ed a
shock of black, blood-matted hair on his forehead. A white bandage ran
around his forehead and on the right side of his face a strip of cotton
gauze connected with another white bandage around his neck. There was a
red stain on the white gauze over the right cheek.

His face was rinsed with sweat and very dirty. In one hand he carried a
large chunk of the black German war bread--once the property of his two
prisoners. With his disengaged hand he conveyed masses of the food to
his lips which were circled with a fresco of crumbs.

His face was wreathed in a remarkable smile--a smile of satisfaction
that caused the corners of his mouth to turn upward toward his eyes. I
also smiled when I made a casual inventory of the battlefield loot with
which he had decorated his person. Dangling by straps from his right hip
were five holsters containing as many German automatic pistols of the
Lueger make, worth about $35 apiece. Suspended from his right shoulder
by straps to his left hip, were six pairs of highly prized German field
glasses, worth about $100 apiece. I acquired a better understanding of
his contagious smile of property possession when I inquired his name and
his rank. He replied:

"Sergeant Harry Silverstein."

Later, attracted by a blast of extraordinary profanity, I approached one
of our men who was seated by the roadside. A bullet had left a red
crease across his cheek but this was not what had stopped him. The
hobnail sole of his shoe had been torn off and he was trying to fasten
it back on with a combination of straps. His profane denunciations
included the U. S. Quartermaster Department, French roads, barbed wire,
hot weather and, occasionally, the Germans.

"This sure is a hell of a mess," he said, "for a fellow to find himself
in this fix just when I was beginning to catch sight of 'em. I enlisted
in the army to come to France to kill Germans but I never thought for
one minute they'd bring me over here and try to make me run 'em to
death. What we need is greyhounds. And as usual the Q. M. fell down
again. Why, there wasn't a lassoe in our whole company."

* * * * *

The prisoners came back so fast that the Intelligence Department was
flooded. The divisional intelligence officer asked me to assist in the
interrogation of the captives. I questioned some three hundred of them.

An American sergeant who spoke excellent German, interrogated. I sat
behind a small table in a