A FOOTSTEP ON THE STAIR
For a few seconds after Don Hale had jumped down from his seat on
Number Eight Chase Manning sat motionless. His brain was in a tumult
and all power over his muscles seemed to have vanished. There was no
escape--there could be no escape, he thought, from such a horrible
situation; and when after a few moments had passed and he found himself
still alive it came as a matter of great surprise. Then, suddenly,
a reaction set in; the benumbing sensations which had robbed him of
strength and courage disappeared, and in their stead came a wild, a
feverish desire to run--to run in any direction so long as it led away
from the vicinity of that terrible road.
He heard Don Hale call, and by a flash of lightning discovered him
hastening away. To his mind his fellow ambulancier was seeking safety
in flight, and to act in any other way he thought would have been
sheer madness--almost like offering oneself up as a sacrifice to the
God of War.
He sprang to the ground, and, in a state of the utmost panic and
excitement, lunged heavily through the mud, seeking for a passageway
between the vehicles.
Those were terrible moments to Chase Manning. He felt cold shivers
coursing through him; his heart was throbbing painfully.
Shells began bursting with fearful force close about him and his
overstrained nerves threatened to give way completely.
Men were dashing past, running with all that mad haste which
characterizes the actions of those fleeing for their lives.
"It's all up! It's all up!"
The words fell stutteringly from Chase Manning's lips.
The flashing fire of the exploding projectiles, the thunderous
concussions and the fumes which were wafted in his face appalled him.
He began to experience a feeling of rage--of bitter rage against those
who were responsible for the engines of destruction on the opposite
hills.
He soon found a narrow passageway between the transports and then,
with lowered head, began running across a muddy, uneven field--a
field that one moment was swallowed up in pitchy blackness and the
next illuminated with a dazzling glare of lightning. In his panic and
confusion of mind, he entirely forgot the shelters that might have been
found along the road.
As he plunged and staggered ahead his feet often sank deeply into the
soft, yielding soil, which held on to them with a sucking, tenacious
grip that was hard to break. Although dazed--almost unable to think
coherently--he never ceased to put forth his utmost exertions. The
bursting projectiles were dropping to the right and left of him, ahead
and behind, each with a gleam of flame, a stunning detonation and
an enormous rounded pile of smoke, and now and then shrapnel shells
exploding in the air sprayed the earth with bullets.
Despite the pains and aches which the strenuous exertion brought into
his frame, Chase kept struggling on, in the midst of Heaven's storm
and the far deadlier storm created by man. Many a time he had narrow
escapes from falling headlong into the shell-craters that pitted the
field; many a time he crawled around a rim to safety.
At length, after having been on the move for about five minutes, he
began climbing the slope of a low ridge, and on arriving at the top,
his forces being practically exhausted, he was obliged to come to an
unwilling halt.
He had withdrawn, as it were, to the edge of the zone of falling
marmites; and with this knowledge the turbulence of his emotions slowly
subsided and he was better able to grasp the sense of things.
"Poor Don Hale!" he panted. "I'll bet he's 'gone West'![11] How
terrible!"
[Footnote 11: "Gone West": been killed.]
Making no effort to protect himself from either the wind or rain,
the young chap from Maine turned, and, with eyes that twitched with
excitement, gazed in the direction from whence he had come. A portion
of the road lay in full view, and as each flash gleamed in the sky,
he could see the motionless transports vaguely defined against the
background. Column after column of ugly-looking smoke was being swept
along with the wind, sometimes clearly in front of the camions,
sometimes clearly on the other side. Vaguely, he thought that the
Chemin de Mort never could have received a worse baptism of fire.
What was he to do? Where should he go?
Able to reason clearly for the first time since the explosion, these
questions presented themselves to his mind. And to neither could he
find a satisfactory answer. Of one thing he was quite certain--it would
have been beyond reason for him to return to the road.
And yet, in spite of his gratitude to Providence for having spared
him, he felt a curious and ill-defined feeling of dissatisfaction with
himself. Had he been guilty of deserting his post?
He could answer the question firmly with a "No!"
Had he acted with any degree of bravery?
He could also answer that question with a "No!"
Wet and miserable, Chase Manning passed through some very distressing
moments.
And then something occurred which once more caused him to start with
alarm. It was the familiar whistle of an "arrivé," a sound which never
failed to send a series of tremors through him. He had time to wonder
where it was going to land and whether he should throw himself flat on
the ground when the explosion occurred. And it was so close at hand
that for a few terrible moments Chase felt that he must certainly be
struck by some of the flying fragments.
"By George, that was another narrow shave!" he exclaimed, in a
hollow voice. "If I don't get away from here in a hurry one of those
confounded things will get me yet."
For a second time Chase Manning began a flight, not so precipitous as
the first, though none the less determined.
But for the lightning he would scarcely have been able to make any
progress at all; for he was now in the midst of a patch of timber.
The tall straight trees, mostly denuded of their branches and boughs,
seemed more suggestive of a collection of gaunt telegraph poles than
of monarchs of the forest. He did not succeed in getting through this
woods, however, without receiving many painful jabs and bumps from
various objects which impeded his progress.
A little farther along Chase stumbled upon a road at the crest of a
hill, and after his weary march over the water-soaked, torn-up earth to
be actually on a highway once more came as a most welcome relief.
"Well, only a little while ago I certainly never would have expected
that I'd be standing here safe and sound!" he panted. "Now, what am I
going to do? The bombardment along the road seems to be about over."
With the change in the situation the tension seemed to be lifted in a
measure from the young Red Cross driver's mind. He had gone through the
most frightful peril without anything more serious happening to him
than a few minor bruises and scratches. And now that it was all over
it scarcely seemed as if it ever could have happened. And what was the
sequel to be?
To this self-propounded query the answer came at once:
"Return to the road and Ambulance Number Eight, or, at least, to the
place where you left it."
But where was the ambulance? He had paid no attention to direction in
his flight and hadn't the least idea now where the road lay. Thoroughly
perplexed, Chase leaned against a tree trunk.
The storm had lessened, but of all the dreary and dismal situations
it was possible to imagine this seemed about the worst. Here he
was--alone, in utter blackness, with a few pattering drops of rain
occasionally falling and little gusts of wind toying with the
vegetation and making a weird symphony of sounds.
"The people who started this confounded war haven't my best regards,"
he growled. "It's----Oh--oh--hello! Who would have believed it!"
A flash of lightning had enabled him to make an interesting and
surprising discovery. It was the tower of the Château de Morancourt,
faintly visible in the distance.
"Great Julius Cæsar!" exclaimed Chase. "I said no more night visits to
lonely châteaus for me, but, by Jove, I'm privileged to change my mind.
After what I've gone through another visit would seem like a joyful
picnic. Yes sir--why not? The château at present seems to be perfectly
safe from German guns. So I'll just wait in the ancient stronghold of
the De Morancourts for daylight to come."
Having decided upon something definite, Chase immediately felt very
much better. He easily managed to persuade himself that it was the
wisest course to pursue, though at times unpleasant doubts persisted in
coming into his mind.
"Confound it! Nobody could be expected to take a chance of throwing his
life away," he growled almost savagely. "Anyway--here goes!"
Traveling along the road, the young chap made rapid progress, even
though the gloom was so intense that he often found himself plunging
off into muddy fields at the side. Thoroughly drenched, he waded
regardlessly through the pools and puddles, his sole thought being to
reach the château, and, in quiet and safety, give his nerves and body
the rest they required.
Arriving at the base of the hill, he found the entrance to the park
of the Château de Morancourt right before him. How it brought
back recollections of his previous visit! He thought of Don Hale,
the youngest ambulance driver in the service, and his anxiety and
forebodings concerning him increased, especially now that his thoughts
were not upon his own immediate safety.
"Poor chap--poor chap!" he murmured many times. "How great a suspense I
must endure! Ah!--war--war! What a terrible thing it is! Oh, but hang
it all, I mustn't think too much!"
Chase, groping his way past the gate-posts, entered the grounds.
Everywhere the surroundings were black and forbidding, for only an
occasional gleam of lightning from the now rapidly-departing storm
faintly illuminated the sky.
"Anyway, I'm in no danger of losing my way," he thought, a little
grimly. "Be as black as you please, old nature; I am in a position to
defy your efforts!"
Walking steadily along between trees which he could scarcely see and
by the side of lawns equally invisible, he soon found himself in
front of the ancient château. The lightning flashed, and the ruined
tower, austere and threatening-looking, stood for an instant a black
silhouette against the glare, and then melted away into obscurity.
On a former occasion the loneliness and mystery of the night
had strangely impressed Chase Manning; now such things appeared
trivial--not worthy of a moment's thought. He was no longer affected
by idle fancies or tricks of the imagination--actualities alone
concerned him. Even the thought of the mysterious sound and the
equally mysterious flashing light were totally disregarded as, slowly
and cautiously, he passed under the great porte-cochère and circled
entirely around the structure, not stopping until he came to the broken
window.
What he would not have dreamed of doing before had he been alone
he now proceeded to do without a tremor, and that was to grasp the
window-sill, pull himself up and enter the building.
"Whew! I thought that nothing could be blacker than it is outside," he
reflected, "but I was mistaken. It's a mighty good thing I brought this
along."
In another instant a pocket flash-light was sending a dancing beam of
light across the floor.
"That chair which disturbed our equanimity the other night ought to
serve as a mighty nice and comfortable resting-place to a weary,
mud-bespattered fugitive from the horrors of war," muttered Chase. "Ah,
but this has been a night to be remembered!"
Quickly crossing the great apartment, he entered the next, and, well
remembering the position of the chair, directed his light upon the
spot. But instead of its rays streaming over the piece of furniture, as
he had fully expected, they simply made a patch on the floor and wall.
And at the discovery of the fact that it had actually been moved again
Chase Manning gave a start.
"By George, that's queer!" he jerked out. "Is this really a deserted
château, or isn't it? Am I alone, or are there others around?"
He paused irresolutely, fighting an impulse to turn upon his heel and
make a precipitous exit from the place over which so much mystery
seemed to hover.
"No, sir! I came here to stay until daylight--and stay I will!" he
muttered determinedly. "Hello!"
The flash-light which he was idly directing about had suddenly lifted
the form of the chair out of the darkness. It stood in an inconspicuous
position, partly concealed by a handsome screen.
"Now, I'd give quite a lot to know just how it got there," he mused.
"Did the same person who moved it before repeat the operation, or was
it some one else? Ah, that's a question which would certainly interest
Don Hale!"
Then, as his thoughts reverted to his fellow ambulancier, Chase felt
such a troubled feeling coming over him that for a moment he quite
cast aside his reflections concerning the peculiar travels of the
innocent-looking chair. Don, he feared, was hasty and impulsive, with
the rash bravery which sometimes belongs to youth. What a terrible
thing it would be if anything should have happened to him!
Chase was thoroughly weary. His endurance had been tried to a greater
extent than ever before in his life, and with every movement pains
shot through him. Without wasting any time in cogitation or surmises,
he walked over to the chair, pulled it away from the screen, and then,
giving expression to a feeling of contentment, sat down.
"This has certainly been a night of contrast," he sighed. "From being
in the midst of storm and battle to a luxurious seat in a fine old
château is a wonderful change."
Stretching his legs out before him, Chase closed his eyes and prepared
to get as much comfort as possible, though, of course, in his wet
uniform and with shoes heavily caked with mud, there was not much to
be had. It seemed very solemn. From outside came the rumble of the big
guns; but the soft soughing of the tree tops in the breeze, a soothing,
lulling sound, aided the boy in his effort to compose himself.
Soon Chase was only vaguely conscious of his surroundings. He seemed
to be again going through the terrifying ordeal of the night, in the
midst of a most extraordinary confusion, neither real, nor yet unreal.
At length, however, as though his brain had become too weary to longer
allow these thoughts to hold such a mastery over him, he fell into a
peaceful doze and from that drifted into a state of profound slumber.
Though in reality considerable time had passed, it seemed but a moment
later that his eyes suddenly opened.
Chase realized that something had startled him, but what he could not
tell. A peculiar tingling sensation ran through him. He looked hastily
about. What did he see?
Nothing, save that the windows instead of being indistinguishable from
the rest of the room showed as faintly-gray patches of light--the dawn
was breaking.
Mentally deciding that imagination had played with him, Chase was about
to rise from his seat when he heard the sound of a footfall caused by
some one descending the grand stairway.
Quite electrified, he stifled a gasp. It was a most unpleasant
experience, conjuring up in his mind all sorts of strange, wild
fancies. Should he make his presence known?
For the life of him he could not repress a series of cold shivers; his
nerves were on the keenest edge. And as he sat there motionless the
tread of feet sounded louder; yes, some one was approaching.
Now Chase stood up. And then, as his eyes were turned toward the
doorway leading to the dining-room, a flashing light suddenly shot
across the threshold--and behind it he perceived the dark, shadowy form
of a man.