s scout troop in America. And now he dived
for the astonished German's legs and brought him down with a flying
tackle. The heavy gun flew out of the soldier's hands, and, fortunately
for Fred, he fell so that his head struck the ground heavily. He was
stunned and, for the moment at least, safe and out of commission.

There was time, therefore, for Fred to see how the ground lay. He found
that he was in a slight hollow, sandy in the bottom, where he stood and
the soldier lay. He imagined that at certain times this hollow might be
filled with water, for the sand had that appearance, and, moreover,
there was a gully, evidently washed out by water, leading down into the
pit.

"Wonder how long he's good for?" speculated Fred, looking at the
soldier. "A few minutes, anyhow. He got quite a bump!"

He satisfied himself in a moment that the soldier was not badly hurt. He
was a ridiculous figure as he lay there sprawled out. His breathing was
heavy; it sounded almost like heavy snoring. He was very young, scarcely
more than a boy himself. His uniform was entirely new, as was his
equipment. He was very slight too, and his face was typical of a certain
sort of German. He looked, Fred thought, like a bird. It was a queer
idea, and he laughed as it came to him, but it did describe this German
absolutely.

"I'll risk it," Fred decided. He hesitated about the door. Perhaps he
ought to close it. But if he did, he couldn't open it again from this
side for that was a secret he hadn't learned. And, after all, the only
danger was that the soldier might come to his senses and go in--and if
he did that, Fred could follow him. So taking the rifle, he crawled
along the gully the rain had washed out, moving very cautiously. As he
neared the top, he lifted his head and saw, not more than fifty yards
away, a grey stone house, simple and unassuming. A flag pole had been
put up in front of this house, and a German flag drooped from it.
Soldiers were all about the place, and two automobiles stood before the
door. Motorcycles were lying on the ground. While Fred watched, two men
rode up on the snorting, crackling little machines and hurried into the
house.

This was undoubtedly the parsonage, now being used as the headquarters
of Colonel Goldapp. Fred's heart sank as he surveyed the place. It
seemed to him that there wasn't much chance that he could rescue Boris.
There were too many Germans about. Even though there was no reason for
the staff to