It is too late. Another two are toppled over by the scouts in the barns, and then cars are after them, still spitting out an unending hail of lead. It seems impossible that even a fly could live in such a stream of bullets, yet out of the dozen three get round the bend, and, galloping madly, make for the only spot where they can leave the road and get across country. Even the automobile and auto-mitrailleuse men cannot follow them there. These fellows seem perfectly satisfied with a bag of nine, obtained without a scratch. All are dead, one of them with over twenty wounds in him. Two horses are stone dead, and three others have to be put out of their misery. The other four are contentedly standing at the roadside munching grass, one with a hind leg lifted a few inches off the ground. The bodies of the dead Germans are laid side by side in a field to await burial. The uniforms are stripped of everything that can be removed, buttons and shoulder straps. The men in the cars take the water bottles, swords, and revolvers as mementos. I imperfectly understood the real meaning of this scrap. I had thought it was an encounter between stray forces. A talk with the driver of an armed car, however, enlarged my perspective. It was a meeting of the outposts of two great opposing armies, one of which was at Douai, the other at Cambrai. The feelers of both forces were being extended to discover the various positions, preparatory to a big battle, which was expected on the morrow (Oct. 1) along the line of Cambrai-Douai-Valenciennes. It was understood that the Germans had massed in force at Cambrai and strong wings were thrown out on both sides, the outposts of one wing, as we have already seen, coming into touch with the French at Vitry. From the reports of the auto-mitrailleuse men, who cover great distances in a day, similar skirmishing had been taking place at Etain, (where some farmhouses were burned,) Eterpigny, Croisilles, Boisleux, and Boyelles, these places ranging from ten to twenty kilometers from Arras. There was a general exodus from Vitry and I secured standing room in a wagon of the last train leaving for Arras. It was loaded with fugitives. Arras had changed completely on my return. Its calmness was gone. The station was empty of civilians, there were no trains running and the station entrance was in charge of a strong picket of soldiers, while the road outside echoed to the tread of infantry. I stood still in amazement, while my papers were being closely examined, and watched regiment after regiment of foot with their transport trains complete marching out on the road to Douai. This was part of the preparation for the big battle which I was told was going to begin tomorrow.