FUGITIVES
BOBBY KIRKWOOD was the first of the trio to recover his scattered
senses. The impact had hurled him violently forward, and cannoning
off Barcroft's back he had slid more or less gently to the ground.
The shock had forced Billy against the for'ard side of the coaming,
well-nigh winding him, while at the same time his head came into
contact with the framework, thus causing him to see a most gorgeous
galaxy of stars.
Well it was that the observer's body glanced off that of the pilot;
otherwise the A.P. would have been instantly killed by the
swiftly-revolving propeller. As it was he escaped by a hairbreadth.
Fuller was not so fortunate. The sudden change of momentum had the
result of crushing his already wounded arm, besides giving him a
nasty blow on the forehead. He, too, began to wonder dimly whether
he was witnessing a superb display of Brock's fireworks.
As Kirkwood regained his feet the wreckage subsided still more. The
propeller blades striking the ground were shattered to fragments,
while the motor, released of its "load," began to race with terrific
speed.
It was this nerve-racking sound that recalled Barcroft to a sense of
action. Switching off the ignition he slid from the chassis and
surveyed the scene of desolation.
"Come along, Fuller. Let's give you a hand!" he exclaimed.
Awkwardly the flight-lieutenant descended from his precarious perch.
The two stood in silent contemplation for some seconds. Verily they
realised that they were very much "in the cart." Stranded in a
country overrun by hostile troops, far from the coast--always the
preliminary goal of a seaman who is making a bid for freedom--their
chance of seeing the inside of a German prison loomed large upon
their mental horizon.
"Let's get rid of the old bus while she's warm," suggested Barcroft.
"There's no possible chance of getting her repaired sufficiently for
even a short flight, and it won't do to let the Huns patch her up."
"Shoulders to the wheel, lads," exclaimed Fuller. "One of mine's a
bit groggy, but I feel like shifting a steam-roller with the other."
By their united efforts the wrecked seaplane was toppled over into
the canal. The sudden contact of the cold water with the hot
cylinders would, they knew, fracture the castings and make the motor
useless until complicated and costly repairs had been executed--even
if the Germans succeeded in fishing the debris out of the mud at the
bottom of the canal.
"Now we'll make tracks," decided Fuller. "Wonder there aren't
soldiers on the spot already."
"Yes, we'll make tracks," agreed Barcroft, "but not the ones you are
keen on leaving behind."
He pointed to the muddy tow-path and to the comparatively dry ground
on the other side of the row of poplars.
"We'll walk backwards as far as the field," he continued. "The
Boches are bound to examine the footprints. If they see that they
lead in the direction of the canal it may baffle 'em a bit. We must
look sharp. I see the water falling an inch or so."
"But the canal isn't tidal," remarked Kirkwood.
"I agree," assented Billy. "The slight fall tells me that the
nearest lock has been opened. That means a barge is on its way, and,
much as I regret missing the sight of a Hun cargo boat bumping on
the wreckage of the old bus, prudence demands that we sheer off."
Having walked backwards until they reached hard ground the trio set
off cautiously. The country consisted of tilled fields--the work of
impressed Belgians, forced by their taskmasters to cultivate the
ground to provide foodstuffs for the Huns. The absence of hedges
gave the land an unfamiliar appearance as far as the three British
officers were concerned. What was of more pressing significance
there was a lack of efficient cover, the only means of securing
shelter being by keeping close to the trees that bounded the fields.
"There's a spinny of sorts in there," said Kirkwood, pointing to a
circular cluster of bushes. "I vote we make for that and repair
damages."
"And find ourselves surrounded by dozens of Boches," added Fuller.
"Naturally, once they found the wreckage of our machine they would
search the nearest cover. We must make for those woods What say you,
old bird?"
"Yes, and remain till nightfall," added Barcroft.
The wood was nearly a mile away, and presented an expanse of
leafless trees extending nearly twice that distance. The depth of
the wood the fugitives had no means of discovering.
For the last four hundred yards the three officers crawled and
crouched, for the ground was as flat and unbroken as a table-top.
Away on the right could be discerned a red-tiled farmhouse, close to
it a roofless barn, with the two charred gables standing up clearly
against the sky. Further away was a village of considerable size,
but in all directions there were no signs of human beings or of
cattle.
"Thank goodness we are here at last," exclaimed Fuller, throwing
himself upon the ground. "I don't want you fellows to think that I'm
piling it on, but my rotten ankle's played old Harry with me.
Fractured it on a ringbolt on the 'Cursus' at Harwich," he
explained. "Had six weeks in hospital, and thought it got fixed up
all right, but it isn't."
"And your wound?" asked the A.P.
"Pooh! Nothing," replied Fuller unconcernedly. "That's a simple
matter. If this ankle crocks properly, I'll make you fellows carry
on without me. I can hang out a couple of days until you're clear
and then give myself up."
"I'm jolly well sure you don't," said Barcroft firmly. "We three
sink or swim together. Think you'll be able to swarm up that tree if
we give you a hand?"
The flight-lieutenant eyed the gnarled trunk somewhat dubiously.
"Might," he replied. "I'll try, anyway. What's the idea?"
"To lie close until it gets dark."
"But why that tree? It's on the edge of the wood. Why not go further
in, where it's ever so much thicker?"
"Because if the Huns track us this far they'll naturally conclude
that we've bolted for cover. They'll doubtless beat the interior of
the wood and not pay much attention to the part nearest the canal.
Besides, from this particular tree we can command a wide outlook
without running much risk of detection."
By the aid of their belts Barcroft and Kirkwood succeeded in
assisting the wounded officer to gain the lowermost branch. Thence
it was a comparatively simple matter to climb another thirty feet.
Here two huge limbs gave a tolerably secure perch, wide enough to
hide the fugitives from the sight of any persons passing underneath,
and yet able to afford an outlook over a wide expanse of open
country.
"Now let's look at that injured arm," said Barcroft, producing his
"first aid" outfit. "Slip his coat off, Bobby; we don't want to cut
that away. H'm! clean hole, by Jove! Iodine and gauze, old man.
That's capital. I've morphia tablets here; if you feel in much pain
I'll give you half a one and no more. Can't afford to have your
brain dulled by morphia at this stage of the proceedings, John.',
"That's easier," said Fuller with a sigh of relief. "Now if you'll
be so good as to unlace my boot I'll massage this low-down ankle."
"You'll keep still," ordered Barcroft firmly, "We'll do the rubbing
business--if only to keep our blood circulating."
"Did you save your map?" inquired Fuller.
"I burnt mine."
"Yes, I have mine," replied the flight-sub. "I make it about sixty
miles from the Dutch frontier--not much use making a shot for the
coast, I take it?"
"Phew! Sixty miles--I did that distance once on a walking tour. For
pleasure, mark you," said Fuller. "Plenty to eat, a decent show to
put up at every night, and quite fine weather and I had galled heels
by the end of the second day."
"If we could sneak a captive balloon like you did at Sylt," remarked
the A.P. "That would be top-hole."
"A bit of sheer good luck," said Fuller reminiscently. "That sort of
dose isn't often repeated. Tressidar and I broke into a house and
collared suits of mufti. That won't do here, though. We were on
Danish soil then; now we are in occupied Belgium. Caught and we are
shot as spies, while the unfortunate civilians to whom the clothes
belong would be strung up for assisting us to escape, whether they
did it knowingly or otherwise. Time for more amateur burglar work
when we're on Dutch soil. That's my opinion. You see, if we cross
the frontier in uniform we'll be interned. I remember----"
"Look!" ejaculated the A.P., pointing in the direction of the
farmhouse.
Making their way across the fields were about a hundred people, men
and women, herded together in rough military formation and escorted
by grey-coated German infantry. The civilians were on their way to
forced labour in the fields. Woe betide the luckless Belgian, male
or female, who showed the faintest resentment, or lagged behind.
Blows and kicks were administered with impartial severity by the
brutal guards, while some did not hesitate to prod the helpless
human cattle with the butt-ends of their rifles.
"And yet there are worms in England who cry out about the dilution
of labour and the encroachment of the rights of the working man,"
remarked Barcroft. "This is the sort of rights they'd get if the
Huns once occupied even a portion of the Homeland."
"Poor bounders!" exclaimed the A.P. as he fondled the holster of his
revolver. "I'd like to put a shot through that red-faced swine's
head."
"You'd only make it worse for us and for them," said Fuller.
"True," assented Kirkwood, "but a fellow cannot disguise his
feelings in such circumstances. One thing seems certain: the Boches
haven't got wind of our presence."
"Don't know so much about that," said Billy. "Unless I'm much
mistaken there's a patrol coming this way--and dogs, too, by Jove!"
In less than ten minutes (it had taken the trio an hour to cover the
same distance) the patrol gained the field in which the Belgians
were literally slaving. Apparently the crowd of workers disturbed
the trail, for the bloodhounds, three massive-limbed, heavy-jowled
creatures, no longer kept their noses close to the ground and
followed the fugitives' track without the slightest deviation.
Instead they wandered round in circles, growling rather than baying,
and showing every indication of having lost the scent.
Followed a heated controversy between the Huns with the dogs and the
Germans guarding the field labourers, until the latter, ordering
their charges to assemble, marched them into the field next
adjoining and nearer to the canal. Four Belgians, however, remained.
These, after what was evidently a homily as to their behaviour,
followed the patrol with the bloodhounds.
The scent once lost took some time to pick up again, but eventually
one of the animals stopped at the foot of the tree in which the
fugitives were hiding and set up a succession of low, deep cries.
The other dogs, apparently on a different trail, disappeared in the
wood, their keepers having all their work cut out to hold them in
leash.
"One at least of the English swine is up this tree, Max," said a
corporal, addressing one of the two privates with him. "That is
certain. The others have gone elsewhere. I wonder that they had the
sense to separate."
"We'll make sure of this one," said Max grimly.
"Ach! That is so," agreed the corporal. "Here, Karl, you speak this
outlandish language. Tell this fellow to climb and see if the
Englishman is there."
Turning to the Belgian who had been compelled to remain with them,
Karl spoke to him in Flemish. Being ignorant of the Walloon language
Barcroft was unable to understand his reply.
"The fool says he is hungry and has not enough strength to climb,"
said Karl, translating for the primary benefit of the corporal and
for the secondary information of Billy Barcroft.
"Tell him," replied the Hun, "that he must go--and be quick about
it. If he succeeds in finding the Englishman, then I will inform the
commandant and see that the fellow gets a double ration to-night.
That ought to satisfy his hunger."
Lying at full length upon the sturdy branches the three airmen could
distinctly hear the rasping of the Belgian's boots against the bark
and the short sharp gasps that betokened a man obviously out of
condition.
The A.P. glanced at Barcroft and pointed to his revolver. The look
indicated clearly enough what he meant. There were but three
Germans. There were also three determined Britons all armed with
revolvers. It would be an easy matter to settle the hash of the Huns
and trust to flight before the rest of the patrol, alarmed by the
shots, could arrive upon the scene.
But the flight-sub shook his head. The risk was too great. Reprisals
would automatically follow upon the luckless peasants, who were
bound to be regarded as accomplices in the attack upon the three
soldiers.
Presently a pair of hands gripped the rough bark of the bough on
which Barcroft was lying--long, lean, gnarled fingers almost
claw-like in appearance. The next instant the Belgian's head and
shoulders appeared above the rounded edge of the bough.
For a brief second Billy's eyes met those of the climber. The
fugitives were discovered.