A thousand eyes, from the Here-We-Come trenches, watched his
flight. And as many eyes from the German lines saw the huge
collie's dash up the coverless slope.

Scarce had Bruce gotten fairly into his stride when the boche
bullets began to sing--not a desultory little flurry of shots, as
before; but by the score, and with a murderous earnestness. When
he had appeared, on his way to the trenches, an hour earlier, the
Germans had opened fire on him, merely for their own amusement--
upon the same merry principle which always led them to shoot at
an Ally war-dog. But now they understood his all-important
mission; and they strove with their best skill to thwart it.

The colonel of the Here-We-Comes drew his breath sharply between
his teeth. He did not regret the sending of the collie. It had
been a move of stark military necessity. And there was an off
chance that it might mean the saving of his whole command.

But the colonel was fond of Bruce, and it angered him to hear the
frantic effort of the boche marksmen to down so magnificent a
creature. The bullets were spraying all about the galloping dog,
kicking up tiny swirls of dust at his heels and in front of him
and to either side.

Mahan, watching, with streaming eyes and blaspheming lips,
recalled the French sergeant's theory that Bruce bore a charmed
life. And he prayed that Vivier might be right. But in his prayer
was very little faith. For under such a fusillade it seemed
impossible that at least one highpower bullet should not reach