certainly demanded all their cunning and courage. It was called
"Hell-Fire Post." This was on the left of the Australian line, within
thirty yards of the Turks. The post had developed from a thin line of
holes into a strong redoubt. Many had died, more had been wounded in
defending this place, but it was worth it. This was the key of the
whole line. That was why The Kangaroo Marines were there. When they
took it over, they found the parapets thin and bullets coming in all
round.

"Hot shop, by Jove!" said Claud, adjusting his monocle to look through
an aperture.

Crack! came a bullet, just missing his head.

"Better take that window out of yer face," said Bill.

"Why?"

"Them ole snipers thinks yer a general."

"My dear fellow, you're a positive bore--now, lend me a hand." And
Claud, despite the whizzing bullets, filled more sandbags and shoved
them up with a shovel. Bill helped him to make a V-shaped aperture.
This work was continued all along the line. But all the sandbags and
crack shots could not keep the rifle fire down. To move a hand or head
above the level of the ground meant a wound.

"This won't do," said the Colonel, as he made his morning visit on his
hands and knees.

"It's like a penny shooting show, Colonel," said Bill.

"Why?"

"Me an' the boys are doin' running man for them fellers over there.
They chip bits on yer head, an' bits on yer chest. It ain't
comfortable. It ain't war."

"It's sudden daith," chipped in Sandy Brown.

"All right, boys, I'll send up something to-day. Cheer up, you'll soon
be at Manly amongst the girls," and off went Killem on his rounds.
That afternoon a dozen big iron plates came up. These were square with
a hole in the centre. This hole was covered by a little iron door,
which could be lifted at will. Bill and his pals seized one and
commenced to fix it in position. Under a hail of lead they worked
sweating, grousing and cursing all the time. At last it was fixed and
ready for business.

"This is my shot," said Bill, taking hold of his rifle. Slowly he
opened the door, then peeped through.

"I see one, boys!"

"Where?" they whispered.

"Behind some bags. Gosh, ain't he ugly. He's got a face like a black
puddin', and the eyes of a snake. He ain't a bit of Turkish delight,
anyhow, I wouldn't like to lick his old face. Wheesht, boys, he's
goin' to shoot."

"At you?"

"No! Some fathead down the line. But I'll get the one-eyed Mo