er and farther down
the slope, until they broke and ran.

They were artful enough to avoid the shell holes, where the gas lay
thick; but they had little time to pick and choose their way, for the
relentless Reedshires clung to their heels so closely that our
machine-guns had to cease fire.

Here and there, where the fugitive mob was tightly wedged in some narrow
gap between a couple of yawning craters, the rearmost of them would turn
at bay, and at just such a place, scarcely wide enough for two men to
pass abreast, young Wetherby overtook a hefty little private tackling a
huge German, who towered head and shoulders above him.

It was impossible to get by until that single combat should be ended;
but as Wetherby paused the big German made a circling swipe with his
rifle, and his bayonet tore a great gash in the Reedshire's gas helmet.
The little man in jumping back lost his balance, and rolled head over
heels into one of the craters, his adversary resuming his flight at the
sight of young Wetherby, who dropped him with a bullet in the back.

The splendid pluck with which the little man had tackled the giant had
appealed to Wetherby's sporting instincts, and realising the hideous
death that lurked in the bottom of the shell hole, he sprang down to his
assistance, and found Tiddler--for it was he--grasping the torn mask
with both hands, while he vainly struggled to scramble out.

But the earth crumbled under his feet, and, already exhausted, the
doomed man sank on his knees, and looked wildly round for help.

He should by rights have had a spare helmet in his haversack, but the
careless fellow had lost it when they were in billets.

"Go back!" he gasped with a wave of his arm; but the officer boy was no
fool, and, opening his wallet, he forced his own spare mask over
Tiddler's head and dragged him to his feet again.

A German lay writhing in fearful convulsions beside them, and young
Wetherby pointed to that terrible object lesson.

"Come on!" he shouted. "Never mind your gun." And, seizing him by the
arm, the pair struggled panting together up the precipitous side of the
hole.

"It's all right up here--the gas has passed over!" shouted Tiddler's
rescuer. And away he bolted, leaving the grateful man to recover his
breath and pick up a spare rifle.

CHAPTER XXIV

The Chateau at the Trench End

The wake of the battalion was marked at every stride by enemy dead and
wounded, and when Wetherby overtook