A FAMILIAR VOICE
As Frank neared the cabin he redoubled his precautions, and it was here
that his scout training stood him in good stead.
When he was within twenty feet he went down flat on the earth and wormed
his way to one of the sides that had been left standing. He placed his
ear against a board and listened intently.
But not a sound rewarded him. The deepest silence reigned.
For a moment he was tempted to believe that his eyes had played a trick
on him. But they had seldom done this and he had learned to trust them.
The light could not have come from a firefly, for it was too late in the
season for them. What then had caused it?
He worked his way around to the shattered doorway and inch by inch
lifted his head until his eyes were on a level with the floor. Quickly
they swept the room, which was so small that the faint light that came
from the stars enabled him to see that it was empty.
When he was fully assured of this, he crept into the room and with his
fingers explored every inch of the floor. The apartment was so small
that this was not much of a task, and before long his hand came in
contact with a match. It had been lighted and the softness of the
charred end told him that this had been done recently.
This then was the "firefly"!
He continued his search with renewed caution and soon found a cartridge.
He knew from the feel of it that it was of the kind used in the rifles
with which the American troops were equipped. It was still warm, as
though it had been recently in a belt close to a man's body.
But what was a man doing in that lonely spot at that hour of the night?
Was he a prowling spy from the German camp who had made a daring
incursion into the American lines?
He must solve the mystery. With every faculty at its highest pitch, he
moved out into the open.
A slight rustling in the forest near by fell on his ears. It might have
been made by some woodland creature, but to his strained senses every
sound, however slight, suggested a possible clue.
He listened intently and heard it again, but this time it was a trifle
louder than before.
He rose to his feet and with catlike tread moved in the direction of the
sound. As he drew hearer he heard it more plainly. And now his patience
was rewarded, for he distinctly heard the low tone of a human voice.
And if it was a human voice it must of necessity be an enemy voice, for
no friend of his or of Uncle Sam's could be in that place at that hour
on a legitimate errand.
A moment later he detected another voice in a different key yet pitched
hardly above a whisper. So it was a conference! A conference of whom and
about what?
He crept still farther forward.
Right before him stretched a little glade full of small trees and
undergrowth with a scarcely visible path leading downward.
To press too far between the bushes would have inevitably betrayed him.
He halted with his rifle ready for action and listened.
The conversation seemed to be an earnest one and in their earnestness
the conferees at times forgot caution, for, as one of the men raised his
voice in expostulation, Frank could note that he was talking German. But
it was not that which made him start suddenly and clutch his rifle more
tightly.
He had heard that voice before.
Where and when?
He cudgeled his brain and then it came to him.
It was Nick Rabig's voice!
That is, he thought it was. But at that distance he could not be
perfectly sure. At any rate it was time to act.
With a bound he leaped forward.
"Halt!" he cried. "Halt or I fire."
There were startled exclamations from both men, and then a prodigious
scrambling in the bushes as they tried to escape.
Bang! went Frank's rifle, and there was a scream followed by a heavy
fall.
Frank rushed forward, but caught his foot in a tangled root and fell.
His gun flew from his hand and his head came in contact with a stump.
The jagged edges cut a gash in his forehead, and for a moment he was
utterly dazed.
He strove desperately to retain his senses and in a minute or two his
brain ceased to whirl. He staggered drunkenly to his rifle and picked it
up. And at this moment there was a sound of hurrying feet, and Wilson,
the corporal of the guard, came running up, accompanied by Fred Anderson
who had been on duty near by.
"What is it, Sheldon?" asked the corporal "What were you shooting at?"
Frank tried to speak, but his tongue was thick and the words would not
come."
"He's wounded!" exclaimed Anderson, as he saw with alarm the blood
flowing freely from Frank's forehead.
They deftly bound up his head, and by this time Frank had found his
voice.
"It's nothing," he managed to say. "I fell and cut my head. It's only a
scratch. I heard two men talking German here in the bushes and I started
in to get them. They wouldn't stop when I ordered them to, and I fired,
I don't know whether I got them or not."
"We'll see," said the corporal, and led the way into the bushes while
Frank and Fred followed close on his heels.
From one side to the other the corporal flashed his light, and before
long he uttered an exclamation.
"You got one of them anyway," he said, as the light fell on the dead
body of a German whose uniform showed that he belonged to the Eighth
Bavarian Regiment, which they knew was stationed opposite them at that
part of the line.
The corporal blew his whistle and other men of his squad came running in
answer to the call. He ordered them to carry the body into camp where it
could be searched for papers. Then he turned to Frank.
"You've done well, Sheldon," he said, "and I'm sorry that you were hurt.
You're relieved from duty for the rest of your watch. I'll put another
man in your place. You'd better see the surgeons and have them wash out
that cut of yours and bind it up again. Then tumble in and go to sleep.
I hope you'll be all right in the morning."
Frank did as he was directed, and after the surgeon had dressed his
wound and pronounced it not serious made his way to his bunk. He had to
pass Rabig's bunk in reaching his own and he stopped there for a moment.
The place was dark, but he could see that the bunk was occupied, and
from the snoring that arose from it the inmate seemed to be sleeping
soundly.
Had he been mistaken?