dismounted, and going to the heads of the oxen, led them off the track
over the rough ground of the hill-face, while the three others set their
shoulders to the wheels. By their united efforts the unwieldy vehicle
was hauled round the shoulder of the hill towards the gully, to a spot
two or three hundred yards from the aeroplane, where it was out of sight
from either of the tracks. Leaving it there in charge of Marco and his
mother, the two men returned, obliterating the traces of the wheels in
the snow, and finally posting themselves behind a rocky ridge near the
junction of the tracks, where they could see the approaching horsemen
when they should pass, without being seen themselves.
III
Some twenty minutes later they heard the tramp of hoofs, somewhat
muffled by the snow, and guttural voices. Soon the first horseman
passed before them--a Bulgarian officer. Immediately behind him came a
group of three, the two on the outside being German officers, the
horseman between them a middle-aged Serb in the characteristic dress of
the peasant proprietor. The watchers noticed that he was tied round the
middle by a rope, the other end of which was held by a Bulgarian trooper
riding behind. Old Marco's eyes gleamed with the light of recognition.
He told Burton later that the prisoner was one Milosh Nikovich, a friend
of his, a small farmer whose property lay a few miles from his own
estate.
On arriving at the junction of the tracks the officers halted. One of
the Germans took a map from his pocket, and pored over it with his
companions; they were apparently consulting together. Then they put
questions to their prisoner. Their words were inaudible. The Serb's
face wore an expression of sullen defiance, and it was clear that his
replies were unsatisfactory, for the trooper who held the rope moved up
his horse, and lifting a foot, drove his spur savagely into the
prisoner's calf. The man winced, but remained motionless and silent.
Burton heard old Marco mutter curses below his breath. Then one of the
Germans pointed southwards questioningly; the prisoner gave what
appeared to be an affirmative answer, and the party pushed on. It soon
disappeared through the windings of the track. The watchers counted
fourteen in all.
When the enemy were out of sight and hearing, Burton turned to the old
man.
"A scouting party?" he said.
"Without doubt," replied the Serb. "The main body must be behind. Will
you look for them through your glasses?"
Burton left their hiding-place for a spot whence he could view the
tracks and the plain beyond. No troops were in sight, but the boom of
guns came faintly on the air from the north-east. Burton knew, from
what he had seen during the morning's reconnaissance, that somewhere
eastward from the spot where he stood the British forces were steadily
falling back in face of overwhelming numbers of Bulgars and Germans.
Was it possible that the patrol that had just passed was the advance
guard of a flanking force? Unluckily his reconnaissance had been cut
short by the Bulgarian shell almost as soon as it was begun. The peril
of Captain Enderby and himself, and of his Serbian friends, was
complicated with a possible unexpected danger to the British army in
retreat. To guard against the latter seemed to be out of his power.
The immediate question was, how to ensure the safety of Enderby and the
Serbian family with whose lot his own was for the moment cast.
Remaining at the spot from which he could detect any signs of an enemy
advance from the north, he talked over the situation with old Marco.
"The enemy are in front and behind," he said. "It seems we have little
chance of getting through. But if we don't get through----"
"We should be safe for a time in the gully. The enemy will keep to the
tracks. But that would help us little in the end, for if they advance
beyond us, they will form a wall without gates, and we must either
surrender or starve."
"And meanwhile my friend is without proper treatment, and may have to
lose his leg or be lamed for life. You have no stomach any more than I
for being a prisoner with the Bulgars. Don't you think we had better
push on, and try to slip past the scouting party? It is not likely they
will go far in advance of their main body. Isn't there a way over the
hills without taking to the track?"
"If we were on foot we might steal through the country, but not with the
cart. That holds all my worldly possessions. And your friend cannot be
moved without it. Look, monsieur; do not my eyes, old as they are, see
masses of men moving on the plain yonder?"
"You are right," said Burton, after a glance northward. "The main body
is on the move. We must decide at once. Let us carry Captain Enderby
to the cart, push on, and trust to luck."
Hurrying back to the gully, they carried the injured man to the cart.
While the Serb led this back to the track, Burton took the precaution of
removing the carburetter and one or two other essential parts from the
engine of the aeroplane. This was badly smashed, but it was just as
well not to leave anything of possible use to the enemy. Then he hauled
the machine-gun from the litter that covered it, expecting to find it
hopelessly shattered. To his surprise it appeared to have suffered no
injury except superficial dents, and the ammunition belts were evidently
perfect. Hurrying after the others with the engine parts, he laid these
on the cart, then took young Marco back with him to help him carry away
the machine-gun and ammunition.
"We've saved something from the wreck, old man," he said to Enderby as
he came up with the gun on his back.
"Hardly worth while, is it?" asked the captain. "There's precious
little chance of our getting through. Hadn't you better shy it into a
gully in case they capture us?"
"I will at the last minute if things look hopeless; but we'll stick to
it as long as we can."
All being ready they set off along the track. Old Marco sent the boy
ahead to scout. The woman resumed her seat on the cart, where a
comfortable place had been arranged among the baggage for Captain
Enderby. The two men followed on foot, pushing at the wheels where the
gradient was too steep for the wearied oxen.
So they toiled along for upwards of an hour. Young Marco ahead had not
caught sight of the horsemen; there was no sign of the enemy in the
rear. It was the old man's hope that there would be time, if danger
threatened, to rush the cart into some hollow or some gap between the
rocks. Such a threat was more likely to arise from the scouting party
than from the larger force behind, and the boy, as instructed by his
grandfather, kept sufficiently in advance to give timely warning.
The track was continuously up hill, broad at some points, at others so
narrow that the cart was only just able to pass between the rocky
borders, sometimes as low as kerbstones, sometimes rising to a height of
many feet. The frequent windings prevented the travellers from getting
a direct view for any considerable distance ahead. Every now and then
they had glimpses of the watch-tower which Burton had previously
noticed, and which they were gradually approaching. At such times he
scanned it through his glasses, half expecting to find that some of the
scouting party had ascended it to survey the surrounding country. But
no human figures yet showed above the summit.
At length, however, on rounding a corner, the travellers were startled
by a sudden flash from the tower. They halted, Burton levelled his
glasses, and declared that he saw two heads and pairs of shoulders
projecting above the top. Other flashes followed, at intervals long or
short.
"They are heliographing to the main body behind us," he said to Enderby,
repeating the information in French to the Serb.
"Can they see us?" asked Enderby.
"They might perhaps if they looked, but they are gazing far beyond us,
of course. We had better back a little, though."
They had, in fact, halted before the oxen had come completely into view
from the tower, and by backing a few feet they were wholly concealed.
The three men held an anxious consultation. The tower was probably two
miles ahead. To go on would involve discovery by the enemy. On the
other hand, parties of Bulgarians might already be marching up the track
behind them. It seemed that they were trapped.
"We had better wait a little," Burton concluded, "and see whether they
leave the tower and go forward. In that case we might venture to
proceed."
The signalling continued for some few minutes, then ceased. The men
disappeared from the summit of the tower. Burton was on the point of
suggesting that they should move on when he caught sight of a small
figure flitting rapidly from rock to rock down the track towards them.
"It is the boy," he said, after a look through his glasses.
In a few minutes young Marco arrived, excited and breathless.
"Three horsemen are coming down the hill," he reported.
"Tchk!" muttered the old man, repeating the news. "How far away,
child?"
"A mile or more. They are riding slowly; the track is steep."
For a few moments consternation and dismay paralysed their faculties.
That the horsemen formed part of the patrol they had already seen was
certain; no others could have safely passed the tower occupied by the
enemy. Discovery and capture seemed inevitable. The fugitives might,
indeed, clamber among the rocks and conceal themselves for a time; but
the nature of the ground at this spot precluded the removal of the cart,
and its tell-tale presence on the track unattended would put a short
limit to their safety.
At this critical moment the old Serb's experience of half a century of
mountain warfare came to his aid.
"We must ambush the Bulgars," he said. "Look there!"
He pointed to a spot a few yards in their rear, at the end of a narrow
stretch of the track which had given him an anxious moment in leading
the oxen. On one side the bank rose rugged and steep, on the other it
fell away, not precipitously, but in a jagged slope which had threatened
ruin to the cart if the wheel had chanced to slip over the edge of the
track. Burton quickly seized the possibilities of the situation.
"By Jove! It's risky, but we'll try it," he remarked to Enderby.
The captain had already taken his revolver from its case. But old Marco
had conceived a plan that would render Captain Enderby's co-operation
unnecessary. He explained it rapidly to Burton, and they proceeded to
carry it out. The woman was told to conceal herself behind a thorn bush
growing in a cleft in the bank. The cart was backed to the chosen spot,
and young Marco, his eyes alight with excitement and eagerness,
clambered up to the driver's seat. A rug was thrown over Enderby and
the machine-gun lying at his side, and the old man took up a position
with Burton behind the cart, concealed by the pile of furniture from the
eyes of any one approaching down the hill.
The Serb had taken a rifle from beneath the baggage.
"There are only three," he said. "I can shoot them one by one."
"No, no!" cried Burton. "The shots would alarm their friends above.
Besides, they'll be more useful to us alive, as hostages, perhaps, even
if we don't get useful information out of them."
"You are right," said the old man, "but it is a pity," and he
reluctantly laid the rifle aside.
They had reason to commend young Marco's scouting, for only a few
minutes after their preparations were completed, the horsemen were heard
approaching the bend. The boy, whose eyes had been fixed on his
grandfather, at a nod from him whipped up the oxen, and the cart lurched
forward just as the horsemen came in sight. As if surprised by their
appearance, Marco pulled up so that there was barely room for a horse to
pass on the side where the bank shelved downwards. His grandfather and
Burton were still hidden in the rear.
The three horsemen had been riding abreast, but at sight of the cart
they moved into single file. The first was a German officer; then came
the Serbian prisoner with the Bulgarian trooper holding the rope behind.
The German officer reined up, and asked Marco a question. The boy shook
his head, and the German turned impatiently to the prisoner, ordering
him to repeat the question. At this moment Burton, revolver in hand,
slipped from behind the cart on the side of the declivity, while the old
man with some difficulty squeezed himself between the wheel and the high
bank on the other side. A gleam in the eyes of the prisoner apprised
the German that something was happening behind him, and he was in the
act of turning when his arm was seized and he saw himself confronted by
a determined-looking young airman, levelling a revolver within a few
inches of his head. One arm was held as in a vice, the other hand was
engaged with the rein; it was impossible to draw his own revolver. He
called to the trooper to shoot, but that warrior was otherwise engaged.
"Dismount, sir," said Burton, quietly. "You are my prisoner."
[Illustration: "DISMOUNT, SIR."]
And seeing that there was no help for it, the German made haste to obey.
Meanwhile on the other side old Marco had performed his allotted part.
The trooper, catching sight of Burton before the German, was for a
moment too much surprised to be capable of action; but then, dropping
the rope he held, he was about to spur forward to his superior's
assistance, when the old Serb, who had crept round while the man's
attention was occupied, suddenly hurled himself upon him. The old man
was beset by no scruples. A Bulgar was always a Bulgar. A shot would
raise an alarm; cold steel was silent. All the strength of his sinewy
arm, all the heat of age-long national hatred, went into the
knife-thrust that hurled the trooper from his saddle, over the edge of
the track, and down the sharp-edged rocks of the slope beyond.
Within less than a minute the ambush had succeeded without any sound or
commotion that could have been heard by the enemy in the tower nearly
two miles away, and out of their sight.
IV
"Milosh Nikovich, this is a good day, old friend," said old Marco, as he
released the prisoner.
"A good day indeed, Marco Kralevich. But I am amazed. Who is he that
dealt with the German?"
"Hand me that rope, if you please," came from Burton in French. "Clasp
your hands behind, sir," he added to the German, in English.
"You shpeak to me!" spluttered that irate officer. "Know you zat I am
an officer, a captain of ze 59th Brandenburger Regiment? It is not fit
zat I haf my hands bounden."
"You must allow me to judge of that, sir," remarked Burton, with a quiet
smile.
"No, I protest. I refuse; it is insolence. You captivate me, zat is
true; you seize me ven I look ze ozer vay; zat is not vat you call
shport. But I gif you my parole----"
"I can't accept it, sir."
"Ze parole of a German officer----"
"It's no good talking, captain," Burton interposed, bluntly. "The word
of a German has no value just now. If you do not submit quietly I shall
have to use force. No doubt you will be released when you are safe in
the British lines. Come now!"
Amid a copious flow of guttural protestation the captain allowed his
hands to be tied behind him.
"I felt rather sorry for the chap," said Burton to Enderby afterwards.
"He looked a decent fellow as Germans go, and perhaps I did him an
injustice. But, being a German, we can't trust him; and we can't afford
to take risks."
While he was engaged in securing his prisoner, the two Serbs had been
conversing rapidly. Old Marco came up to him, and took him apart.
"We have gained time at least, monsieur," he said. "My friend Milosh
Nikovich tells me that the others are remaining in the tower for the
night; the main body is not expected until the morning."
"That will give us a chance to slip past in the darkness--if only your
wheels didn't groan so. Stay! I have some vaseline in my wallet, I
think; we can grease them with that. It's nearly four o'clock, I see;
the mist is rising; that will help us. I suppose, by the way, the
Bulgars in the tower will not expect this German to return?"
The old man spoke to his compatriot.
"He does not know," he said.
"Then we shall have to look out. Luckily the sun is going down; they
can't heliograph any more; and it will be impossible for the people
above to see the track through the mist, so they won't know that the
horsemen have been checked. If the air had been clear they would
certainly have become suspicious on failing to catch sight of the party
on open stretches behind us. With luck we shall get through. What were
they doing with your friend?"
The old Serb repeated what Milosh had told him during their colloquy.
His village had been raided; most of the inhabitants had been massacred
by the Bulgars; he himself had been impressed as guide, and forced to
lead the patrol to the tower, which they knew by hearsay, though
ignorant of the hill-track that led directly to it.
"I reproached him for his weakness," added the old man apologetically.
"He ought to have refused to act as guide. Better that a Serb should
have allowed himself to be shot. But a man does not always see clearly;
he has a family--who are safe, praise to the Highest!"
"But why did they wish to reach the tower?"
"It commands the country for many miles. They could see from it the
forces of your brave countrymen. Without doubt they signalled what they
had discovered, and I suspect that to-morrow a force of light cavalry
will come this way to fall on their flank at the cross-roads below."
"That is one reason the more for getting through. We must do it
to-night. You know the country, my friend; we must act on your advice."
Since no move could be made until it was quite dark, they sat down on
the rocks and took a meal, eating sparingly of their provisions as a
matter of prudence. Who could tell what the night and the morrow would
bring forth?
The Englishmen were amused at young Marco, who, munching a wheat-cake,
solemnly watched their every movement, and eyed longingly the sandwiches
they took from their tin. Burton beckoned him forward and gave him a
sandwich. The boy took it, hesitated a moment, then shyly offered his
wheat-cake in exchange, and ran back to his mother.
"I'm afraid you're in great pain, poor old chap!" said Burton, noticing
the pallor and drawn expression of Enderby's features.
"Oh, that's all right. I can stick it out. I rather fancy our German
friend feels worse. It must be horribly galling to his nobility.
What's his name'?"
The German was sitting apart, moodily gnawing his moustache. Burton
went over to him, loosed his hands, and offered him a sandwich and his
flask. The former he accepted with a sort of unwilling graciousness;
the latter he declined.
"Your visky I drink not; I haf in my own flask goot German vine. You
permit me?" he asked, ironically.
"Of course. It isn't whisky, by the way. May I ask your name?"
"It is Captain von Hildenheim. I am not pleased. Zis is not ze
handling zat is vorth a German officer. Vunce more--
"Sorry. We can't have it all over again. You must make the best of it.
It won't be for long."
"No, zat is true; it vill not be for long," returned the German with a
slight smile.
"He evidently thinks we shall be collared to-night or to-morrow," said
Burton, when, having bound his prisoner again, he returned to Enderby.
"Have you got a cigarette in your case? Mine's empty."
He sat by his friend, smoking in silence, meditating as he watched the
wreaths mingling with the mist in the growing darkness. Presently he got
up, and went to the spot where the Serbs were grouped. Young Marco,
wrapped in a rug, was already asleep on the cart.
"What about this tower?" he asked the grandfather. "How is it placed?
What is its strength and its state of repair? I don't ask idly; an idea
occurred to me just now."
"I know it well," answered the old man. "Twenty years ago I held it
during a Bulgar comitadji raid. It stands on a spur on the hill-top.
The track passes not far beneath it. On two sides the ground forms a
sort of glacis. The tower is solidly built of stone; it has two
storeys. What is its condition, Milosh Nikovich? It is twenty years
since I was there."
"It is strong and sound, Marco Kralevich, except inside. They took me
only into the lower room. The woodwork was rotted away, or perhaps some
of it has been removed."
"Yes, it may be so. In the last war the Greeks held it for a time
against the Turks. The place is well chosen for a watch-tower. From the
top you see for many miles, most freely towards the north-east, whence
we have come; less freely, but still a great way, towards the
south-west, in which direction the British Army is retreating, monsieur.
Tchk! Why did not your country and France allow us to fall on the
Bulgars before they were ready? Serbia pays a heavy price."
Burton felt he had nothing to say to this, and after a few condoling
words returned to his place by Enderby's side. The information he had
gathered had caused his half-formed idea to crystallise.
"I say!" he began, seating himself on the edge of the cart.
"Say on," returned Enderby, smiling at his friend's solemn face.
"Well, there are only ten or eleven in the tower above there."
"What is the precise force of your adverb?"
"What adverb? Oh, 'only.' Well, ten or eleven's not a great crowd.
There are four of us, without counting you and the woman----"
"Three men and a boy! We'll assume for the moment that one Englishman
is worth four of any other nation; but are your two and a half Serbs
equal to the other six or seven? Of course I see what you are driving
at."
"Well, isn't it worth trying? There's no doubt that a Bulgarian column
intends to cut off our men's retreat, and if we could seize the tower,
and hold them up even for an hour or two, it might make all the
difference."
"But they're in possession; and remember, the attack needs more men than
the defence. The odds are dead against you, Ted."
"Not altogether. You must allow for the darkness, surprise, and the
cocksureness of the enemy. Didn't a corporal carry off twelve prisoners
single-handed at Loos the other day? With a little luck----"
"We've a way of assuming that the luck is going to be on our side!
Well, see what the old Serb says. I must be out of it, unfortunately;
but you needn't consider me."
"That's very good of you, but, of course, I do consider you. If it
wasn't for you I'd not hesitate a moment."
"Don't let that trouble you. At the worst they'll only collar me. The
risks will be wholly yours."
Burton returned to the Serbs, sat down beside them, and talked to them
until the dusk had deepened into night.
The upshot of their conversation was presently disclosed. While young
Marco was thoroughly greasing the axle-trees, Burton inflicted a still
deeper wound on the dignity of Captain von Hildenheim by gagging him.
Milosh was already in possession of his revolver.
Then the little party started quietly on the upward track.
A cold wind had set in from the north-east, dispersing the mist, and
carrying with it an occasional shower of powdery snow. Except during
these brief showers the sky was clear and brilliant with starlight. A
glance behind showed the red camp-fires of the enemy far in the plain
below. Ahead, the tower, when they caught sight of it, loomed black
like a sentinel against the indigo background. A faint glow shone from
one of its shutterless windows, half-way up the wall.
The track was so well shadowed by its rocky banks that there was little
risk of the party being seen. Yet, when they were still some distance
from the tower, Burton deemed it prudent to call a halt. There was a
whispered consultation, then Milosh went forward alone to reconnoitre.
Creeping up with every precaution, eyes and ears alert, he came within
sight of a low wall some forty or fifty paces from the tower, pierced by
a single aperture where at one time had been a gate. This wall shut off
the tower and the crag on which it stood from the narrow bridle-path
that mounted the hill to the north, and fell away to the south towards
the valley.
In the gap in the wall a sentry stood, finding such shelter from the
biting wind as the thickness of the stonework afforded. He blew upon
his hands, stamped his feet, murmured his discomfort. At one moment he
took out a watch, and seemed to caress it with his fingers. He did not
lift it towards his eyes; he could not have seen the time in the
starlight; and the shiver which visibly shook him as he returned it to
his pocket was the shudder of physical cold; he had forgotten the
ruthless butchery of the Serb who had, not long before, been the owner
of the watch.
[Illustration: MILOSH WAITS.]