hrough his powerful
glass. He knew by the sound that it was German. More, since what he did
not know about machine-guns could have been printed in bill-poster type
upon the back of his hand, he knew that it was a Maxim, Model 1907--a
mean, mean gun. He deduced that it was doing plenty of damage to his
fellows back on the hill, and that they had not been able to do much of
anything about it. And it was beautifully hidden; even he, close as he
must be, couldn't see it. But damn it, there _had_ to be a....

Minute after minute, unmoving save for the traverse of his binoculars,
he searched, and finally he found. A tiny plume--the veriest wisp--of
vapor, rising from the surface of the brook. Steam! Steam from the
cooling jacket of that Maxim 1907! And there was the tube!

Cautiously he moved around until he could trace that tube to its
business end--the carefully-hidden emplacement. There it was! He
couldn't maintain his westward course without them spotting him; nor
could he go around far enough. And besides ... and besides that, there
would be at least a patrol, if it hadn't gone up the hill already. And
there were grenades available, right close....

He crept up to one of the gruesome objects he had been avoiding, and
when he crept away he half-carried, half-dragged three grenades in a
canvas bag. He wormed his way to a certain boulder. He straightened up,
pulled three pins, swung his arm three times.

Bang! Bam! Pow! The camouflage disappeared; so did the shrubbery for
yards around. Kinnison had ducked behind the rock, but he ducked still
deeper as a chunk of something, its force pretty well spent, clanged
against his steel helmet. Another object thudded beside him--a leg,
gray-clad and wearing a heavy field boot!

Kinnison wanted to be sick again, but he had neither the time nor the
contents.

And damn! What _lousy_ throwing! He had never been any good at baseball,
but he supposed that he could hit a thing as big as that gun-pit--but
not one of his grenades had gone in. The crew would probably be
dead--from concussion, if nothing else--but the gun probably wasn't even
hurt. He would have to go over there and cripple it himself.

He went--not exactly boldly--forty-five in hand. The Germans looked
dead. One of them sprawled on the parapet, right in his way. He gave the
body a shove, watched it roll down the slope. As it rolled, however, it
came to life and yelled; and at that yell there occurred a thing at
which y