All _you_ got to do is keep those two covered." With a silent dexterity which seemed singularly out of keeping with his rather heavy build, Tom shinnied down the side of the tree farthest from the brook, and lying almost prone upon the ground began wriggling his way through the sparse brush, quickening his progress now and again whenever the diverting roar of distant artillery or the closer report of rifles and machine guns enabled him to advance with less caution.
In a few minutes he reached the stream, apparently undiscovered, when suddenly he was startled by another rifle report, close at hand, and he lay flat, breathing in suspense.
It was simply that one of that pair had made the mistake so often made in the trenches of raising his head, and had paid the penalty.
Tom was just cautiously crossing the brook when he became aware of a frantic scramble in the bush and saw the German private rushing pell-mell through the thick undergrowth beyond, hiding himself in it as best he might and apparently trying to keep the bush-enshrouded hogshead between himself and the tree where the sniper was.

Evidently he had discovered Roscoe's perch and, there being now no restraining authority, had decided on flight.

It had been the officer's battle, not his, and he abandoned it as soon as the officer was shot.

It was typical of the German system and of the total lack of individual spirit and resource of the poor wretches who fight for Kaiser Bill's glory.
Reaching the bush, Tom pulled away the leafy covering and saw that the poisonous liquid was pouring out of a clean bullet hole as he had suspected.

He hurriedly wrapped a bit of the gauze bandage which he always carried around the bullet Roscoe had given him and forced it into the hole, wedging it tight with a rock.