Ned, Bob and Jerry on the Firing Line; Or, The Motor Boys Fighting for Uncle Sam
as he nearly hit me just now. But now I'll get him!"

"That bush doesn't seem big enough to shelter a man," observed Bob, as he, too, took an observation.

"There's a hole dug under it, and he's hiding in that," said Ned. "At first I thought the sharpshooter was popping at us from some height, and I believe he was, a week or so back. But now he has changed his tactics. He's doing ground sniping, and that bit of bush hasn't any roots."

"What do you mean?" asked Jerry.

"I mean it's a bit of camouflage. The sharpshooter moves it about with him, thinking we'll believe it's natural. He scoops a hole, gets in with only his head sticking out, and puts this bit of foliage in front of him as a screen. Now, Bob, you take your helmet, and when I tell you hold it up on your gun. Jerry, you come with me down the trench a way, and please don't fire until after I do. If I miss, you get him, but I want first shot.

"I want Bob to draw his fire, if he can," explained Ned. "I'll be in reserve to shoot as soon as I see the flash. If I miss you take him. It's got to be nip and tuck, and we'll have to make it a snap shot, for he'll drop back into the hole after he fires."

"Go to it!" advised the tall lad. "I'm with you."

Quickly they made their preparations. While Ned and Jerry went a little way down the trench, Bob took off his helmet and put it on the end of his gun. He then awaited the signal from Ned.

"Show your tin hat!"

Slowly, and simulating as much as possible a soldier raising his head above the top line of the trench, Bob elevated the helmet. Hardly had he done so when there came a sharp crack, and the helmet spun around on the point of the bayonet as a juggler spins a plate on the end of his walking stick.

"Right O!" cried Ned, and, almost in the same detonation as the firing of the German's gun, Ned's rifle spoke. The clump of bushes seemed to spout up into the air...

"You got him!" cried Jerry.

"Yes," assented Ned, as he lowered his gun. "You won't have to shoot, old man. Fritz won't do any more pot-hunting."

The three chums were congratulated by their relief, which came soon after that, on ridding that part of this particular sector of a menace that 
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