Suddenly a shot rang out above the chatter, and an old woman in a white cap screamed and tumbled over on the pavement,—­rolled about, kicking indecorously with both hands and feet.  A second crack,—­the little girl who stood beside Hicks, eating chocolate, threw out her hands, ran a few steps, and fell, blood and brains oozing out in her yellow hair.  The people began screaming and running.  The Americans looked this way and that; ready to dash, but not knowing where to go.  Another shot, and Captain Maxey fell on one knee, blushed furiously and sprang up, only to fall again,—­ashy white, with the leg of his trousers going red.

“There it is, to the left!” Hicks shouted, pointing.  They saw now.  From a closed house, some distance down a street off the square, smoke was coming.  It hung before one of the upstairs windows.  The Captain’s orderly dragged him into a wineshop.  Claude and David, followed by the men, ran down the street and broke in the door.  The two officers went through the rooms on the first floor, while Hicks and his lot made straight for an enclosed stairway at the back of the house.  As they reached the foot of the stairs, they were met by a volley of rifle shots, and two of the men tumbled over.  Four Germans were stationed at the head of the steps.

The Americans scarcely knew whether their bullets or their bayonets got to the Huns first; they were not conscious of going up, till they were there.  When Claude and David reached the landing, the squad were wiping their bayonets, and four grey bodies were piled in the corner.

Bert Fuller and Dell Able ran down the narrow hallway and threw open the door into the room on the street.  Two shots, and Dell came back with his jaw shattered and the blood spouting from the left side of his neck.  Gerhardt caught him, and tried to close the artery with his fingers.

“How many are in there, Bert?” Claude called.

“I couldn’t see.  Look out, sir!  You can’t get through that door more than two at a time!”

The door still stood open, at the end of the corridor.  Claude went down the steps until he could sight along the floor of the passage, into the front room.  The shutters were closed in there, and the sunlight came through the slats.  In the middle of the floor, between the door and the windows, stood a tall chest of drawers, with a mirror attached to the top.  In the narrow space between the bottom of this piece of furniture and the floor, he could see a pair of boots.  It was possible there was but one man in the room, shooting from behind his movable fort,—­though there might be others hidden in the corners.

“There’s only one fellow in there, I guess.  He’s shooting from behind a big dresser in the middle of the room.  Come on, one of you, we’ll have to go in and get him.”

Willy Katz, the Austrian boy from the Omaha packing house, stepped up and stood beside him.

“Now, Willy, we’ll both go in at once; you jump to the right, and I to the left,—­and one of us will jab him.  He can’t shoot both ways at once.  Are you ready?  All right—­Now!”