An awful fear, a fear that they had never felt in the fighting itself,
clutched the hearts of his comrades. Good old Tom, bound to them by a
thousand ties of friendship and comradeship--had he met his fate in this
desolate stretch of No Man's Land?

Frantically they searched among the bodies for one that wore a suit
similar to their own. Frank found it first. His hand went to the heart
and to his joy found that it was beating.

He lifted Tom's head and rested it on his knee.

"Tom! Tom!" he called, as he chafed his chum's hands and loosened his
suit at the throat.

Tom's eyes slowly opened, and, recognizing his friend, a faint smile
came to his lips. But he did not speak, and Bart, who was the only other
one who could be spared from guarding the prisoners, joined Frank in
redoubled efforts to bring Tom back to full consciousness.

"He doesn't seem to have any bones broken," said Frank after a hurried
examination.

"And he isn't bleeding," replied Bart. "But he has a lump on his head as
big as an egg."

At last Tom's full consciousness returned, and with his chums'
assistance he got slowly and painfully to his feet.

"Guess they haven't got my number yet, but they came mighty near it," he
said, trying to grin. "I'd just run one of the Huns through the arm when