“Is this place hot enough to suit you, Jimmy?” asked O. D. as he and Jimmy huddled in a water-filled shell-hole while a drove of barrack bags went skimming over their heads.

“I’ll say, oui,” replied Jimmy. “Wish for a thing and you’ll sure get it. Remember my wishing that they’d send us to a real front. There ain’t no camouflage to this joint. Listen to that damn machine-gun music, will you?”

From the depths of the Haumont Bois issued the frenzied snapping and barking of machine-guns that contrasted strangely with the unending thunder-roll of the heavy guns.

Before Jimmy and his pal was the pivot upon which the German defenses in the Argonne depended. Upon that cemented pivot was hinged the hopes of the German High Command. If the pivot was forced the entire line of defenses that swung back and forth like a red, intangible thing in the depth of the Argonne woods would be swept away by the intrepid American troops. The Prussian militarists had rushed some of their finest divisions in front of Verdun to stay the advance of American soldiers who had been ordered to unhinge the pivotal defense at all costs.

It mattered not that companies and battalions were cut to pieces and mowed down by the hidden machine-gun fire of the Germans who held the high ground and were securely intrenched. The order was to force the pivot. Jimmy’s division had been ordered to unhinge it.

For three weeks he and his comrades had advanced yard by yard, each yard calling for the sacrifice of many brave men. After the third day in the lines beyond Verdun Jimmy had looked for his friend Neil, to learn that an ugly shell wound had sent him to the hospital. An entire new gun crew was manning the first piece, as every man had been killed or wounded when a German two-hundred-and-twenty made a direct hit on the howitzer. The Boches had been using gas with deadly effect. Ten men that he knew very well had been caught by the poisonous fumes and were evacuated to a hospital. Death had come pretty close to both Jimmy and O. D., but by some law of destiny they had come through unscratched.

“We might try to get back now, O. D.” Jimmy raised himself cautiously and scanned their surroundings.

A shell whistled, almost in his ear. He ducked down again.

“That drink of water may cost us a lot before we get back. Gee! but I was thirsty. No water in three days. It’ll be three more before we can pull this stunt again. Think them damn Heinies have got us under observation. Stuff’s comin’ mighty close. They’re breakin’ right over by that hill.” He pointed to a hill not a hundred yards away. It was perforated by shell hits and blue smoke was rising from a dozen places where shells had lately exploded.

“Dick said we were goin’ to fire again, toot sweet, so we’ll have to make a dive for it. You follow me, O. D.”

Jimmy squirmed out of the slimy hole and crawled away in the direction of his position. O. D. followed behind at about ten yards’ interval. The condition of O. D.’s clothing made him look like a tramp. His wrap puttees were mud-soaked and ripped in many places. His breeches were as dirty as Jimmy’s had ever been. He had the front written all over him. The guerre had stamped its trade-mark upon O. D.

After fifteen minutes of snakelike progress Jimmy and O. D. reached the position. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. Everybody and everything lived below the surface in those terrible days and nights beyond Verdun.

“Let’s get down to the old hole and lie quiet till it’s time to fire,” and Jimmy crawled down to what he and O. D. called “the hole.”

It was their home. The boys had stretched their canvas shelter-halves over the top of a crater made by a giant shell. Underneath this protection was their stock and store of worldly possessions, which consisted of an odd sock, a suit of dirty underclothes, and a little box that held a few personal trinkets. Raincoats, and what little extra underclothes they once owned, had been lost in the advance from Verdun.

Jimmy got to “the hole” first.

“Great Lord, O. D.! Here’s some mail. Ration cart just brought it up from the échelon. Guess it’s all for you. No here’s three for me,” he cried, excitedly.

Mail it was. The first that they had seen in nearly a month. Jimmy had three letters from Mary and in one was two pictures.

“To hell with this guerre!” shouted Jimmy, jumping up.

“What’s the matter, Jimmy? Get good news from some of the boys?” asked O. D.

“Boys hell!” answered Jimmy. “They’re from Mary—” then he stopped short and felt kind of foolish.

“Oh!” exclaimed O. D. “I knew Mary would write if I told her to. I’ve got some from her and mother.”

The two boys read their letters on in silence. The more that Jimmy read of Mary’s letters the more he was willing to believe the rumors that had been coming in by radio that the Germans might sign an armistice. In fact, you could have told Jimmy almost anything at that moment and he would have believed it. He studied Mary’s new pictures with the one that he had taken from O. D. O. D. caught him in the act.

“Mary gave me one of those seashore pictures before I left, but I lost it some place lately,” said O. D., looking at the two new pictures.

“Yes, I guess you did, O. D. I swiped it from you. Don’t mind, do you, old man? I wanted a picture of Mary.”

“Did you take that one, Jimmy?”

“Oui.”

“Anything you do, old boy, is O. K. with me. You know that, Jimmy, don’t you?” asked the brother of Mary.

“Bet I do, O. D. Funny how guys get to be pals up here, ain’t it! Back in the States you and me would have passed each other up, most likely. Out here it’s mighty darn different. Makes a fellow get down under the skin of things. I feel like I’ve known you all my life, O. D.”

“So do I, Jimmy. I never knew any fellow as good as I’ve come to know you.”

“Well, when men get close to dyin’ with each other, when they’ve starved side by side and damn near froze to death under the same pieces of cheesecloth, it ain’t any wonder that they find out who and what each other is. Do you know, it’s gettin’ colder every night? We’ve got to rustle up some more coverin’ soon or we’ll pass out one of these nights. It’s that cold mud underneath us that puts ice in the bones. Look here, O. D., don’t you wake up in the night no more and listen to me talk in my sleep ’bout cold and put your coat over me. Keep it on your side. I’m more used to this stuff than you,” commanded Jimmy.

“I wasn’t cold, Jimmy, honest. Think I’ll turn over and cushay a while. We ’ain’t slept in forty-eight hours now. There won’t be anything to monjay tonight; stuff got in too late for supper. Goin’ to give us some coffee and stuff ’round nine o’clock.”

“Well, we’ll both crawl in and knock out some sleep,” said Jimmy, and they got under their thin dirt-spattered blankets and fell into sound slumber wi............