e can," explained Ned. "I'll be in
reserve to shoot as soon as I see the flash. If I miss you take him.
It's got to be nip and tuck, and we'll have to make it a snap shot,
for he'll drop back into the hole after he fires."

"Go to it!" advised the tall lad. "I'm with you."

Quickly they made their preparations. While Ned and Jerry went a
little way down the trench, Bob took off his helmet and put it on the
end of his gun. He then awaited the signal from Ned.

"Show your tin hat!"

Slowly, and simulating as much as possible a soldier raising his head
above the top line of the trench, Bob elevated the helmet. Hardly had
he done so when there came a sharp crack, and the helmet spun around
on the point of the bayonet as a juggler spins a plate on the end of
his walking stick.

"Right O!" cried Ned, and, almost in the same detonation as the firing
of the German's gun, Ned's rifle spoke. The clump of bushes seemed to
spout up into the air, blown by some underground explosion, and then a
figure was seen to half leap from what must have been an excavation.

"You got him!" cried Jerry.

"Yes," assented Ned, as he lowered his gun. "You won't have to shoot,
old man. Fritz won't do any more pot-hunting."

So that was the end of one German sharpshooter.

The three chums were congratulated by their relief, which came soon
after that, on ridding that part of this particular sector of a menace
that had long been in evidence. More than one American had been killed
or wounded either by this sharpshooter or by one who had adopted the
same tactics, and Ned, Bob and Jerry had well earned the thanks of
their comrades.

"Have you heard anything more about going over the top soon?" asked
Jerry.

"Nothing definite," replied Ned, who had started the rumor. "But don't
you feel a sort of tenseness all around--as though something were
going to happen?"

"I do," answered Bob. "I think it's going to happen that I'm going to
have some chow. I smell it coming!"

"You're a heathen materialist!" declared Ned.

Bob proved a true prophet, for a few minutes later a relief squad came
to the dugout with a traveling kitchen, or rather, some of the
products of one in the shape of hot beef stew and coffee.

Following the ending of the career of the German sniper, the three
Motor Boys, after several strenuous days in the trenches, went back
again to a rest billet. There they recuperated, and really enjoyed
themselves. There were letters from h