BY short stretches the Germans and their three American prisoners had been pushing forward now for nearly two hours. The Huns were not in ignorance of their own danger of capture, and their progress was made with the utmost caution, the major number, with Tom, Ollie and George, forming a central party, ahead of, behind and on either side of which scouts reconnoitered constantly to avoid contact with American outposts.

Even in the silence and secrecy that was necessary in that cautious advance, the American youths had more than a taste of Hun treachery and brutality. Apparently the Germans knew that their prisoners were hungry, from having overheard their remarks immediately after their capture. They were made aware of their parched thirst when the lads asked for water.

And to aggravate their misery so far as possible, although the lads were too proud to let it be seen that the acts even annoyed them, the Germans, singly and in pairs, would walk directly in front of or beside them, munching thick slices of their own brutal-looking brown, or rather black, bread, or thrust the opening of a water bottle to the lips of one of them, only to withdraw it quickly with a low laugh when the youths thus sorely tempted would try to get at least a swallow of the craved water.

“They’re barbarians; they are without human instincts or feelings,” Tom hissed into the ear of Ollie, who walked in the middle of the trio, “so try not to mind anything they do. Our best course is to ignore what they do in their efforts to punish us, and to avoid aggravating them any further.”

At that moment Harper stumbled over a fallen tree branch and fell to the ground, splintering and crashing the dead wood.

A gutteral oath just behind him was accompanied by a sharp bayonet jab in the ribs. Harper was about to let out an involuntary cry of mingled pain and anger when Tom, who well enough knew the result would be more punishment, cautioned him, “Say nothing.” The Boche, who did not understand English, peered at the sergeant inquiringly through the darkness, but as Harper got up he did nothing worse than give him a vigorous shove forward.

They were now closely skirting a long fringe of wood that seemed to run almost directly northeast and southwest, and even the men who were stretched out ahead and on either side as “feelers” for the American forces kept well within its shadows, for the rising moon was bathing the whole countryside in its light, and objects, particularly if they were moving, could be discerned at a considerable distance. Occasionally they came upon the body of a dead soldier, the stark and staring eyes acquiring an added touch of ghastliness in the pale lunar light.

Occasionally the dull hum of an aeroplane motor would be heard in the distance, its sound rising to a roar as it approached and passed, but practically all the time it was within hearing the small band of Germans remained in hiding among the trees, and although sometimes the lads could see the machines so plainly that it seemed they might attract attention to themselves with a shout, they never were discovered by the pilots or their observers.

As this continued, and the distance covered made it seem as though they must now be paralleling, if not actually already by, the American lines, the youths became more and more depressed. The aeroplanes passed above them without knowing they were there, and thus far not a single American patrol had been encountered. The outlook was not encouraging. It began to look as though Tom Walton, George Harper and Ollie Ogden were to be ushered out of hostilities and into a German prison camp for the duration of the war.

Without a spoken word, but in glances as eloquent as any speech, the young men questioned one another as to the possibilities of escape; but though each cast about desperately in quest of what might look like the slightest promise or the smallest opportunity, none presented, and the three tramped on, striving to go along so quietly and unobtrusively as to allay all suspicion upon the part of their captors that they might even be contemplating escape. Each felt that if they could succeed in this, then the Germans might become less watchful, and perhaps, later on, when the Huns were more weary with their tramp and constant caution of attracting attention to themselves, they might drop behind and not be missed until they had made good their escape.

Optimism is an American characteristic, but particularly it prevails in the happy, care-free, sturdy American youth, and these three lads were of the sturdiest stock and could trace their forebears back to Revolutionary times.

It is good, too, that invariably with optimism goes courage and self-possession, or Sergeant Tom Walton might have gasped out his astonishment, or cried out in involuntary consternation, when he happened to glance upward just as a Boche in front of him struck a match to light his pipe.

There in the branches of a tree just above him, almost near enough for him to have touched it with a slight jump, a face peered down at him!

It was all in the space of a few seconds, but as the man there in the branches stared back at him, not a muscle of his countenance moving, his eyes blinking ever so slightly from the sudden flare of light from the match, Tom recognized in that swarthy personage one whom he knew—a man of iron strength, of indomitable will, of almost uncanny ability in following a trail—John Big Bear, Indian scout for Uncle Sam, one time crack rider and dead shot with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West!

Tom Walton could have shouted then and there from sheer happiness, for he recognized in John Big Bear the equal in strength, courage and swiftness of action, of any six Germans who could be picked from the Kaiser’s crack Prussian Guards. But instead of shouting, or even by any other utterance or slightest sign, permitting John Big Bear’s proximity to become known, Tom simply flashed back a look of understanding, to which John Big Bear vouchsafed but the slightest nod, and then the match went out, darkness again closed them in, and the Indian scout was left to the rear, still perched in the tree to which evidently he had climbed the better to observe the numerical strength of the enemy he had heard approaching.

It was perhaps a hundred yards further on, and while they were still hugging closely to the shadows of the wood, that Tom had an opportunity, a few quickly whispered words at a time, to impart a knowledge of what he had observed to Ollie. And a little later Ollie, by the same guarded process, informed George Harper.

They were now prepared for any eventuality, for they felt absolutely certain that John Big Bear, to whom all three had been friendly on more than one occasion, never would permit them to be taken prisoners to the German lines without some brave effort at rescue.

The question agitating the minds of the three lads was whether he would attempt this alone, or by assistance which he might procure from the nearest detachment of Americans.

Knowledge of John Big Bear’s nature made it more than an even supposition that he would try it without going far afield for other assistance, and especially did the lads believe this to be true now that he was certain that they knew of his proximity; for once he launched his plan, whatever it might be, he could count upon their assistance to carry it through.

Naturally, therefore, they were keenly on edge, and at the slightest untoward sound, even so slight that the Germans themselves did not seem to notice, they were ready either for a wild dash for liberty, a running fight, or a man-to-man struggle right upon the spot.

But the lads themselves, expectant as they were, hardly were prepared for the wily Indian warfare of John Big Bear.

They were in a particularly shadowed spot when Tom thought he heard the slightest grunt, or it might have been a suppressed hiccough, from the German not two feet away from him and acting as their guard upon the right. There wasn’t anything at all unusual about the sound. Tom turned a merely casual glance in that direction, and but for a slight nudge from a lithe form which had carried the German speechless and motionless to the ground, he would have come to a sudden halt.

John Big Bear was at work! And already he had disposed of one Boche—or was at that instant disposing of him—and without a single one of the other Germans realizing that anything had happened.

As Tom continued on he managed to cast one sidelong glance at the two forms locked together upon the ground. With his powerful left hand John Big Bear, trusty scout for Uncle Sam, had the German in a throat stranglehold, and before the under man could begin to writhe free, or so much as utter a groan, a knife which the Indian held in his uplifted right hand descended with tremendous force and unerring aim.

Tom knew that the Hun had died instantly and with only a flash of pain as the steel blade penetrated his heart!

Instinctively, rather than by any sound he heard, Tom knew that John Big Bear, as silently as the wild animals he had stalked years before in his native woods in the great northwest of the United States, was approaching again. He gave Ollie the barest nudge, and he in turn relayed the warning to Harper.

Tom felt a slight touch upon his arm. It was startling, even uncanny, to know that a man could move so silently and stealthily that he might be right beside one and his presence remain unknown until he, himself, revealed it. In the darkness the Indian pressed a finger against Tom’s lips, then put the automatic pistol which had been the German’s into his hand.

“Wait!” was the one word he barely breathed into Tom’s ear, and the latter knew he was only to use the firearm when John Big Bear directed. And he was entirely content to trust to John Big Bear’s judgment in such an emergency as this.

A moment later the German who had been stalking along beside George Harper, as the guard on the left, went the way of the Hun before him. Like a panther the Indian leapt upon him, strangling the breath from him and swiftly bearing him to the ground at the same time, and all so silently that no one else was the wiser.

Each of the lads realized what they had not before—that it was a crafty determination to learn all that could be taught him about his own work in life, and not any lack either of strength or agility, which had caused the Indian time and again to go down to apparent defeat in wrestling matches with a powerful and practiced Japanese athlete who was a member of Company M in their same regiment.

This Jap, descendant of a race of men noted for their agility and wrestling ability, their strength and suppleness and cat-like quickness, was an acknowledged peer of that mat, even among men of his own nationality, but more than once, after he had thrown John Big Bear only with the most evident effort, the lads had seen him look at the Indian in a silent questioning way, unconsciously shaking his head ever so slightly.

The truth was, as they learned later, he had sensed that John Big Bear, did he care to, could have proved himself more than a match even for this expert wrestler, for the Indian was bigger, stronger, equally as quick and lithe and agile. And in the last match they had seen between the two, the Indian had rapidly bent and twisted, side-stepped and squirmed until he had just the hold upon the Jap which so many times he had studied the Jap getting upon him, and then, as though his opponent was a mere child, he had lifted him into the air and placed him, impotent and shoulders squarely down, upon the mat.

The gleam in the eyes of the Jap as he rose was not that of hatred or revenge, but rather of good sportsmanship, mingled with a look that told of a suspicion confirmed. John Big Bear had been learning every trick that the Jap knew, without once revealing any of his own; and the Jap realized that except by accident he never would throw the Indian in a serious contest again.

These were the tactics that were being brought to bear now upon the helpless, unsuspecting Germans, and one at a time they were being rendered forever hors-de-combat and relieved of their weapons which in turn were handed over to the three lads.

But if John Big Bear was strong, able and self-confident, so also was he daring, as he proved beyond all doubt that night.

Having disposed in quick succession of the three Huns who were nearest the three youths, and who had been acting as their guards, the Indian was able to whisper something into their ears which made their hearts beat a little faster in startled surprise and admiration.

“No kill ’em all,” John Big Bear muttered in a low tone. “Take ’em prisoner like ’em took you. Show ’em heap big s’prise party. Show ’em American kill if want, take prisoner if want. Take ’em in, show ’em Heap Big White Chief Persh.”

The lads waited in awed silence for John Big Bear to make further revelations of his plan. All this time they were walking the same measured step as though nothing at all had occurred.

“Maybe kill ’em lieutenant,” the Indian continued. “Anyway get ’em uniform on me. Lead ’em to American lines. You follow. No get by you. See?”

The lads did see. John Big Bear somehow was going to get into the German lieutenant’s uniform, without any of his men realizing the substitution, and lead them directly into the American lines, with their supposed prisoners bringing up the rear to prevent their escape.

“You know whistle?” John Big Bear asked, by way of indicating the signal he would give, when attired in the uniform and taking over the leadership of the German officer.

They had heard it before. It was a sound like that of some distant bird crying in a wood. No one would suspect it came from a point less than half a mile away. John Big Bear was a ventriloquist in that respect.

The march continued. Within fifteen minutes they heard the distant, dismal bird-call that signalled that now John Big Bear was leading the Germans in the guise of their lieutenant. A moment later they left the edge of the wood and struck out into the open. The lads saw one of the Germans try to approach the man he thought to be his officer. John Big Bear waved him back imperiously. The march continued.

Twenty minutes more elapsed when suddenly, in a spot which the glare of the moon made almost as light as day, and just when some of the Huns had noticed the decrease in their number, John Big Bear swung about, an automatic in either hand.

“Stick ’em up,” he cried, and his manner was so menacing that the Germans, whether they understood the order or not, after one glance behind them, which showed them their erstwhile prisoners as their actual captors, were so dumbfounded that they did not even attempt resistance.

“Take ’em guns,” the Indian ordered, and Ollie Ogden carried out the instruction with alacrity.

“A regular arsenal,” he commented, as he gathered in the last weapon and divided the burden with Tom and George.

John Big Bear marshaled the Germans into a double file line.

“Heap step,” he shouted abruptly, and again the Germans responded as though the Indian vernacular was their method of daily intercourse.

They stepped—and at such a lively rate that in another ten minutes the startled challenge of a sentry informed them that they were within the American lines.

“Got ’em heap fool prisoners,” was John Big Bear’s response to the sentry’s demand; but the man was a member of the same company with the Indian, knew his voice, his value and his idiosyncrasies. He peered just long enough to make certain that it was John Big Bear, with a batch of Boche prisoners, and then summoned the corporal of the guard.

The colonel in charge of that particular section of the front was passing at the time, heard the call and stepped over. In a very few seconds he had gathered what had taken place.

He started to commend John Big Bear.

“Ugh!” the Indian interrupted, at the same time walking away, as though the colonel was nothing more than another private in the ranks, “Not hard ketch ’em. German big wind, no fight. Heap fool.”

And thus John Big Bear dismissed the incident and strode to the quiet of a well-earned rest.