"And by the living Jingo!" cried the major, "there it goes!" And he shot out of the dug-out into the trench as a man on the look out beat furiously upon an empty shell-case dangling there for the purpose. "Pull it right down!" shouted Dennis, giving young Wetherby a helping hand with his helmet. "Now you're fixed. Wish there was a mirror handy; you've no idea how well you look in it, old man." Despite the seriousness of the moment Wetherby roared with laughter inside the stifling, smelly cowl that made them both seem like familiars of the Spanish Inquisition. And then, revolvers in hand, they took their places in the trench and waited. "Are you certain it's gas?" said Dennis to Tiddler, who had sounded the alarm in their front, for beyond the parapet there was a strange stillness, and the night was as black as your hat. "Yes, sir; I see it right enough, just as their last flare died down. I saw it at Hill 60, and I've 'ad some. It'll be 'ere in a tick." But the enemy was impatient that night, and on a sudden a group of star-shells burst overhead, lighting everything up brilliantly, and revealing a long line of grey figures advancing stealthily. "How do we go now?" inquired Wetherby, as another bunch of star-shells went up. "Do we wait until they're on top of us?" "That depends on Bob's judgment," replied Dennis, making himself heard with some difficulty through the flannel folds of his mask; and while he was speaking there came the shrill signal for "ten rounds rapid." As the Lee-Enfields crashed out our machine-guns began to hammer, and the boy fresh out from England felt a fierce thrill of exultation seize him, for this was the real thing at last--the thing he had been longing for so eagerly! The long grey line seemed to shiver in front of the machine-guns, and great swathes of the enemy went down. But our trench was on a ridge, and the rear ranks filling up the gaps with a precision that astonished young Wetherby, the German line began to mount the slope, breaking into the double. Dennis suddenly gripped his arm. "Yes, what is it?" cried the boy, as the "Cease fire" blew and was immediately followed by another signal. "Reedshires, get over!" shouted Dennis. "That's what it is. Good old Bob! He's a beggar for the cold steel. Come on, Wetherby! There's a fine bit of free wheel for us--all down hill and a walk over at the bottom. Charge, boys, charge!" Looking like demons suddenly gone mad, the battalion let go a muffled yell, and tore down the slope to meet those other demons, still more hideous in the steel-faced masks they wore as a protection against their own gas; and at the end of a dozen strides brown and grey mingled with a terrific shock. "Jove, what a ripping scrum!" laughed Wetherby, as he and Dennis plunged into the struggling mass of men; and when his revolver was empty he wrenched a Mauser and bayonet from one of the enemy and used them.