MUCH WONDERING
Through the splintered and tangled crisscross of beams, planks and
boards which barred their way to freedom, as some iron grill or
lattice work might have kept in some ancient prisoner, the Khaki Boys
looked at the man who had shouted to them; the man who had said he
would rescue them. And he spoke with a calmness and confidence that
was in strange contrast to the scene of terror, noise and confusion
which was behind the boys--a danger that was ever coming nearer as the
fire, started by the exploding shell, ate its way into the dry timber
of the old mill, and menaced the five imprisoned Brothers.
"Who is he?" murmured Bob.
"And where did he come from!" inquired Roger.
"Is he an American or German?" was the question Jimmy asked, and he
peered out through a space between two big beams that had fallen and
crossed when the mill collapsed.
"He isn't a German--that's sure," declared Franz. "No German would be
so decent as to rescue five imprisoned Americans. He'd let us roast to
death first."
"Maybe he knows not dat we American be," suggested the Polish lad.
"Well, he wouldn't have to be much of a guesser to tell that we
weren't Germans, after he heard us talk," said Jimmy. "We might be
of either nationality, as far as our being here is concerned. But no
matter what he thinks we are, he seems to be willing to help. What's
he looking for, I wonder?"
The strange rescuer appeared to be looking about in front of the mill
for some object. His eyes eagerly sought the ground, and he hurried to
and fro, seeming to realize the need of haste.
"I'll be there in just a moment, boys!" he called. "I'm looking for
something to use in prying apart those beams. They're pretty heavy,
and I've got to work all alone. I'll get you out in time!"
"Wonder how he knows we're boys!" asked Bob.
"Oh, that's a general term--he'd call us that if we were forty years
old," declared Jimmy. "And no matter how old a man is, if he's in the
army, he's a boy. But I wish he'd hurry. It's getting hot here!"
It certainly was! The fire was gaining rapidly, and, every now and
then, with a shift in the wind, the hot, choking gases from the
flames, together with rolling clouds of smoke, would be blown into the
rude chamber where the boys were imprisoned.
When the smoke-clouds blew away the Khaki Boys could look out and see
their rescuer, still hunting frantically about for some object to use
as a lever. In spite of the danger of their situation they could not
help observing the man. He was tall, and well formed, and unmistakably
a military character. He appeared to be above the general type of
captain or lieutenant.
"If he's any less than a general I'll eat my gas mask!" Roger declared
afterward.
Clearly the man was born to command, or he had acquired that right in
some manner. There was an indefinable air of authority about him, even
though now he was hurrying about almost frantically, looking for some
weapon with which to attack the barrier that held the boys prisoners.
"That sure is a queer uniform he has on," remarked Jimmy, as he tried
in vain to move some of the beams from his side of the mass of timber
that had fallen when the mill was blown up. "It's mostly American, but
it has a British air about it."
"And his leather puttees look like some the Germans wear," added Bob.
"Maybe he's a war correspondent, and had to pick up bits of uniform
from all over."
"He isn't a war correspondent," declared Jimmy.
"What makes you so sure?" Roger wanted to know.
"Because, if he was, he'd have a brassard with a large letter 'C'
on it, around his arm," went on Jimmy. "And he wouldn't have a big
automatic revolver strapped to his hip, either. The correspondents
are classed as non-combatants, and aren't allowed to go armed."
"That's right," chimed in Franz. "But who is he!"
It seemed useless to speculate then, and, indeed, the boys were in
little mood for it. The precariousness of their position was alarming.
And while I have detailed the conversation among them, you are to
understand that it all took place very quickly. In fact from the time
they first observed the strange rescuer, until they had talked about
his odd uniform, was only about half a minute.
Suddenly the man--officer let us call him--who was scurrying about
just beyond the jagged barrier, uttered a cry of satisfaction. He
hurried out of the boys' vision for a moment, but lest they have
any fear that he had deserted them and left them to their fates, he
called:
"I've found what I've been looking for--an axe! I'll soon have you out
now!"
He came running back, carrying an axe of curious make. It was a large,
keen one, however, and later it developed that it was one the French
miller had used to chop his firewood. Throwing off his coat, and
revealing beneath it a dark blue shirt, the officer began fiercely
to chop at the beams.
And the boys remembered afterward, though at the time they were too
excited to mark it, that the officer picked out what might be called
the "key" beam. That is one which held all the other pieces of jigged
and splintered timber in place, making a prison of that part of the
cellar.
With vigorous blows of the keen implement, the unknown chopped away at
a great hand-hewn beam. And he swung the axe as though he knew how to
use it, and not as a tyro.
"He's been in a lumber camp at one time of his life," decided Jimmy,
and the others were inclined to agree with him.
The fire was now gaining so rapidly that the heat of it, penetrating
to the prison of the boys, was almost unbearable. The smoke, too, made
their eyes smart and burn, and it choked them, causing them to gasp
and cough.
"Steady, boys! Steady!" panted the officer, between his vigorous
blows. "A few more strokes and I'll have this beam cut. Then I think
you can get out."
Again and again he swung the keen axe. Between the blows the boys
could hear the sounds of distant firing, and the reverberation told
them that heavy guns were being used.
"Hope they don't send any more shells over this way," murmured Bob.
"They seem satisfied, now that they have brought down the old mill on
top of us," commented Franz. "Can any of you see the German lines!"
None of them could, it developed. In fact, their vision was obstructed
by a small hill directly in front of the grill work of their prison,
and, even if this had been removed, the smoke was now swirling around
them so thickly that, at times, even the officer chopping them out was
obscured.
Once or twice the chopper had to stoop down, in order to breathe the
purer and cooler air near the ground, and the boys were put to the
same expedient.
And then, suddenly, there came a crashing, splintering sound. There
was an exclamation from the officer, and, as he leaped back he cried:
"There she goes, boys! The way is as clear as I can make it! Come on
out, and lively, too!"
The Khaki Boys lost no time in obeying. Leaping and scrambling as best
they could over the heaps of brick, stone and splintered wood, they
emerged through the hole cut for them by the officer. He had chopped
through the one beam that held all the others, or most of the others
in place, and the crisscross structure had collapsed, allowing the
boys to escape.
"Come on! Come on!" cried Jimmy. "Everybody out!"
And they leaped out only just in time, for as Bob, the last to make
his way to safety, cleared the jagged barrier, a burst of flames and
smoke swept into what had been the boys' prison.
Now they stood on the green grass, in the open, with the burning ruins
of the mill at their backs. And confronting them, still holding the
axe, and panting from his terrific exertions, was the strange officer.
And as the young soldiers looked at him they wondered, more than ever,
who he was.