WHAT'S TO BE DONE?
"What's the matter. Blazes?" cried Bob, as he saw his friend coming
back.
"You look as if we'd lost the war!"
"Well, I've lost part of something I won in it, anyhow," declared
Jimmy.
"Is Iggy dead?" Franz wanted to know. "Did you hear any word from
him?"
"No, but we must make some inquiries. This is about something else.
Fellows, I guess I'll have to wait until I get a remittance from
home before I give you your shares of the thousand dollars reward."
"Wait for a remittance!" exclaimed Roger. "Not that I'm altogether
sure I'm going to take what you call my 'share' of that; but why do
you have to wait?"
"Because the money's gone," said Jimmy, tragically. In France, three
thousand miles away from home, with their army pay uncertain, ready
cash meant much to our doughboys.
"Gone! Did you lose it?" asked Bob, with a reportorial instinct.
"No, but Maxwell is gone and the money's gone with him. He's missing,"
Jimmy hastened to explain. "Been missing since just before we went
into action."
"Where was the sergeant stationed?" asked Roger.
"In that big concrete dugout we captured from the Germans in the
scrap just before this," Jimmy explained. "He was in command of a hand
grenade squad there, and just before the fight, or at least soon after
the signal to advance was given, that was the last seen of Sergeant
Maxwell and my money," added the owner of it ruefully.
His companions received the news in silence. Then Franz spoke up and
asked:
"What's to be done? I don't so much mean about the money," he added
quickly, as he saw the others look curiously at him. "That doesn't
matter, though, of course, I'll be glad of my share, and it's mighty
generous of you, Blazes, to offer to whack up. But I mean what's to be
done about Sergeant Maxwell? Do you suppose he--"
He did not finish, but his meaning was obvious.
"If you mean, do I think he went away with it, I most certainly do
_not_," declared Jimmy, positively. "A thousand dollars isn't enough
to make a man skip out."
"A thousand dollars is a lot to some people--I know it is to _me_,"
said Bob. "I worked hard on the _Chronicle_, and it never brought me a
thousand dollars--at least not all at once."
"Me either--when I was slaving in the munition plant, and running a
chance of being blown up every minute," declared Roger. "But I think
Schnitz is right--what's to be done! Maybe Maxwell was robbed, and he
started after the thief and--"
"'Maybe' won't get us anywhere," said Jimmy. "Of course, I'd rather
lose the five thousand francs ten times over than have anything happen
to Maxwell. And I'd like to know where he is for his own sake. At the
same time I'd like to get that money back, as much for my own sake
as for you fellows," he added. "I can very nicely use a bit of spare
cash."
"So can I," chimed in Franz. "Maybe we'll have a chance to hunt for
the serg. after this place quiets down a bit."
"I hope so," sighed Jimmy. Really he was more affected than he liked
to admit, and it was not altogether over the loss of the money,
either. He had been firm friends with the missing man--not as close a
chum as with his four Brothers, but enough so that there was a genuine
loss in his disappearance.
"Well, we'll see what we can do," decided Bob. "We've got to look
after Iggy, too--that is, if he's alive. But we can't do anything
along either line to-night."
"No, I guess not," agreed Jimmy. "Some of us'll have to do sentry go,
I expect, or take a listening post."
And he was right in his surmise. He and Bob were detailed to take a
trick at a listening post--to be on the alert for any possible advance
of the temporarily defeated Germans. Franz, because of his bruised
ankle, was not put on duty. Indeed, he came near being sent to the
rear for treatment when an officer discovered his hurt.
"It'll be all right in the morning," declared the youth of German
blood, who, nevertheless, was such an ardent hater of the Kaiser and
his "Potsdam gang," as a certain preacher has called the Hun ruler's
associates. "I'm simply not going to the hospital! Captain, there'll
be fighting in the morning; won't there, sir?"
"Very likely," was the grim answer.
"Then I'm going to stay, sir!" declared Franz, forgetting that he
was speaking to his superior officer. "I'll be able to walk in the
morning, and I want to get some more of the beasts!" and he fairly
snarled the word. No true-blooded American hated the Huns as did Franz
Schnitzel, of German parentage.
"Very well," assented the captain. "You may stay until morning, at
least."
"Thank you, sir," replied Franz, saluting. He knew in his heart that
he would never give in, no matter how his ankle hurt, and the pain was
not inconsiderable, either.
There came a reaction after the fierce fighting of the morning and
early afternoon, and when night came, and the lads, with only a short
period of rest, had to go out on sentry or other duty, there was a
weariness of body, and a queer feeling of the mind, that did not make
the occasion one of pleasure.
But duty was duty and it had to be done.
Jimmy and Bob had an advanced listening post, and they took their
positions about ten o 'clock that night. It was dark and a drizzling
rain was falling.
"I'd much rather go to bed in a dugout," declared Jimmy, stifling a
yawn.
"Same here," agreed Bob. "Say, what do you s'pose happened to Maxwell,
anyhow!"
"Can't imagine, unless he's been killed or captured. If he was within
our lines some one would have heard of it. Or perhaps they wouldn't
either, in all this excitement. It may take two or three days to
locate him, if he's alive."
"And if he isn't--or is a prisoner?" suggested Bob.
"Then good-bye to our thousand dollars," sighed Jimmy.
"I'm thinking of poor Iggy, too," said Bob, after a pause. "Do you
think he has any chance!"
"Well, he didn't appear to be badly wounded. But if his spine is
broken he'll never fight again, and may not live very long. That's
a fierce state of affairs. How he escaped being killed outright is
a wonder to me. You ought to have seen him after Roger and I dug him
out," and in a whisper, for loud talking was forbidden, he related the
scene in the shell hole.
He had scarcely finished his narration when Bob peered out from
their improvised shelter and seemed to be looking at something
intently--that is, as intently as he could in the rainy darkness.
"What is it?" asked Jimmy cautiously.
"I don't know," was the answer. "But someone, or something, is
crawling this way. Look right straight ahead. See it moving?"