WITH THE TANKS
"Dead!" exclaimed Frank's comrades in voices that shook with surprise
and horror.
"That's what I said," replied Frank. "Touch him and see for yourselves."
All did so and found that the body was rigid. How long the horse had
borne his lifeless burden they could not tell. The legs were set stiffly
in the stirrups and the hands had a death grip on the reins.
The boys had seen death in many forms. Scarcely a day had passed since
their arrival at the front without that sad experience. But it had never
seemed so ghastly or uncanny as at this moment. That silent, colossal
figure, seated bolt upright, worked fearfully on their imaginations and
seemed far more formidable than any living enemy would have seemed.
"One of those bullets that the sentries sent after him must have reached
him," said Bart in an awed voice.
"I suppose so," replied Frank. "But it doesn't matter now. Our search is
over."
"What are we going to do with the body?" asked Billy soberly.
"I guess we can't do anything just now," replied Frank. "I don't think
we could get those reins out of his hands anyway, and I for one don't
want to try. Besides, this is the proof for the officers that the
prisoner hasn't escaped. They're anxious, because they don't know what
information he might have been carrying back to the German lines. The
only thing to do is for one of us to lead the horse--with its rider--
back to camp."
This seemed to the others the solution of the problem, although the task
was a gruesome one and they would have gladly evaded it if they could.
It made chills run down the spine to trudge along leading the horse with
that huge figure towering behind them in the darkness, mocking at them
because he had escaped to the silent land from which they could never
bring him back.
But there was comfort in numbers, and what no one of them could perhaps
have done singly they finally accomplished by taking turns, keeping
close together all the while as the ghostly cavalcade wound its way
through the woods.
It was with a sigh of heartfelt relief that they finally drew up before
the friendly lights of the regimental headquarters that had never before
seemed so welcome.
Their coming caused a great sensation, and there was soon a dense crowd
around them, for the uncanny circumstances of their return spread
through the camp like wildfire. The reins were cut from the dead hands
and the body lifted to the ground. Then after making a full report the
boys went to their quarters. They were besieged with inquiries by
curious comrades, but they shook them off as soon as possible. Their
experience had been one that they were only too anxious to forget.
"I don't think I want any supper, after all," remarked Tom to his
friends.
"Same here," responded Bart. "I don't feel as though I'd ever be hungry
again."
"All I want to do is to get to sleep and forget it," said Billy. "That
is, if I _can_ get to sleep."
"You'll sleep all right," observed Frank, "but I wouldn't guarantee you
against nightmare."
But harrowed as their nerves had been, they were too young and healthy
to stand out against the sleep they needed, and when they woke the next
morning both their spirits and their appetites were as good as usual.
Life at the front was too full of work and rush for any one experience
to leave its imprint long.
Their first inquiry after breakfast was for Rabig.
"How's Rabig getting along?" Frank asked of Fred Anderson.
"Oh, he's all right, I guess," answered Fred carelessly. "When the
doctors came to examine him they found that the wound didn't amount to
much. Said he'd be all right in a day or two."
"Is he under arrest?" asked Tom.
"Why, yes, I suppose he is," answered Fred. "But I guess it's a mere
form. The fact that the prisoner didn't finally get away will count in
his favor. It's like baseball. An error is an error, but if the man who
ought to be out at first gets put out when he tries to steal second the
error is harmless. It's no credit to Rabig that a bullet got the man he
let escape, but it's lucky for him just the same."
It was evident that Anderson had no suspicion that Rabig had been guilty
of anything but carelessness, and the boys carefully refrained from
saying anything about what they had gathered from their observation the
day before. But when they were alone together they had no hesitation
about speaking their minds.
"Some fellows could commit murder and get away with it," grumbled Tom.
"Cheer up, you old grouch," chaffed Billy. "At any rate the prisoner
didn't escape, and so there's no harm done."
"And if Rabig is guilty he's got nothing from it but a sore head," put
in Bart.
"I don't feel dead sure that Rabig helped him," said Frank, "and yet the
more I think it over, the more I'm inclined to think that Tom is right
about it. Still, Rabig's entitled to the benefit of the doubt. I know
how the Scotch jury felt when they brought in the verdict: 'Not guilty,
but don't do it again.'"
"That's just what I'm afraid Rabig will do," said Tom. "This time
luckily it didn't matter. The prisoner didn't escape. But if Rabig is a
traitor, how do we know but what the next time he might do something
that might cause a defeat?"
"It does make one uneasy," agreed Bart. "Nick in the regiment is like a
splinter in the finger. It makes you sore. But we'll keep our eyes open
and the very next crooked move he makes it will be curtains for him."
"Or taps," added Billy.
The fighting now had lost the first intensity that had signalized the
day of the mine explosion. The Germans had been strongly reinforced, and
had held their third line, which had now become their first.
"And they've got plenty of other lines behind that one," commented Tom,
as he sat on a trench step cleaning and oiling his rifle.
"Slathers of them," assented Billy. "I suppose they stretch all the way
back to the Rhine."
"It will be some job to root them out of them if we have to storm each
one of them in turn," remarked Bart.
"We don't have to count on that," said Frank confidently. "The Allies
gained twenty-five miles at a clip when they drove Hindenburg back from
the Somme. The Huns may stand out a long while, but when the time comes
they may collapse all at once like the deacon's 'one-hoss shay.'"
The Americans in the meantime had thoroughly reorganized the captured
positions and had held them against a number of strong counter-attacks.
But these became fewer as they failed to produce results, and although
the artillery still kept on growling and barking, the wearied infantry
had a chance to get some of the rest they so sorely needed after their
herculean efforts.
"Nothing to do till to-morrow," yawned Billy, as after performing their
turn of trench duty they found themselves with an hour or two on their
hands.
"Let's take a little hike back of the lines and see what's doing,"
suggested Bart.
"I think there's something in the wind connected with the tanks,"
remarked Frank. "They say there's a bunch of them coming up from all
parts of the front and getting together just back of our division."
"They're hot playthings, all right," commented Tom. "They certainly keep
the Huns on the jump. If we only had enough of them we might roll right
into Berlin."
They passed some of the field batteries where the men, stripped to the
waist, were serving the guns, running the shells in and discharging
their weapons with marvelous smoothness, speed and precision.
"This is the life," chaffed Tom. "You fellows have a picnic here away
back of the lines, while we chaps in the front line do all the work and
stop all the bullets."
"G'wan, you doughboys," retorted a gunner good-naturedly. "If we're
alive here after eight days, the orders are to shoot us for loafing."
A little further on, they came upon a myriad of tanks of all
descriptions. There were "baby" tanks, "whippets," "male" and "female,"
all with different functions to perform during a battle. Just as in the
navy there are vessels of all sizes from a light scout to a
super-dreadnought, so already this arm of the service was developing
various grades, each to do some special work for which the others were
not so well adapted.
"See how they're hidden," said Frank, as he pointed to a very forest of
bushes and branches that extended above the array of tanks.
"That's to keep the Boche aviators guessing," observed Bart. "They'd
give their eyes if they could only spy out where these fellows are being
massed."
"I heard one of the fellows say that the tanks travel only at night so
that the Boches can't track them," said Tom.
"And see what a raft of them have been got together here," said Billy.
"I tell you, fellows, there's something big going to be pulled off
before long."
"Say, boys, see who's here!" exclaimed Frank, and they turned to see
Will Stone coming toward them with a broad smile of welcome on his
bronzed face.