"Come on! Come on! Eat 'em up!" shouted Jimmy.

The others needed no urging. At the Huns they went--firing and being
fired at.

For a time it was a battle of rifles--the artillery and machine-guns
seemed to have been silenced temporarily. On rushed the Sammies, in
their own peculiar but comparatively safe, open formation. Rushing,
dropping, firing, up again, now down, but ever going onward, led by
their officers.

The Huns received the fire, and that it was deadly was evidenced by
the gaps torn in the gray ranks. Then they would close up, fire as
though by platoons, and come on slowly.

Suddenly the comparative slowness of the rifle fire was broken by the
staccato explosions of a machine-gun. It opened on the left of the
position taken up by Jimmy and his chums, and in an instant had mowed
down several doughboys.

"Take what cover you can!" shouted a lieutenant. "Where's that gun?
Did any one notice?" "Over in that red mill!" some one shouted.
Afterward it developed that this was Franz, who was an expert shot and
quick in judgment.

Dropping flat in the low-growing grain, many eyes of the Sammies
turned in the direction of the red mill. It was a French one, of
picturesque construction. And as Jimmy and his chums looked they saw
a little wisp of smoke come from one of the windows. Then came another