"I've been prayin' for thot, me darlin'," Tim whispered. His arms relaxed from about the little dead nurse. With fingers of tenderness he untied the life belt tapes, then let her sink gently into the waves. "God bless ye, lass! 'Tis only today we met, but ye'll live wid Tim Doreen an' no ither till he's sent west to ye!" Leaning forward he watched her as she sank into the light green water, her hair streaming gracefully upward as though waving him goodbye, till the brightness of it was claimed by the darker green below. Then Tim became another man. "Which way is thot----" he bellowed, but he saw the pear-shaped head before Jeb could answer. With one gesture of fury he stripped off his own life belt, and yelled: "Now, ye murderer av women, wan av us is due in hell, an' 'tain't Tim Doreen, ayther, ye tub av slop!" He struck out powerfully, straight for the man he had sworn to kill, but in changing once from the overhand to side stroke he saw Jeb, white as a sheet, swimming directly behind. Without pausing, he asked: "W'ot the divil brings ye here?" "I owe him something, too," Jeb panted. "I'm coming." For an instant the sergeant forgot his oath, and a slow grin overspread his face. "Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot?" he said. "God bless ye, lad; but ye can help best by settin' on the box. 'Tis me own fight; do as I tell ye, now!" Jeb could not have described that fight, because he was too far off to see distinctly--and Tim never referred to it. But he saw the German, when Tim had come to within ten feet of him, turn and begin swimming frantically away. There was doubtless something in the sergeant's eyes that sapped the other's courage. Relentlessly Tim gained, each stroke bringing him a few inches nearer, till he seemed to crawl up on the officer's back. After that they might have been two splashing fish--till Tim began slowly to swim back. "God, Tim," Jeb cried, holding out a hand. "I wish you'd let me come! I--I believe I might have done it!" The sergeant drew himself on the tippy box, and panted: "Ye'll have a chance, lad whin ye see ither dastardly things thim outcasts do! No man can keep from fightin', Jeb! Shure, an' the Boches make their own wur-rst inimies!" He sat despondently, regaining his breath and blinking the water from his eyes, when something caught to a sleeve button on his tunic made him stare. It was a short piece of black-and-white striped ribbon--the Order of the Iron Cross--which the German had worn in a breast button-hole of his uniform. "Well, w'ot d'ye know about thot," he mused. Slowly he twisted off the button, and the ribbon with it, then leaned above the spot where the little nurse's hair had waved her last farewell, and let them sink. "'Tis me first dicoration, darlin'," he whispered; and it was not the ocean water now that blinded him. Just as the red sun dipped that night the patrol boat picked up the last piece of human wreckage, and dashed toward the coast of France. CHAPTER IX