"But what is that noise?" went on Bob. "It sounds like the relief
coming, and yet we can't be going to be relieved so near the zero
hour. It's impossible."

"Him one big word is," sighed Iggy, trying to adjust his Polish tongue
to the strange language called English. "But thinks me nothing is like
him in dis war!"

"Nothing is like what?" asked Schnitzel, the talk now being reduced to
whispers on the part of all three.

"Him wot you said--repossible," said the Polish lad.

"Hush!" quickly exclaimed Bob, or Dal, as he was variously called by
his comrades. "There _is_ some one coming along the trench. If it's
the Boches--"

This was enough to cause all three to grip their rifles more tightly.
The sound of advancing footsteps, cautious as they were, was now more
audible. Then came a whispered, but sharp:

"Halt! Who goes there!"

"Our lieut's on the job!" commented Bob.

Tensely the three who stood shoulder to shoulder in the darkness of
the foremost trench, waiting, listened for the answer. It came, also
in a whisper, but it carried to their ears.

"Sergeant Blaise and Sergeant Barlow, ordered to report here to you,