houlders, high above his head and down over it, as
if he were cold. I can see the silhouette of that coat against the
stars now. Of course I could have been in the hole no longer than
fifteen seconds, but it seemed hours, and every move is deep limned
upon my memory.

As he lowered the coat, his hands holding the collar at his cheeks, my
wits became somewhat normal again. "You idiot!" I said to myself.
"You've got a revolver in your right hand."

Sharply I brought the muzzle against his left breast and fired twice.
Then, crooking my elbow, I reached down, sunk the muzzle into the back
of the man under me, and again fired twice. I recall spreading my legs
for fear of injuring myself. His body crumpled under me.

The first one had fallen backward, supported by the side of the funk
hole. His hands seemed to be reaching blindly for something in his
belt now. Both their rifles lay extended over the little parapet. He
might be trying to get at his trench knife. So I fired again, and
without waiting to see the effect of the shot, sprang up and ran wildly
down the slope.

My breath was coming in gasps. I thought it was all up, for the whole
camp--a bivouac of a company it surely was--went into an uproar of
shouts and shots and flashes.

"_Amerikaner_!" I heard several times.

I don't know how far I ran. Not far. For I was expecting to be hit at
any moment. Again I found a low-growing bush. And again
half-anticipating finding myself with the enemy, I sprawled in under
it. My breath was burning my throat. I was horribly thirsty. And my
heart was pounding like a pile driver--and every bit as loud.

Little by little I squirmed in under the branches. Voices came from
half a dozen directions. Some were drawing toward me. About fifteen
yards to my right front, shots came steadily from what I knew to be
another funk hole. I thought of the shiny hobnails on the runners'
boots, and drew my legs up closer. My watch gleamed like a group of
flares, and I twisted its face to the under side of my wrist.

The voices were very close now. It seemed to be a little party,
beating the bushes for me. I saw one fellow's head and shoulders
against the sky line. My first thought was of my gun. I knew there
was but a single cartridge left. Softly I opened the clips on my
cartridge pouch and reloaded.

I didn't like lying face down. It was too inviting to a shot in the
back. I wanted to roll over and be prepared wh