Chapter 23

CUTTING THEIR WAY OUT

Frank sprang to his feet.

"What do you mean?" he cried.

"Just this," replied Tom, taking the confession from his pocket. "He told me the whole story and there it is in black and white, names of witnesses and all."

Frank read the confession with growing excitement, while his comrades clustered closely around him.

"Tom, old scout!" Frank exclaimed, as the whole significance of the confession dawned upon him, "you've done me a service that I'll never forget. Now we can see our way clear, and my mother will come into her rights."

"I'm mighty glad, old boy," replied Tom with a happy smile. "I've held on to that paper through thick and thin, because I knew what it would mean to you and your mother. But now," he went on, "I've been answering the questions of all this bunch and turn about is fair play. Tell me how our boys are doing. How is the big drive going on? Have we stopped the Germans yet?"

"They're slowing up," said Bart.

"We're whipping them," declared Billy.

"I wouldn't quite say that," objected Frank. "We haven't whipped them yet except in spots. Of course we're going to lick them. The whole world knows that now except the Germans themselves, and I shouldn't wonder if they were beginning to believe it in their hearts. But they'll stand a whole lot of beating yet, and we don't want to kid ourselves that it's going to be an easy job. But we're holding them back, and pretty soon we'll be driving them back."

"I'll bet the old Thirty-seventh has been doing its full share," said Tom proudly.

"You bet it has," crowed Billy. "Tom, old man, you've missed some lovely fighting."

"You fellows have had all the luck," refilled Tom wistfully.

"Don't grouch, Tom," laughed Frank. "There's plenty of it yet to come. And I'll bet you'll fight harder than ever now, when you think of all you've been through. You've got a personal score to settle with the Huns now, as well as to get in licks for Uncle Sam."

"You're right there," replied Tom, as his eyes blazed. "I can't wait to get at them. My fingers fairly itch to get hold of a rifle."

"But you ought to have a little rest and get your strength back before you get in the ranks again," suggested Bart.

"None of that rest stuff for me," declared Tom. "When you boys get in I'm going to be right alongside of you."

His wish was not to be gratified that day, however, for there was a lull in the fighting just then while the hostile armies manoeuvred for position. But the pause was only temporary, and the next day the storm broke in all its fury.

Of course Tom had to make a report at headquarters. There his story, especially as it related to Nick Rabig, was listened to with much interest.

When the fighting began again it was not trench work. That was already in the past. Of course the armies took advantage of whatever shelter was offered them, and there were times when shallow trenches were dug with feverish haste. But these were only to be used for minutes or for hours, not for weeks and months at a time. The great battle had become one of open warfare, and it ebbed and flowed over miles of meadow and woodland, of hill and valley.

It was just the style of fighting that suited the American troops. They wanted action, action every minute. They wanted to see their enemies, to get at grips with them, to pit their brawn and muscle, their wit and courage against the best the enemy could bring forth. It was the way their ancestors had fought, man to man, bayonet to bayonet, where sheer pluck and power would give the victory to the men who possessed them in largest measure.

"We'll be in it up to our necks in a few minutes now," muttered Bart, as they waited for the order to charge.

"It's going to be hot work," remarked Billy. "They've got a pile of men in that division over there, and they've been putting up a stiff fight so far this morning."

"They're in for a trimming," declared Frank. "Just wait till the old Thirty-seventh goes at them on the double quick."

"Why don't the orders come?" grumbled Tom.

They came at last and, with a rousing cheer, the regiment rushed forward. The enemy's guns opened up at them, and a deadly barrage sought to check the wild fury of their charge. Men went down as shot and shell tore through them, but the others never faltered. The old Thirty-seventh was out to win that morning, and a bad time was in store for whoever stood in the way of its headlong rush.

In the front ranks the Army Boys fought shoulder to shoulder, and when the regiment struck the enemy line, they plunged forward with the bayonet. There was a furious melée as they ploughed their way through.

So impetuous was their dash that it carried them too fast and too far. They found themselves fighting with a group of their comrades against a fresh body of enemy troops who had just been thrown in in a fierce counterattack. For the moment they were greatly outnumbered and as the enemy closed around the little band it seemed as though they were doomed to be cut off from the support of their comrades.

They must cut their way through and rejoin the main body. And not a moment must be lost, for the ring surrounding them was constantly being augmented by fresh reinforcements.

A shot tore Frank's rifle out of his hands. He looked around and saw an axe that had been left there by some one of an engineer corps.

He stooped and picked it up. He swung it high above his head. In his powerful hands it was a fearful weapon, and the enemy detachment hi front of him faltered and drew back.

With a shout of "Lusitania!" Frank leaped forward, his eyes flashing with the fury of the fight, his axe hewing right and left. Foot by foot he cut his way through the crowded ranks.

Then suddenly a great blackness came down upon him and he knew nothing more.