WE spend a good part of our time in the _abri_. Just now the Boche appears to have taken a particular dislike to this part of the sector, for he is strafing it most unmercifully. We do not doubt at all that it is because we are here. The fact that there are six thousand French guns massed in the woods, so near together that you cannot walk a dozen feet without tripping over one, may, of course, have something to do with the enemy’s vindictiveness, but that does not occur to us. After taking an hour or two of interrupted sleep in the _abri_, we step out in the early morning to get a breath of fresh air and to untangle our cramped muscles. A shell or two whines in uncomfortably near, and we are convinced that the enemy knows our every move by instinct. When we sit in the _abri_ during the day, and there is never a second that we do not hear the whine of at least one shell overhead, and the intervals between shells striking near enough to shake the _abri_ and rattle _éclats_ on its steel roof grow less, we are convinced the Boche is searching for _our dugout_. When I am making a run to P 2, and, rounding Dead Horse Corner, start on the last stretch, and a shell knocks a tree across the road a hundred feet ahead, blocking us completely, and two more shells drop on the road by the tree, two more strike ten yards on our right, and another lands within fifteen feet on our left, there is no doubt in my mind that the enemy is after me. In reality, of course, the enemy has no idea where the _abris_ are located, and just now is simply taking a few chance shots at a likely corner—but every man _knows_ that every shell he hears is meant for him personally,—all of which goes to prove how egotistical we really are. * * * * * AS one man remarked, “Our life out here is just one d— _brancardier_ after another.” The _brancardiers_, or stretcher-bearers, include the musicians—for the band does not play at the front,—the exchanged prisoners who are pledged to do no combatant work, and others who volunteer for or are assigned to this work. These men are in the front-line trenches, where they bandage wounded men as they are hit, and carry them to the front _abri_, where the _major_, army doctor, gives them more careful attention. At the front _abri_ are other _brancardiers_, who then take charge of these men and load them into our cars. We arrive at the hospital, and _brancardiers_ there unload the ambulances and carry in the wounded. Inside the hospital other _brancardiers_ nurse the wounded, as no women nurses are allowed in the _triage_ hospitals. [Illustration: BRANCARDIERS LOADING AN AMBULANCE COPYRIGHT—INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.]