dashed
toward the kitchen door to get outside the house. Just as I did so, I saw
a shadow flit along the ground past the kitchen window. Guessing where the
man must be who cast it, I fired through the wooden wall of the kitchen at
about the height of the average man's breast. Then in a couple of bounds I
was outside. There stood Troolan looking very much surprised and grieved
when he saw me. His rifle was half drawn up to his shoulder, and he was in
the attitude of getting ready to fire.

Perspiration broke out on my forehead. I realised that the shadow had been
Troolan's and from the look of him I had come very nigh to killing him.

"What the h---- was that for, ye muckle galoot?" he threw at me.

"I saw a shadow," I said, "and let drive."

"Ye're an auld wife, that's what ye' are," said Troolan disgustedly,
"a'firin' after shadows."

"Never mind now," I said, "what did you see?"

"I saw a big boche," said my scouting partner, "or, at least, I thocht I
did. Maybe I've been takin' you fur him the same as you did me."

"Maybe," I said, "but the best plan is for you to watch this house while I
go and report."

"All right," said Troolan. I started away. I had not gone a dozen paces
when I heard scuffling behind me. I turned round and started to run back
at the same instant. What I saw lent speed to my feet. The helmet of a
German officer was just coming through a window. Troolan, who had
evidently been concealed from the German's view, was aiming a blow at his
head with the butt of his rifle.

As usual, Troolan had lacked finesse. He had rushed so clumsily to the
attack that both the officer and I had heard him. The German dodged just
in time to evade the blow, and Troolan's rifle banged the window sill.

How the boche did it, I do not know, but it seemed as though he was
propelled by strong steel springs under his feet. He fairly shot out of
the window like a dart from a catapult and landed on Troolan's neck. Both
men went down. I dared not fire. They were rolling over and over one
another, kicking and striking with their fists. The boche was fouling
Troolan in a way that would be prohibited in wrestling. I jumped into the
fray and tried to find the German's throat, but the men were so entwined
that it was hard to get a hold on him. Suddenly a heavy boot struck me in
the pit of the stomach, and I rolled over and over to find myself gasping
for breath a dozen feet away.

Painfully I got up and staggered toward