reception of the first wave that those of
the Germans who did not manage to leap down into the trenches,
recoiled in dismay.

Then the second wave of raiders came up, only to find that the
French had recovered their second wind. Great as the odds were
the French held their own, thrusting, shooting and clubbing with
rifle butts.

From his position on his prisoner Greg fired coolly as often as
he could do so without endangering a French comrade. He longed
to rush in closer, but did not intend to let his prisoner get
away. Only one German got close enough to thrust at Holmes, who
shot him through the heart before the bayonet lunge could be made.

What was left of the first and second waves was being beaten back.
Major Wells, Prescott and Noll Terry leaped to the parapet with
two French soldiers in their section to beat back the foe.

Just then a third wave arrived. The fighting became brisker.
Dick Prescott felt a weight against his head. He staggered dizzily,
felt arms clutch at him, and had only a hazy notion of what followed.

The Germans went back, carrying a few prisoners with them. A
minute later the enemy barrage lifted.

"You may get up now," Greg admonished his captive, as he leaped
to his feet.

"You've accounted for one of the enemy," smiled Captain Ribaut,
as he came up.

"Captured him at the first pop out of the box," Holmes declared
proudly. "I told him to lie still, and he surely did. I'd have
hurt him if he had tried to get away."

"How did you take him?" Ribaut asked, kneeling beside the still man.

"Threw him with an old football tackle."

"The Hun's neck is broken," reported the French captain, raising
the enemy's head and letting it fall.

"What's that?" Greg demanded astonished. "Say, you're right,
aren't you? And to think of all the good fighting I missed through
holding on to that 'prisoner'! Dick will tease the life out of
me! By the way, where is he?"

"I thought he went this way," Ribaut answered. "We must find
him. I hope he wasn't hurt."

Thoroughly alarmed Greg wheeled and darted along the trench, looking
for his chum. Then he raced back, going off in the opposite direction.

"Prescott isn't here!" he gasped, and sprang up at the parapet.

"Here! Don't do that," Major Wells called to him, in a low voice.

But there was no stopping Holmes. Bending low he raced along in
front of the trench, looking for the body, dead or alive, of his chum.

Dick, however,