crossing the open in safety was
to duck and crawl.

'It's no use,' he said regretfully. 'We'll have to leave this chap behind.
We'll all be shot as full of holes as a sieve if we try to carry him.'

'Rats, Carrington!' retorted Roy Horan. 'Go home without our prisoner?
Never! Besides, the Turks won't shoot their own officer. Come on, Dave,'
he said, and before Ken could say another word the two were off as hard as
they could go, carrying their heavy burden.

Ken had many doubts as to the Turks refraining from shooting, for fear of
hitting the German. In fact, knowing as he did the feeling which existed
between the bullying Prussian and the placid Turk, he rather thought the
case would be exactly the opposite.

Whatever the reason, at any rate they had covered nearly half the distance
before they began to draw fire. Then bullets began to ping ominously
close, and little jets of dust to rise from the dry soil all around them.

Suddenly Ken's hat flew from his head, and as he stooped quickly to
recover it, the fat German gave a yell like a stuck pig, and kicked out so
convulsively that his bearers incontinently dropped him.

In an instant he was on his feet, and running like a rabbit, at the same
time giving vent to a series of sharp yelps like a beaten puppy.

'The blighter! He was shamming!' roared Roy, darting off in pursuit,
regardless of the bullets.

'It was a bullet woke him up anyhow,' exclaimed Dave, as he scurried
after.

The Prussian was beside himself with pain. He had been shot through one
hand, and there is no more agonising injury. He ran blindly, and as it
chanced almost in a straight line for the trench.

A score of heads popped up to see what was happening, and when their
owners realised the truth a roar of laughter burst out all down the
trench.

It was not until the German was on the very edge of the trench that he
realised where he was. He spun round to bolt.

But Roy was at his heels.

'No, ye don't, fatty,' said the big New Zealander, and catching the man by
the scruff of the neck, gave him a tremendous push which sent him flying
over into the trench. Roy sprang down after him, and a moment later, Dave
and Ken hurled themselves into cover.

'Is it steeplechasing ye are, or what fool's game is it ye are playing?'
demanded Sergeant O'Brien, while the rest shrieked with laughter.

'He--he's my prisoner,' panted Ken. 'And--and, sergeant, did Norton get
back?'

'He did. Come along wid