There was borne to his ears the distant sounds of war-the rattle of rifles and machine guns, and the boom of artillery. But it was so distant that he decided the tide of battle had passed beyond him, wherever he was. "And that's the thing to find out--where I am," murmured Bob. "I can get up, I guess." He was about to do this when he heard voices talking, and it needed but a hearing of the first few words to tell Bob that the talk was in German. Bob lay still and listened. He wanted to make sure of his position before he arose. The next few words apprised him of the plight into which he had fallen, or rather, been blown. Bob understood enough German to enable him to know what was being said. And the first expression was, when translated: "There is another dead American pig over there." "You're right," came in rejoinder. "The mine hidden in the house worked to perfection. If they killed our machine gunners, we killed twice as many of them." "It was a beautiful explosion," went on the first speaker. "How the swine-hounds did sail up." "Blown to bits!" laughed the other. "All but this one. He doesn't seem to have been hurt at all." "Maybe he was too far outside. But he is dead, there is no need to bayonet him." "Say, can they be talking about me?" was the thought that flashed through Bob's mind. There seemed to be no doubt of it a little later, for he heard one of the Germans say: "Well, we may as well search him. The pigs sometimes have gold money. And, anyhow, his shoes are better than mine. I'll take them off. Dead men need no shoes!" and he laughed. "He takes a whole lot for granted," thought Bob grimly. And then, as he sensed the import of this talk, his real situation became apparent. "They had that farmhouse mined," mused Bob. "After we wiped out the machine gunners some one of the Boches must have sprung the mine. That did for our fellows and sent me sailing through the air. I got the bump on the head that put me to sleep, and now, as soon as I wake up, they think I'm dead. But I'll show 'em----" He brought his musings to a sudden end, for at that instant he felt a violent pull on one leg. His foot was wrenched to one side. But Bob did not mind the pain much, for it told him his feet and legs were in good shape. "Here! Quit that!" he yelled, as he raised his head and saw a burly German soldier trying to unlace the shoes that were on Bob's feet. If a bomb had dropped between the two Huns they could not have been more greatly disturbed. They leaped back and stared with wide-open eyes at Bob, who sat up. The man who had had hold of his foot dropped it. "He--he is not dead!" this fellow cried, in German. "No. But let's finish him!" said the other.