e is a difficult target to hit, and it is estimated that
it takes thirty thousand anti-aircraft shells to bring him down. And
his machine is now so perfect that peace flying will be much safer than
motoring.

In No Man's Land, the hunting-ground of the scout, shells only fall by
accident, and he is camouflaged to defy detection. A black crawling
suit is used at night, with hood and mask, but the most important thing
is to break the outline of the head, so the hood has several peaks and
corners. A human head on the sky-line cannot be mistaken for anything
else, except maybe a pumpkin or melon, but in these hoods it appears
like a large lump of dirt, and should the scout chance to move suddenly
while in such a position, the likelihood is he would be dirt in a
second or so.

"All day long when the shells sail over
I stand at the sand-bags and take my chance;
But at night, at night I'm a reckless rover,
And over the parapet gleams Romance." [1]

[1] Robert W. Service.

CHAPTER XXIV

NIGHTS IN NO MAN'S LAND

"How little I thought that my time was coming
Sudden and splendid, supreme and soon;
And here I am with the bullets humming
As I crawl and I curse the light of the moon.
Out alone, for adventure thirsting,
Out in mysterious No Man's Land;
Prone with the dead when a star-shell, bursting,
Flares on the horrors on every hand.

Yet oh, it's great to be here with danger,
Here in the weird, death-pregnant dark,
In the devil's pasture a stealthy ranger,
When the moon is decently hiding. Hark!
What was that? Was it just the shiver
Of an eerie wind or a clammy hand?
The rustle of grass, or the passing quiver
Of one of the ghosts of No Man's Land?" [1]

The first night "out there." The memory of it still quickens the pulse
and makes the cheek grow pale. How my teeth chattered, my heart beat
almost to suffocation, every splash of a rat was an enemy scout, and
every blade of grass magnified itself into a post for their barbed
wire. I had but gone a few yards when I expected the next instant to
bump into the enemy trenches.

There are strange sounds in No Man's Land; not human sounds, for such
carry far--the beat of a hammer on a post, the sharp twang of unrolling
barbed wire as it catches, and then springs away--voices even come as
through a megaphone in the eerie silence--but these are long-drawn
sighs that penetrate the inner consciousness and hushed m