CHAPTER IIINEW FRIENDS
Hal’s last conscious moment was filled with the roar that followed his shot aimed at the hand grenades in the far corner of his underground tomb. When again he was able to realize that he still lived his first thought was of Chester, who had been near when he pressed the trigger of his automatic in his desperate attempt to escape.
The lad was very dizzy as he staggered to his feet. First he felt himself over carefully. He found he uninjured except from shock.
“Chester,” he called.
There was no answer.
Again and again Hal called to his friend, meanwhile moving through the debris that littered the ground, until at last he came upon the unconscious form of Chester fully a hundred yards from the spot where he himself had come to life.
Quickly Hal bent over and raised Chester’s head to his knee. He still breathed and as the lad glanced around he noted a pool of stagnant water.
Laying Chester down on the ground carefully, Hal hurried to the pool. There he soaked his handkerchief and hurried back to his friend.
After some effort on Hal’s part Chester showed signs of returning consciousness as the cold water began to have its effect. Then Chester sat up.
“Where am I?” he asked, moving his head feebly in a vain attempt to pierce the darkness with his eyes.
Hal was forced to smile at this remark.
“I guess you are not in such bad shape after all,” he said. “Anybody that can wake up and start off with a question like that is not going to die for some time to come.”
Chester struggled from Hal’s arms and got to his feet. He surveyed the ruins of the erstwhile dugout in the darkness and then said:
“You’re getting to be a pretty fair shot with that gun of yours, Hal.”
“Thanks,” said Hal dryly. “You were so still and quiet when I found you, though, that I had begun to think I had done a pretty bad job.”
“Well,” said Chester, “we’re on the outside again, at all events. I don’t feel as well as I might, either, and I vote that we get away from here. I’d like to lay my hands on the Boche who is responsible for interrupting my sleep like this. I’d show him a thing or two.”
“Not in your present condition, I guess,” was Hal’s rejoinder.
“Oh, I’m still alive and kicking,” returned Chester. “But listen to the guns.”
Indeed, it seemed that the roar of heavy artillery from both the Allied and German lines exceeded in ferocity anything that either lad had heard in their fours years of fighting.
“You can bet there is something of importance going on,” was Hal’s comment. “But I agree with you, Chester, we’ve time enough later to learn what it’s all about. It’s time now to find a place where we can bunk for the rest of the night. Let’s be moving.”
Together the lads walked away in the darkness toward the section of the American encampment where a glimmer of light showed in the distant dugout.
“We’ll wake these fellows up and see if they’ll let us spend the night with them,” said Hal, as they approached the dugout.
“Suits me,” Chester agreed; “and if they have any objections to our company, I’m in favor of dispossessing them.”
“That might be rather a large order, in our present shape,” said Hal. “However, we’ll see what they have to say.”
They approached the dugout and tapped lightly on the door. There was no answer to their knock. Hal tried again, but with the same result.
“If there is anybody there, they are good sleepers,” declared Hal. “If I don’t get an answer this time, we’ll go in regardless.”
“Suits me,” was Chester’s response.
Again Hal knocked on the door and waited a moment. There was no response from within.
“Well, here goes,” the lad declared.
With that he threw open the door.
Inside the lads surveyed the dugout. There was no one there.
“We’re in luck,” said Hal. “We’ll just make ourselves at home, and if the owner objects we’ll get out again, or put up an argument. That’s all.”
“In that event,” said Chester, “me for the first bunk.”
He turned in at once. Hal followed suit, making himself as comfortable as possible in a bunk across the little room.
Outside the heavy cannonading continued without cessation.
Two hours later—it may have been 4 o’clock in the morning—Hal was awakened by a rough hand on his shoulder and the sound of a rough voice.
“Come up out of there,” said the voice. “This war has reached a pretty pass when a man can’t go out for a few minutes without somebody stealing his bunk.”
Hal, still half asleep, sat up.
“What’s the row?” he wanted to know.
“What’s the row?” repeated the man who stood above him. “I like that. I come back to my own little bunk, find it occupied and the occupant wants to know what’s the row. Why shouldn’t there be a row, I’d like to know?”
Hal got slowly to his feet and gazed at the man who had thus rudely disturbed his slumber.
“A marine, eh?” he said.
“Right,” was the reply. “Lieutenant Ulysses Smith, of the —th division. I’m obliged to you for keeping my bed warm, but if it’s all the same to you, I’m ready to climb in myself.”
“Well, Smith,” said Hal, “it’s your bed. Hop in.”
The marine eyed the lad closely.
“First tell me who you are and what you are doing here,” he said.
In a few words Hal recounted the adventure he and Chester had gone through.
“Well,” said the marine, “I guess I don’t want that bed after all. You need it worse than I do. Help yourself. I’ll bunk on the floor here.”
“Oh, no,” was Hal’s reply. “The floor is plenty good enough for me. It’s your bed, you know.”
“True enough,” said Smith, “but at the same time, I’ve been out on a little frolic and don’t need it half as bad as you do. So you’re a lieutenant in the regulars, eh?”
“Right,” said Hal.
“Haven’t much to do yet, eh?”
“Oh, yes,” was Hal’s rejoinder. “You see, I put in almost three years in this war before Uncle Sam decided to get in.”
The marine officer looked his astonishment.
“Yes,” Hal continued, “my friend and I”—he indicated Chester, who continued to sleep through the conversation—“have seen active service with most of the Allied forces.”
Smith held out a hand.
“I’m a veteran myself,” he said. “I’ve campaigned in the Philippines and in some of the South American troubles. Of course, I’ve never been mixed up in a scrap like this and I’ve a lot to learn. I’ll appreciate anything you can tell me.”
“It’s a little early in the morning for a talkfest,” said Hal with a smile, “but I’ve no doubt that when the sun comes up and we’ve had sleep a plenty and some good grub that I can entertain you a bit.”
“I’ll be all ears, as my friend Jenkins would say,” replied Smith. “Jenkins,” he explained, “is my bunkie—Lieutenant Jenkins, by the way.”
“Guess he’ll be back hunting his bed before long,” said Hal.
“Shouldn’t be surprised. Guess that’s him now,” he added, as footsteps approached without.
A moment later a second officer in Uncle Sam’s marine corps uniform entered the dugout.
“Meet my friend Lieutenant Paine, Jenkins,” said Smith. “He dropped in rather suddenly, Fritz having put his own bunk house out of business. I’ve invited him and his friend to spend the night with us. It won’t be the first time we have slept two in a bunk.”
“Guess it won’t be the last, either,” was Jenkins’ reply; “at least, not if this war lasts as long as I figure it will. You’re a lieutenant in the regulars, I see,” he added. “I’m afraid you’ll get a chance sooner than we will.”
“Oh, you’ll be in it, too,” said Hal, smiling. “Uncle Sam is going to need every man he has over here, and all he can send, to finish this job.”
“Well, we’ll finish it, all right,” declared Jenkins. “I’d be willing to cut ten years off my life to get a chance at these Huns.”
“You’ll get it, never fear,” replied Hal.
“If I don’t,” said Jenkins, “I’ll start a little war of my own.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him, Paine,” laughed Smith. “He’s not half as bloodthirsty as he would have you believe. But come, let’s turn in. Tomorrow is another day.”
“Right,” said Jenkins. “I’m with you.”
Ten minutes later the dugout was in darkness and only the heavy breathing of the four sleepers proclaimed that it was inhabited.