COT 24--HUT H
The guns on the battle front had been silent for twenty-four hours; but
there were whispers of the Yankees "getting back" at the Heinies in
return for the outbreak of German gunfire which had startled Ruth
Fielding the afternoon she had taken tea at the Chateau Marchand.
The outbreak of the new attack--this time from the American side--began
about nine o'clock at night. A barrage was laid down, behind which,
Ruth learned, several raiding parties would go over.
Just the method of this advance across No Man's Land Ruth did not
understand. But all the time the guns were roaring back and forth
(for, of course, the Germans quickly replied) she knew the American
boys were in peril all along that sector.
That was a bad night for Ruth. She lay in her cot awake, but with her
eyes closed, breathing deeply and regularly so that those about her
thought she was asleep.
In the morning the matron said:
"You are really quite wonderful, Miss Fielding, to sleep through all
that. I wish I could do the same."
And all night long Ruth had been praying--praying for the safety of the
boys that had gone over the top, not for herself. That she was in
danger did not greatly trouble her. She thought of the soldiers. She
thought particularly of Tom Cameron--wherever he might be!
The flurry of gunfire was over by dawn. After breakfast Ruth went down
to the gate. She had heard the ambulances rolling in for hours, and
now she saw the stretcher-bearers stumbling into the receiving ward
with the broken men. Here they were operated upon, when necessary, and
sorted out--the _grands blessés_ sent to the more difficult wards, the
less seriously wounded to others.
Curiosity did not bring Ruth to the gate. It was in the hope of seeing
Charlie Bragg that she went there. Nor was she disappointed.
His shaky old car rolled up with three men under the canvas and one
with a bandaged arm sitting on the seat beside him. Charlie was pale
and haggard. Half the top of the ambulance had been shot away since
she had ridden in it, and the boy had roughly repaired the damage with
a blanket. But he nodded to Ruth with his old cheerful grin. Nothing
could entirely quench Charlie Bragg.
"Got tipped over and holed up in a marmite cave for a couple of hours
during the worst of it last night," he told Ruth. "Never mind. It
gave me another chapter for my new book. Surely! I'm going to write a
second one. They all do, you know. You rather get the habit."
"But, Charlie! Is--is there any news?" she asked him, with shaking
voice and eyes that told much of her anxiety.
He knew well what she meant, and he looked grim enough for a minute,
and nodded.
"Yes. A little."
"Oh, Charlie! They--they haven't found him?"
"No. Maybe they'd better _not_," breathed the boy, shaking his head.
"I don't think there's any hope, Miss Ruth."
"Oh, Charlie! He's not _dead_?"
"Better be," muttered the boy. "I wouldn't ask if I were you. It
looks bad for him--everybody says so."
"You know him, Charlie Bragg!" she burst out angrily. "Can _you_
believe Tom Cameron would do such a wicked thing as this they accuse
him of?"
"We-ell. I don't want to believe it," he agreed. "But, look here!"
and in desperation he pulled something from his pocket. "You know
that, don't you?"
"Why! Tom's matchbox!" cried the girl, taking the silver box and
seeing the initials of the lost soldier on the case. She had had it
engraved herself--and Helen had paid for the box. They had given it to
Tom when he went to Harvard for his Freshman course.
"Of course. I've seen him use it, too," Charlie Bragg hurried to say.
"I knew it and begged it of the fellow who found it."
"Where did he find it?"
"You know, some of our boys went across and visited the Heinies last
night," Charlie said gently. "They got right into the German trenches
and drove out the Heinies. And in a German dugout--before they blew it
up with bombs--this chap I talked with picked up that box."
"Oh, Charlie!" gasped the girl.
"Yes. He didn't see the significance of the monogram. He didn't know
Mr. Cameron personally, I think. He was slightly wounded and I helped
him with first aid. He gave the box to me as a German souvenir," and
the driver of the ambulance looked grim.
"Then they surely have got poor Tom!" whispered Ruth.
"At least, it looks as though he went over that way," agreed the boy
sadly.
"Don't speak so, Charlie!" she cried. "I tell you he has been taken
prisoner."
"We-ell," drawled her friend again, "we can't know about that."
"But we _will_ know!" she said, with added vehemence. "It will all
come out in time. Only--it will be too late to help poor Tom, then."
"Gosh!" groaned Charlie Bragg. "It's too late to help him now--if you
should ask me!"
Ruth had nobody to talk to about Tom Cameron save the young ambulance
driver. And him she could see but seldom.
For fear of having to explain to her chum, she could not write to Helen
Cameron, who was in Paris. Just now, too, she was too busy for letter
writing.
Mrs. Strang found a girl to help Ruth in the supply hut, one who was
willing and able to learn all about the merchandise under Ruth's care.
The latter was not asked to remain at this hospital outpost for long.
Her place was at Clair, and, until the Red Cross directors deliberately
changed her, Ruth must give her first thought to the Clair Supply
Headquarters.
She saw, however, that she would be several days at this field
hospital. She had been glad to come in hope of learning something
about Tom. Now she saw that she was doomed to disappointment.
This locality was the last place in which to search for news of the
lost lieutenant. Everybody here (everybody who spoke of the matter at
all) believed that Tom Cameron had played the traitor and, for money or
some other unexplained reason, had gone over to the enemy.
"As though poor Tom could even dream of such a thing!" she thought.
She must keep her opinion to herself. She was too wise to start any
argument on the affair. It might be, if she kept still, that she would
learn something of significance that would lead to an explanation of
the terrible event.
What she personally could do to save Tom's reputation she did not even
imagine at the time. Nevertheless, there might be some chance of doing
him a good turn.
As for his personal safety, she had lost all hope of that. She
believed he had been captured by the Germans, and she had heard too
many stories of their treatment of prisoners to hope that he would
escape injury and actual torture.
It was said that the enemy would treat the first Americans captured
with particular harshness, in hope of "frightening the Yankees." She
knew that the advancing Canadians had found their captured brothers
crucified on barn doors in the early months of the war. Why should the
Yankees expect better treatment from the Huns?
With this load of anxiety and fear upon her heart, Ruth still found
time for interest in what went on about her. She was an observant
girl. And, as ever, her sympathies were touched in behalf of the
wounded.
Although the American Red Cross had taken over this field hospital,
most of the wounded were Frenchmen.
She was glad to see so many visitors daily bringing comforts for the
men; but of all those who came she noted particularly the
peculiar-looking Nicko, the chocolate vender. Daily he came, and Ruth
always observed both his comings and goings.
Never did he fail to go into a particular ward--one of those in which
the more seriously wounded patients lay--Hut H. She sometimes saw him
going through the aisles at his funny, wabbling gait, offering his
wares to the soldiers. The latter jeered at him, or joked with him, as
their mood was. He wore an old battered hat, the brim of which flopped
over his face and half masked his features.
One afternoon Ruth met the strange fellow at the door of Hut H. She
was going out as he was coming in. The man backed away from her,
mumbling. She threw a coin into his basket and took a small package of
chocolate.
"_Bien obligé, Mademoiselle_!" he was startled into saying, and bowed
to her. It was not the stiff, martial bow she had before noted, but
the sweeping, ingratiating bow of the Frenchman. Ruth walked on, but
she was startled.
Finally she turned swiftly and went back to the door of Hut H. The
nurse on duty had just come from the end of the ward. Over her
shoulder Ruth saw Nicko halt beside one of the cots far down the line.
"Who is that Nicko converses with?" Ruth asked idly.
"Oh, his friend, the Boche. Didn't you know we had a German officer
with us? Cot 24. Not a bad fellow at all. Yes, Nicko never fails to
sell our Boche friend chocolate. He is a regular customer."
"Cot 24--Hut H," Ruth repeated in her own mind. She would not forget
that. And yet--did it mean anything? Was there something wrong with
Nicko, the chocolate peddler?