observed Jerry, "you've been under fire now."

"Yes," said Bob, and his voice was sober, "we've been under fire."

"Of course this isn't anything!" the lieutenant exclaimed with a
laugh, as he kicked aside the bullet-punctured helmet Bob had dropped.
"This is just a little byplay. You'll be under heavier fire than this,
but don't worry. It takes a good many bullets to get a man. However,
don't think of that. Do your duty. That's what you're here for!"

The lieutenant looked somewhat anxiously into the faces of the relief
squad he was to command. Every officer likes to know that he has the
bravest of men in the army, and this young officer was no exception.
The firing line where the Motor Boys now were--the front-line
trenches--was no place for cowards.

But the faces that looked back into the young lieutenant's gave no
reflection of fear. And at this he breathed in relief. There was
puzzled wonder on the countenance of some, and grim determination on
others, and this last was what counted.

And then began for the Motor Boys and their chums a life of the utmost
tension, strenuousness, and danger, although theirs was a
comparatively quiet sector at that particular stage of the war, and
they were holding the trenches more to guard against a surprise attack
than anything else.

"Well, there's one comfort," remarked Jerry, as he was placed in his
station in the trench, with Bob on one side and Ned on the other, both
within talking distance.

"What?" asked Bob. "Do we get better eats here?"

"Eats, you heathen!" exclaimed Ned. "Can't you forget that once in a
while? What are you going to do if the Germans make you a prisoner?
They won't feed you at all!"

"Then I won't be a prisoner!" declared Bob. "But what were you going
to say about comfort, Jerry?"

"We don't have to drill," was the answer.

And this was true. All the life of the camp was now done away with,
even the training camp of France, where the boys had finished their
war education, so to speak. But if they did not have to drill there
was plenty else to occupy them.

While on duty in the trench they had constantly to be on the alert,
and this not to guard against the unexpected approach of some friendly
officer, bent on determining how his sentries were performing their
duty, but to be on the watch against the approach of a deadly enemy.
There must be no sleeping--not even dozing--on post.

Then, too, there was work to do. There was food and water t