After three weeks in bed I was getting along fine and was sent to a convalescent hospital. There we had the time of our lives for two weeks, when we were sent back to duty. It was just like a homecoming to get back with our own boys again after everyone thought you were dead. Everything ran along smoothly for awhile until I was detailed as a dispatch rider, one of the most dangerous jobs in the army. The average term of a dispatcher's life is just twenty-three minutes, so you can't blame me for taking out $10,000 worth of life insurance. At first it was not so dangerous, for our troops had not yet taken over any part of the line, but we had to make trips to the Front every day or two. At last we were ordered into the line and took over a sector of our own, and a prouder bunch of boys was not to be found. We were then doing what we had come over to do. Everything was quiet for the first few months, except for an occasional raiding party. We spent the hardest winter I ever put in, or ever want to, and if it had not been for the "cooties" we should have frozen, but they kept us scratching and moving and kept our blood in circulation. At last spring came and things became more active as we were getting more men on the Front. On the 18th day of July, 1918, it was just like turning out a bunch of hungry lions, for they turned us loose, and said "go get them." We have been "getting them" ever since. At Chateau-Thierry we began driving them back so fast that they threw the Prussians and Bavarians at us; all big fellows six foot and over, and very wicked fighters. Being a dispatch rider I was around some point of the line most all the time, and had the opportunity to go "Over the Top" with the boys when not otherwise occupied. Once in awhile the dispatch riders would be given twenty-four or forty-eight hours off during which we could do as we pleased. Most of us went up in the line, and "Over the Top" with the boys, or those who had any qualifications as a shot would go out with a sniping squad which was very interesting as well as dangerous. At one time I had the pleasure of going up in an observation balloon, and seeing the fighting from the German side. I have seen with my own eyes German officers driving their men into battle with a whip or the point of a gun. I have also seen some of the atrocities committed by the Hun in Belgium and along the borders of France. It just makes one's blood run cold to think of it, as some of you do. You ask why a boy wants to stand up and be shot down by those dogs? I'll tell you why. It is because he doesn't want his own mother, or sister, to be treated as the Belgians and French women and girls have been treated. Every man, woman and child owes the deepest respect to any boy who has done his bit in the World War.