The captain turned and brushed the back of his hand across his eyes and a low sound between a sob and a whispered cheer went up from the gathered remnant as they rendered homage to their comrade. * * * * * For three days the messages came floating in, telling vital secrets that were of vast strategic value. Then the messages ceased, and the anxious officers and comrades looked in vain for word. Two more days passed--three--and still no sign that showed that he was alive, and the word went forth "Missing!" and "Missing" he was proclaimed in the newspapers at home. That night there was a lull in the sector where Cameron's company was located. No one could guess what was going on across the wide dark space called No Man's Land. The captain sent anxious messages to other officers, and the men at the listening posts had no clue to give. It was raining and a chill bias sleet that cut like knives was driving from the northeast. Water trickled into the dugouts, and sopped through the trenches, and the men shuddered their way along dark passages and waited. Only scattered artillery fire lit up the heavens here and there. It was a night when all hell seemed let loose to have its way with earth. The watch paced back and forth and prayed or cursed, and counted the minutes till his watch would be up. Across the blackness of No Man's Land pock-marked with great shell craters, there raged a tempest, and even a Hun would turn his back and look the other way in such a storm. Slowly, oh so slow that not even the earth would know it was moving, there crept a dark creature forth from the enemy line. A thing all of spirit could not have gone more invisibly. Lying like a stone as motionless for spaces uncountable, stirring every muscle with a controlled movement that could stop at any breath, lying under the very nose of the guard without being seen for long minutes, and gone when next he passed that way; slowly, painfully gaining ground, with a track of blood where the stones were cruel, and a holding of breath when the fitful flare lights lit up the way; covered at times by mud from nearby bursting shells; faint and sick, but continuing to creep; chilled and sore and stiff, blinded and bleeding and torn, shell holes and stones and miring mud, slippery and sharp and never ending, the long, long trail----! "Halt!" came a sharp, clear voice through the night. "Pat! Come here! What is that?" whispered the guard. "Now watch! I'm sure I saw it move----There! I'm going to it!" "Better look out!" But he was off and back with something in his arms. Something in a ragged blood-soaked German uniform. They turned a shaded flash light into the face and looked: "Pat, it's Cammie!" The guard was sobbing. At sound of the dear old name the inert mass roused to action. "Tell Cap--they're planning to slip away at five in the morning. Tell him if he wants to catch them he must do it _now_! Don't mind me! Go quick!"