THE LUMINOUS KITE.
THE biplane had hardly scudded its length on the turnpike, when the
colonel leaped from the machine, his sudden appearance greeted by
salvos, both of cheers and an extra round of rifle discharge.
Billy sat like a statue in the machine, facing a reserve force of grim,
gray-garbed veterans standing at attention.
The front rank soldiers eyed the boy curiously, no doubt wondering that
one of his years should be serving in the capacity of a full-fledged
military aviator on a mission so supremely perilous.
Billy could not understand what Colonel Muller was saying to the
commanding officer of this regiment, but he could see the effects
rippling through the serried lines, a stiffening of attitude, a closer
grip of rifle stock and squaring of shoulders.
The column, solid and compact, the German practice of close formation,
moved with clockwork precision down the field to back the general
charge against the living wall that barred the way.
"Charge! Charge!" The cry from a thousand throats.
The forces mixed in a struggling, swaying mass, with indescribable
noises, the clashing of steel and the squealing of horses, for cavalry
had joined the fray.
Billy jumped out of the machine into the dusty road, the sole spectator
there of the conflict that raged but a half mile distant.
Colonel Muller had taken to horse and was riding furiously to rally
incoming reinforcements for the gray column.
A rattle cut into the sound ruck--the machine guns of the Germans had
turned loose, and men were mowed down like ripened corn.
But fainter now in Billy's ears grew the roar of violent contention,
alternate advance and retreat serving to shift the tide of battle
further northward, and finally stemmed by the final demonstration of
the day at Soissons bridge.
Barring the occasional wild gallop of a riderless horse down the road,
the young aviator saw no signs of life about him, and he was too far
away to hear the groans of the wounded on the sodden field now enfolded
by the gathering gloom of evening.
"I wonder if the colonel has forgotten that his carriage is waiting,"
thought Billy, trying a bit of mental cheer to relieve the strain of
his trying position.
The colonel, however, had not lost his memory along with his hat, for
even then a foam-flecked horse was bringing him back to the driver of
his aërial chariot. Mud-bespattered from head to foot, he sent a hearty
hail ahead of the pounding hoofs of his weary mount.
"Ahoy, my stranded mariner: is supper ready?"
That reminded Billy of a decided vacancy under his belt, but the glad
sight of the colonel was the best tonic for a drooping spirit.
"We will wheel this airship out of the way for a spell and have a bite
to eat in the trenches."
Concealing the biplane behind a clump of bushes the colonel gave Billy
a hand-up, and the horse cantered away with its double burden in the
direction of the slopes.
It was about 7:30 when the colonel and Billy climbed over the slippery
slopes to the line of reserve trenches, lowered themselves into one of
these holes in the ground, and it was evident that the occupants knew
how to convert a ditch into a home.
This trench had a head cover formed of cross-beams, overlaid with
branches and earth--a sure protection against shrapnel. There was a
long bench of telegraph poles, little cupboards for cartridges and kit,
and ramps for reclining chairs or couches, and drains to carry off the
rain.
"Come into our parlor, colonel," invited one of the soldiers, leading
the way into a subterranean chamber, which was warmed by a fire in an
old perforated petroleum tin.
"It is wonderful what ingenuity and labor can accomplish out of the
most unpromising material," observed the colonel.
"Made in Germany, colonel," laughed one of the veterans, "no matter
where you put them."
From the business end of the trench a hot meal was speedily produced
for the visitors, adding another touch of surprise for Billy.
"Well, my lad, we must report to the general," announced the colonel,
who had politely denied the petition of the trench veterans that he try
one of their couches for the night.
"You don't mind an air trip in the dark, do you?" inquired the colonel.
"Not a bit," assured Billy, "I've made many a one."
It was quite pitch black when the colonel and Billy rode back across
the plain, but the horse was sure-footed, and the way was fitfully
lighted by the occasional upshoot of rockets that left a long green
stream of stars, revealing the now silent battlefield and its dreadful
record of uncounted dead.
While Billy flourished an electric torch in giving the biplane a
careful look over, the colonel bestowed a playful slap on the flank of
the faithful horse, which sent the animal trotting up the road.
"He knows his number and troop as well as I do, and will go as
straight as a die to the feed trough," asserted the colonel.
"Are you ready, boy?"
"Trim as a ship, colonel."
With a flare on the compass, rising high, Billy held the nose of the
biplane in the direction of the heights that centered headquarters.
Small red sparks glowed in the trenches below, and the upper darkness
was ever and anon split by signal rockets and leaping flames of light
from countless campfires.
Billy, with the aid of the small searchlight in the bow of the
biplane, found safe landing, also insuring a sight of the colors to
the sentries, who might otherwise be tempted to take a pot shot at the
winged, midnight visitor.
Henri was the first to hear the whirr of the incoming aircraft, for
which he had for hours held an open ear.
"Here you are at last!" he exclaimed, making an open-arm break for his
flying partner. "You haven't lost an eye, or a leg, or anything, have
you?" he anxiously inquired.
"Sound as an Uncle Sam dollar, old boy," assured Billy. "But you just
bet I'm sleepy."
"I believe even Roque was uneasy about you," said Henri, as he insisted
on giving Billy's blanket a snug tug.
That the secret agent proposed to reserve the services of the young
aviators to himself thereafter and during their stay in this locality
was made manifest when he told them the next day to make ready for a
quick departure in the biplanes. As usual, he furnished no advance
particulars.
It appeared that Schneider was also to figure in the expedition in a
capacity indicated by his employment of oiling and polishing a service
rifle of the 16-shot brand, and the display of a pair of long-barreled
revolvers stuck in his belt.
"He looks like an arsenal on parade," commented Billy when the
red-haired flyer, in war-like array, passed on the way to conference
with Roque.
"There is no peaceful intent about that get-up," admitted Henri. "And
let me make another prediction," he continued, still proud of his last
previous success as a prophet, "this isn't going to be any pink tea or
garden party to which we're going."
"What a head you have," said Billy, beaming with mock admiration.
There was a decided lull in the fighting this day--the ninth since the
continuous combat had been commenced, as the soldiers of the two armies
were apparently resting on their arms. Some fresh planning, no doubt,
was in progress.
The boys wandered around the camp, restlessly anticipating the expected
summons from Roque. The latter, however, had not picked daylight in
which to operate, for it was long past nightfall when Schneider sought
and advised the boys that the starting time had arrived.
The moon was working full time when the biplanes set their course,
following the turnpike toward La Fere.
Above a farm, which had practically been razed, and on the edge of a
ruined district, both Roque and Schneider signaled the pilots to lower
the flight, and the biplanes circled groundward, landing near a row
of stunted willow trees. They showed no lights, and with the motors
silenced lay hidden behind a huge pile of debris, close to a wrecked
dwelling, so close that the full moon shining through the shattered
roof gave the aviators a dim vision of hopeless confusion, cooking pots
and children's toys, broken clocks and tables, knives, forks and books
strewn on the floor, beds and everything awry.
Billy and Henri had as yet no inkling of the purpose of this mysterious
proceeding in which they were engaged. Their companions did not seem to
be in a hurry, either, to enlighten them. Roque and Schneider appeared
intent in upward gaze, perhaps hoping that the moon and a dense bank of
clouds forming near would soon come together. As a matter of fact, a
total eclipse of the great orb above did follow, with the effect of the
sudden blowing out of the one lamp in an otherwise dark room.
Curious to relate, it was not long until the moon was replaced in the
now black canopy by a small but quite silvery brilliant imitation of
the big illuminant.
The diamond-shaped light in the lowering sky flashed this way and that,
as if responding to the manipulation of an aërial cable.
Roque was not puzzling about the appearance of the dancing light; it
was the message that it conveyed which baffled him, sent, as it were,
from within the German lines, and, maybe, of vital concern--aid and
comfort to the enemy.
Sentries on the heights had reported night after night of this queer,
intermittent flashing in this very place, and when Roque heard of it,
he instantly comprehended the meaning.
Some spy within the lines was using a luminous kite to signal
information of value to the foe.
This is what had brought the secret agent, an adept in the same kind of
game, flying through the night to scotch the play and the player.
Roque and Schneider skirted the ruins, and stumbled over the plowed
ground with all the haste that such rough going permitted. The boys,
free of any order to stay where they were, cautiously brought the rear.
They were mighty curious to see what was going to happen.
Schneider had taken the electric torch from under the pilot's seat in
one of the biplanes, and it had occurred to Billy to follow suit.
This precaution served to save the party an ugly tumble or two into
forbidding ditches.
The still-hunters had just emerged into a road with a wonderful avenue
of trees. The kite telegrapher's hidden nest was near at hand. The
position of the kite itself indicated that.
A streak of moonlight breaking through a cloud-rift revealed Roque and
Schneider kneeling in the road, and there was a glint of a leveled
rifle barrel.
The boys backed up against a tree, expecting momentarily to hear the
whip-like crack of the gun. But instead came the bark of a dog--one
shrill yelp, then silence again.
The luminous kite, unleashed, followed the moon into the clouds. Roque
and Schneider dashed forward, but for nothing else than to use the
electric torch in locating a half-loaf of bread, some cheese crumbs and
a ball of cord.
The sentry dog had saved its master!
"Nothing to be gained in chasing that fox to-night," growled Roque.
"He's deep in the brush before this."
"I'd like to have got a pop at the dog, at least," complained
Schneider, patting the stock of his rifle.
The boys having no desire to be the victims of any mistake of identity,
marched forward, Billy waving the electric torch, and calling to Roque:
"It's us."
The passwords were unnecessary, for Roque knew all the time the boys
were trailing him, but was restrained from objecting by fear of some
word reaching the ear of the man they were stalking.
"You gadabouts," he admonished, "you should have been guarding the
biplanes instead of prowling around in the dark like this."
The tone of the reprimand, however, was not one of great severity. The
boys had disobeyed no order, for none had been given.
"As soon as day breaks," said Roque, as they plodded wearily down the
road, "we will continue the hunt in the machines, though I doubt very
much whether it will amount to more than a waste of time."
"If I see a man with a dog underneath us, just bring me within rifle
shot, young man, and I will show you something fancy in the way of
gunning."
Henri, whom Schneider was addressing, mentally resolved that he would
be in no haste to perform as suggested.
Conditions, however, were reversed long before this test could be made.
Indeed, the reversal, with the dawn, was at hand. The hunters were the
hunted.
The thud of iron-shod hoofs, the clank of sabers--a troop of cavalry
charging through the wooded avenue--four madly racing footmen in the
furrowed field.
Full two hundred yards between them and the biplanes!