh, I suppose so," agreed Jimmy. "But I'm going to look about a bit before I take any of this." And he was glad he did, for some time later, in moving about in the little glade, they found a clear, sparkling spring, and there they drank their fill and finished up the "bath" they had started at the mud puddle. "Well, I feel a hundred per cent. better," declared Roger. "And now let's hike back. The fighting is still going on, and we don't want to miss any of it." Jimmy nodded, and the two Khaki Boys began to pick their way through the underbrush. It was rather rough going, for if there had ever been a path it was now obliterated by the bursting of shells amid the trees when the place was under fire, as it often had been. Roger and Jimmy were near the edge of the little glade which, as has been said, was on the top of a hill, when suddenly, just as they were about to cross an open space, the vicious hum of an unseen missile was heard over their heads. "Duck!" yelled Jimmy, at the same time dropping flat and pulling his companion to a similar posture.