The Khaki Boys Fighting to Win; or, Smashing the German Lines

by Gordon Bates

  CHAPTER X

  DISQUIETING RUMORS

  "Well," remarked Jimmy, as he finished the cleaning of his revolverand started toward the door of the dugout, "if those voices weren't inEnglish I'd say the Germans had put one over on us and were raiding thetrench for pie."

  "Sounds something like that," admitted Bob. "What's it all about,anyhow?"

  "Let's take a look," suggested Roger.

  "And should it be dat some pies iss out there, maybe we could of takemore as a look," put in Iggy. "Maybe a bite we could of took."

  "You said something that time, Iggy!" laughed Bob.

  The four Brothers stepped out into the trench. It was not one of thefront line trenches, and was not in very great danger from a Germanbombardment.

  What the Khaki Boys saw was a much perplexed company cook, a tall,lanky Western lad, trying to stand off the good-natured verbal attacksof a crowd of hungry doughboys who had just been relieved from a ratherlong tour in the front trenches.

  "We want pie! We want pie!" they solemnly chanted, as though it were adirge.

  "An' by Gregory Josephus I tell you it's agin the regerlations!"declared Hiram Miller, the cook. "How'm I goin' to give you fellowspie, when I ain't got so much as a prune, now, to make it of? An' noflour--no nothin', in fact! You an' your pie! If you git canned Willieyou ought to be thankful. Canned Willie an' beans is all the grub I'vegot."

  At this mention of canned corned beef, generally dubbed "Willie," or"Bill," there was a groan from the lads who had just come off duty.

  "Beans!" cried one. "I'm ashamed to look a bean in the eye."

  "Beans don't have eyes--you're thinking of potatoes!" was a retort.

  "Well, give us potatoes then, but not beans, O Cookie!"

  "Make it a beef stew with plenty of gravy!" shouted a burly chap.

  "Pie! Pie! We want pie!" came the grim chorus again.

  "Say, you fellers'll drive me crazy!" stormed the cook, shaking hisfists in the air. "There ain't no such animile as pie, gol ding it!"

  "Give us pudding then!" someone suggested.

  "Oh say! By Hezekiah Slifkins!" cried the cook. "If you fellers wantpuddin' make it yourselves! I'm through!"

  Bob had a sudden inspiration. As he saw the tired, careworn facesof the lads who had just come in from a nerve-racking tour of duty,exposed to death and danger--faces which, in the ordinary course ofevents, were too young to have such strained looks, Bob wished he coulddo something to help relieve them. And, from his own experience, heknew that food would do this.

  "And there is food--and food," he told himself.

  The daily mess of the trench was not very elaborate--in the nature ofthings it could not be. And one of the great cravings of the fighterswas for sweets. That is why there was such a lot of chocolate used.

  "Pie! Pie! We want pie!" came the doleful chant again.

  "By Theophilus Porkenheimer!" shouted the cook, "if I hear that thereword agin, I'll----"

  "Say," said Bob, sliding up to him, "have you any bread or crackers?"

  "Yes, I've got lots of that, son. Fresh supply jest come in."

  "Got any molasses and condensed milk?"

  "Yep. But say, that ain't pie, nor yet puddin'."

  "Maybe we can turn it into something like it," went on Bob, "if we'vegot any prunes in this dump----"

  "Prunes! By Hezekiah Albatross!" cried the cook, "there ain't a prunenigher'n ten mile!"

  "Yes there is!" asserted one of the doughboys. "The supply company inthe next trench has a lot of 'em, but they're short of condensed milk.If we could make a trade----"

  "Go try it!" cried Bob. "If--well, we'll make some prune slump."

  "Who's 'we,' an' what's 'prune slump'?" asked the cook. "Dunno's I everhearn tell of it."

  "By 'we' I mean Jimmy, Roger, Iggy and I can make prune slump," wenton Bob. "I suppose you'd call it plum duff in the navy. But you takesome prunes, stew 'em, make a sort of batter of crumbled-up bread orcrackers, slap in some molasses and condensed milk, and bake it in apan. We used to have it at Camp Sterling. 'Member, Jimmy?"

  "I should say so! Go to it, kiddo!"

  "Here are the prunes!" cried a lad, coming back with a big bag full."They were crazy to trade 'em for condensed milk. Trot out your cans,Cookie."

  "All right. By Chesapeake Bay, maybe there'll somethin' come ofthis after all! Prune slump! I'll try to make it, boys, but I ain'tguaranteein' nothin'. 'Twon't be pie, but mebby it'll take on a flavorof puddin'! I'll make it."

  "Bully for you, Dalton, old scout, for thinking of it," said one of thelads who had demanded pie. "We're crazy for something like that. It'llbe like a little bit of home."

  "Or Ireland!" suggested a quiet looking lad.

  Then someone started to sing a popular song. They all joined in, andthe cook, with a look of relief on his face, hastened back to the rudeshelter that served for a kitchen and began to prepare the prune slump.

  It was a great success, and the name of Bob Dalton was long rememberedamong his associates who partook of the concoction, for it was justthat, being, as one lad remarked, about as unknown a mixture as a beefstew. But it was good. They all voted that.

  It was dark when Jimmy, Roger, Bob and Iggy went on duty up to one ofthe front trenches. They were on a sector where activity might breakout at any moment, and there was need for great alertness.

  Jimmy and Roger, assigned to one platoon, were to take turns doingsentry duty in one traverse, while Iggy and Bob were sent to anothernear by.

  Jimmy took his place on the fire step, and there he would stand untilrelieved, never taking his eyes from that grim stretch of dark earth infront of him, called "No Man's Land." On the other side of it were theGerman trenches, and from them, at any moment, might issue the Bochefighters in a raid.

  Roger crouched as comfortably as he could at Jimmy's feet, ready totransmit to the platoon officer any information which Jimmy mightwhisper to him, loud talking being forbidden.

  The night, however, seemed destined to be quiet. Up and down, toJimmy's right and left, stretched the narrow strip of No Man'sLand. Directly in front of the American trenches was barbed wire,fantastically tangled on posts leaning every which way. In front of theGerman trenches was more wire, similarly twisted. This wire was to stopa sudden rush in either direction.

  In the silence and darkness of the night the Khaki Boys kept watch andward to guard against surprise. Doubtless, the same watch was kept onthe German side.

  Soon after going on duty Jimmy felt a fine drizzle of rain in his face.The fact was unpleasantly borne to the knowledge of the others, andthere was whispered grumbling. But it had to be endured, and it wasfortunate that the lads had on their trench coats.

  "Pleasant--not!" said Roger in a low voice, as he sprawled in the mudat Jimmy's feet.

  "Oh, it might be worse. I'm wondering what poor Schnitz is doing now."Jimmy never took his eyes off No Man's Land.

  "That's so," went on Roger. "I wish we knew. Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed.

  "What's the matter? See something?" asked Jimmy quickly, but notturning his head to observe the shadowy form of his chum.

  "No. But I felt something! Rat as big as a fox terrier. Ugh! he nippedme on the shoe. Dirty brute!"

  "Part of the gay and festive life we live," murmured Jimmy. "Well, itcan't last forever, that's one consolation."

  Then he became silent--he and Roger. They waited in the trench forsomething to happen. And it did happen, but not in their immediateneighborhood.

  For suddenly, about half a mile down the trench to Jimmy's left, therewas a brilliant burst of fire, and a moment later the sound of sharpfiring from the German trenches was borne to the ears of the Khaki Boys.

  Instantly the traverses on both sides, and far up and down the line,were in tense activity. The waiting Sammies sprang to the firing stepalongside of Roger and Jimmy, and, doubtless, in the German trenchesthe same scenes were taking place. The din was terrific, even though,so early in the conflict, the artillery had not yet co
me into play.

  But presently the big guns began to boom, and then it became evidentthat the attack of the Germans, for such it turned out to be, wasagainst a sector some distance removed from where the Khaki Boys wereon duty. They, with their companions, were held in reserve. Theyremained to guard the trench. After the exchange of a few shots withtheir unseen Hun adversaries, quiet once more settled down over thatpart of the lines. But a sharp engagement was going on to the left,and the next morning it was learned that the Boches had captured anumber of Americans, having surprised them. It was not all clear gain,however, for several of the Huns were killed.

  And when Jimmy and his chums went off duty they heard disquietingrumors to the effect that the Germans must have had information aboutthe weakness of the line that they attacked. For it was weak, and thatwas the reason the raid was so successfully made.

  "How did the Germans know it?" asked Roger.

  "Someone on our side gave the information," said Jimmy. "At least,that's what I heard."

  "You mean traitors?" gasped Bob.

  "It amounts to that--yes," was Jimmy's reply.