A SUSPECTED SPY
For a time Jimmie forgot the drudgery to which he had been sentenced as
a result of his fight with Otto for possession of the tiny packet
concealed in the Cossack uniform. Forgotten were the multiplicity of
duties incident to his service as a member of the "kitchen police"--the
work to which all offenders in the army were subjected, and which
corresponded to the tasks of a garbage collector.
Apparently the lad was devoting himself wholly to the strenuous labor
of calisthenics. There seemed to be no idea in his mind of making any
certain motion a given number of times for the purpose of developing
different muscles. Instead he merely placed his arms in various
positions and held them there a moment before assuming a different
attitude. Seldom did he repeat any motion.
We know, of course, that he had seen the boys as they emerged from the
underground cavern that nearly proved their tomb. He had taken a
chance on their being his comrades and had made signals to attract
their attention. When he received an answering wave of the arm from
Ned he delightedly began sending a message by means of the well-known
semaphore code. Although the lad possessed no flags or other means of
carrying out fully the code as prescribed, he did the best he could
with only his arms for signals. We know that Ned and his chums were
able correctly to interpret the message Jimmie was sending.
"Great frozen hot boxes!" mused the boy half aloud. "They are down
there among the ruins. I wonder how they got free of the searching
party. Things have been coming pretty fast for me lately, and I
declare I clean forgot the others. Wonder what they'll do."
He had not long to wait. Directly he saw Ned and the others consulting
beside the aeroplane. The next moment Ned had stepped clear of the
machine and began waving his arms after the same fashion adopted by
Jimmie when he spelled out his own name.
"There he goes!" declared Jimmie to himself. "There he is making the
letter 'C.' There comes 'A,' and next is 'N.' That is 'Can.' Now
here comes 'U;' 'Can You.' Here is 'G,' 'E,' 'T.' 'Can You Get--.'
Now he says 'A,' 'W,' 'A,' 'Y.' That's 'Away.' Can I get away? Not
very handy with all these Germans about. Guess I'll have to tell him
something myself. Here goes."
Accordingly Jimmie began a reply in the same code. He briefly informed
Ned that he understood the regiment was to go west, probably to Verdun,
where Jimmie had heard that heavy fighting was taking place. He also
stated that he was unable to escape in daylight, but that he would try
to do so after nightfall.
In response to this wig-wagging Ned began to give directions for their
co-operation in an attempt at escape by Jimmie, when suddenly he
discerned a soldier creeping up behind his red-headed friend.
Instantly he gave the well-known danger signal and tried to tell Jimmie
that someone was near. For some strange reason the lad failed to
comprehend the information given, and not until it was too late did he
realize that it was himself who was in danger.
Intently watching Ned and trying to interpret the signals being made by
the older boy, Jimmie did not observe the footsteps of the approaching
soldier. Suddenly he felt an arm thrown about his neck. He was drawn
irresistably backward by the strong arm that shut off his wind nearly
to the choking point.
With all the energy in his lithe young body the lad tried to kick and
strike at his unseen antagonist, but his efforts were unavailing.
For what seemed to the lad countless years the vise-like grasp was
maintained upon his windpipe. He began to understand that his
struggles were useless, and spent his entire energy in an effort to
stiffen the cords of his neck, hoping to assist his breathing by so
doing. Presently, as he ceased his struggles, the soldier who had so
skillfully captured him set the lad upon his feet.
"So," began the soldier, "think you that we understand not the fact
that you are but a spy and that information you are giving to your
friends in the city? Yes. It is indeed so."
Jimmie's only reply was a wrinkling of his freckled nose in a grimace
of extreme disgust and contempt. Even had he been so minded, the
condition of his wrenched neck and strained muscles prevented sprightly
conversation. He winked rapidly to clear his tear-filled eyes, and
indulged in another wrinkling of the nose.
"So," continued the other, paying no heed to Jimmie's motions of
contempt. "And this is why we have not had better success in our
campaign. We must fight not only the enemy in their trenches, but we
must also contend with traitors in our own camps!"
"Who's a traitor?" demanded Jimmie in a belligerent tone.
"Your name I know not," answered the soldier, "but the red hair and the
active nose, with its habit of turning up toward the sky, would be
identification enough without a name. I need no name."
"Well, you haven't any name so far as I know," was the lad's
impertinent response. "And I don't want to get acquainted with you."
"The subject we will not change," was the cool rejoinder of the German.
"We just now are discussing your giving information to the other
Russian spies down there in the city. You will not need a name after
to-morrow, or possibly after this evening, if Herr Captain von
Liebknecht is as zealous in the service of the Kaiser as he has been.
If I were giving orders, you would be shot now."
"Well," began Jimmie, pursuing the subject, "I'm not shot yet and
you're not shot, but in the language of the little old United States
you certainly act like a fellow just about half-shot."
"Half-shot?" inquired the German in a puzzled manner. "How can a man
be half-shot? He would then be only kerwundete."
"You and I are getting on famously, Old Man," Jimmie observed, half
laughing. "From all appearances you'd like to stand me up against a
wall at sunrise and I'd like to see you in Halifax."
"Halifax?" queried the soldier. "You speak of strange places."
"Well, all right," Jimmie replied. "I guess we'd better be going now,
so I'll get my bucket from the place where I dumped its contents into
the ditch and we will go back to camp. I hold no resentment against
you for your harsh treatment of me, especially since you weigh just
about three times as much as I do."
"The bucket will do well enough where it is," came the answer in a low
tone, cold as ice. "Just now you will appear before the Captain. Do
you not know you are under arrest?"
"Under arrest?" puzzled Jimmie. "Who's pinching me?"
"Ach! Ach!" protested the soldier, raising his hands in a gesture of
despair. "What a strange person! What a strange language!"
"You're quite right there," Jimmie said, "and if I had my way we'd be
stranger still. Yes," he added, "I think we'd be still strangers.
That would just about suit me to perfection."
"Come on, now," the German ordered, with a trace of impatience tinging
his phlegmatic manner. "Long enough we have waited."
"I'm willing," said Jimmie, turning upon his heel. "We might as well
get the trouble off our minds. If I'm to be shot for keeps I hope
they'll do it soon and do a good job while they're at it."
Although the boy's manner was light and buoyant enough to deceive even
the experienced and hardened Uhlan who had constituted himself captor,
his heart was heavy, for he well understood the danger of his position.
He could hope for little nursing from the peculiar German minds with
which he had to cope. Appearances certainly were against him, and he
knew that the evidence would be taken only at face value.
Resolved, however, to make the most of a bad bargain, the boy
resolutely forced a smile to his freckled face and bore himself erect
and with apparent fearlessness as the two neared camp.
No time was lost by the soldier who had Jimmie in charge. He went
directly to the spot where Captain von Liebknecht's tent was pitched.
A sentry paced up and down the narrow limits of his beat, carrying his
rifle in the prescribed position. In accordance with regulations, he
was equipped with his full outfit, including a vicious looking sword
bayonet and bandoliers of cartridges that gave forth a silent message
which to Jimmie's troubled mind spelled a most gloomy and forbidding
prospect for the immediate future.
A challenge from the sentry halted the pair until the necessary
questions and answers could be exchanged. Upon being convinced that
Jimmie's conductor had an urgent message for the Captain, the sentry
ordered them to remain where they were while he hailed the guard
stationed inside the tent. To this individual the sentry explained the
reason for the visit and the request for an interview.
Jimmie was not left long in doubt. Almost instantly, it seemed, the
guard returned and, after exchanging a few words in a low tone with the
sentry, beckoned for the soldier and the lad to follow.
He led the way into the tent, raising the flap for Jimmie and his
captor to pass. More than ever the lad felt his appellation of The
Wolf was well deserved. It seemed to him that circumstances were
conspiring to make him seem to the Germans a predatory animal, and
while he would have been willing and was even anxious to dispel this
notion from their minds, he well understood that nothing he could do or
say would be of effect in this direction. Feeling keenly the need of
most careful handling of the situation, Jimmie glanced quickly and
furtively about the tent. He was somewhat surprised to observe there a
number of officers of the regiment apparently in conference.
A number of papers, amongst them maps, was spread upon the little table
in the center of the tent. Captain von Liebknecht had patently been
directing certain movements of troops, using the maps to further
explain his instructions. Jimmie's entrance had interrupted the
Captain's action of tracing with his finger the line of railroad
leading from Peremysl, or Przemysl, as it must henceforth be known.
As the Captain raised his eyes to observe who his visitors might be,
Jimmie let his glance fall to the map, where he saw the finger pointing
at the town designated as Cracow.
In a flash the boy realized that von Liebknecht had been giving
instructions for the transportation of troops by rail, and that Cracow
would be the next stopping point, where he guessed that the horses
would be detrained for water and rest if possible.
Mentally making a note of this fact, Jimmie raised his glance
fearlessly to meet the cold blue eyes of the German officer. In that
glance Jimmie comprehended the fact that he could expect little mercy
from a man whose whole ambition in life seemed to be unquestioning and
unwavering devotion to his Emperor. He read also in the blue eyes
craft and skill in diplomacy and a keen intelligence withal.
"Captain," began the soldier who had brought Jimmie to the tent, "this
Cossack has been giving information to his Russian friends."
Jimmie detected without any difficulty the implied sneer in the term
"Cossack," but forebore making any reply on the instant.
"So?" observed von Liebknecht. "Again? Must we always be troubled at
critical times with this wonderful recruit?"
As none of the group seemed able to reply, silence was the only
response. The Captain let his glance wander about from one to another
of his aides. His eyes rested for a moment upon the countenance of a
member of the group apparently older than the others.
An almost imperceptible shake of the head answered the questioning
glance. For some reason The Wolf felt a sense of relief.
"What have you to say for yourself, young man?" asked the Captain.
"I guess I said enough before I enlisted," answered Jimmie.
"Yet you have now some secret information," demanded the other.
"No, sir," protested the lad in wide-eyed amazement.
"No?" queried von Liebknecht in his accustomed level tones. "Then what
is it you have in that little packet you took from the Cossack uniform
at so great a cost as a burned hand?" he added.
Involuntarily Jimmie's hand clutched at his breast.