step forward, stumbled over a pair of legs and
landed headfirst on the stomach of another sleeper.

"Whoosh!" went the escaping breath of that truant soldier, followed by
an angry outpouring of abuse.

"Say, soldier! Get your foot out of my face! What do you think this
is--a football game?"

"Pipe down!" came a gruff voice from another corner. "Do you want some
smart Looie to come up here and chase us out?"

McGee smiled, wondering what would be their reaction should he announce
that "a Looie" was even now in their presence. Perhaps it was his duty,
as an officer, to rout them out and order them to rejoin their commands,
but he felt no responsibility for these men of the line, and if they
were as weary and sleepy as he--and doubtless they had more reason to
be--then he could hardly blame them for falling out. With the morning,
he knew, these army-wise soldiers would go down the road until they
found their outfits and there pour forth a plausible lie about becoming
lost in the tangle and how they had searched all night for their
company.

McGee knew little enough about the American infantrymen, but he did know
that "for tricks that are vain" Bret Harte's famous heathen Chinee had
nothing on the average soldier of the line, be he American, English,
French or a black man from Senegal.

Cautiously he felt out a clear space, spread his coat over the rough
timbers and was soon sound asleep.

2

While McGee slept soundly, blissfully removed from all scenes of
conflict and completely ignorant of his exact location, a midnight
conference of gravest nature was taking place in the little settlement
of Landres-et-St. Georges, far behind the German lines of defense.

Four thick-necked, grey-haired German officers were seated at a long
table in the front room of a chateau that had been in German hands for
more than three years. Candles flickered uncertainly on the table,
lighting the center of the large room but leaving the corners in dim
shadows.

The four officers sat stiffly erect, without comment, their eyes on the
double door as though they were awaiting someone. Outside, on the stone
flagging of a courtyard, sounded the heavy tread of a Prussian Guardsman
walking guard before the sanctum of these "Most High" ones who sat so
stolidly waiting.

The resounding footfalls of the guardsman came to a clicking halt,
followed by a guttural challenge which was replied to in a softer voice.
The guardsman again took up his