THE GARDENER'S COT
Ruth Fielding thought afterward that Major Marchand must possess the
eyes of a cat. And his sense of locality was as highly developed as
that of a feline as well.
In the midst of the wood into which they had come out from the German
trenches he discovered a path leading to a tiny hut, which seemed
entirely surrounded by thick brush.
He left her waiting for a moment while he ventured within. Then he
came to the door and touched Ruth's sleeve.
"I can never know who is waiting for me here," he whispered.
"Your brother?"
"No, no! Some day they will suspect--these Boches--and they will find
my little lodge. You know, Fraulein, the pitcher that too often goes
to the well is at last broken."
She understood his meaning. At last he would be caught. It was the
fate of most spies.
He lit a smoky lamp; but it gave light enough for her to see that the
hut was all but empty. It must have been a swineherd's cot at a
pre-war date. There was a table, a sawed-off log for a chair, a
cupboard hanging against the wall, and a heap of straw in a corner for
a bed.
This he pushed aside until he revealed beneath it a box like a coffin,
buried in the dirt floor. Its cover was hinged.
From this hidden receptacle he drew forth the complete uniform of a
Uhlan lieutenant. "Turn your back for a little, Fraulein," he said
softly. "I must make a small change in my toilet."
He removed the muddy rubber suit and the helmet. Likewise, the smock,
and baggy trousers, like those worn by Nicko the chocolate peddler. In
a trice he clothed himself from top to toe as a Uhlan full lieutenant.
He stood before the small glass tacked in the corner and twirled and
stiffened his mustache with pomatum. When he turned and strode before
Ruth again he was the typical haughty martinet who demanded of the rank
and file the goose-step and "right face salute" of the German army.
"For your protection, Fraulein," he said, stooping at the box again,
"we must make a subaltern of you."
"Oh! I could never look like a boy," Ruth objected, shrinking as she
saw the second uniform brought to light.
"For your protection," he said again. "A girl like you, Fraulein,
would not have the chance of a rabbit among these Huns. They are not
French," he added dryly. "I will step outside. Make haste, please."
He practically commanded her to don the uniform he laid out.
Ruth let fall the heavy rubber garment she had worn through the swamp.
Then she removed her outer clothing and got into the uniform and into
the long, polished boots quickly. There was even the swagger cane that
young Prussian officers carry.
She viewed herself as well as she could in the piece of mirror in the
corner. She might have the appearance of a "stage" soldier; but nobody
would ever, for a moment, take her for a man!
She strode up and down the hut for several moments, trying to tune her
gait to her new character--no easy matter. Finally she went to the
door. The lamplight showed her figure boldly in the frame of the
doorway. She saw the waiting major start, and he muttered something
under his breath.
"Am I not all right?" she asked with some trepidation.
For once Major Marchand forgot himself.
He bowed his stiff, military bow with a gesture as though he would kiss
her finger tips.
"Assuredly, Mademoiselle!"
She drew back for him to enter the hut again. He withdrew from the box
under the straw a long, military cloak, which he fastened upon Ruth's
shoulders.
"It will cover the figure, Fraulein. And now, a bit of camouflage."
From his pocket he drew a leather roll, which, when opened, proved to
contain shaving materials and certain toilet requisites. With a
camel's hair brush dipped in grease paint he darkened her lip and her
cheekbones just before her ears--as though the down of immature manhood
were sprouting. She again looked at herself in the glass.
"I _am_ a boy now!" she cried.
Major Marchand chuckled as he tumbled the rubber suits and all the
other articles into the box, shut the cover and covered it with the
straw. He looked carefully about the hut before they departed to make
sure that no signs of their occupancy of it were left. He even rubbed
out faint imprints of Ruth's slippers upon the damp earthen floor of
the hut.
Putting out the smoky lamp, they left the place. The Frenchman seemed
to know the vicinity perfectly. They followed yet another path out of
the wood and came to what was evidently a small inn. There was a noisy
party within, caparisoned horses held by orderlies in the yard, and
several automobiles under the sheds.
"Some of the Crown Prince's wild friends," whispered Major Marchand to
Ruth. "We must keep out of their sight but appear to be members of the
party. Remember, you are Sub-Leutnant Louden. I am your superior,
Leutnant Gilder. Do not speak if you can help it, Fraulein--and then
of the briefest."
She nodded, quite understanding his warning. She was alive to the
peril she faced, but she felt no panic of fright now that she was in
the midst of the adventure.
The major found somebody in authority. An auto-car for hire? Surely!
A price asked for it and a driver to Merz, which staggered Ruth. But
her companion agreed with a nod. To be a Prussian lieutenant of the
Crown Prince's suite one must throw money around!
In ten minutes they were under way--as easily as that was it
accomplished. Huddled down in her corner of the tonneau, with the
cloak wrapped around her, Ruth dozed. It was growing very late, and
after her struggle across the swampland between the lines she was
exhausted in body if not in mind.
She awoke suddenly. The car was stopping at a wide gateway and two
sentries were approaching to examine their papers.
The Frenchman seemed prepared for everything. He had papers for
himself and for "Sub-Leutnant Louden."
"Correct, Herr Leutnant. Pass on."
The car entered the private estate, but swiftly sped off into a side
road instead of going up to the big house in the upper windows of which
Ruth saw lights, although it was now nearly morning.
"Our quarters are in the gardener's cottage," said the major, loudly,
evidently intending the information for the automobile driver's ear.
They came to a roomy old cottage. Its windows were dark. The
chauffeur stopped before it and the major sprang out.
"Have a care how you step," he whispered to Ruth, and she made ready to
get out of the car without a tumble. The high boots did feel queer on
her legs.
Her companion was hammering on the door of the cottage with the hilt of
his sword. A window opened above.
"Leutnant Gilder and Sub-Leutnant Louden billeted here. Make haste and
come down," he commanded in his gruffest voice as the automobile
wheeled around in the drive and started back for the gate.
In three minutes the door was opened; but it was dark inside.
"Is it thou, my Henri?" whispered a voice.
"Allaire!"
Ruth knew that it was the young count himself. Major Marchand drew her
into the tiny hall. There was not much light, but she saw the two tall
men greet each other warmly--in true French fashion--with a kiss upon
either cheek.