PRESTO! CHANGE-O!
WHAT could the lads do but comply with this order? The German soldiers
seemed jubilant; they had merely been set to guard a prisoner who,
though firmly bound, had proved himself somewhat of the wildcat
species. Now, in pure good luck they were to add two more prisoners and
thus gain some recognition from their commander; perhaps added rations.
The biggest Hun handled his automatic with evident evil intention; he
thrust it almost into Don’s face and called on his comrades to disarm
and to bind the captured Yanks, which was speedily done. Then he flung
them both upon the ground and Don fell across the legs of the first
prisoner, who lifted his head to stare from bloodshot eyes. The boy
gazed into the much bruised face of Gill.
“Sho! Got you, too, eh? And the lieutenant! Reckon we’re in for Berlin
now, sure enough. And there ain’t no way to make a break. I tried it;
fit three of ’em over ’bout ten acres, I reckon, an’ hurt ’em some,
too, I’m bettin’, but they got me, final. Wish I had somethin’ to eat.”
“I’d go without grub for a week longer to be out of here!” Don
exclaimed.
“This is tough luck,” Herbert agreed. “But we seem to be in for it. If
we could only get a yell out that would reach the other fellows; maybe
they’d understand.”
“Let’s try it, Herb! All together, Gill; now then----”
And the yell of “Help!” twice repeated that rent the air was almost
enough to wake the dead. The big Hun leaped forward and swung the
butt of his gun at Herbert’s head, but the lad leaned back quickly
and avoided it; then the fellow tried to kick the agile lieutenant in
the face, but again without avail. Two of the other men went over to
Don and Gill and threatened to shoot them. Don understood that much.
He urged that it would be better not to risk too much by shouting
more. But Gill was of a different opinion and obdurate; he would not
then have taken orders from the President of the United States and he
yelled again, as only a full-lunged mountaineer can yell. The flow of
hasty and guttural German that resulted did not equal in ferocity the
heavy-booted kicks that the American received from all four of the
captors, taking turns that seemed to greatly satisfy them. They turned
away and immediately Gill yelled, even louder than before. The biggest
Hun caught up his rifle and put the muzzle against Gill’s head and the
torrent of German that followed was like ten pigs in a pen clamoring
for swill. The weapon was held in this position for some time; then was
withdrawn with apparent reluctance and the very moment that the barrel
was pointed elsewhere Gill set up another yell.
Don undertook, then, a means of saving Gill from further torment. He
rolled over in front of the mountaineer and with a grin and a shake of
the head looked up at the Germans. The boy’s face was at once so kindly
and youthful that even the big brute of a man hesitated while Don
admonished Gill:
“They will surely kill you if you keep it up. Why persist? For our
sakes, Gill, please don’t yell again!”
“I’d rather they would butcher me than keep me this-a-way and carry me
off to have that old Kaiser feller rub it in on me!” Gill declared.
“Maybe there’ll be a way out of this, Gill,” Herbert suggested. “Don’t
yell again and let’s wait a bit.” Whereupon the mountaineer subsided
and lay back upon the ground. Don bethought him to try a little German
on their captors, but it fell flat. Either they did not understand him
at all, or they affected not to; he got no reply. He addressed his
countrymen:
“If we could manage in some way to get them to loosen up on this twine,
I’d feel almost like whistling a tune. These strings cut and there are
some plagued mosquitoes around here.”
“They’re here, too. I’m going to bite the legs off one presently,”
Herbert affirmed. “Don’t you think it’s queer if our fellows out there
didn’t hear us and Gill?”
“Mighty funny if---- Lie low! I hear someone coming.”
“In the brush yonder. A lot of them. More Huns, I suppose. They’ve
stopped now. The Germans seem to hold this hill and we must have been
right in the thick of them, Don. They’ll get our fellows, too, and turn
our prisoners loose if they don’t keep a sharp eye.”
“They’re coming on again, Herb. Our jailers are taking notice, too.
Friend or foe, I wonder.”
“We’re going to find out mighty sudden. Look alive, Gill! There may
be something doing in about half a minute. Our dear friends here are
getting on to them.”
One of the smaller Huns had climbed on the big fellow’s shoulders
in order to see over the bushes; suddenly he slid to the ground and
all four crouched, one of them gazing anxiously at the Americans,
especially at Gill. Nearer came the noise of advancing men, forcing
their way slowly through the thicket. Then the sound veered off to the
right and was surely passing.
“Huh! Them’s Yanks,” Gill observed quite calmly. “I can tell by the way
they hit the ground with their feet. Heinies walk like a ol’ raccoon
full o’ huckleberries. Them fellers’s goin’ past, eh? Not if I got any
holler left!”
And yell he did, once again, with no uncertain voice; upon which the
four Huns leaped to their feet, picked up the guns of the Americans
also and ran past the prisoners, giving Gill another savage kick or two
as they went.
“I’ll get you fer them kicks an’ things, if I got to hunt you from
here to Hail Columbia!” the mountaineer shouted after them. And then,
bursting through the bushes into the clearing by the old pine came a
most welcome half dozen khaki-clad men.
Hardly stopping to take in the situation, they at once knelt to unbind
the late captives, the corporal of the squad, however, making quick use
of his very ready tongue:
“Reef the mainsail and throw the jib overboard! Oh, you Whitcomb, alive
and kickin’ and ain’t we overjoyed? Won’t the captain cut a caper?
Where have you been? And how did you get lost? How long have you been
in this fix? And if there ain’t old Gill! Lieutenant, where’s the rest
of your bunch?”
“Thanks, thanks for this timely release, Peters, my man! Three of my
men are out yonder with a lot of Hun prisoners; the rest are pretty
much all dead. This is my friend Lieutenant Richards, Corporal Peters.
Say, man, you came just in time.”
Further question, reply and comment were interrupted by Gill:
“Get me free, quick! And I want your gun, buddy!” This to one of the
squad. “Make him lend it to me, Corp.--Lieutenant. I got to go after
them polecats that beat me up and just quit here. I got to get ’em!
They got our guns, too.”
The man’s eagerness was catching; his words thrilled both Herbert and
Don, for they had witnessed some of his treatment at the hands of
the captors and they felt now instinctively that he would make good.
Telling Corporal Peters that he would be entirely responsible, Herbert
insisted that Gill be given the weapon. In spite of his bruises and
aching bones, the mountaineer, gun in hand, dived into the thicket like
a panther, and those in the clearing, uttering hardly a word, stood
waiting and listening.
A shot sounded not a hundred yards away. Two more followed in quick
succession; then was heard only the more distant shooting in the valley
and beyond the ridge, the firing in the continuous battle.
“It’ll be either Gill or some of them. I think it won’t be Gill,” Don
said in a whisper. Again they all waited.
“That fellow’s a terror. He’ll come back with a big score, or he won’t
come back at all,” Herbert remarked in a very low voice.
“Listen. He’s coming back!” asserted one of the men.
“Someone is coming, sure.” And then, eager to satisfy their wonder,
Gill, just beyond, let out a joyous whoop. A moment later he came
limping, laboring, grinning, into the open again.
“Got three. Three shots. The big one. Would ’a’ chased him to Berlin.
Here’s your gun, Lieutenant, and yours, fellow. I got mine, too.” Then
to Don: “The feller that got away took yours, I reckon, buddy.”
“You got more than even for that kicking, then, Gill? asked Don.
“A little. They’re out there and to bury. Say you fellers, have you got
anything to eat and drink? My ol’ stomach would be thankful for melted
lead and horseshoe nails raw.” Herbert turned to the corporal:
“That about states our case. We’ve had nothing to eat nor drink since I
don’t know when. You’ll get a history of our experiences later. We must
go now and join the other fellows out yonder. Where is Captain Lowden?”
“Down the hill, now,” Peters replied. “The company is on this slope.
But won’t the captain be glad to see you? Calls you his lost sheep;
thought you were all dead or behind the enemy’s lines by this time.
What I’m thinking you’ll want most to see is the chuck wagon.”
“We want everything that’s coming to us. If you are glad to see us,
how do you think we feel about it? Now, we’ll be getting along. We owe
you barrels of gratitude, Corporal--all of you. Come on, Don and Gill!”
Rejoining the men with the docile Hun prisoners, the three quickly
told the story of their very short captivity; then all headed for
the valley. That Captain Lowden received them warmly is putting it
mildly; his joy seemed unbounded. After getting a brief report from
Lieutenant Whitcomb he gave immediate orders that the needs of the lost
squad be looked after in every way. In this poor Judson, Wilson, the
honored dead and the battered, though still defiant Gill were tenderly
considered.
Gratified at their reception and eager to recoup at once and to get
back into the fight with his platoon, Herbert looked about for Don,
wishing to share with him the present happiness.
But Don was missing. He had believed a report from him was hardly
needed and so, thinking of Judson and Wilson in the shelter beneath the
spruces, he had turned his steps that way. It would be fine for them
also to know that the Americans had come.