A LIVELY CHASE
"THEY'VE gone," presently whispered Tom, in a disappointed tone.
"Only hiding somewhere near by," Harry assured him, equally careful to
lower his voice. "We'll begin to circle around, and presently rout them
out. Be ready to jump the first chance you get, and let out a whoop at
the same time. It'll give 'em a shock, and start 'em to running. Then
we'll soon have a pack on their heels."
"What if they use their trench grenades on us?" asked Tom.
"Not likely to except as a last resort. But we've got to take the
chances. Dodge, that's all. Now to swing around the big hangar."
Harry squeezed his companion's arm while saying this. Both of them were
fairly quivering with the excitement, just as highly strung race horses
can be seen quivering while prancing up and down awaiting the tap of the
bell that summons them to the wire for the start.
It was not pitch-dark, but even the possessor of keen eyesight would
have had to look closely in order to make certain that a moving object
was a human being and not a dog.
Harry's surmise proved to be well founded, for they quickly discovered a
suspicious movement close to the large hangar. Yes, the two Hun spies
were undoubtedly there, and already busily engaged in doing something
that could only mean trouble for the American escadrille.
Closer the pair of watchers crept. They could now hear the men
whispering as they worked, and Tom even believed he caught a guttural
German word used. This convinced him their theory was founded on fact,
and that these were secret enemies in the camp.
Another half minute and he felt Harry nudge him. That meant the other
believed the time had arrived for them to make their leap; and when he
felt his companion start Tom stirred himself.
Both let out a yell as they sprang forward. Tom more than half expected
to hear an explosion, thinking the Huns, on finding themselves caught in
the act, would fire their grenades promptly.
Nothing of the kind came about. Instead both men instantly dropped flat
and started to roll away with incredible swiftness, as though escape was
the first thought in their minds.
Tom hurled himself through space. His intention was to pin one of the
spies to the ground and try to hold him there until help came. Their
outcries would of course arouse every man within hundreds of yards of
the spot, and lights must soon be brought to bear on the scene.
Although Tom's calculations may have been all right, he did not meet
with as much success as he had probably anticipated. Perhaps the wary
Boche guessed what was coming; at any rate he succeeded in squirming
from under, and when Tom landed it was only to feel the other rolling
out of his reach.
But he went after him like lightning, bent on attaining his goal.
The Hun was scrambling desperately in the endeavor to get on his feet.
Tom hurled him over, and closed with him. Finding his escape thus cut
off, the other commenced to fight like a tiger, clawing and struggling
furiously.
They had it "hammer-and-tongs" for a brief space of time. Then Tom
slipped and lost his grip, upon which the other rolled over several
times, got to his knees, then his feet, and started to run.
But he counted without reckoning on the staying qualities of the
American. Tom had always been called a "sticking-plaster" by his fellow
players on the football field. He was not to be counted out of the game
until the last whistle sounded and the referee's falling hand closed the
fun.
So he was after his man with grim determination not to let him get away.
Having gone to so much trouble, and received in addition several
scratches in the contest, he meant to keep everlastingly at it.
The Boche dodged to one side, as there were men running toward them, and
already several lights had sprung up. Tom was close at his heels, and
gaining rapidly, being spurred on by an ambition to complete the good
work he and Harry had started.
He saw the spy glance back over his shoulder. The situation must have
appeared very grave to the other, who could expect to meet with short
shrift if caught in the act of trying to destroy the hangars and planes
of the American aviators in this bold fashion.
Just then Tom saw the man raise his arm. Guessing what he intended to
do, the Yankee air pilot dodged just in time. Some object went hissing
past, close to his head. An instant later there was a loud explosion in
his rear that seemed to make the very air quiver.
Of course the Boche had hurled a grenade with the intention of making
further pursuit on the part of his persistent adversary impossible.
Tom hoped that was the extent of his supply of such ammunition, for he
might not be quite so successful in avoiding the bomb another time.
Again was the fleeing spy compelled to whirl aside because of
threatening peril ahead. Dodging in and out between the khaki-colored
canvas field hangars he sought desperately to throw Tom off his track;
but no hound ever followed its quarry with more pertinacity than the
Yankee air pilot followed now.
Then something happened. Tom came in collision with a runner, so that
the two of them fell headlong to the ground. By instinct Tom hugged the
other in his arms. He suspected on the spur of the moment that this
might be the other spy, trying to elude Harry, and cutting across his
track by the merest chance.
The fellow struggled furiously, but Tom managed to get a good hold on
him, and kept it tenaciously. As the other was also clutching him his
further pursuit of the fleeing spy seemed doomed to failure; and so Tom
felt that the only thing left was to make sure of this party.
"Hey, Tom, let go! You're choking me!" came a voice that electrified
him, and caused him to release his clutch.
After all it was Harry upon whom he had fallen, Harry who having lost
all track of his man was rushing wildly this way and that in hope of
once again getting in touch with the fellow.
"Quick, before it's too late, join me!" shrilled Tom, scrambling to his
feet again as best he could, and feeling angry because of this
ridiculous accident. "There he goes, Harry! After him again!"
So they both started once more to run at top speed. The agile spy had
been able to put considerable distance between them while his pursuers
struggled on the ground, and seemed likely to escape. But there was one
thing that stood in his way.
Men were running this way and that in every direction, calling to one
another, and trying to understand what all the row was about. A squad of
oncoming hostlers blocked his passage. They evidently were beginning to
get light on the situation, for discovering the panting runner they now
set up a concerted shout.
This compelled the hunted Boche to turn again on his heel, and so he
lost a portion of his previous gain. Tom took fresh heart on seeing
this. Given one or two such lifts as this, and he believed he would
again come to hand grips with the fellow. And with Harry close at his
heels he fancied the next encounter would surely terminate badly for the
Hun spy.
"Spread out some, Harry!" he managed to shout.
His object in saying this was to make it more difficult for the Boche to
hold his own when necessity compelled him to veer to one side. They
dodged the hangars that barred the way, running in and out of the lines
with the swiftness of a hare followed by the eager hounds.
Once a waiting figure tried to bar the path of the spy, only to be
promptly bowled over. Desperation nerved the arm that struck that blow.
The German knew that his chances were almost at the zero mark, and for
the time being he was like a wolf at bay, ready to snap right and left
and do what damage he could before yielding himself a prisoner.
Once more Tom had made a gain. The Fates were favoring him, it seemed,
and with set teeth he kept up the hot chase.
Suddenly the Hun collapsed.
Tom almost fell over him as he ran on; and when Harry came up was
bending above the spy, muttering to himself after the manner of a sadly
disappointed person.
"What rotten luck for us, after all our work, Harry!" he complained, to
the utter bewilderment of his comrade.
"I don't get your meaning, Tom!" exclaimed Harry. "This is one of the
Huns, all right, and we've got him at last. What is there to kick about,
I'd like to know?"
"Why, don't you understand? He's wounded!" said Tom scornfully.
"Wounded! How?" echoed the other, still groping for the truth.
"Somebody shot him in the leg!" explained Tom, in disgust. "Just as I
was bound to jump him in another ten seconds! Did you ever hear of such
tough luck? Took the wind right out of our sails, he did, by using his
gun. If he'd put a bullet in my leg I could hardly feel madder, for a
fact."
Harry, however, quickly chuckled, as though he did not look at the
matter in the same way as his chum seemed to.
"Oh, well, the main thing isn't that we'd get a little glory from the
capture of the Hun," he said, "but that their desperate game has been
blocked. But this chap seems to be groaning as if suffering, Tom. He
ought to be taken care of, Boche or not."
"Yes, that's right, Harry," added the other, for the time being crushing
down his disappointment.
As some of the attendants of the aviation field came up just at that
moment there was need for explanations. Among them Tom noticed one who,
as he well knew, had charge of the hangars during the night.
"Lieutenant Simmons, here's a Boche spy who, with a companion, was
trying to bomb the big Beresford plane. Sorry we couldn't round up both
of them. This fellow has been shot, and ought to have attention. Now,
Harry, if you don't mind, we'll step around to your hangar and look into
the little job that brought us over here from the camp."
Tom really wished to get away from the crowd that was gathering. He had
no liking for being made an object of special interest. Although always
eager to attempt unusual exploits, it was only to please himself, and
not because of any reward or a morbid desire to be looked on as a hero.
Harry was not quite as diffident, and might have liked to linger a bit
to explain further how they had managed to discover the creeping
figures, and, having their suspicions aroused, closed in on them.
"I can see you later, Lieutenant, and answer any questions you may want
to ask about this stuff," he remarked, as he followed Tom away from the
group.
Tom was still "huffy" as Harry called it. He seemed to feel that the
ambitious marksman who had taken a pot-shot at the runner ahead had
really cheated him out of half the pleasure accompanying the capture of
the spy.
"I heard one big splash," Harry said, "which I take it was made by a
trench grenade. Did that Boche try to knock you out, Tom?"
"Oh, he let loose with one of his sort, but it was the easiest thing
going to duck under. He's got a lot to learn about flinging those little
knockers underhand. It takes a baseball pitcher to do the trick right.
How about your man, Harry?"
The other gave a grunt of disgust.
"Nothing doing with that slick dodger, I tell you, Tom. He must have
been a premium sprinter when at home, for the way he dodged in and out
made my brain reel. I kept after him as best I could, but, shucks! he
was in another class from me. And so I lost him in the shuffle. He
disappeared just like a wisp of smoke in the breeze."
"But you were still running like a hare when we banged into each other,
unless I'm greatly mistaken," continued Tom humorously.
"Sure I was! Trying to get a fresh glimpse of my duck. When I hit you I
thought it was that Boche, and then a light fell on your face, coming
from that head-lamp on a motor truck some one suddenly turned on. I
reckon I'll have a beautiful lump on my forehead where I struck against
a pole while running. It knocked me flat, and that was when I lost my
man."
Tom now began to laugh.
"A pretty lively skirmish, all told, when you come to think of it," he
observed. "I'll have to forget about that chap who was too quick on the
trigger, and only add up results. One Boche spy captured, wounded; and
the other gets away. But he's had his scare good and hard, and there's
little danger of his giving us any more trouble."
Whatever became of the captured Boche neither of them ever knew. Perhaps
he was simply taken to the hospital and treated for his wound, as so
many of his fellow Huns had been; and then again did time permit and
opportunity arise he might be tried by drumhead courtmartial on the
serious charge of being a spy.
Having satisfied themselves with regard to the matter in dispute, the
two boys later on returned once more to the camp and sought to secure
some much needed sleep, fully conscious that the duties of the coming
day would again sap their energies and bring them renewed chances for
thrilling action.