ringe of it, and almost out of its very
leaves, came another demand in German.

This was a moment for quick action. It was time for the message to go
back by three individuals on different routes. I heard the safety lock
of a rifle snapped back. He would fire the next minute. Springing up,
I shouted: "Separate!" to the boys, and ran as fast as I could,
helter-skelter down the side of a gradual slope. I was making no
effort at stooping now. Speed was my salvation, if anything was.

Rifles barked all around. For a moment or two I heard the runners
crashing through the brush. Several shots hummed past me, but I was
too preoccupied to notice them much. I knew I'd have to get cover
soon--before they saw and dropped me. Just ahead, in dark outline, I
spotted what seemed to be a providential bit of cover. I made for it
full tilt, the sloping ground quickening my pace.

I hurled myself at it, legs first and spread apart, so as to land in a
sitting position. It was so that I did land--right astride the
shoulders of a boche. I had selected a German funk hole for cover!

As I landed, a second boche who like the first had been squatted down
rose to his feet, slowly, it seemed, alongside me. We were both bereft
of speech from the surprise; the fellow under me was incapable of
locomotion as well, for while I felt him squirm a bit he stayed put.

My mind was racing like an overfed gas engine.

"What," I thought, "is the convention when one tumbles in upon a pair
of Fritzes without the formality of being announced?"

I knew I had to gain time until the muscular paralysis from the
surprise had passed. Subconsciously I must have been thinking that if
only I could speak to him in his native tongue he might believe for the
moment that I was one of his own.

I cudgeled my brain for a German expression. Then I remembered a
masseuse, a very German woman, who has called at my home for years to
dress my sister's hair. What was it she used to say so much? What was
it? Ah, I knew!

"_Was ist los_?" I said triumphantly to my vis-a-vis as he rose to his
feet.

Amusingly enough, I didn't actually know at the time that it meant
"What's the matter?" I had an idea it was a liberal translation of
"Who's looney now?" And that seemed pat enough for the occasion.

"_Was ist los_?" Fritz repeated with a strong, rising inflection on the
"_los_." And at that he drew his overcoat, which apparently had been
thrown across his s