.

The German cowered flat as a pancake, his head turned sideways, watching
them as they came.

"Had they seen?" he thought, "or was this some senseless freak of those
mad-brained English?"

The next moment any doubt in his mind vanished, all the blood left the
scoundrel's face, and, starting to his knees, he covered the foremost
figure with his weapon. Twice he raised it, staring hard, and a feeling
as of an electric shock passed through Dennis Dashwood as the pair
recognised each other.

Then they fired their revolvers simultaneously, but the cylinders of
both were empty, and into the livid face of Von Dussel there came an
extraordinary look of mingled doubt and terror.

"But you are dead!" he gasped, as the memory of the mined brewery came
back to him.

"Not the first mistake you have made, you infernal scoundrel!" shouted
Dennis; and clubbing his revolver, he smote him fair and square between
the eyes, dropping the spy like a stone.

"Stop, Hawke, I want that man alive!" panted the avenger, "he's got
enough to go on with"; and, checking the remorseless bayonet with which
Hawke was about to run him through, Dennis turned and knelt beside the
body of his chum.

Little Wetherby was lying on his side, but his eyes brightened as he saw
who it was.

"Go back, Dashwood," said the boy, speaking with difficulty, "it's no
use, I'm done."

"Nonsense, old chap; we're going to get you in between us," said Dennis.
"Hawke and I can carry you."

"No, no--do go back, there's a dear fellow," gurgled the boy, a rush of
blood from his lungs almost choking him. "But I say, Dashwood, there is
one thing you might do for me. You'll find a writing pad in my kit-bag,
the Mater would like to have it."

"She shall, Wetherby. But let's have a look at you, and see if we can
stop the haemorrhage before we pick you up. Where did that fiend get
you?"

"Through the heart," replied the dying boy. "Please let me lie here, and
tell the Mater I don't regret it, except for her sake; say that I
wouldn't have missed this for anything. I've only known what it was to
live since I came out here!" And then, with his hand clasped in his
friend's hand, Cuthbert Wetherby knew what it was to die, and passed
into the great beyond with a fearless smile on his young lips.

Dennis had seen so many men "go out" in the few brief weeks of his
fighting that he had deemed himself case-hardened against anything, but
now he had to look away, a little asha