In plain sight, and coming with a rush, though their horses reeked with
sweat and showed symptoms of great fatigue, was a small detachment of
mounted men.
No wonder the boys stared as though they hardly dared believe their
eyes. This half dozen hard riders wore spiked helmets, a thing that
seemed to stamp them as Uhlans. They were coming from the southwest,
which fact in itself was enough to tell the story.
“They’re Germans, Jack!” cried Amos, instantly.
“Yes, a part of some command that broke through the British lines, and
got confused amidst the smoke, I reckon,” said the Western boy.
“And, Jack, look, they’re being hotly pursued!” added Amos.
Jack had already guessed as much. He knew it first from the vigorous
way the six riders were urging their tired mounts on. Then again he
could see how they leaned forward in their saddles, and turned anxious
looks over their shoulders.
Sure enough there burst into view a second detachment of riders, whose
animals seemed in better condition for hard service than those of the
fleeing Germans.
These men were garbed in the khaki of British soldiers. They carried
guns which they evidently knew well how to make good use of even when
riding at headlong speed.
Jack guessed the very second he saw them ride that those men had not
picked up their knowledge of horsemanship from following the hounds
after the fox in Old Surrey, and wearing red coats.
Every one of them had been recruited either from the wilds of South
Africa, the cattle ranges of Canada, or else had served among the
Northwest Mounted Police of the Dominion.
Jack felt like giving a yell of recognition, it seemed so much like
meeting old friends again. He did nothing of the sort, however, but
simply reached out a hand to draw Amos further back, because he knew
there was no need of attracting the attention of the hard-pressed and
desperate Uhlans, who might take a notion to send a few bullets their
way.
“What if they stop here and try to make a fort out of the house?”
demanded Amos, as though he thought he detected a veering to one side
on the part of the fugitives.
“No danger of that,” his chum hurriedly assured him, “they’re too
hot-pressed to halt. There, see them turn in the saddle and shoot back.”
“Nothing doing, though,” announced Amos; “every man jack of the Allies
dodged the lead. And now they’re going to return the fire. Whew! that
was a corking volley, Jack.”
“There goes one poor chap!” cried the Western boy; “he got his
straight.”
A rider had pitched headlong from the saddle, his horse continuing to
gallop alongside its mates as though nothing had happened. Both boys
were thrilled by witnessing this tragic event that took place under
their very eyes. Until recently Amos had never known what it meant to
touch elbows with death by violence. He was very white in the face
as he stood there by the ragged casement, seared by the passage of a
shell, and looked out.
Jack on his part had known more or less of such events during his ranch
life, for things happen in the “wild and woolly West” where men live
closer to Nature than in the East. Nevertheless, he too felt the thrill
of keen expectancy as he kept his eager eyes glued upon the actors in
the strange moving panorama.
“There’s another German been hit, Jack; he’s wobbling in the saddle as
if trying his best to hold on. Perhaps he wants to pick out a soft spot
to fall on. There he goes!”
As Amos uttered these last words a second saddle was seen to be empty,
the stricken man hurling himself to one side. Even in his dire
extremity he evidently realized the necessity of avoiding the hoofs of
the pursuing horses.
By now the remaining Uhlans had reached the front of the deserted
ruined mansion. They were following the by-road as the best course to
be pursued, although they could have entertained next to no hope of
ultimate escape.
Bewildered in the smoke, caught in a trap, they meant to ask for no
quarter, but would go to their deaths like most of their comrades,
fighting to the last gasp.
Jack and Amos could not help admiring their dauntless courage, even
though their hearts beat more in sympathy for the avowed aims and
ambitions of the Allies.
Swiftly the four hard riders swept by the broken wall of the chateau
grounds. Amos saw them glance that way. He imagined there was something
like a wistful look on their faces, tanned by the exposure of a winter
to the elements.
“If they only had a little better chance, Jack, they’d break in here
and try to hold the enemy off,” Amos was saying, as they followed the
passage of the grim determined riders in khaki along the other side of
the broken wall.
Some trees cut off their further view, but their last glimpse showed
them pursued and pursuers keeping up that headlong pace. So the
incident came to an end. It had been very real and vivid while it
lasted, and Amos, still a bit pallid, turned to give his chum a serious
look, as he shook his head and remarked:
“They’ll never make it, Jack, with that bunch hitting up the pace on
their heels.”
“Not one chance in ten, I should say,” returned the other, with the air
of certainty that sprung from a knowledge of hard riding cowboy tactics.
All signs of the chase had vanished, though Amos believed he did hear
what sounded like another salvo of shots ringing out. He may have been
mistaken, however, because the air just then was filled with all manner
of strange noises, from the shouts of charging brigades, the rattle
of distant gunfire, to the harsher throb of heavy artillery and the
incessant bursting of bombs.
“Fourth of July will seem pretty tame business to me after all this
noise,” Amos remarked, as he followed his chum back to the top of the
stairs leading to the lower floor of the house.
“I should say it would,” Jack agreed. “I’m wondering right now what
happened to those two chaps who left their saddles in such a hurry.”
“The first acted as though he might have gotten his finish; that’s what
struck me, Jack, though I’m no judge of such terrible things,” and Amos
shivered as he made this admission.
“Yes, I believe he was done for, all right,” assented the ranch boy,
“but it was different with the second trooper.”
“He picked his dropping-off place,” Amos suggested.
“And threw himself sidelong from his saddle, first working his feet out
of the stirrups,” continued Jack, showing how his quick eye had taken
note of all these things.
They issued forth from the house about this time, and headed directly
for a breach in the wall that had once served to enclose the grounds
belonging to the rich Belgian’s grounds.
Of course Jack had noticed about where the second trooper left his
saddle. It was just to one side of the gap which he intended using in
order to gain the little by-road.
“What if we find him injured. Jack--what ought we do about it?” asked
Amos, about the time they arrived at the wall.
“Remember the air pilot, don’t you, Amos? Well, if we could bind up his
wounds, and go our way without betraying him to his enemies, we ought
to repeat, I should think.”
“You know best, Jack, and I want to say that whatever you settle on
doing I’m back of you every time.”
“I expected you’d talk that way, Amos. You’d never let an injured dog
suffer if you could help it. Come on, and if that Uhlan can be assisted
through our limited means we’re the ones to be on the job.”
A minute later they entered among the bushes at the place where they
had seen the second trooper vanish; and almost immediately discovered
the object of their search.