A week after coming out of the hospital Joe was able to take up light work, and did his share of making pictures of trench life.  He had a big bruise on one side, a discolored patch that had an unpleasant look, but which soon ceased to give much pain except after a period of exertion.

“Well, you’re a veteran now—­been wounded,” said Blake to his chum.

“Yes, I suppose you can call it that.  I don’t care for any more, though.”

The plan in operation at this particular section of the front where the moving picture boys were quartered and on duty was for the soldiers to spend five or six days in the trenches, taking turns of duty near No Man’s Land, and then going back to rest in the dug-outs.  After that they would have a day or so of real rest back of the lines, out of reach of the big guns.

And there the real fun of soldiering, if fun it can be called amid the grim business of war, was to be had.  The officers and men vied with one another in trying to forget the terrible scenes through which they had gone, and little entertainments were gotten up, the moving picture boys doing their share.

Thus they obtained views of trench life both grave and gay, though it must be admitted that the more serious predominated.  There were many wounded, many killed, and, occasionally, one of the parties going out on patrol or listening-duty at night would never come back, or, at most, one or two wounded men would come in to tell of a terrific struggle with a party of Huns.

Sometimes, though, the tale would be the other way around, and the Americans would come in with a number of captives who showed the effects of severe fighting.

CHAPTER XIX

GASSED

“Well, there’s one thing about it,” remarked Joe to Blake one day, as they sat in the shade beside the French cottage waiting for orders.  “This isn’t as nervous work as traveling on a ship, waiting for a submarine.”

It was three weeks after the first and only engagement they had taken part in, and, meanwhile, they had filmed many more peaceful scenes of army life on the front.

“Especially when you know there’s a traitor in the cabin across the hall that may signal any minute for you to be blown up,” Blake responded to his friend’s remark.  “You’re right there, Joe.  But how’s the side?”

“Coming on all right.  Hurts hardly at all now.  I wonder what became of those two fellows?”

“Which two?”

“Secor and Labenstein.”

“Oh, I thought you meant those two German officers who tried to hire us to send some word back to their folks about them.”

This had been the case:  In a batch of prisoners brought in after a raid which was most successful on the part of the Americans, two captured German officers of high rank who spoke English well had offered Blake and Joe a large sum if they would send word of their fate and where they were held prisoners to an address in Berlin.