A TRAITOR UNMASKED
When Tom Bradford found himself racing toward the woods, the only
thought in his mind was to put as great a distance as possible between
himself and his would-be executioners.
At every step he expected to hear a shout raised and see a crowd of
pursuers rush from the house like a pack of wolves after their prey.
The thought lent wings to his feet and he covered the distance in
record time. And not until he was safe in the shelter of the friendly
trees did he pause to draw breath and cast a glance toward the house.
If his escape had been noticed, there was absolutely no sign of it.
The landscape lay in serene and smiling beauty. Not a trace of life
was to be seen about the house. It seemed scarcely possible that so
much tragedy and so much peace could exist side by side.
But he had no time for musing, and after a moment's glance he turned
and burrowed deeper into the woods. There alone for the moment lay
safety. In those leafy coverts he could lie concealed, while he took
breath and thought out the situation.
He had no idea of where the American lines lay. Bound hand and foot as
he had been during that terrible journey, and tortured by the thoughts
that had assailed him, he had taken little note of the way he was
traveling. And even if he had, he could not have told with certainty
what was the dividing line between the hostile armies.
All that he could do was to exercise the utmost caution, get as deeply
into the recesses of the wood as he could, and let his future course be
guided by circumstances. In a battle area that was so full of soldiers
it would not be long before he would catch sight of some of them. The
great thing was to see them before they saw him. If they wore German
helmets he would keep his distance. If, on the contrary, he should see
the old familiar khaki uniform of his American comrades, his troubles
would be over.
But if the most important thing was concealment, another problem almost
as important was the question of food. He had had only the scantiest
kind of nourishment since his escape from the prison yard. The last
crumb had been eaten that morning. He had no weapon of any kind with
which to shoot squirrels or rabbits or birds. And he did not dare to
approach a cottage for fear that he might again be placed in the power
of his enemies.
But he was not yet starving, though exceedingly hungry, and he kept on
in the woods, intent upon putting as many miles behind him as possible
before he stopped for rest.
Far up in the wooded hills he came in sight of a little cabin. It was
a dilapidated little shack that perhaps had been used by hunting
parties in happier days. It seemed to be entirely deserted, but he was
wary and lay in the bushes for an hour or more, watching it closely for
any sign of life. Only when he felt perfectly sure that there was no
one about, did he creep up to the door and look in.
He drew a sigh of relief when he saw that it was indeed uninhabited.
Not only that, but there was no evidence that any one had visited it of
late. There was no sign of a path and the bushes had grown up close to
the door. One of the hinges of the door had rusted away and the door
sagged heavily upon the other.
There was absolutely nothing in the hut except a rough board table and
a three-legged stool. Tom searched about eagerly in the hope that he
might find some food left by its last occupants. He was not
particular, and even mouldy crusts would have been eagerly welcomed.
But even in this he was doomed to be disappointed.
Still it was something to be under a roof. Human beings once had been
there, and the fact seemed to bring him in contact with his kind. And
even this rough shelter was better than being compelled to sleep in the
woods. If he had only had something to still the terrible gnawing at
his stomach he would have been content--at least as far as he could be
contented while a fugitive, with his life and liberty in constant
danger.
After he had rested a while he went outside, with the double purpose of
watching for enemies and trying to find something to eat. He fashioned
a club from a stout branch and made several attempts to get a squirrel
or a bird by hurling it at them. But the weapon was too clumsy and
they were too quick, and this forlorn hope came to nothing. So that
when night at last dropped down upon him he was more hungry than ever
and had to go to sleep supperless.
The next morning he was more fortunate, for he came upon a stream that
abounded in fish. He improvised a hook and line and landed several
fair-sized ones. He had some matches in an oilskin pouch, and he made
a little fire in a deep depression, so as to hide the smoke, and
roasted fish over it. He had no salt, but never had a meal tasted more
delicious in his life.
Now a burden was lifted from his mind. At least he would not starve.
Fish, no doubt, would grow wearisome as a diet if it were varied with
nothing else. But at least it would sustain life and give him strength
for the tasks that lay before him.
He listened for the booming of the guns and tried to figure out from
the sound just where the contending armies were facing each other.
Sometimes they grew louder and fiercer, and at other times seemed to
recede, as the tide of battle ebbed and flowed. But there was rarely
any lull in the ominous thunder, and Tom knew that the fiercest kind of
fighting was going on. He thought of Frank and Bart and Billy, who he
felt sure were in the very thick of it, and he grew desperate at the
thought that he was not at their side, facing the same dangers, and, as
he hoped, sharing in the same victories.
Gradually he worked his way down the mountain, taking the utmost care
to avoid detection, until he felt sure from the increasing din that he
was not far from one or the other of the hostile armies. But it was of
the utmost importance to him to know whether he was within the German
or the American lines.
The question was solved for him when, some days later, he caught sight
of a file of German soldiers passing through a ravine a little way
below him. These were followed by others. He sought shelter instantly
upon catching his first glimpse of them, but the bushes were thin at
that point, and a huge tree seemed to offer a more secure refuge. He
climbed it quickly, and, peering through the leaves, tried to figure
out the situation. Rank after rank passed, and seemed to be taking up
a position with the view of making an attack. Batteries were drawn up,
and their guns pointed in a direction away from where Tom was hiding.
This was a valuable, but at the same time a painful, bit of
information, because it showed Tom that he was behind the German lines
instead of in front of them. If he had been in front, it would be
simply a matter of making his way in all haste to where the American
armies lay. Now he knew that in order to reach his own lines he would
have to cross through the German positions. And without weapons this
could only be a forlorn hope. Even had he been armed it would have
been a desperate chance.
He was pondering this fact with a sinking of the heart, when suddenly
he saw approaching a man in American uniform. What could it mean? The
man was not a prisoner, or he would have been under guard. Yet what
other explanation was there for the appearance of the uniform in the
midst of the Germans, who swarmed all about?
The man came nearer, until he paused beneath the tree. He looked about
as though expecting to see some one. Then he glanced at the watch on
his wrist, and uttered an exclamation of impatience. It was evident
that he had made an appointment, and that the other party to the tryst
was slow in coming.
The day was warm, and the upward climb through the woods had been
arduous. The man took his hat from his head and wiped his forehead
with his handkerchief. As he did so, Tom caught his first glimpse of
the newcomer's face, and his heart gave a leap of surprise as well as
repulsion when he recognized Nick Rabig.
The last news that Tom had had of Rabig was that he had been taken
prisoner in the preceding Fall. He had not known, of course, of Nick's
alleged escape from German captivity, and of his return to the American
lines, but his quick mind readily reached the correct conclusion. He
had always distrusted Rabig and had felt sure that the fellow was at
heart a traitor. He was morally certain that the German corporal, whom
Nick had been assigned to guard, had escaped with Rabig's connivance,
and he remembered what Frank had told him about hearing Rabig's voice
in the woods the night the German spy was shot. But Rabig's cunning,
or perhaps his luck, had prevented his treachery being proved.
Whatever errand had brought Rabig to this spot, Tom felt sure that it
boded no good to the American cause, and even in the precarious
position in which he found himself he rejoiced at the thought that he
might be instrumental in unmasking a traitor.
While these thoughts were passing through his mind, a German officer
approached from another direction. He saw Rabig, and hastened toward
him. He greeted Nick coldly, and with an air that scarcely concealed
the contempt he felt for the man whose services he was using.
An animated colloquy began at once. But unluckily for Tom it was in
German. He hated the language, but just then he would have given
anything if he could have understood what was passing between the two
men.
The conversation continued for some time. Rabig handed over some
papers which the German officer carefully looked over, using a pencil
to follow some lines that seemed to be the tracing of a map or plan.
Then he folded them up and put them carefully in his pocket, and after
a few more sentences had been exchanged Tom heard the clink of money
and saw Rabig tuck something away in his belt. Then the officer stood
up and with a curt nod went away toward the bottom of the hill.
For some minutes more Rabig remained sitting at the foot of the tree.
Then he took money from his belt and counted it carefully. Tom
couldn't help wondering whether it consisted of thirty pieces of silver!
In Tom's mind a plan was rapidly forming. He looked through the trees
in every direction. No one was in sight. From the slope below came
the hum of the camp, but no helmets were visible.
If Rabig had come through the German lines he had done so by means of a
pass. That pass would take him back just as it had brought him
through. He must have it in his pocket now.
Tom measured the distance between himself and the figure sitting
beneath him. Then with the litheness of a panther he dropped plump on
Rabig's shoulders.
The shock was terrific and knocked the breath from the traitor's body.
He rolled over and over. Tom himself was thrown forward on his hands
and knees, but the next moment he had risen and his hands fastened like
a vise around Rabig's throat.