he had a _penchant_, one knows. After that he crawls over that accursed
country, in and out of shellholes, rifle in his teeth likely--the good
God knows where else, for one need be all hands and feet for such
crawling. He crawled in that fashion till at last he lost himself. And
then he was concerned to find out where might be our lines till in time
he heard a sound of snoring and was well content. Home at last. He
tumbled into a dark trench, remarking only that it was filled with men
since he left, and so tired he was with his adventure that he pushed
away the man next, who was at the end, to gain space, and he rolled over
to sleep. But that troublesome man next took too much room. Our
Hirondelle planted him a kick in the middle of the back. At which the
man half waked and swore at him--in German. And dropped off to sleep
again with his leg of a pig slung across Hirondelle's chest. At that
second a star-shell lighted up the affair, and Hirondelle, staring with
much interest, believe me, saw a trench filled with sleeping Boches. To
get out of that as quietly as might be was the game--_n'est-ce-pas, mes
amis_? But not for Hirondelle.

"'My colonel has a liking for prisoners,' he reported later. 'My
captain's orders were to conduct oneself _très comme il faut_. It is
always _comme il faut_ to please the colonel. Therefore it seemed _en
regle_ to take a prisoner. I took him. _Le v'la_.'

"What the fellow did was to wait till the Boche next door was well
asleep, then slowly remove his rifle, then fasten on his throat with a
grip which Hirondelle understood, and finally to overpower the Boche
till he was ready enough to crawl out at the muzzle of Hirondelle's
rifle."

There was a stir in the little group of guides, and from the shadows