TRACKED
AT the sight of the lean, cadaverous features of the Belgian
Barcroft had to exercise a tremendous lot of restraint to control
his desire to utter some sort of exclamation. He had no wish to harm
the fellow, who, as he knew, was acting under compulsion, with overt
bribery thrown in. In fact he felt sorry for the man, whose pathetic
eyes and drawn features portrayed both hunger and misery.
Yet in an instant the climber turned his face aside and resolutely
hauled himself upon the branch on which Billy was lying. He was now
in full view of the other officers. Fortunately neither of them
spoke nor moved, yet the mental tension was acute.
Standing upright upon the bough and carefully preserving his balance
the Belgian outstretched his arm to grasp the branch above.
"The bounder doesn't want to take unnecessary chances," thought
Barcroft. "He wouldn't shout while he was only holding on by his
fingers. Now he's able to get a firm grip in case he thinks we'll
heave him out of it."
But no. The flight-sub was totally wrong in his surmise. The man,
deliberately ignoring the presence of the three fugitives, climbed
still higher, until he gained the topmost branch capable of
supporting his weight.
Then, having leisurely scanned the surrounding tree-tops, he shouted
something to the Germans standing at the foot of the British
officers' hiding-place.
For a moment Barcroft and his companions were again plunged into the
throes of suspense. "The pig says that there are no signs of the
Englishmen," interpreted Karl.
"Donnerwetter!" grunted the corporal. "So much for the bloodhound,
and Herr Major is ever boasting of what the brute can do. He's wrong
for once at least, only I dare not tell him so. Tell the Belgian to
come down. I'll soon send him up another tree a little further on."
"That's right," agreed Max. "Make the fellow work till he drops. If
he breaks his neck there's one of the rabble the less."
At the order the climber descended, as before paying no heed to the
three officers. Upon regaining the ground he was marched off to make
another ascent on a useless search. An hour later, having, as they
thought, thoroughly searched the wood, the patrol withdrew, cursing
and grumbling at their ill-luck, since, it appeared, a reward of two
hundred and fifty marks for the arrest of the fugitives had been
offered.
"A proper sport, that Belgian," said Fuller in a whisper, realising
the wisdom of speaking in a low tone lest the Huns had left men to
guard the woods. "He could have given us away as easy as winking."
"Perhaps he'll inform the Boches now he's out of sight," hazarded
the cautious A.P.
"Great Scott! I hope not," ejaculated Fuller. "In fact I'm willing
to lay long odds that he won't. I'd like to meet that chap on the
quiet again. I'd make it worth his while."
"So would I," added Barcroft. "Well, this affair has done us a good
turn. The Huns have evidently satisfied themselves that we are not
anywhere in this wood. The coast will be clear for to-night. How's
that arm, old bird?"
"Feeling a bit stiff," replied Fuller. "The air's so confoundedly
cold."
"It is a bit fresh," agreed Kirkwood. "And probably it will freeze
hard to-night. And your ankle?"
"Can't feel any sensation in it," replied the flight-lieutenant.
"The damage, if any, will assert itself when I place foot to ground.
What an ass I was not to have brought my Thermos. Full of good old
hot tea, too. I left it on the bank, after the smash."
"You deserve a vote of censure for importing food stuffs into
German-occupied territory, old man," said Barcroft. "Can't you
imagine a thirsty Hun mopping that stuff?"
"You speak for yourself, my festive," retorted the
flight-lieutenant. "What did you do with _your_ flasks?"
"They went down with the wreckage," replied Billy.
"Yours, perhaps," said Kirkwood. "My Thermos got smashed when we
crashed. I heard the glass go, and I remember the hot liquid
escaping and running over my gloves."
"Then you are all right for a feast," retorted Fuller. "Goatskin
soaked in tea, eh? Sort of cannibalistic feast."
"Don't insinuate that I'm a giddy goat," protested the A.P. "It is
like a case of--oh, dash it all!"
Kirkwood's exclamation was occasioned by the binoculars slipping
from his benumbed fingers and falling to the ground. Rolling a few
feet they lay in clear view silent evidence to the hiding place of
their owner.
"Then you are a goat--that proves it," said Fuller. "Hullo! What's
the move?"
Kirkwood slipping out of his leather coat, was already about to
descend to retrieve his lost property. So far the coast seemed
clear, for the Belgian labourers and their guards had moved to a
field beyond range of vision. Since it was safe to conjecture that
they would return to the farm buildings for the night the danger lay
in the fact that they would almost assuredly spot the conspicuous
binoculars as they repassed.
The A.P. dropped after swarming down about twenty feet of trunk and
alighted softly. His first care was to obliterate his footprints in
the bare earth, for the ground surrounding the tree trunk was
absolutely devoid of grass, and although sufficiently hard to
withstand the impression of a person walking it was not proof
against the impact of a man wearing a pair of heavy boots and
dropping from a height of seven or eight feet.
Then, crouching, he made his way towards his cherished binoculars.
Just as he picked them up and placed them in his pocket, for he had
left the sling case with his comrades, there was a rustling in the
undergrowth. The next instant a huge dog, growling savagely, leapt
upon him.
The animal was of the lurcher breed--a type encouraged in the German
army for various duties, including field ambulance work, guarding
and tracking prisoners and drawing machine-guns. Although smaller
than the bloodhound it possessed greater swiftness, while its
strength and ferocity were only slightly inferior.
Luckily Kirkwood did not lose his presence of mind. Used to dogs,
the experience he had had with playful canines would be turned to
good account.
Clenching his leather-gloved hand the A.P. let out with his left.
His fist, taking the lurcher fairly on the point of the nose, sent
the animal reeling. The respite was but momentary. Like a dart the
dog flew straight for the young officer's throat.
Kirkwood met the animal as it leapt in midair. His right hand, with
its protection of the undressed leather gripped the lurcher round
the muzzle, his fingers and thumb meeting inside the brute's
wide-open jaws. Instantly the A.P.'s left hand grasped the dog's
lower jaw.
So far so good. The animal, unable to bite, attempted to shake
himself clear. Foiled in this direction he planted his hind legs
firmly in the ground and, giving his body a series of jerks, sought
to pull the A.P. off his balance.
"Shoot the brute!" exclaimed Barcroft from above. "Risk it! It can't
be helped. Clap the muzzle close to the brute's hide."
But Bobby thought otherwise. Even if he could afford the risk of
letting go the dog's jaws with one hand and draw his revolver the
muffled report would still be sufficiently audible to alarm the
Huns.
For perhaps half a minute he stood his ground, contenting himself by
prising the lurcher's jaws apart. Then, slowly at first, he began to
bend the animal's head backwards. It was a horrible yet necessary
task--one that taxed the A.P.'s strength and endurance to the
uttermost. Already he could feel the dog's teeth penetrating the
gloves, and those saliva-streaming fangs meant trouble once they
pierced the flesh.
Yet the man was winning through. Back and back he levered the
animal's head. The brute's breath was coming in short, irregular
pants; its blood-flecked eyes were almost bursting from their
sockets. Still it struggled furiously, striving in vain to break
away from the A.P.'s vice-like grip.
"By Jove! He'll never do it," thought Barcroft. "The brute's tiring
him out."
At the risk of barked shins and elbows the flight-sub descended from
his perch. Gaining the ground he drew his revolver, wrapped his
scarf several times round the weapon to muffle the sound of the
explosion, and cautiously approached the combatants.
Extreme care was necessary, for the lurcher, driven to desperation,
was turning his antagonist round and round. Kirkwood, his whole
energies devoted to twisting the animal's neck, was unable to
counteract the dog's movements, nor did the animal remain
sufficiently still to enable Barcroft to plant the muzzle of his
weapon firmly against its ribs.
The end came with unexpected suddenness.
With a distinctly audible crash the lurcher's vertebra snapped. Its
body seemed instantly to grow limp. The sudden cessation of
resistance caused Kirkwood to fall forward across the still
quivering body of his enemy.
Barcroft lifted his chum and set him on his feet. The A.P., now the
duel with death was done, was as pale as a sheet and trembling in
every limb.
"I'll be all right in a minute," he gasped. "Feel as ill as a
seasick cat."
"Sit down," ordered Billy, and grasping his comrade by the nape of
the neck he bent his head until it rested on his knees.
"Keep like that a while," he continued. "I'll get rid of
incriminating evidence. My word, what a lump!" he added, as he
lifted the dead brute by its hind legs. "Half a hundredweight, I
should imagine."
Keeping the carcass clear of the ground the flight-sub carried it
quite fifty yards through the wood before depositing it under a
bush.
This necessary task performed, he retraced his steps.
"Chirpy again?" he inquired.
"Quite," replied Kirkwood.
"You look jolly warm," continued Barcroft.
"I feel it."
"Then get a move on and swarm up here," interrupted Fuller's voice.
"I'm as cold as charity and could do with a human warmingpan.
"All clear?" inquired Barcroft.
"By Jove, no!" was Fuller's hurried rejoinder. "Look sharp, you
fellows. There are half a dozen of 'em coming this way."
Making sure that they had left behind them no evidence of their
presence the two airmen re-ascended to their lofty perch.
"You're steaming like an overworked horse, old man," said Billy
addressing the A.P. "I'll throw your coat over you. You can't sit up
or the Fritzes will spot us."
Trudging across the tilled land were eight or nine greatcoated Huns,
armed with rifles. Two of their number were drawing a light cart.
"What's that for, I wonder?" whispered Kirkwood, for the Germans
were still a considerable distance off, yet making almost in a
straight line for the tree in which the three chums were hidden.
"Can't say," replied Fuller. "I never saw Huns with a contraption
like that before. Rations, possibly: they may mean to camp out here
just to keep us company."
The fugitives were not left long in doubt, for on arriving at a spot
twenty yards from the edge of the wood the party halted and
proceeded to don flexible metallic masks with hideous-looking
snouts. This done, the corporal in charge inspected each man's
face-protection with deliberate thoroughness, while from a distance
two Hun officers in the uniform of the Engineers watched the
proceedings.
"By smoke!" muttered Barcroft under his breath. "They're going to
have a shot at gassing us."
At a brisk order the lid of the cart was thrown back revealing a
couple of cylinders to which were attached lengths of armoured
metallic hosepipe terminating in elongated nozzles. First the
cylinders were placed upon the ground and air pumped into them until
the required pressure was obtained. Then each apparatus was strapped
to a man's back, a soldier being in attendance to hold the nozzle.
It was fairly safe for the three British officers to watch the
proceedings since the height of the branch enabled them to look down
upon the heads of the gassing party, while the latter could not look
up owing to the straps that secured the lower portion of their masks
to their shoulders.
"Reminds me of goblins at a panto," thought Bobby. "Wonder when
they're going to start?"
As a matter of precaution he tied his handkerchief over his nose and
mouth, an example that his companions hastened to copy. They
realised that it was but a sorry protection--useless against the
full strength of the deadly chlorine, but sufficient, perhaps, to
ward off the effects of a "tail-end" of the poison-cloud.
Weirdly fascinated the fugitives watched the proceedings. It seemed
strange to witness the diabolical preparations for their intended
execution. Dimly Barcroft wondered whether he would be conscious
when he fell from the bough, or whether the gas would overcome him
instantly.
"The first whiff and I'll shoot," he thought grimly. "I'd like to
shatter the nozzles of those pretty masks and let the brutes have a
good sniff at their vile mixture."
A faint hiss betokened the fact that the taps controlling the
discharge tubes had been turned on. Clouds of black vapour, eddying
and seething, issued from the nozzles and rose sullenly in the cold,
damp air.