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“Oh! we’ll try and not show ourselves, Amos; but since we’re a little mixed up in our bearings this seems too good a chance to lose.”

“These Dutch-style windmills we’ve run across in this strip of Belgium do make mighty good lookouts and observation towers. I warrant you some of them have figured heavily in the ebb and flow of the war.”

“This one has for a fact, Amos,” remarked the young fellow called Jack, as he pointed at numerous jagged holes in the concrete foundation, where evidently a storm of bullets had struck. “You can see how it’s been bombarded on all sides; and that top corner on the left was torn off by a passing shell. Here inside is a pile of empty brass cartridge-cases that tells the story as plain as print.”

“Made in Germany they were as sure as you live, and used in a rapid-fire gun at that, Jack. Yes, it’s all written out before us. Here in this concrete base of the windmill tower, some daring gun squad of the Kaiser’s men took up their stand with their outfit, and held the Allies off as long as their ammunition lasted. I wonder what happened then, Jack?”