“I should say it was lucky!” assented Amos, with an intake of breath;
“did you see how it shattered that tree top when it burst? Looks like a
bolt of lightning had struck it. What would have happened to both of us
if the time limit of explosion had been just a second less?”
Jack turned and looked away off to where those billows of white and
gray and greenish-colored smoke hid most of what was taking place
beyond the shifting screen.
“I wonder where it really came from?” he exclaimed, “and if it was only
a random shot, or did that gunner mean to hit this cupola?”
“Well, I must say you take it mighty cool, Jack!”
“What’s the use of getting worked up over it?” demanded the ranch boy,
who had learned long ago how to control his emotions even under the
most trying conditions.
“But they may bombard us again?” expostulated Amos.
“I give you my word for it, Amos, I won’t wait for a third invitation
to get out. If another shot comes anywhere near here we’ll go down in a
hurry. But I hardly believe that was intentional.”
Amos, however, was hard to convince.
“Of course they’ve got powerful glasses--I mean the officers directing
the fire of that battery?” he ventured.
“That goes without saying, Amos.”
“And if they chanced to look this way they’d see us here, though of
course they couldn’t tell who or what we were. Now, Jack, wouldn’t it
be natural for them to think some high British officers had climbed up
into this lookout so as to make use of it as a watch tower?”
“I must say you put up a reasonable argument there,” admitted Jack.
“Well,” argued Amos, “if they got the notion in their heads that
this deserted chateau was being used as headquarters by the British
commander and his staff, it would be an object with the Germans to drop
a shower of shells hereabouts, with the intention of putting them out
of business.”
Jack seemed quite interested in the theory his chum was so earnestly
putting forward. He even smiled as he turned to look at Amos.
“There’s only one weak place in that argument of yours,” he went on to
say.
“Then tell me what it is, won’t you, Jack?”
“Since that shell dropped in here all of a sudden I should say two full
minutes had gone by,” the Western boy told him.
“What of that, Jack?”
“Only this, Amos, we’ve seen nothing of a second shot anywhere near us.
There’s been plenty of time, and to wipe out the British army staff it
would pay to turn the fire of a whole battery this way; but it hasn’t
been done.”
“Then you believe now that shot was only an accident?” asked Amos.
“Oh! well, some gunner was trying his range, and got it with just
one shell. His next aim was in another quarter, and it may be he did
terrible work. We’ll never know.”
“But you said you’d be willing to clear out of this soon, Jack. I wish
you’d settle on doing so now.”
“I suppose I’ll have to keep my word,” agreed the other, “though
between you and me I haven’t seen half enough of this thrilling
picture. It’s ten times as interesting as looking at one of those war
panoramas like Gettysburg, the Siege of Paris, and all the rest.”
“And a thousand times more terrible,” added Amos, “because we know that
what we’re looking at isn’t a painting on canvas but the real thing.”
“Just give me one more chance to see through a gap in the smoke,”
pleaded Jack. “I’d like to know what became of those men in the kilts,
and with the bare knees.”
“The Highlanders, you mean,” said Amos. “Oh! they’ve found shelter
behind some other stone wall, and are holding their own, I’m dead
certain. Just as you said a while ago the canny Scot keeps a grip on
what he can seize like a bulldog might.”
“Now the breeze has struck up again, Amos, and it’s blowing the smoke
away, like we saw that fog at sea driven off. Use your eyes and tell me
if you can pick out the men from the Scotch hills.”
Jack had hardly ceased speaking when his companion uttered a loud cry,
as though he had made a discovery.
“There they are, flattened out along the ground, and against that small
rise just like so many cats waiting to pounce on a robin. And, Jack,
see what a distance they’ve gained, will you?”
“I’d like to predict that the terrible German drive has reached its
limit in this direction,” said the Western boy, confidently.
“They’re shooting as fast as they can, too, what at I’m not able to
say, for all the smoke. Somewhere beyond there the enemy lies, and I’m
afraid some of those fellows we can see stretched out on the ground
will never take part in another battle.”
“But there’s no sign of them retreating, you notice, Amos. They’re
going to stick like leeches. I reckon in this war German stubbornness
is matched evenly against Scotch persistence, and English bulldog
holding on. What the end of it all will be I can’t see.”
Amos moved uneasily.
“We oughtn’t to have any great trouble getting down from here, I should
think,” he mentioned, significantly.
Of course Jack understood the hint. It would be with only an effort
that he could tear himself away from that wonderful spectacle of modern
man, at war with his neighbors, and bringing every ingenious device
known to latter-day invention into the conflict.
Left to his own devices and he might have clung to that elevated
watch tower for hours, impressing on his memory the strange pictures
that were changed with each passing minute. But he had to consider
the wishes of his companion, and also remember that he had given his
promise.
“No trouble about that, Amos,” he agreed. “Watch your step when
descending.”
“Then you’re ready to come along, Jack?”
“I said I would, so lead the way,” returned the other.
Amos waited no longer. Perhaps he entertained a little fear that
Jack might change his mind if he lingered, because of some new and
astounding phase of the furious, long-drawn-out battle taking place.
Accordingly, he started down the ladder by means of which they had
reached the cupola on top of the deserted mansion.
Jack waited only to cast one last look along that front to the north,
as if desirous of impressing the picture upon his mind forever. He
had always possessed a faculty for mental photography which had been
cultivated to the limit, and which had served him well in times past.
“I’m coming after you, Amos!” he called out, cheerily, as he started
down the ladder.
Amos had meanwhile reached the upper floor of the house. Mechanically
he stepped over some of the broken furniture and fragments of shattered
wall to make for the stairway leading below.
At the head of this he paused to wait for Jack, who had just then
called out that he was on the way. So they came together again.
Amos pointed to what seemed to be the remains of a cradle.
“The people who lived here had children, that’s sure,” remarked Jack.
“I’ve seen toys lying around, and other things besides.”
“What happened to them, do you suppose?” asked tender-hearted Amos.
“Oh! the chances are this man fled with his family when first the war
broke out,” Jack declared. “He was a man of means, and kept his motor
car, because there’s a fine garage in the yard outside.”
“I hadn’t noticed that, Jack. It certainly is little that escapes your
sharp eyes. But I hope they got to a safe place.”
“Dunkirk and Calais are both really close at hand,” continued Jack,
disregarding the praise of his cousin, “and there’s no question but
this family found refuge there. Let’s hope he managed to save his
people even if his fine country place is next door to ruined.”
“Listen! what’s that?” cried Amos, holding up his hand.
“Galloping horses,” answered the ranch boy, instantly, for his ears
were especially trained along those lines.
“It must be more British reserves rushing to the front!” exclaimed
Amos, as together he and his chum headed for the nearest window
fronting the road, which they had no sooner reached than they
discovered a sight that thrilled them.