SHIFTED
UPON his return to duty at the new Red Cross base just south of St.
Mihiel, Don Richards had been sent at once to the evacuation hospital
four miles farther toward the front and there he reported to Major
Little, who received him with many expressions of gratification over
his return. The two entered the surgeon’s office and supply room in the
rear of an old château and sat talking for a few minutes. In one corner
of the room was an army officer at a table covered with documents and
the man was busily engaged. Presently he arose and came over to the
major.
“May I trouble you for that list once again, Doctor?” he asked. “I want
just another peep at it.”
“Sure, sure. No trouble. Oh, Colonel, I want to introduce my young
friend here, Richards. I don’t know whether you have heard of him or
not; he did some fine ambulance work for us up at Cantigny and then
above Thierry and along the Marne. Got one through the shoulder near
Bouresches--was trying to bring in a _blessé_ there right back of
the fight. He also got that Red Cross Hun spy who was signaling the
balloon; you may remember hearing about it.”
“Remember? I guess I do. I had a hand in that; gave orders to a squad
of the Marines to get him; one of them had some dope on him. Well, I’m
glad to meet you, young man. But how about that shoulder? Get over it
and come back to us?”
“Oh, he’s the right stuff, you may bet that!” put in the surgeon,
searching for the list.
“I believe you, Major, and that’s what we want. Spin that full yarn
about the spy to me, will you, Richards?”
Don looked a little sheepish; he did not much like to talk about
himself, but Major Little said:
“Colonel Walton is in part command of one branch of the enemy
Intelligence Division here.” And Don related fully his part in the spy
affair, beginning even with the capture of the spy’s confederates back
in the States and the important part also that Clement Stapley had
performed. The colonel listened with much interest; then turned and
spoke to the major:
“Doctor, you have about as many men as you really need now for drivers,
haven’t you?”
“Yes, but we can always make room for another expert at it.”
“Or you can let one go if he can be of more use elsewhere. We must have
more men who are keen on spy work and this lad is a go-getter in that
particular. Will you turn him over to me? You wouldn’t mind becoming
a liaison officer; would you, Richards; also a messenger at times;
that is, to all appearances? Your work will really be that of army
detective, to operate in some little measure with the military police
at times, when necessary, but to gain intelligence of what the enemy
may be trying to do within our lines in seeking information. In short,
to stop him from getting information. Agreed?”
“Anything,” Don replied, “to help lick the Huns!
“You have an automatic and ammunition? Good! Clothes and shoes O.K.?
Fine! Continue to wear your Red Cross arm band. Now then, report first
to headquarters of the First Army Corps and then to Captain Lowden,
with the Twenty-eighth Division in the field. We have some information
from him. By the time you can get there the advance will be under way
and you’ll probably catch up with the boys somewhere west of the Aire
River; their orders, I believe, are to attack in the Argonne sector.
You will find an ambulance or a lorry going up; the pass I shall give
you will take you anywhere. You are starting out without any definite
information now, but such may come to you from time to time. Now then,
I’ll swear you and you can get on the job at once. Your rank will be a
sergeant of infantry; the pay----”
“I don’t care what the pay is, Colonel. It’s the duty I’m after,” Don
said.
A little while later the boy was on his way with half a dozen jolly,
care-free fellows, who were a sapper squad, and two others who were
transferred army cooks, all loaded into a big transport _camion_ that
thundered, jolted, creaked and groaned, sputtered and backfired over
the uneven and rutted roads, stopping now and then for deliberate
repairs, to cool the motor or for meals, when a rest was always in
order, together with card games or crap shooting, accompanied by a vast
amount of hilarity.
Don took no part in these latter performances, but was an intent
observer; he very plainly smelled alcohol fumes among the men and he
noted that the driver, a morose and silent fellow, was evidently not
under the influence of the beverage that was being passed around. The
boy bided his time. Presently a bottle was offered to him, but he
declared that it made him sick. A little later there was a call for
more and the driver stopped the car, reached back under his seat and
brought forth a bottle of yellow fluid which was handed around, the
driver himself persistently refusing to imbibe. Don watched him and
saw the fellow’s eyes take on a queer, wicked glance at the increasing
intoxication of the men. The boy liked this so little that he decided
something must be wrong; at least there was open disobedience to
strict orders against the use of intoxicants, this being dared because
of the isolation of the long run somewhat out of the usual route
and the expressed desire of everyone in the lorry, except Don, who
was evidently regarded from his youth as quite unworthy of serious
consideration. Instinctively the boy felt that here was a chance for
some investigation along his new endeavor.
Some risk was being run by the party; an M. P. was sighted ahead as he
rode toward them. The driver gave them all a signal and comparative
quiet ensued, with only one choked-off snatch of a song. The policeman
reined in his horse, turned partly and gazed after the lorry, evidently
thought better of following them and they were presently as noisy as
ever.
Another stop was made. Don did not believe, nor could he detect
anything was the matter with the motor. Several of the men got out and
started another crap game; some were asleep, or near it, inside the
car. Don saw and took his chance to have a quiet word with the driver,
though he foresaw that he must prod his own nerve.
“What’s the use of just delaying a little?” he said, looking the other
in the face, with a wink. “Why don’t you run into the ditch and then
get under and disconnect your steering rod, chuck the bolt away and
blame it on that?”
“What you talkin’ about?” demanded the driver, turning almost savagely
upon the boy.
“Why, it’s a nice day if it doesn’t rain tomorrow,” Don said, laughing
a little. “I said cross steering rods are often weak and ditches
handy. That’ll fix these _teufels_ so they can’t get to the front.”
“Who wants to fix them?”
“Why, don’t you and I both want to? What use are they there, anyway?
The Fatherland doesn’t want anyone there; that I know.”
“Say, who are you and what?” the driver quickly demanded.
“You can see,” Don said. “Liaison officer messenger, Red Cross. I’ve
got enough to keep them from even guessing who I may be. You don’t need
to tell who and what you are; I know.”
It was an awful bluff, barely a guess, but Don reasoned that nothing
ventured nothing have, and now that he had started to burn his bridges
he would go ahead with his quest.
“Get out; you don’t know nothin’ ’bout me,” denied the driver.
“Nothing about where your orders came from, eh? When I get mine from
the same general source? We’ve all got to work together. Say, if you
haven’t the nerve to ditch her, let’s start on and give me the wheel;
I’ll do it. And I know a way we can get off unsuspected, too.”
“Aw, gwan! You’re kiddin’ me, Sarge.”
“Aw, don’t be a clam! Your think works must be rusty or your mush case
too thick. Come on, get her to going and let me show you a thing or two
that’ll put you wise.”
“How’d you get into this, Sarge?”
“How’d a lot of us get into it? One kind of money is as good as
another, if it’s good in exchange. And it’s big money, too, eh? You
know that. Quit your hedging, fellow, and let’s talk sense. Going to
let me ditch her?”
“You daren’t ditch her. If you do, I reckon you’re givin’ me the
straight dope. But let me say this first: You talk A-1 American; how,
then----?”
“Well, what of that? So do you. But that doesn’t keep my folks from
being--well, maybe like yours are. We’ve both listened to ‘_Deutschland
uber alles_’ enough to know it by heart, haven’t we?”
“Let’s see you ditch her. I don’t believe you’ve got the nerve,” the
driver said and shouting “all aboard!” they started the motor, gliding
off as soon as the passengers were in the car. Fortune favored Don at
the wheel. The driver saw at once that the boy knew how to handle the
big car; the fellow sat watching him closely; watching also the road.
It was very rutty for a stretch, but the ground was solid; another
motor car could pull them out of the ditch if they couldn’t get out
alone.
The boy could not be sure of his ground; there were too many
contributing circumstances for him to be altogether wrong. Yet there
was a large element of risk, too, and it required all his courage to do
what he did. It was really more impulse than an act of clear reason,
but often unerring inspiration may come in leaps from an uncertain
footing. And now before Don lay one course or the other; he had to
choose and that quickly. Showing a lack of nerve would defeat his
object.
There was a sudden grinding of brakes, a sudden swaying, a big jolt, a
splash. Skidding into the ditch went the big car and stopped almost as
though coming against a tree trunk. Half of the passengers were in a
heap on the floor.
“You done it! You done it all right, _señor_. I didn’t think you had
the nerve, but you done it!” whispered the driver fiercely.
“Now let’s get out and look her over,” Don said in a calm voice which
belied his feelings.
They jumped to the ground, hearing expressions of injury and protest
from those within. Around at the front of the car the man and boy were
quite alone.
“She’s fixed now, I think.” Don’s manner appeared stern.
“She is. We’d better attend to that rod and bolt, as you----”
“Plenty of time. Say, this is getting results. It’ll even things up
with me and the coin---- Say, where did you say you’re from?”
“I didn’t say yet. Want to know? I’m Mexican born; folks came from
Bavaria. Foreign colony at home; talk English mostly. My old man and
his crowd lost all their money----”
“Where do we go from here, Betsy; where do we go from here?” sang one
of the sappers within.
“We don’t go; we stay awhile, blast your boots!” yelled Don.
“--through an English oil syndicate; he was tryin’ to do them and they
were tryin’ to do him and did it. Reckon there’s some way of getting
square. I enlisted from El Paso. What’s your trouble?”
“Mebbe you’d be surprised if I tell you I was born in Germany and
learned to talk English on a visit to America, where they got me for
this scrap. Who do you take your orders from? I get mine from----”
Don paused, as though listening; then added: “That slow shooting is
German machine-guns. Give it to ’em, Fritz, me boy!”
“I get mine from a liaison sergeant; he’s up at the front now. Got ’em
complete fooled, he has. A German fellow that was in America before the
war broke out. He raised the roof over there, he says; helped to blow
up one ammunition storehouse and set fire to a gun factory.”
“Mebbe I’ve seen him and I ought to know him. What’s he look like?” Don
asked, making no attempt to hide his eagerness.
“Short, thick-set; looks something like a wop. Little mustache; has a
cast in his eye. Good feller, though, and free with the coin. You can
ask one of the cooks in there--the big one; he’s with us, too; German.
Where’d you say you got your orders?”
“From the United States Government!” Don replied, suddenly pulling his
automatic. “Now, hold up your hands! Up, up, I say, and keep ’em up
high!”