At first it was difficult to find where the enemy sprang from, until Puzzeau located the mouth of a subterranean dug-out from which they poured in rushes, and, crouching down, he waited at one side of the opening like a terrier at a rat-hole, Dennis standing beside him with a revolver in his hand. "Wait, do you hear that?" said Puzzeau. "There are plenty more of them inside," and they waited. "Good morning, my pig!" said Puzzeau, lunging forward, and the sergeant reeled against the trench boards. Almost before he could recover his weapon the opening was filled with a surge of men, and Dennis emptied a revolver into the middle of them. "That is the style!" grunted the corporal approvingly, as a dull shout boomed from the dug-out and those behind paused. "If there were only half a dozen of us here now, or, better still, a bomb-thrower," and, lifting up his powerful voice, he bellowed to a man he knew: "Rabot, surely there are some bombs left?" "That is all very well," replied Rabot. "I have been sent myself for reinforcements. Do you know every officer of our company is down, and the men are falling back?" "There is something yonder that will serve our purpose," cried Dennis, pointing to an ugly grey muzzle behind an iron loophole on the parados. It was almost opposite to the door of the dug-out, and before the Alsatian knew what he was doing, Dennis had scrambled up to the machine-gun emplacement and vanished. The next moment his head appeared round one side of it. "Stand clear!" he yelled, waving with his arm, and vanished again. "Who is that?" inquired Rabot. "He looks English and speaks French like Monsieur le President." "You will hear him speak German out of that gun in a moment," laughed the corporal. "_Voila!_ there she goes. And to think we were going to shoot that boy less than an hour ago!" Dennis, who had qualified as a machine-gun officer, had indeed lighted upon a piece of great good fortune, for under the gun he found three Germans recently bayoneted and the cartridge-jacket in position. He had only to depress the muzzle to send a stream of bullets straight into the mouth of the dug-out. The stream ceased in a moment, and they saw him beckoning to them. "Look yonder!" he cried, as the corporal and Rabot joined him. "The rabbits will not bolt again if we can leave someone here, but the company is in difficulties, and we are wanted. Can you take charge, _mon garcon_? See, the mechanism is quite simple; it works like this," and he loosed half a dozen rounds by way of illustration. "Stay here and do as the lieutenant has shown you if they show their noses again," said the corporal, and Rabot took his post at the machine-gun. The French soldier is intelligent because he has imagination, and Rabot understood. Corporal Puzzeau understood also, and his eyes danced as Dennis bounded along the top of the parados towards the retreating company.