MR. BOA AGAIN
It was one of the most rapid motion-picture affairs ever staged in real
or cinematic life. What film enthusiast would not have given every other
opportunity he might hope for in after years for this one?
The Yanks and the poilus poured out of those buildings like an army—at
least so it must have seemed to their astonished foes. All of them were
armed with rifles, most of which had been picked up on the battlefield,
and were well drilled and officered, for Phil had looked after this
important factor while they were in hiding.
Far more rapidly than the narrative can be told, they charged in squads,
routing out stronghold after stronghold, gun nest after gun nest. The
boches did not know what to make of it, and their panic grew like a
prairie fire. They had no way to tell how many they had to face or from
what source they had sprung. The situation was almost ghostly in its
aspect of mystery. Consternation presently seized the entire enemy force
in this section and the helter-skelter race that followed in a mad
effort to escape from something like a phantom foe sprung suddenly out
of the ground was laughable in spite of the carnage with which it was
associated.
Near the end of the fight Phil found himself face to face with a
ponderous antagonist whom he was not slow to recognize. He cornered the
fellow in a street from which exit was blocked, or greatly impeded, by
heaps of debris. Mr. Boche then turned, at bay, with clubbed gun, missed
his swing, the weapon flew out of his hands and Phil had the late
commander of the “underwear squad” of Belleau Wood at his mercy. It was
“Mr. Boaconstrictor” of the large girth, “Count Topoff,” the so-called
“general in disguise,” who wore the insignia of a Prussian second
lieutenant.
“You’d better surrender,” Phil advised with a grim grin. “My bayonet
maybe wouldn’t reach clear through you, and your royal family would be
forever disgraced.”
Undoubtedly Phil would have succeeded in making a prisoner of his
antagonist if one of those fortunes, or misfortunes, of war that always
are beyond the control of even the most heroic had not intervened. A
pillar-like remnant of a brick wall about fifteen feet away, probably
shaken by some flying missile of the fight, toppled over, and a shower
of masonry struck Phil on the head.
If it had not been for the helmet he had picked up several days before
and preserved for such an occasion as this, he probably would have been
seriously, if not fatally, injured. But in spite of the protection, the
shock was sufficient to knock him over. Still he was not utterly
incapacitated for further action, and he staggered to his feet, gripping
his gun and attempting to recover his battling equilibrium.
But he was dazed, and his every effort was a wavering struggle. He saw
his recent antagonist bearing down upon him and tried his best to steel
himself for the meeting, but although armed and his assailant unarmed,
his chances were hopeless. He was like a drunken man attempting to stab
a piece of cheese with a table-fork.
“Mr. Boa,” the titled boche, brushed the bayonet aside like a reed in
his path and gripped the boy’s left arm with his powerful right hand. In
spite of his odd proportions, the fellow evidently had his share of
physical strength. Phil tried to twist himself loose, but his efforts
were of no avail. He must recover from the effects of the shock of the
fallen masonry before he could hope to resist an assailant of half his
ordinary strength.
“Count Topoff” held the boy with one hand, and with the other wrenched
away his gun. This was rendered the more easy of performance by a
feeling of nausea that seized Phil and took away most of his remaining
strength.
“Methinks that we have met before this time.”
If Phil had not been in his present condition of physical weakness,
undoubtedly he would have observed with interest this evidence of a
knowledge of English on the part of his captor. But it did occur to him
with a sort of hazy giddiness that undoubtedly the fellow had understood
his comment on the insufficient length of a bayonet to reach through the
diameter of his girth. He was in just the condition of mind on the
moment to face death with a sense of sickly humor.
“I suppose he’ll be taking a short cut measurement of my girth with a
bayonet pretty soon if I don’t come to pretty quick,” was one of the
ideas that whirled through the boy’s mind like a buzz-saw. “But he’s
disposed to play with me a little, I take it from the kind of English he
uses. Or is it because he got his knowledge of English by the study of
stilted poetry at Heidelberg?”
“You played a nice trick on me and some of my comrades at Belleau Wood,
didn’t you?” the boche of odd proportions continued. “Now what do you
think I ought to do with you?”
“You ought to be very careful what you do,” Phil replied with a fair
degree of energy, for the nausea was leaving him, although a severe
headache was setting in. “Remember that you are surrounded now by my
friends and if you take advantage of your temporary power over me,
they’ll see to it that I’m fully avenged.”
“Oh, that isn’t bothering me,” returned “Count Topoff” with a wave of
disgust. “What I’m thinking about is this: I can kill you very easily
right now with your own bayonet. But suppose I spare your life—will you
help me to escape?”
“How can I help you escape?” Phil inquired wonderingly. “I wouldn’t have
charge of you as a prisoner. I don’t want to promise to help you, and
then fall down on my promise.”
“Oh, I’ll figure out a way, never fear,” was the “count’s” answer. “All
I want is your promise—but, hello, maybe I won’t need your help if I can
hail this passing ship. Come on, I’m going to kidnap you on a tank.”
Before this speech was finished, Phil had observed the source of his
captor’s new interest. It was indeed a tank, a very large one, of a
design known to be peculiar to boche construction. It came crunching,
rattle-blasting, “caterpillaring” along right toward them.
Topoff led his prisoner directly in front of the huge engine of war and
stood there waving one hand as if signaling it to stop. Phil hardly
expected the hail to receive any response, even though it came from a
“kamerad” who was easily recognized by his uniform, but it did. The tank
stopped within a few feet of them, a side door was thrown open and a man
called out something in German to Phil’s captor.
The prisoner did not understand what was said, but it was evident that
the man in the tank recognized Topoff. Presently the latter said to his
prisoner:
“Go in there, quick, or I’ll run this bayonet through you. Hurry up now;
I won’t stand any fooling. My opportunity to escape and take you along
has arrived. Get in quick.”
Phil obeyed and the ponderous boche followed into the ponderous machine.
A moment or two later the tank was in motion again.