_Dear Major, the Hun is going to raid you. So far as I can see it will be between the points A and B on attached sketch. I suggest you send out a m.-g. to shell-hole marked X, from which you can enfilade whole front in danger. Come to shell-hole yourself, or send some one, and I will come along and warn you as soon as I see them start._ “Take that to Major Powers right away,” he said. “As you pass through the shell-hole warn the Sergeant, and tell him to expect a machine gun there. But whatever you do, find the Major! Try Battalion Headquarters first—in the support-line. If he is not there, he’ll be in the firing-trench. But find him, whatever you do, and quick!” “I’ll find him,” replied the retired bell-hop, confidently. “Why, I found people in the Biltmore before now!” He began to creep away. “Come back here, of course,” added Boone. Mr. Gogarty chuckled hoarsely. “Cap,” he replied, “you betcher!” * * * * * Ten minutes passed. Boone, tingling like an induction coil, watched the progress of the raiding-party. They were moving very methodically, keeping a beautiful line. Whenever a Verey light burst above them, or the moon asserted herself, they were flat on their faces in a moment; but during the next period of darkness they always seemed to cover another twenty yards. They were halfway across now, almost exactly opposite to Boone. [Illustration] Another ten minutes. Still no Gogarty. “I wonder where he is,” muttered Boone restlessly. “We ought to have a watch on the far end of this ditch. If they come creeping along it, as they _ought_ to do—Gee whizz!” From behind the German line came a chorus of sharp discharges; then a whirring and a humming over Boone’s head. Then the earth rocked beneath the tremendous detonation, and the skies were lit up with the flash of a barrage of German trench-mortar bombs, exploding along two hundred yards of American wire. The barrage lasted just one minute. Directly after, three things happened, almost simultaneously. The line of raiders rose to its feet and dashed with a yell through the writhing remnants of the wire. The voice of a machine gun—nay, a pair of machine guns—broke into steady reverberation from the shell-crater, seventy yards to Boone’s right. Lastly, a rocket shot up from the American support-line. “That’s for our artillery,” said Boone to himself. “They’ll be putting down a heavy barrage on No Man’s Land in a moment—right here. Good-night, nurse!” He began to run swiftly back along the ditch, crouching low. In this posture he rounded a slight bend, and two steel helmets clashed together. Boone, standing up to massage his ringing head, realized that the faithful Gogarty had returned to duty. “We got dem guys fixed this time!” announced the scout triumphantly. “_Two_ Vickers guns in de shell-hole, to give ’em hell comin’ and goin’!”