CHAPTER II
A PERILOUS JOURNEY
The shock was a heavy one. For an instant both combatants werestunned. The flying arms and legs straightened out and lay quiet.Then Frank staggered painfully up to his hands and knees.
Luckily he had fallen on top, and the breath had been knocked out ofhis opponent's body. But even as Frank looked down upon him, his foeshowed signs of reviving. His eyes opened, and a glare of rage came inthem as they rested on Frank.
He put his hand to his belt, but Frank was the quicker and in aninstant his knife was out and pointed at the German's throat.
"Say 'Kamerad,'" he commanded.
The German hesitated, but a tiny prick of the knife decided him.
"Kamerad," he growled sullenly.
"That's right," said Frank, "but just to make sure that you won't stickyour knife into me when I'm not looking, I guess I'll take care of it.No, you needn't take the trouble of handing it to me," he continued, ashe saw a vicious expression in his captive's eyes. "You just keep yourhands stretched above your head and I'll find your knife myself. Anddon't let those hands come down until I tell you, or something awkwardis likely to happen."
If the prisoner did not understand all that was said to him, there wasenough in Frank's gestures to indicate his meaning, and the hands wentup and stayed up, while Frank searched his prisoner and removed hisknife, which he put in his own belt. Then he bound the fellow's hands.
The attack had been made late in the afternoon, and dusk had fallenwhile the fight was still going on. Now it was quite dark, and Frankrose to his feet, intending to clamber out of the shell hole, takinghis prisoner with him.
But what was his consternation, on lifting his head to the level rim ofthe crater, to hear about him commands shouted in hoarse gutturalaccents. The sounds of battle had died down and it was evident thatthe fight for that day was over. And that part of the field had beenleft in German hands!
Reinforcements coming up in the nick of time had halted a retreat thatwas threatening to become a rout. The battle would probably be resumedon the morrow, but for the present both forces were resting on theirarms.
The tables were turned with a vengeance. A moment before he had beenholding a prisoner and getting ready to take him into the Americanlines. Now he was himself in the enemy lines, liable at any moment tobe discovered and dragged out roughly, to be questioned by Germancaptors.
All this passed through Frank's mind in a twinkling. But then anotherthought came to him. He must silence his prisoner.
The thought came not a moment too soon, for as Frank dropped downbeside him a shout arose from the German's lips. He too had heard andunderstood the sounds about him.
In an instant Frank had thrust his handkerchief into the prisoner'smouth. The man squirmed and struggled, but his bound hands made himpowerless, and Frank soon made a gag that, while allowing the man achance to breathe comfortably, would keep him silent.
Then he settled back and tried to think. And his thoughts were notpleasant ones.
He had had a brief taste of German imprisonment, and he was not anxiousto repeat the experience. Yet nothing seemed more probable. Littleshort of a miracle would prevent his capture if he stayed there muchlonger. In the morning, discovery would be certain. He must escapethat night, if at all. But how could he make his way through thatswarm of enemies?
And while he is cudgeling his brain to find an answer to the question,it may be well, for the sake of those who have not read the precedingvolumes of this series, to tell briefly who Frank and his chums wereand what they had done up to the time this story opens.
Frank Sheldon had been born and brought up in the town of Camport, athriving American city of about twenty-five thousand people. Hisfather was American but his mother was French. Mr. Sheldon had met andmarried his wife in her native province of Auvergne, where her parentsowned considerable property. They had died since their daughter'smarriage, and in the natural course of things she would have inheritedthe estate. But legal difficulties had developed in regard to thewill, and Frank's parents were contemplating a trip to France tostraighten matters out, when the war broke out and made it impossible.Mr. Sheldon had died shortly afterward, leaving but a slender incomefor his widow. Frank had become her chief support. She was acharming, lovable woman, and she and her son were very fond of eachother.
Frank had secured a good position with the firm of Moore & Thomas, aprosperous hardware house in Camport, and his prospects for the futurewere bright when the war broke out. But he was intensely patriotic,and wanted to volunteer as soon as it became certain that America wouldenter the conflict. For a time he held back on account of his mother,but an insult to the flag by a German, whom Frank promptly knocked downand compelled to apologize, decided his mother to put no obstacles inthe way of his enlisting.
But Frank was not the only ardent patriot in the employ of Moore &Thomas. Almost all of the force wanted to go, including even Reddy theoffice boy, who although too young, was full of ardor for Uncle Sam.Chief among the volunteers were Bart Raymond, Frank's special chum anda fine type of young American, and Tom Bradford, loyal to the core.Poor Tom, however, was rejected on account of his teeth, but wasafterward accepted in the draft, and by a stroke of luck rejoined Frankand Bart at Camp Boone, where they had been sent for training. Anotherfriend of all three was Billy Waldon, who had been a member of theThirty-seventh regiment before the boys had joined it. The four werethe closest kind of friends and stuck by each other through thick andthin.
There had been one notable exception to the loyalty of the officeforce. This was Nick Rabig, a surly, bullying sort of fellow, who hadbeen foreman of the shipping department. He was a special enemy ofFrank, whom he cordially hated, and the two had been more than once atthe point of blows. Rabig was of German descent, although born in thiscountry, and before the war began he had been loud in his praise ofGermany and in "knocks" at America. His chagrin may be imagined whenhe found himself caught in the draft net and sent to Camp Boone withthe rest of the Camport contingent.
How the Army Boys were trained to be soldiers both at home and later inFrance; their adventures with submarines on the way over; how Rabig gotwhat he deserved at the hands of Frank; what adventures they met withand how they showed the stuff they were made of when they came inconflict with the Huns--all this and more is told in the first volumeof this series, entitled: "Army Boys in France; Or, From Training Campto Trenches."
From the time they reached the trenches the Army Boys were in hourlyperil of their lives. They took part in many night raids in No Man'sLand and brought back prisoners. Frank met a Colonel Pavet whose lifehe saved under heavy fire and learned from the French officerencouraging news about his mother's property. The four friends had athrilling experience when they were chased by Uhlan cavalry, plungedinto a river from a broken bridge only to find when they reached theother side that the bank was held by German troops. How an airplanerescued them from German captivity is only one of stirring incidentsnarrated in the second volume of the series, entitled: "Army Boys atthe Front; Or, Hand-to-Hand Fights with the Enemy."
Frank had been in many tight places since he had been in France. Infact, danger had been so constant that he had come to expect it. Tohave a feeling of perfect comfort and security would hardly have seemednatural. But now he freely owned to himself as he sat crouching low inthe shell hole that his liberty if not his life was scarcely worth amoment's purchase.
Something of what was passing in his mind must have been evident to theGerman who shared the hole with him. Frank could not see his faceclearly but he could hear the man shaking as if with inward laughter.
"Laugh ahead, Heinie," remarked Frank, though he knew the man couldprobably not understand him. "I'd do the same if the tables wereturned. It'll be a mighty good joke to tell your cronies at messtomorrow how the Yankee _schweinhund_ thought he had you and then gotnabbed himself. But they haven't got me yet. Those laugh best wholaugh last, and per
haps I've got a laugh coming to me."
But just then the laugh seemed a good ways off. At any instant someone of the many passing to and fro might stumble into the hole and thegame would be up. Or a flare from a star-shell might reveal himcrouching beside his prisoner. His prisoner! What irony there was inthe word under those circumstances.
Yet not all irony, for at the moment the thought passed through hismind, another thought told him how he might exercise the power that thefortune of war had given him over the German and by so doing effect hisescape.
It was certain that in his American uniform he could not get throughthe Germans who surrounded him. His only chance would be to make adash, and although he was a swift runner the bullets that would be sentafter him would be swifter.
_But in a German uniform_--
And here was one in the hole right beside him!
The plan came to him like a flash of light and he started at once toput it into execution. But just then a sober second thought made himpause.
If he were captured wearing his own uniform it would be just as anordinary prisoner, entitled to be treated as such by the laws of war.
But if they took him wearing a German uniform he would be regarded as aspy and would be shot or hanged offhand, perhaps even without the formof a court-martial.
He weighed the question carefully, for he knew that life or death mightresult from the way he answered it.
To help him decide, he raised his head with infinite caution to the rimof the shell hole and looked about him. In the faint light that camefrom lanterns disposed at various places he could see men moving hereand there and catch the murmur of conversation where some of them weresitting in groups.
Occasionally a man would rise from one of these gatherings and moveaway, apparently without attracting notice or arousing question. Whycould he not do the same?
Of course there was the chance of a word being addressed to him and hecould not answer without revealing his ignorance of German. Butperhaps he could pretend not to hear or respond with a grunt that wouldpass muster.
One thing was certain. If it were done at all it must be done at oncewhile there were many about. If he waited until things were quiet hissolitary figure would be sure to attract attention.
His choice was made. Between the certainty of capture and the chanceof being shot he would take the chance. If worse came to worst he hadhis knife and his revolver and he would sell his life dearly.
He knelt down close by his captive and began to strip off his clothes.The man was inclined to resist, but a sharp prick of Frank's knife toldhim that his captor was in no mind to stand any nonsense and he layquiet. It was hard work because the man was heavy and the quarterswere cramped. The coat had to be cut off in places because Frank didnot dare to untie his prisoner's hands. But at last the clothes wereoff, and Frank slipped them on over his own.
It was with a shudder of repulsion that he saw himself clad in thedetested uniform that stood for all that was hateful and brutal inwarfare. It made him feel soiled. But he comforted himself with thethought that the clothes were only external and that good United Stateskhaki lay between that abhorred uniform and his skin.
He saw that the gag was still securely in position and that hiscaptive's bonds had not relaxed. Then as a last reminder he laid theback of his knife on the prisoner's neck and felt him shiver beneaththe cold steel.
"I guess he'll make no attempt to give me away," he said to himself."He knows that he'll be all right in the morning anyway."
Slowly and with the infinite precaution that had been taught him in hisscout training, Frank lifted himself out of the hole and lay flat onthe ground near the edge. There he waited until he was sure that hehad attracted no attention.
Then having carefully taken his bearings and fixed upon the directionof the American lines, he yawned, stretched and rising slowly to hisfeet strolled carelessly toward the outskirts of the camp.
Army Boys on the Firing Line; or, Holding Back the German Drive Page 2