HARE AND HOUNDS
For two hours or more, Hammersley and the girl, taking turn and turn,
watched the road and forest from the amphitheater of rocks. The road
in times of peace was a short route from Windenberg to Schöndorf and
popular with the market-folk. But the restrictions put upon visits to
Blaufelden had resulted in the diversion of traffic from the south
slope of the mountains to the longer road in the valley upon the other
side. The few who appeared were men in uniform. From his lofty perch
Hammersley espied Captain Wentz as he hurried by with several men in an
automobile. Just beyond the crag the automobile was stopped and the men
dismounted and went on afoot. Clearly they meant to continue the search
abroad. Hammersley chuckled.
“Hare and hounds!” he muttered to himself. “The more men to the
eastward, the fewer to the west. By Jove!”
The expletive was not unusual with Hammersley but the manner of its
utterance gave it importance. He crossed the level quickly and peered
again at the vanishing figures of the men. A new idea had been born.
Hare and hounds! A game he had played at Eton--a game as old as sport,
as old as hunting! And for such a prize!
He hurried into the cave, glancing hurriedly at his watch. It was noon.
Doris sat upon the stool near Udo von Winden. Hammersley went over to
their captive and examined his bonds and then gave the girl a few hasty
instructions.
“I am going down below to be gone two--perhaps three hours.”
A quick intake of the breath escaped her but she caught her under lip
in her teeth and said nothing.
“Don’t worry,” he went on cheerfully, “I’m coming back. I’ll promise
you that. I’ve got a plan,” he whispered, “a new plan, a noble plan,
a plan that will make our game an easy one. It will be harder for you
than for me, Doris, because you’ve only got to sit and wait and try to
be patient.”
While he was talking he had taken off the belts that contained the
two pistols, fastening one around Doris. Then he took off his leather
jacket and put it on the table, fastening the other belt containing
Udo’s cartridges and automatic over his gray sweater. She watched him
timidly.
“But suppose Graf von Winden should get his arms free,” she protested.
“I cannot shoot him, Cyril--I cannot--not that----”
“He won’t trouble you. I’ll arrange that.” He took from his coat pocket
the documents captured from the Emperor’s messenger and held them up so
that Udo von Winden could see them.
“I must leave you for a while, Udo. Awfully sorry, but it’s most
urgent.” He laughed. “You won’t mind, will you? Or try to make things
difficult?”
He turned quickly and while both the girl and the prisoner wondered
what he was about to do, he went to the tin box in the corner, brought
out a new candle, lighted it and held the papers so that the prisoner
could see them.
“Do you observe what I am doing, Udo? Miss Mather will sit here upon
the opposite side of the cave. If you attempt to get up from your bed,
she will burn the papers. Simple, isn’t it? Also quite effective. She
doesn’t want to shoot you, Udo--nor do I. And of course if the papers
were burned, it wouldn’t hurt England a great deal. As long as the
papers are in Germany, my capture may throw them into German hands,
_nicht wahr_?”
Udo von Winden’s head moved slightly from left to right.
With an _auf wiedersehen_ thrown over his shoulder at Udo, Hammersley
went outside the cave, where Doris followed him. She was on the point
of tears, but she succeeded in a smile.
“Don’t worry, Doris, old girl. Just going down for a stroll about.”
“But why, Cyril?”
“Goin’ to throw ’em off the scent,” he whispered.
“But they’re already off the scent.”
For answer he kissed her gently and bade her keep up her courage. Then
he gave her the papers, saw her inside the cave again and in a moment
was gone.
The more Hammersley thought of his plan the better it seemed to him.
The day was still young. In three hours he could do much. He crossed
the amphitheater of rocks and followed the rocky gorge by which he had
entered last night and when he emerged upon the farther side, paused
and watched for a while to be sure that Wentz and his men were not in
sight and then descended the face of the rocks skillfully and in a
moment was creeping on all fours through the underbrush up the side of
the mountain. It was steep here and rugged, but in a while he reached
the old deer trail over which he had passed when he had doubled on his
pursuers last night. But instead of following it, he halted a moment to
listen and then crossed into the undergrowth which at this point was so
thick that at twenty paces even he was not visible. He slipped among
the treetrunks and evergreens, moving rapidly, making a wide circle up
the mountainside almost to its top, descending then by easy stages,
until he had covered four miles at least when he bore slowly down
toward the Schöndorf road.
Hare and hounds! An exciting game even in the old days when it meant
athletic honors, but now, with the alternatives of death as the penalty
of capture and a great triumph as the reward of escape, it made his
blood run madly. A good game--a fair game, with success as the reward
of intelligence.
He planned carefully. He must be sure to come down into the open at
a spot beyond where Wentz and his men were searching. He knew the
country well. There was a village on the hillside, half a mile below.
It was midway between Schöndorf and the farm house at Blaufelden.
The families of some of the foresters lived there and there was
telephonic connection both with the farm and Windenberg. All of the
men of Mittelwald who were not in the Forest Service were off at the
front and the chances were that unless Wentz and his men were there,
Hammersley would see only women and children. But he knew that von
Stromberg had neglected nothing that would give an inkling of his
whereabouts and his presence would be at once reported and the chase
begin. He was in excellent condition, trained a little too fine perhaps
for an Englishman, but fit. He had done little running since leaving
the University, and though he had lost some of his old speed, he
could rely upon the thought of his danger and Doris’s to provide the
incentive for extraordinary effort.
Mittelwald lay in a clearing similar to that at Blaufelden, and its
farms, if farms they could be called, clambered up the hillside
and straggled over beyond the road where they were merged into the
undergrowth of young oaks. The Schöndorf road, curving this way
and that, passed between the houses, which were set at irregular
intervals, like the strips on the tail of a kite. He went on through
the underbrush, coming out into the open upon the road at the point
where it entered the woods upon the Schöndorf side. Then he settled his
automatic loosely in its sheath, and went forward boldly. His eye had
marked the line of the telephone wire and followed it to the gable of
one of the largest houses in the village. It was to this house that he
made his way. A young woman was working in the garden and he approached
her quietly and politely, but with an air of a man not to be trifled
with, asked for food. He was aware that he was unshorn, covered with
mud, and that his face was streaked with dirt and perspiration, but he
knew that his appearance alone could not have accounted for the sudden
blanching of the woman’s face and the air of alarm with which she
regarded him. She straightened and fell back two or three paces toward
the house, unable to speak a word in reply. So he repeated his request,
while her mouth gaped at him and her eyes grew rounder. At last she
managed to stammer,
“Food! You are hungry?”
“Yes. Potato bread--anything, but quickly. I will go with you to the
house.” And he indicated the way.
She stumbled on before him, her head jerking anxiously this way and
that over her shoulder as though she feared at any moment to receive
a blow or a shot in the back. But he followed her indoors and noted
with satisfaction that she appeared after all to be a woman of some
intelligence. A thing that pleased him further was the telephone
instrument in the corner.
“Milk, if you please, and quickly. I will take the bread with me.” And
while she timorously brought them out, “Who lives here?”
“F-Förster Habermehl.”
“Where is he?” peremptorily.
“At Windenberg.”
“Oh! There are no men here?”
“No.”
“That is well, then.” He drank a glass of milk greedily and tore off a
piece of the loaf. “You are a good girl. Heaven will reward you.” He
made his way to the door, looking out cautiously, and then turned and
put his hand in his pocket, bringing out a piece of money. “See,” he
laughed, “I have concluded to reward you myself. Cash. Much better than
hopes, _nicht wahr_?”
She fetched a timorous smile and bobbed shyly.
“You will do me a favor,” he said in a whisper as he went out of the
door, “if you will tell no one of my visit.”
And with that, chuckling to himself, went down the road again in the
direction of Schöndorf, watching the turn in the road below the village
for a glimpse of Wentz and his men. Before he reached the edge of the
open country he paused and listened. From the house that he had visited
came the faint tinkle of a bell. Frau Habermehl had lost no time. She
had notified the master of the hounds who was clamoring for the scent.
Hammersley walked around the turn in the road, which hid him from the
house, and then went into the bushes where he sat on a fallen log,
peeping through the leaves toward the further side of the clearing,
where General von Stromberg’s men must appear. He did not know how
long he would have to wait. Half an hour, perhaps longer. If he knew
anything of von Stromberg, they would come in every sort of available
vehicle, from a high-powered machine to a donkey cart, picking up the
misguided Wentz and his men upon the way to follow this new scent. It
was difficult to sit still and wait. Hammersley wanted a smoke awfully,
but he chewed a twig instead, for he needed to keep his wind in good
condition and had purposely left his pipe at the Thorwald. He did not
want to get too far away from Doris. By the way he intended to return
he was now at least six miles from the cavern and with the mile or so
he must go toward Schöndorf before he turned, a good eight miles of
rough going lay between himself and safety.
Under other circumstances, he would have greatly enjoyed the chance for
a rest. With a cooler wind from the northeast the weather had cleared
and the period of higher temperatures through which they had passed
seemed to be drawing to a close. In spite of the doubts that hung about
his plan, he couldn’t help saying to himself that he felt jolly fit.
Twenty minutes--twenty-five. He got up and stretched his long limbs
luxuriously. The hare was ready. It was time they cast forward the
hounds. A peep through the bushes showed him Frau Habermehl standing
near her home watching the road to Windenberg. So he came out of his
place of concealment and stood in the open again until he was sure
that she saw him, when he turned and went slowly toward Schöndorf. He
had planned his moment nicely for before he was out of sight of the
clearing, an automobile came into view--paused a moment before Frau
Habermehl and then came on rapidly.
Hammersley waited until they had “viewed” him and then cut into the
woods to his left, slipping from tree to tree not fifty yards in the
cover when the machine came to a stop and the men jumped down and came
after him. He did not know who was in command and did not care, but
just to show them that he was the man they were after, he risked a
shot with his automatic and then sped along rapidly, working up the
mountainside, following in a general way the direction of Schöndorf.
He heard them plunging after him in full cry and the sound of their
footsteps made him move at a rare pace. He knew well this piece of
woods, and in a moment came to a path which curved to the right,
leading straight up the mountain. When he reached it he paused to
look over his shoulder. It was difficult to see the green uniforms,
but there was a flash of light from a patch of fir trees and a twig
just above his head fell across his path. His curiosity was satisfied.
He shut his mouth and, breathing through his nostrils, went off with
a burst of speed which put him around a turn in the path before any
of the green uniforms had come into sight. He had them coming now,
two--three men--one little one and two big ones. He caught a glimpse of
them in a moment when the path came into a glade of rocks and barrens.
There was his danger. A chance shot might get him when they emerged,
before he found the cover again. But leaping from rock to rock he
managed to reach the path upon the other side, and their shots went
wild.
When he reached cover he halted a moment for a breath, firing a shot in
the direction of the advancing men, who promptly dropped to cover. And
when they came on again, he had gained a clear lead of a hundred yards
or more.
He had foreseen his greatest danger--of being caught in thick
underbrush and surrounded--so he kept to the main path, only leaving
it for a smaller and more tortuous one, when the other turned down
the mountain toward the road again. Since the exchange of shots his
pursuers had become more cautious and when they reached the fork of the
paths they stopped, sweating in their heavy coats and cursing lustily,
while they debated upon the question as to which path he had taken.
The hounds were at fault. From a point above, he could see them quite
clearly and one of them was the Fatalist who had been his jailor last
evening. Just to discover whether he was sincere in his philosophy,
Hammersley sent a bullet skipping above his head. He ducked and
Hammersley laughed.
“Silly ass!” he muttered. “Fatalist! Fatality if I’d aimed at him!”
And he was off again, for other men had joined the leaders and the
scent was hot. He carried them fast, up to the bald top of the mountain
where the going was faster, and down in the valley to the right. They
had gained nothing on him and Hammersley with his second wind was
breathing more easily, but it was almost time to double. Here was as
good a place as another for the pack of them to spend the afternoon
and he made up his mind to lose them without further ado. There was
only one runner in the lot and he was the Fatalist, though how he had
ever happened to learn to run in the Imperial Navy, Hammersley had not
the time or inclination to decide. If his philosophy limped, his legs
at least were strong and he came on rapidly leaping like a young buck
toward the opening over the crest of the knob into which Hammersley had
disappeared. A short way down was a spur of rock, the beginnings of a
ridge which cut out into the hills, the watershed of two rills which
leaped from rock to rock to the valleys below. Hammersley chose the
right-hand valley for the going was better, and went down it at top
speed for a quarter of a mile or more, pausing where the path led into
the underbrush and pines until the Fatalist should view him when he
disappeared, and then turning into the thicket circled quickly to the
left, and taking advantage of every cover, slowly and carefully climbed
the ridge to a place of vantage where he crouched and waited, to have
the satisfaction a moment later of seeing his ex-jailor, weapon in
hand, go plunging down the path past his place of concealment.
Hammersley listened a moment to the sounds of crashing feet in front
of him and behind, and then, creeping slowly and making what speed he
could, crossed the ridge and in a while was out of sight and hearing of
them. He feared little in crossing the other valley, for his pursuers
were strung out in a line, each in sight of the other, and would follow
the leader like a flock of sheep. But there was little time to waste
and the greatest test of Hammersley’s endurance and Doris’s was to
come. For two, perhaps three hours, these men would search for him, and
more would come. The Fatalist would bear the brunt of their failure,
but in the meanwhile Hammersley must reach the cave in the Thorwald
and take Doris to Blaufelden. The first part of the return run must be
done at top speed to save time which would be needed later. So when he
crossed the second valley in safety and had reached the mountaintop,
Hammersley abandoned all caution, risking the chance of meeting Wentz
and his men, and with a sharp lookout ahead of him went as fast as he
could along the ridge, finding at last the trail by which he had come
earlier in the day, down which he ran with a long stride which covered
the four miles in less than half an hour. He reached the upper passage
to the cave in safety and in a moment was safe behind the projecting
bowlders of the amphitheater. He was breathing heavily, and the sweat
was pouring from him. Doris was watching for him.
“They’re following you? They’re coming?” she asked nervously.
He quieted her and led her inside the cave, where he dropped for a
moment of rest upon the stool. Doris watched him anxiously. In a moment
he was laughing.
“Oh, I led ’em a rippin’ run straight for Schöndorf,” he gasped.
“They’re pattin’ me out--six miles from here--on the top of the
Schmalzberg. Lord!” he grinned, “but that was a breather.”
She brought him the pitcher of water but he only rinsed his mouth.
“How are you feelin’? Fit?”
She nodded.
“Right-o. Come along. We’re off.”
He went over to the prisoner and examined his bonds carefully.
“Poor old Udo!” he muttered in German. “I’ve got to go. You might worry
through those strings. It’s the only way, because I’m not leaving any
matches.”
He leaned over and patted his cousin on the shoulder. “Good-by, Udo,”
he said. “We’ll meet again, some day, as friends, my cousin--as
friends.”
Von Winden’s eyes met Hammersley’s and then he lowered his head upon
the balsam boughs.
There was no time for amenities. Hammersley slipped on his leather
jacket and cap, fastening his belt outside, reloaded his automatic,
filled the pockets of Doris’s coat with biscuit and chocolate,
then made a bundle of the tools and spare parts, which he selected
carefully, and in a moment he and Doris were outside on the ridge,
peering over toward the road below. All was quiet, and they descended
carefully to the projecting rock, pausing there to listen again. The
machine of Wentz, which had been left near the crag, had gone on toward
Mittelwald. Hammersley smiled. The plan had worked. It was working.
They _must_ succeed.
Down in the bushes at the foot of the crag by the road they paused
again, listening, and then Hammersley went forward, peering out, up and
down the road. Silence. Solitude. Leading the way, with the hand of
the girl in his, he quickly crossed and plunged into the undergrowth
silently until they had reached a distance which would defy detection
from the road. Then Hammersley bore to the right and went on rapidly.
Doris’s heart was beating high with excitement and hope. The Yellow
Dove! Could they reach the hangar safely, and when there could they
tune up undetected? The success of the venture seemed impossible for
there must still be men on guard at Blaufelden--someone! But as they
went on through the wood, she found some of the contagion of Cyril’s
audacity. He seemed tireless. When they reached a trail which led in
the desired direction, without speaking to her, he set forward into a
steady jog trot which put them well upon their way. He turned around
from time to time and watched her, and when he saw that she was nearly
blown he slowed down to a walk and explained his plan.
“Jolly flyin’ weather this. Once we’re in the air they can’t stop us,
Doris. She’s armored around the cockpit and engines, and they haven’t
anything heavier than a rifle at Blaufelden. We’ll go up the Rhine to
the sea, flyin’ high. Then cut to the left along the coast, as far as
the French line, and then go in to Ypres and from there to General
French’s headquarters. You can easily tell by the lines of trenches. I
want you to listen carefully. I’ve got two seats and double control.
The arrangement is just the same as on your Nieuport, only she answers
her control much more slowly. The wheel is on a universal joint; the
gas, on your wheel, the spark to your left, the magneto, a button in
front of you. She starts by compressed air.”
“But the exhaust, Cyril,” she gasped, “before we go--it’s only a few
hundred yards from the shed to the house!”
“We’re going to risk that. With luck we’ll be movin’ in three minutes,
and then----” He paused grimly.
“And then----?”
“I’d like to see a dozen stop us.”
He had such perfect assurance that all doubt left her. Indeed, to
Doris, he seemed endowed with some hidden fount of initiative and
inspiration, and she was willing to believe anything he told her. They
went on rapidly, while he answered all her questions and gave her
final instructions, until at last they reached a path, the same, he
told her, by which they had come from the farm last night. They started
up a frightened deer, which fled away from them, but they didn’t
pause until the path cut sharply to the right and through the bushes
they could see the buildings of Blaufelden. There they stopped and
Hammersley went forward to investigate.
In the direction of the farmhouse was no sign of animation except
the thread of smoke that rose from the kitchen chimney. The back of
the hangar was just in front of them, a bare wall of wood, a hundred
and fifty feet long. The opening was upon the other side, to the
west, a huge canvas flap, toggled at the bottom to rings in the sill.
Hammersley came back and whispered to Doris to follow him. Until
the starting of the engine, this was the most hazardous part of the
proceeding, for, if they were seen from the house, there would be no
time for Hammersley to put the engines in order. He led her south
to a point in the woods where the storehouse hid them from the main
buildings, when, crouching low to avoid possible detection from the
Windenberg road, they covered the fifty yards to the storehouse and
waited again, completely hidden from all points except the forest
behind them, while Cyril looked around the edge of the building, and
then beckoned to her to follow. In a moment they had slipped between
the end of the canvas flap and the door, and were within the dusky
interior of the shed.
Before them stretched the wide expanse of the Yellow Dove, a huge
biplane with a spread, as nearly as Doris could figure it, of a hundred
and twenty feet from tip to tip. She stood before it in wonder and
awe, admiring its fine lines and sturdy appearance. A dragon-fly her
Nieuport was beside this great eagle of the air. The other machine,
an Etrich monoplane, which was used by Udo von Winden, seemed lost in
the shadows of the larger wings. Doris stood quite still, as Cyril had
directed, while he moved off noiselessly in the dim light. She saw him
slipping from one spot to another, quickly examining this and that, and
at last saw him climb up into the machine with his kit of tools. She
came nearer as he whispered down to her:
“They’ve taken out some plugs. I’ll have ’em in shortly.” And then: “Go
around the lower plane and tell me if the guys are all taut.”
She did as he asked, while she heard him above working over the engines.
“How long will it take?” she whispered.
“I can’t tell--twenty minutes, perhaps. The petrol tanks are empty,
too.”
“I want to help.”
“Are the wires all fast?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then bring me the hose from the petrol tank. It’s there beside
you in the corner. You can run it in while I’m workin’.”
She did as she was bid, climbing up with a feeling of exultation into
the tall machine beside him.
“The reserve tank first--” he whispered. “Up here between the planes.
Here’s a wrench. The opening is on the top.”
They worked side by side, noiselessly and efficiently, Hammersley
fitting the missing spark-plugs and connecting a new coil wire which
had been removed. He looked over the machine carefully, but could
find nothing else missing, or even needing adjustment, for he had
taken care yesterday morning, as was his custom, to go over the engine
with his own hands. The impairment of the engine was of no serious
consequence, and intended only to delay. Von Stromberg had not counted
on such a chance for readjustment as this, or upon Hammersley’s reserve
supply of necessary material. And unless they had done something else
that he could not discover--but what? While he worked Hammersley tried
to think, casting between times anxious glances at the gears, the
propellers and the control wires. The reserve tank of petrol was filled
and the hose was steadily pouring the stuff into the one under the
forward cockpit, which was full by the time the plugs and wires were
all adjusted.
“That will be enough, Doris,” he whispered. “We only need to get to the
English lines. There’s no time for more.”
She saw him try the wheel, watching the connecting gear keenly, and,
when he ordered it, she climbed down into the rear seat. He gave her a
leather coat, gloves and helmet, and buckled her into her seat. Then,
in a state of nervous tension, they waited. She saw Cyril climb down,
coolly wiping his hands with a piece of waste, restore the hose to its
place, and then peer out from a slit in the canvas door. Then he bent
over, and running quickly along the flap from side to side, one after
another quickly unfastened the toggles which held it in place.
“We’ve got to chance it now,” he whispered up to her. “If she doesn’t
work--God help us----”
“But the canvas----”
“The machine will----”
He stopped abruptly, for Doris’s eyes were staring in panic at
something behind him. Hammersley whirled quickly toward the slit in
the canvas, his automatic in his hand. There, not four paces away,
blinking into the dusk, stood the tall figure of His Excellency,
General Graf von Stromberg.