and Jerry, with some others, were to remain there, while he led
the rest farther on.

"Glad you've come," remarked a haggard-looking officer, who was to be
relieved by the commander of the squad in which were the three chums.

"Has Fritz been bothering you?" asked Lieutenant Anderson, who was in
charge of the relief.

"Has he? Well, rather! And then some! You have my permission to stay
as long as you please! Come on, boys!" and he led his war-weary men
back to a rest billet.

"Make yourselves at home, fellows," said the lieutenant. "And wipe
your feet before you come in," he added with a laugh, as he looked
down at his muddy boots.

The passwords had been given and received. The other relief party had
passed on to allow other worn-out men to get some rest. Ned, Bob and
Jerry looked about them. They were in a dirt ditch, filled here and
there with puddles of water from the last rain, and the clouds still
hung in the sky.

"Where are the German trenches?" asked Ned.

"Where? Right in front of us--over there," and the lieutenant pointed.
"Wait, I'll show you, and everybody get this, and take a lesson from
it!" he added.

He held up a steel helmet on the end of a stick. In an instant it went
spinning off and fell at his feet in the trench. He picked it up,
pointing grimly to a neat little hole through it and said:

"That's what will happen to any one of you if he sticks his head up.
You're in the front-line trench. Don't forget it!"

CHAPTER XI

A NIGHT PATROL

Every one who saw the heavy steel hat so neatly pierced by the swift
bullet was impressed by the object lesson, as the lieutenant had
intended all of them should be. But, somehow or other, Bob Baker
seemed more fascinated than either of his chums, and, indeed, more
than any other member of that particular relief squad.

"Did a Hun bullet do that?" asked Bob, as he picked up the head
protector and looked at the hole.

"That's what it did, my boy," answered the officer. "And that's what
will happen to you, or any one else, if you stick your head up above
the trench."

"And the Huns did that!" murmured Bob, who seemed not to be able to
efface from his mind the picture of the punctured, spinning helmet.
"Then we're right within range of their fire."

"Considerably so," answered the lieutenant. "In places the German
trenches are only six hundred feet away, and that's nothing for the
modern rifle. It can kill at over a mile."

"So, Chunky,"