Ploof! Ploof! Bang! P-ssst, wam! Zing, zing, zing! T-r-r-r-r-r—rip! Ploooof! Something of this nature, if it can at all be conveyed by words, came in waves, roars and spasms of sound to the ears of Don and Billy, as their ambulance truck traversed part of the five or six miles of cross-road between the evacuation hospitals near the Amiens road, not twenty miles south of that shell-torn town, and the front line of the Allied army where American troops, newly arrived from training camps, were brigaded with the French soldiers; that is, a number of regiments of one nation were included with those of the other in the same sector, sometimes companies, even platoons, of Americans and French fighting side by side against the savage attacks of an enemy far superior in numbers. “We’ve just sent a dozen or more to your people down there—nearly all light cases—but there’s been some sort of a scrap over This was the all-too-brief order Don received from Major Little, the hospital-chief when the lads reached the broad tents on the cross-road early one morning. Without further words Don leaped into his car and glided on along the narrow road for about two miles; then he began dodging shell holes, one here that involved half of the wheel tracks, another, farther on, which took in all of the road and had been partly filled and partly bridged with timbers from an old building near. Beyond this, small shell-holes had torn up the once smooth “Pal, we seem to be under fire,” remarked Don, and Billy, with a grunt of relief, replied: “Yes, and if that glass hadn’t been there I’d have bitten that stone in half to show I didn’t care whether it came this way or not. But say, if we’d been just where that shell landed we would have had to sing Tosti’s ‘Good-bye.’ They’re rude things, aren’t they, the way they mess up the landscape?” Don glanced at his smiling companion. The sound of fighting came to the boys now with increasing fury. They were not experienced enough to tell whether it was a regular battle, or merely a skirmish. Anyway, it was lively enough for an introduction to green hands far from home. They came to where the reserve regiment was digging in. Some of them camped in the open, with a few little canopy tents spread. A few fires were burning. A few officers stood or squatted around talking and laughing. Sentries were pacing up and down. A sentinel stood in the road and faced about toward them, but when he saw the Red Cross on the front and side of the car and had scanned the faces of the drivers he asked no questions but let them pass. Don slowed up enough to hear him say: “All right. Go find ’em, bo! There’s some down there.” “Going to give your friends, the Limburgers, a warm reception after while?” Billy called back and the soldier nodded briskly, smiling and waving his hand. Turning sharply and dashing along the “Over there are the woods the Major spoke about,” he said. “Sure is. We can cross this meadow, I guess.” “Ooh! Hold on a bit, and look up, Don!” Two airplanes were circling overhead. The boys could see a black Maltese cross on the under side and near the end of each wing of one plane; the other bore a broad tri-colored circle in similar positions. The two soaring, roaring, vulture-like things were approaching each other, suddenly little jets of white smoke burst from each and long streaks of pale light, like miniature lightning, shot from each flying-machine to the other. “A Hun plane and a Britisher! It’s a fight!” Don remarked excitedly. “See, they’re the illuminated bullets to tell just where they’re shooting, like squirting a hose. Watch ’em, Billy; watch ’em! Oh, by cracky!” “Watch them? Do you think I’m taking a nap? Oooh! Look at that gasoline swallow dive! And bring up, too!” The German But not so. The superior maneuvering of the Britisher was too much for his antagonist—the Hun plane swerved to the left, went on straight for a moment, then began to tilt a little sidewise and to spin slowly. As it sank it pitched from side to side, following a spiral course, thus imitating perfectly the fall of a dead leaf; so perfectly, indeed, that as it neared the earth and was not checked nor righted it became evident that the engine had stopped and that the airman could not control the plane. Then, when not more than fifty feet above the ground it suddenly tilted over forward and crashed to the ground in the field, about an eighth of a mile beyond the boys. Looking aloft, then, Don and Billy saw the victorious English plane going straight “Work cut out for us right ahead there,” Don remarked, as he settled back in his seat and began to speed up his motor. “We didn’t think that our first ‘blessÉ’ would be a Hun, did we?” “No. What’s a ‘blessÉ’?” “Why, I think that’s what the French call a wounded man. I hear them using it that way.” “I know a little French, but very little; I hadn’t heard that expression before. Many of these war-time French words bother me muchly. Look out; another shell-hole! Say, this must be a regular farm.” They saw the house standing in a clump of trees. The roadway led straight past it; with increased speed the ambulance flew by and in a little while came to the fallen airplane. The winged intruder, ‘winged’ also as a flying game bird is by the accurate fire of a sportsman, lay twisted, beyond repair, its wings, uprights and stays crushed and broken. Almost beneath the flattened wheels on the other side, crumpled up on the ground, lay the unconscious airman. He had either leaped The boys were out of the car and beside him at once. Observing that he still breathed, they gently turned him over, trying to find where he was injured; then they saw a mass of clotted blood on his shoulder and discovered the bullet hole. First Aid was in order. Don ran to the ambulance and returned with a kit. Billy followed to unfasten a stretcher and a blanket. With utmost care, yet moving swiftly, though both lads were admittedly nervous over their first case, they got him on the stretcher, removed his upper garments, bathed the wound, plugged it with antiseptic gauze and then, covering him with the blanket, slid the stretcher into the car. What next to do? There was room for two or three more; why return with but one? And just beyond here lay the dressing stations, which they could reach in less than two minutes. Don made up his mind quickly and drove the car farther down the narrow farm road and over another field—a pasture. Half way across and toward them, four men were walking in single file. The boys The Ambulance was Stopped as though it had Butted into a Stone Wall. But strangest of all was the fact that the |