THE LAST DASH
Never will Stewart forget the stark horror of that instant; never
afterward did he think of it without a shudder. It was one of those
instants--fortunately few--which stamp themselves indelibly upon the
brain, which penetrate the spirit, which leave a mark not to be effaced.
It was the flash of her white arm, as she sank for the second time, that
saved her. Instinctively Stewart clutched at it, seized it, regained the
box at a vigorous stroke, threw one arm across a handle, and raised her
head above the water.
Her face was white as death, her eyes were closed, she hung a dead
weight upon his arm--and yet, Stewart told himself, she could not have
drowned in so short a time. She had been under water only a few seconds.
Perhaps she had been wounded--but he had heard no shot. His teeth
chattered as he looked at her, she lay so still, so deathlike.
And then he remembered that shrill scream of utter horror. Why had she
screamed? What was it had wrung from her that terrible cry? Had some
awful thing touched her, seized her, tried to drag her down?
Shivering with fear, Stewart looked out across the water. Was there
something lurking in those depths--some horror--some unthinkable
monster----
He shook himself impatiently; he must not give way to his nerves.
Holding her face back, he splashed some water into it, gently at first,
then more violently. She was not dead--she had only fainted. A touch on
her temple assured him that her heart was beating.
He must have been unconsciously paddling against the current, for
something touched him gently on the shoulder--a piece of driftwood,
perhaps; and then he was suddenly conscious that it was not
driftwood--that it was soft, hairy----
He spun around, to find himself staring down into a pair of unseeing
eyes, set in a face so puffed and leprous as to be scarcely human.
How he repressed the yell of terror that rose in his throat he never
knew; but he _did_ repress it somehow, and creeping with horror, pushed
the box quickly to one side. But the bloated body, caught in the swirl
of his wake, turned and followed, with an appearance of malignant
purpose which sent a chill up Stewart's spine. Kicking frenziedly, he
held the box back against the current, and for an instant fancied that
his hideous pursuer was holding back also. But, after what seemed like a
moment's hesitation, it drifted on down the stream and vanished in the
darkness.
For a moment longer, Stewart stared after it, half-expecting it to
reappear and bear down upon him. Then, with an anguished breath of
relief, he stopped swimming and looked down at the face upon his arm. So
that was the horror which had beset her. She had felt it nuzzling
against her, had turned as he had done! No wonder she had screamed!
He felt her bosom rise and fall with a quick gasp; then her eyes opened
and gazed up at him. For an instant they gazed vacantly and wildly, then
a flood of crimson swept from chin to brow, and she struggled to free
herself from his encircling arm.
"Easy now!" Stewart protested. "Are you sure you're all right? Are you
sure you're strong enough to hold on?"
"Yes, yes!" she panted. "Let me go!"
He guided her fingers to the handles, assured himself that she grasped
them firmly, then released her and swam to his old position on the other
side of the box. For a moment they floated on in silence.
"How foolish of me!" she said, at last, in a choking voice. "I suppose
you saved my life!"
"Oh, I just grabbed you by the arm and held on to you till you came to."
"Did I scream?"
"I should rather think so! Scared me nearly to death!"
"I could not help it! I was frightened. It was--it was----"
"I know," said Stewart, quickly. "I saw it. Don't think about it--it has
gone on downstream."
"It--it seemed to be following me!" she gasped.
"Yes--I had the same feeling; but it's away ahead of us now. Now, if
you're all right, we'll work in toward the bank--it can't be far off.
Hullo! What's that?"
A shadowy shape emerged from the darkness along the eastern shore, and
they caught the rattle of oars in row-locks.
"They heard you scream," whispered Stewart. "They've sent out a patrol
to investigate," and with all his strength he pushed on toward the
farther bank.
Suddenly a shaft of light shot from the bow of the boat out across the
water, sweeping up and down, dwelling upon this piece of driftwood and
upon that. With a gasp of apprehension, Stewart swung the box around so
that it screened them from the searchlight, and kept on swimming with
all his strength.
"If they spot those bundles," he panted, "they'll be down upon us like a
load of brick! Ah!"
The light was upon them. Above their heads the bundles of clothing stood
out as if silhouetted against the midday sky. Stewart cursed his folly
in placing them there; surely wet clothes were preferable to capture! He
should not have taken the risk--he should have put the clothing inside
the box and let it take its chance. But it was too late now. In another
moment----
The light swept on.
From sheer reaction, Stewart's body dropped limply for an instant
through the water, and then rebounded as from an electric shock.
"I can touch bottom!" he said, hoarsely. "We'll get there yet. Hold
fast!"
Setting his teeth, digging his toes into the mud, he dragged the box
toward the shore with all his strength. In a moment, the water was only
to his shoulders--to his chest--he could see that his comrade was
wading, too.
He stopped, peering anxiously ahead. There was no light anywhere along
the shore, and no sound broke the stillness.
"It seems all right," he whispered. "I will go ahead and make sure. If
it is safe, you will hear me whistle. Keep behind the box, for fear that
searchlight will sweep this way again, and when I whistle, come straight
out. You understand?"
"Yes."
"Good-by, then, for a moment, little comrade!"
"Good-by."
With one look deep into her eyes, he snatched up the bundle containing
his clothing, and crouching as low in the water as he could, set off
cautiously toward the shore. There was a narrow strip of gravel just
ahead, and behind that a belt of darkness which, he told himself, was a
wood. He could see no sign of any sentry.
As he turned at the water's edge, he noticed a growing band of light
over the hills to the east, and knew that the moon was rising. There was
no time to lose! He whistled softly and began hastily to dress.
Low as the whistle was, it reached the boat--or perhaps it was mere
chance that brought the searchlight sweeping round just as the girl rose
in the water and started toward the shore. The light swept past her,
swept back again, and stopped full upon the flying figure, as slim and
graceful as Diana's.
There was a hoarse shout from the boat, and the splash of straining
oars; and then Stewart was dashing forward into the water, was by her
side, had caught her hand and was dragging her toward the bank.
"Go on! Go on!" he cried, and paused to pick up his shoes, for the sharp
gravel warned him, that, with unprotected feet, flight would be
impossible. His coat lay beside them and he grabbed that too. Then he
was up again and after her, across the cruel stones of the shore, toward
the darkness of the wood and safety--one yard--two yards----
And always the searchlight beat upon them mercilessly.
There came a roar of rifles from the river, a flash of flame, the
whistle of bullets about his ears.
And then they were in the wood and he had her by the hand.
"Not hurt?" he gasped.
"No, no!"
"Thank heaven! We are safe for a moment. Get on some clothes--especially
your shoes. We can't run barefooted!"
He was fumbling with his own shoes as he spoke--managed to thrust his
bruised feet into them--stuffed his socks into the pocket of his coat
and slipped into it.
"Ready?" he asked.
"In a moment!"
And then he felt her hand in his.
"Which way?"
He glanced back through the trees. The boat was at the bank; its
occupants were leaping out, rifles in hand; the searchlight swept up and
down.
"This way, I think!" and he guided her diagonally to the right. "Go
carefully! The less noise we make the better. But as long as those
fellows keep on shooting, they can't hear us."
Away they went, stumbling, scrambling, bending low to escape the
overhanging branches, saving each other from some ugly falls--up a long
incline covered by an open wood, across a little glade, over a wall,
through another strip of woodland, into a road, over another wall--and
then Stewart gave a gasp of relief, for they were in a field of grain.
"We shall be safe here," he said, as they plunged into it. "I will
watch, while you finish dressing," and he faced back toward the way they
had come.
The full moon was sailing high above the eastern hills, and he could see
distinctly the wall they had just crossed, with the white road behind
it, and beyond that the dense shadow of the wood. It was on the strip of
road he kept his eyes, but no living creature crossed it and at last he
felt a touch upon his arm.
"My turn now!" the girl whispered.
Stewart sat down upon the ground, wiped the mud from his feet, shook the
gravel from his shoes, drew on his socks and laced his shoes properly.
As he started to get up, he felt a sudden sharp twinge in his shoulder.
"What is it?" asked the girl, quickly, for an exclamation of pain had
burst from him before he could choke it back.
"Nothing at all!" he said, and rose, gingerly. "I touched a raw place,
where a briar scratched me. I seem to be composed largely of raw
places--especially as to my feet. How are yours?"
"One of them hurts a little--not enough to mention."
"You're sure you can walk?"
"Certainly--or run, if need be."
"Then we had better push on a little farther. The Germans are still too
close for comfort. Keep your back to the moon--I'll act as rear-guard."
For a moment she looked up questioningly into his face.
"You are sure you are not hurt?" she asked.
"Perfectly sure."
"I was afraid you had been shot--I saw how you placed yourself between
me and the river!"
"The merest accident," he assured her. "Besides, those fellows couldn't
shoot!"
She gazed up at him yet a moment, her lips quivering; then she turned
and started westward through the field.
Falling in behind, Stewart explored his wounded shoulder cautiously with
his fingers. He could feel that his shirt was wet with blood, but the
stabbing pain had been succeeded by a sharp stinging which convinced him
that it was only a flesh-wound. Folding his shirt back, he found it at
last, high in the shoulder above the collar-bone.
"That was lucky!" he told himself, as he pressed his handkerchief over
it, rebuttoned his shirt, and pushed on after his comrade. "Half an inch
lower and the bone would have been smashed!"
Away to the south, they could hear the thunder of the Liège forts, and
Stewart, aching from his own slight injury, thought with a shudder of
the poor fellows who had to face that deadly fire. No doubt it was to
this fresh attack the troops had been marched which they had seen
crossing the river. It was improbable that the invaders would risk
pushing westward until the forts were reduced; and so, when the
fugitives came presently to a road which ran northwestwardly, they
ventured to follow it.
"We would better hide somewhere and rest till daylight," Stewart
suggested, at last. "We have had a hard day."
He himself was nearly spent with fatigue and hunger, and his shoulder
was stiff and sore.
"Very well," the girl agreed. "I too am very tired. Where shall we go?"
Stewart stopped and looked about him.
On one side of the road was a level pasture affording no shelter; on the
other side, a rolling field mounted to a strip of woodland.
"At the edge of those trees would be the best place," he decided, and
the girl agreed with a nod.
Laboriously they clambered over the wall beside the road and set off
toward this refuge. The field was very rough and seemed interminable,
and more than once Stewart thought that he must drop where he stood; but
they reached the wood at last and threw themselves down beneath the
first clump of undergrowth.
Stewart was asleep almost before he touched the ground; but the girl lay
for a long time with eyes open, staring up into the night. Then, very
softly, she crawled to Stewart's side, raised herself on one elbow and
looked down into his face.
It was not at all the face of the man she had met at the Kölner Hof two
days before. It was thinner and paler; there were dark circles of
exhaustion under the eyes; a stubbly beard covered the haggard cheeks,
across one of which was an ugly scratch. Yet the girl seemed to find it
beautiful. Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at it; she brushed
back a lock of hair that had fallen over the forehead, and bent as
though to press a kiss there--but stopped, with a quick shake of the
head, and drew away.
"Not yet!" she whispered. "Not yet!" and crawling a little way apart,
she lay down again among the bushes.
* * * * *
Again Stewart awoke with the sun in his eyes, and after a moment's
confused blinking, he looked around to find himself alone.
The dull pain in his shoulder as he sat up reminded him of his wound.
Crawling a little distance back among the bushes, he slipped out of his
coat. His shirt was soaked with blood half-way down the right side--a
good sign, Stewart told himself. He knew how great a show a little blood
can make, and he was glad that the wound had bled freely. He unbuttoned
his shirt and gingerly pulled it back from the shoulder, for the blood
had dried in places and stuck fast; then he removed the folded
handkerchief, and the wound lay revealed.
He could just see it by twisting his head around, and he regarded it
with satisfaction, for, as he had thought, it was not much more than a
scratch. A bullet had grazed the shoulder-bone, plowed through the
muscle and sped on its way, leaving behind, as the only sign of its
passage, a tiny black mark.
"You are wounded!" cried a strangled voice, and in an instant his
comrade was on her knees beside him, her face pale, her lips working.
"And you did not tell me! Oh, cruel, cruel!"
There was that in the voice, in the eyes, in the trembling lips which
sent Stewart's heart leaping into his throat. But, by a mighty effort,
he kept his arms from around her.
"Nonsense!" he said, as lightly as he could. "That's not a wound--it is
just a scratch. This one across my cheek hurts a blamed sight worse! If
I could only wash it----"
"There is a little stream back yonder," she said, and sprang to her
feet. "Come! Or perhaps you cannot walk!" and she put her arms around
him to help him up.
He rose with a laugh.
"Really," he protested, "I don't see how a scratch on the shoulder could
affect my legs!"
But she refused to make a jest of it.
"The blood--it frightens me. Are you very weak?" she asked, anxiously,
holding tight to him, as though he might collapse at any instant.
"If I am," said Stewart, "it is from want of food, not from loss of
blood. I haven't lost a spoonful. Ah, here's the brook!"
He knelt beside it, while she washed the blood from his handkerchief and
tenderly bathed the injured shoulder. Stewart watched her with
fast-beating heart. Surely she cared; surely there was more than
friendly concern in that white face, in those quivering lips. Well, very
soon now, he could put it to the touch. He trembled at the thought:
would he win or lose?
"Am I hurting you?" she asked, anxiously, for she had felt him quiver.
"Not a bit--the cool water feels delightful. You see it is only a
scratch," he added, when the clotted blood had been cleared away. "It
will be quite well in two or three days. I sha'n't even have a scar! I
think it might have left a scar! What's the use of being wounded, if one
hasn't a scar to show for it? And I shall probably never be under fire
again!"
She smiled wanly, and a little color crept back into her face.
"How you frightened me!" she said. "I came through the bushes and saw
you sitting there, all covered with blood! You might have told me--it
was foolish to lie there all night without binding it up. Suppose you
had bled to death!" and she wrung out the handkerchief, shook it out in
the breeze until it was nearly dry, and bound it tightly over the wound.
"How does that feel?"
"It feels splendid! Really it does," he added, seeing that she regarded
him doubtfully. "If I feel the least little twinge of pain, I will
notify you instantly. I give you my word!"
They sat for a moment silent, gazing into each other's eyes. It was the
girl who stirred first.
"I will go to the edge of the wood and reconnoiter," she said, rising a
little unsteadily, "while you wash your hands and face. Or shall I stay
and help?"
"No," said Stewart, "thank you. I think I am still able to wash my own
face--that is, if you think it's any use to wash it!" and he ran his
fingers along his stubbly jaws. "Do you think you will like me with a
beard?"
"With a beard or without one, it is all the same!" she answered, softly,
and slipped quickly away among the trees, leaving Stewart to make what
he could of this cryptic utterance.
Despite his gnawing hunger, despite his stiff shoulder and sore muscles,
he was very, very happy as he bent above the clear water and drank deep,
and bathed hands and face. How good it was to be alive! How good it was
to be just here this glorious morning! With no man on earth would he
have changed places!
He did not linger over his toilet. Every moment away from his comrade
was a moment lost. He found her sitting at the edge of the wood, gazing
down across the valley, her hair stirring slightly in the breeze, her
whole being radiant with youth. He looked at her for a moment, and then
he looked down at himself.
"What a scarecrow I am," he said, and ruefully contemplated a long tear
in his coat--merely the largest of half a dozen. "And I lost my collar
in that dash last night--I left it on the bank, and didn't dare stop to
look for it. Even if we met the Germans now, there would be no
danger--they would take us for tramps!"
"I know I look like a scarecrow," she laughed; "but you might have
spared telling me!"
"You!" cried Stewart. "A scarecrow! Oh, no; you would attract the birds.
They would find you adorable!"
His eyes added that not alone to the birds was she adorable.
She cast one glance at him--a luminous glance, shy yet glad; abashed yet
rejoicing. Then she turned away.
"There is a village over yonder," she said. "We can get something to eat
there, and find out where we are. Listen! What is that?"
Away to the south a dull rumbling shook the horizon--a mighty shock as
of an earthquake.
"The Germans have got their siege-guns into position," he said. "They
are attacking Liège again."
Yes, there could be no doubt of it; murder and desolation were stalking
across the country to the south. But nothing could be more peaceful than
the fields which stretched before them.
"There is no danger here," said Stewart, and led the way down across the
rough pasture to the road.
As he mounted the wall, moved by some strange uneasiness, he stopped to
look back toward the east; but the road stretched white and empty until
it plunged into a strip of woodland a mile away.
Somehow he was not reassured. With that strange uneasiness still
weighing on him, a sense of oppression as of an approaching storm, he
sprang down beside the girl, and they set off westward side by side. At
first they could not see the village, which was hid by a spur of rising
ground; then, at a turn of the road, they found it close in front of
them.
But the road was blocked with fallen trees, strung with barbed wire--and
what was that queer embankment of fresh, yellow earth which stretched to
right and left?
"The Belgians!" cried the girl. "Come! We are safe at last!" and she
started to run forward.
But only for an instant. As though that cry of hers was an awaited
signal, there came a crash of musketry from the wooded ridge to the
right, and an answering crash from the crest of the embankment; and
Stewart saw that light and speeding figure spin half round, crumple in
upon itself, and drop limply to the road.