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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19495-8.txt b/19495-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53c0f5b --- /dev/null +++ b/19495-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5486 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer, by +Percy Keese Fitzhugh + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer + +Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh + +Illustrator: R. Emmett Owen + +Release Date: October 8, 2006 [EBook #19495] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE MOTORCYCLE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: TOM TURNED ON HIS SEARCHLIGHT AND SAW A GERMAN SOLDIER, +HATLESS AND COATLESS. Frontispiece (Page 8)] + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +TOM SLADE +MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH-BEARER + +BY PERCY K. FITZHUGH + +AUTHOR OF +TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP, TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER, +TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS, ETC. + +ILLUSTRATED BY R. EMMETT OWEN + +PUBLISHED WITH THE APPROVAL OF THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA + +GROSSET & DUNLAP +PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Copyright, 1918, by +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + +Preface vii + I. For Service as Required 1 + II. Aid and Comfort to the Enemy 8 + III. The Old Compass 14 + IV. The Old Familiar Faces 20 + V. Getting Ready 25 + VI. Over the Top 36 + VII. A Shot 45 + VIII. In the Woods 50 + IX. The Mysterious Fugitive 57 + X. The Jersey Snipe 62 + XI. On Guard 68 + XII. What's In a Name? 73 + XIII. The Fountains of Destruction 79 + XIV. Tom Uses His First Bullet 84 + XV. The Gun Pit 89 + XVI. Prisoners 97 + XVII. Shades of Archibald Archer 105 + XVIII. The Big Coup 111 + XIX. Tom is Questioned 119 + XX. The Major's Papers 127 + XXI. The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere 133 + XXII. "Uncle Sam" 140 + XXIII. Up a Tree 150 + XXIV. "To Him That Overcometh" 156 + XXV. "What You Have to Do--" 162 + XXVI. A Surprise 169 + XXVII. Smoke and Fire 175 + XXVIII. "Made in Germany" 184 + XXIX. "Now You See It, Now You Don't" 194 + XXX. He Disappears 205 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +PREFACE + + +It was good advice that Rudyard Kipling gave his "young British soldier" +in regard to the latter's rifle: + + "She's human as you are--you treat her as sich + And she'll fight for the young British soldier." + +Tommy Atkins' rifle was by no means the first inanimate or dumb thing to +prove human and to deserve human treatment. Animals of all sorts have +been given this quality. Jack London's dog, in _The Call of the Wild_, +has human interest. So has the immortal _Black Beauty_. + +But we are not concerned with animals now. Kipling's ocean liner has +human interest--a soul. I need not tell you that a boat is human. Its +every erratic quality of crankiness, its veritable heroism under stress, +its temperament (if you like that word) makes it very human indeed. That +is why a man will often let his boat rot rather than sell it. + +This is not true of all inanimate things. It depends. I have never heard +of a steam roller or a poison gas bomb being beloved by anybody. I +should not care to associate with a hand grenade. It is a matter of +taste; I dare say I could learn to love a British tank, but I could +never make a friend and confidante of a balloon. An aeroplane might +prove a good pal--we shall have to see. + +Davy Crockett actually made a friend and confidante of his famous gun, +_Betsy_. And _Betsy_ is known in history. It is said that the gun crews +on armed liners have found this human quality in their guns, and many of +these have been given names--_Billy Sunday_, _Teddy Roosevelt_, etc. + +I need not tell you that a camp-fire is human and that trees are human. + +The pioneers of old, pressing into the dim wilderness, christened their +old flintlocks and talked to them as a man may talk to a man. The +woodsman's axe was "deare and greatly beloved," we are told. + +The hard-pressed Indian warrior knelt in the forest and besought that +life-long comrade, his bow, not to desert or fail him. King Philip kept +in his quiver a favorite arrow which he never used because it had +earned retirement by saving his own life. + +What Paul Revere may have said to his horse in that stirring midnight +ride we do not know. But may we not suppose that he urged his trusty +steed forward with resolute and inspiring words about the glorious +errand they were upon? + +Perhaps the lonely ringer of the immortal bell up in the Old South +steeple muttered some urgent word of incentive to that iron clanger as +it beat against its ringing wall of brass. + +So I have made _Uncle Sam_, the motorcycle, the friend and companion of +_Tom Slade_. I have withheld none of their confidences--or trifling +differences. I dare say they were both weary and impatient at times. + +If he is not companionable to you, then so much the worse for you and +for our story. But he was the friend, the inseparable associate and +co-patriot of _Tom Slade, the Dispatch Rider_. + +You will not like him any the less because of the noise he made in +trudging up a hill, or because his mud-guard was broken off, or his tire +wounded in the great cause, or his polished headlight knocked into a tin +can. You will not ridicule the old splint of a shingle which was bound +with such surgical nicety among his rusting spokes. If you do, then you +are the kind of a boy who would laugh at a wounded soldier and you had +better not read this book. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +TOM SLADE + +MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH-BEARER + +CHAPTER I + +FOR SERVICE AS REQUIRED + + +Swiftly and silently along the moonlit road sped the dispatch-rider. Out +of the East he had come, where the battle line runs between blue +mountains and the country is quiet and peaceful, and the boys in khaki +long for action and think wistfully of Picardy and Flanders. He was a +lucky young fellow, this dispatch-rider, and all the boys had told him +so. + +"We'll miss you, Thatchy," they had said. + +And "Thatchy" had answered characteristically, "I'm sorry, too, kind of, +in a way." + +His name was not Thatchy, but they had called him so because his thick +shock of light hair, which persisted in falling down over his forehead +and ears, had not a little the appearance of the thatched roofs on the +French peasant's cottages. He, with a loquacious young companion, had +blown into the Toul sector from no one seemed to know exactly where, +more than that he had originally been a ship's boy, had been in a German +prison camp, and had escaped through Alsace and reached the American +forces after a perilous journey. + +Lately he had been running back and forth on his motorcycle between the +lines and points south in a region which had not been defiled by the +invader, but now he was going far into the West "for service as +required." + +That was what the slip of paper from headquarters had said, and he did +not speculate as to what those services would be, but he knew that they +would not be exactly holding Sunday-School picnics in the neighborhood +of Montdidier. Billy Brownway, machine gunner, had assured Thatchy that +undoubtedly he was wanted to represent the messenger service on the War +Council at Versailles. But Thatchy did not mind that kind of talk. + +West of Revigny, he crossed the old trench line, and came into the area +which the Blond Beast had crossed and devastated in the first year of +the war. Planks lay across the empty trenches and as he rode over first +the French and then the enemy ditches, he looked down and could see in +the moonlight some of the ghastly trophies of war. Somehow they affected +him more than had the fresher results of combat which he had seen even +in the quiet sector he had left. + +Silently he sped along the thirty-mile stretch from Revigny to Châlons, +where a little group of French children pressed about him when he paused +for gasoline. + +"Yankee!" they called, chattering at him and meddling with his machine. + +"Le cheveu!" one brazen youngster shouted, running his hand through his +own hair by way of demonstrating Thatchy's most conspicuous +characteristic. + +Thatchy poked him good-humoredly. "La route, est-belle bonne?" he asked. + +The child nodded enthusiastically, while the others broke out laughing +at Thatchy's queer French, and poured a verbal torrent at him by way of +explaining that the road to the South would take him through Vertus and +Montmirail, while the one to the north led to Epernay. + +"I'll bump my nose into the salient if I take that one," he said more +to himself than to them, but one little fellow, catching the word +_salient_ took a chance on _nose_ and jumped up and down in joyous +abandon, calling, "Bump le nez--le _salient_!" apparently in keen +appreciation of the absurdity of the rider's phrase. + +He rode away with a clamoring chorus behind him and he heard one brazen +youngster boldly mimicking his manner of asking if the roads were good. +These children lived in tumble-down houses which were all but ruins, and +played in shell holes as if these cruel, ragged gaps in the earth had +been made by the kind Boche for their especial entertainment. + +A mile or two west of Châlons the rider crossed the historic Marne on a +makeshift bridge built from the materials of a ruined house and the +remnants of the former span. + +On he sped, along the quiet, moonlit road, through the little village of +Thibie, past many a quaint old heavily-roofed brick cottage, over the +stream at Chaintrix and into Vertus, and along the straight, even +stretch of road for Montmirail. Not so long ago he might have gone from +Châlons in a bee-line from Montdidier, but the big, ugly salient stuck +out like a huge snout now, as if it were sniffing in longing +anticipation at that tempting morsel, Paris; so he must circle around it +and then turn almost straight north. + +At La Ferte, among the hills, he paused at a crossroads and, alighting +from his machine, stood watching as a long, silent procession of wagons +passed by in the quiet night, moving southward. He knew now what it +meant to go into the West. One after another they passed in deathlike +stillness, the Red Cross upon the side of each plainly visible in the +moonlight. As he paused, the rider could hear the thunder of great guns +in the north. Many stretchers, borne by men afoot, followed the wagons +and he could hear the groans of those who tossed restlessly upon them. + +"Look out for shell holes," he heard someone say. So there were +Americans in the fighting, he thought. + +He ran along the edge of the hills now on the fifteen-mile stretch to +Meaux, where he intended to follow the road northward through Senlis and +across the old trenches near Clermont. He could hear the booming all the +while, but it seemed weary and spent, like a runner who has slackened +his pace and begun to pant. + +At Meaux he crossed the path of another silent cavalcade of stretchers +and ambulances and wounded soldiers who were being supported as they +limped along. They spoke in French and one voice came out of an +ambulance, seeming hollow and far off, as though from a grave. Then came +a lot of German prisoners tramping along, some sullen and some with a +fine air of bravado sneering at their guards. + +The rider knew where he was going and how to get there and he did not +venture any inquiries either as to his way or what had been going on. + +Happenings in Flanders and Picardy are known in America before they are +known to the boys in Alsace. He knew there was fighting in the West and +that Fritz had poked a big bulge into the French line, for his superiors +had given him a road map with the bulge pencilled upon it so that he +might go around it and not bump his nose into it, as he had said. But he +had not expected to see such obvious signs of fighting and it made him +realize that at last he was getting into the war with a vengeance. + +Instead of following the road leading northwest out of Meaux, he took +the one leading northeast up through Villers-Cotterets, intending to run +along the edge of the forest to Campiegne and then verge westward to +the billet villages northwest of Montdidier, where he was to report. + +This route brought him within ten miles of the west arm of the salient, +but the way was quiet and there was no sign of the fighting as he rode +along in the woody solitude. It reminded him of his home far back in +America and of the woods where he and his scout companions had camped +and hiked and followed the peaceful pursuits of stalking and trailing. + +He was thinking of home as he rode leisurely along the winding forest +road, when suddenly he was startled by a rustling sound among the trees. + +"Who goes there?" he demanded in pursuance of his general instructions +for such an emergency, at the same time drawing his pistol. "Halt!" + +He was the scout again now, keen, observant. But there was no answer to +his challenge and he narrowed his eyes to mere slits, peering into the +tree-studded solitude, waiting. + +Then suddenly, close by him he heard that unmistakable sound, the +clanking of a chain, and accompanying it a voice saying, "Kamerad." + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +AID AND COMFORT TO THE ENEMY + + +Tom Slade, dispatch-rider, knew well enough what _kamerad_ meant. He had +learned at least that much of German warfare and German honor, even in +the quiet Toul sector. He knew that the German olive branch was +poisoned; that German treachery was a fine art--a part of the German +efficiency. Had not Private Coleburn, whom Tom knew well, listened to +that kindly uttered word and been stabbed with a Prussian bayonet in the +darkness of No Man's Land? + +"Stand up," said Tom. "Nobody can talk to _me_ crouching down like +that." + +"Ach!" said the voice in the unmistakable tone of pain. "Vot goot--see!" + +Tom turned on his searchlight and saw crawling toward him a German +soldier, hatless and coatless, whose white face seemed all the more pale +and ghastly for the smear of blood upon it. He was quite without arms, +in proof of which he raised his open hands and slapped his sides and +hips. As he did so a long piece of heavy chain, which was manacled to +his wrist clanged and rattled. + +"Ach!" he said, shaking his head as if in agony. + +"Put your hands down. All right," said Tom. "Can you speak English?" + +"Kamerad," he repeated and shrugged his shoulders as if that were +enough. + +"You escape?" said Tom, trying to make himself understood. "How did you +get back of the French lines?" + +"Shot broke--yach," the man said, his face lapsing again into a hopeless +expression of suffering. + +"All right," said Tom, simply. "Comrade--I say it too. All right?" + +The soldier's face showed unmistakable relief through his suffering. + +"Let's see what's the matter," Tom said, though he knew the other only +vaguely understood him. Turning the wheel so as the better to focus the +light upon the man, he saw that he had been wounded in the foot, which +was shoeless and bleeding freely, but that the chief cause of his +suffering was the raw condition of his wrist where the manacle +encircled it and the heavy chain pulled. It seemed to Tom as if this +cruel sore might have been caused by the chain dragging behind him and +perhaps catching on the ground as he fled. + +"The French didn't put that on?" he queried, rather puzzled. + +The soldier shook his head. "Herr General," said he. + +"Not the Americans?" + +"Herr General--gun." + +Then suddenly there flashed into Tom's mind something he had heard about +German artillerymen being chained to their guns. So that was it. And +some French gunner, or an American maybe, had unconsciously set this +poor wretch free by smashing his chain with a shell. + +"You're in the French lines," Tom said. "Did you mean to come here? +You're a prisoner." + +"Ach, diss iss petter," the man said, only half understanding. + +"Yes, I guess it is," said Tom. "I'll bind your foot up and then I'll +take that chain off if I can and bind your wrist. Then we'll have to +find the nearest dressing station. I suppose you got lost in this +forest. I been in the German forest myself," he added; "it's +fine--better than this. I got to admit they've got fine lakes there." + +Whether he said this by way of comforting the stranger--though he knew +the man understood but little of it--or just out of the blunt honesty +which refused to twist everything German into a thing of evil, it would +be hard to say. He had about him that quality of candor which could not +be shaken even by righteous enmity. + +Tearing two strips from his shirt, he used the narrower one to make a +tourniquet, which he tied above the man's ankle. + +"If you haven't got poison in it, it won't be so bad," he said. "Now +I'll take off that chain." + +He raised his machine upon its rest so that the power wheel was free of +the ground. Then, to the wounded Boche's puzzled surprise, he removed +the tire and fumbling in his little tool kit he took out a piece of +emery cloth which he used for cleaning his plugs and platinum contact +points, and bent it over the edge of the rim, binding it to the spokes +with the length of insulated wire which he always carried. It was a +crude and makeshift contrivance at best, but at last he succeeded, by +dint of much bending and winding and tying of the pliable copper wire +among the spokes of the wheel, in fastening the emery cloth over the +fairly sharp rim so that it stayed in place when he started his power +and in about two revolutions it cut a piece of wire with which he tested +the power of his improvised mechanical file. + +"Often I sharpened a jackknife that way on the fly-wheel of a motor +boat," he said. The Boche did not understand him, but he was quick to +see the possibilities of this whirling hacksaw and he seemed to +acknowledge, with as much grace as a German may, the Yankee ingenuity of +his liberator. + +"Give me your wrist," said Tom, reaching for it; "I won't hurt it any +more than I have to; here--here's a good scheme." + +He carefully stuffed his handkerchief around under the metal band which +encircled the soldier's wrist and having thus formed a cushion to +receive the pressure and protect the raw flesh, he closed his switch +again and gently subjected the manacle to the revolving wheel, holding +it upon the edge of the concave tire bed. + +If the emery cloth had extended all the way around the wheel he could +have taken the manacle off in less time than it had taken Kaiser Bill to +lock it on, for the contrivance rivalled a buzzsaw. As it was, he had +to stop every minute or two to rearrange the worn emery cloth and bind +it in place anew. But for all that he succeeded in less than fifteen +minutes in working a furrow almost through the metal band so that a +little careful manipulating and squeezing and pressing of it enabled him +to break it and force it open. + +"There you are," he said, removing the handkerchief so as to get a +better look at the cruel sore beneath; "didn't hurt much, did it? That's +what Uncle Sam's trying to do for all the rest of you fellers--only you +haven't got sense enough to know it." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE OLD COMPASS + + +Tom took the limping Boche, his first war prisoner, to the Red Cross +station at Vivieres where they had knives and scissors and bandages and +antiseptics, but nothing with which to remove Prussian manacles, and all +the king's horses and all the king's men and the willing, kindly nurses +there could have done little for the poor Boche if Tom Slade, alias +Thatchy, had not administered his own particular kind of first aid. + +The French doctors sent him forth with unstinted praise which he only +half understood, and as he sped along the road for Compiegne he wondered +who could have been the allied gunner who at long range had cut Fritzie +loose from the piece of artillery to which he had been chained. + +"That feller and I did a good job anyway," he thought. + +At Compiegne the whole town was in a ferment as he passed through. +Hundreds of refugees with mule carts and wheelbarrows laden with their +household goods, were leaving the town in anticipation of the German +advance. They made a mournful procession as they passed out of the town +along the south road with babies crying and children clamoring about the +clumsy, overladen vehicles. He saw many boys in khaki here and there and +it cheered and inspired him to know that his country was represented in +the fighting. He had to pause in the street to let a company of them +pass by on their way northward to the trench line and it did his heart +good to hear their cheery laughter and typical American banter. + +"Got any cigarettes, kiddo?" one called. + +"Where you going--north?" asked another. + +"To the billets west of Montdidier," Tom answered. "I'm for new service. +I came from Toul sector." + +"Good-_night_! That's Sleepy Hollow over there." + +From Compiegne he followed the road across the Aronde and up through +Mery and Tricot into Le Cardonnois. The roads were full of Americans and +as he passed a little company of them he called, + +"How far is ----?" naming the village of his destination. + +"About two miles," one of them answered; "straight north." + +"Tell 'em to give 'em Hell," another called. + +This laconic utterance was the first intimation which Tom had that +anything special was brewing in the neighborhood, and he answered with +characteristic literalness, "All right, I will." + +The road northward from Le Cardonnois was through a hilly country, where +there were few houses. About half a mile farther on he reached the +junction of another road which appeared also to lead northward, verging +slightly in an easterly direction. He had made so many turns that he was +a little puzzled as to which was the true north road, so he stopped and +took out the trusty little compass which he always carried, and held it +in the glare of his headlight, thinking to verify his course. +Undoubtedly the westward road was the one leading to his destination for +as he walked a little way along the other road he found that it bent +still more to the eastward and he believed that it must reach the French +front after another mile or two. + +As he looked again at the cheap, tin-encased compass he smiled a little +ruefully, for it reminded him of Archibald Archer, with whom he had +escaped from the prison camp in Germany and made his perilous flight +through the Black Forest into Switzerland and to the American forces +near Toul. + +Archibald Archer! Where, in all that war-scourged country, was Archibald +Archer now, Tom wondered. No doubt, chatting familiarly with generals +and field marshals somewhere, in blithe disregard of dignity and +authority; for he was a brazen youngster and an indefatigable souvenir +hunter. + +So vivid were Tom's thoughts of Archer that, being off his machine, he +sat down by the roadside to eat the rations which his anxiety to reach +his destination had deterred him from eating before. + +"That's just like him," he thought, holding the compass out so that it +caught the subdued rays of his dimmed headlight; "always marking things +up, or whittling his initials or looking for souvenirs." + +The particular specimen of Archer's handiwork which opened this train of +reminiscence was part and parcel of the mischievous habit which +apparently had begun very early in his career, when he renovated the +habiliments of the heroes and statesmen in his school geography by +pencilling high hats and sunbonnets on their honored heads and giving +them flowing moustaches and frock coats. + +In the prison camp from which they had escaped he had carved his +initials on fence and shack, but his masterpiece was the conversion of +the N on this same glassless compass into a very presentable S (though +turned sideways) and the S into a very presentable N. + +The occasion of his doing this was a singular experience the two boys +had had in their flight through Germany when, after being carried across +a lake on a floating island while asleep, they had swum back and +retraced their steps northward supposing that they were still going +south. + +"Either we're wrong or the compass is wrong, Slady," the bewildered +Archer had said, and he had forthwith altered the compass points before +they discovered the explanation of their singular experience. + +After reaching the American forces Archer had gone forth to more +adventures and new glories in the transportation department, the line of +his activities being between Paris and the coast, and Tom had seen him +no more. He had given the compass to Tom as a "souvenir," and Tom, +whose sober nature had found much entertainment in Archer's +sprightliness, had cherished it as such. It was useful sometimes, too, +though he had to be careful always to remember that it was the "wrong +way round." + +"He'll turn up like a bad penny some day," he thought now, smiling a +little. "He said he'd bring me the clock from a Paris cathedral for a +souvenir, and he'd change the twelve to twenty-two on it." + +He remembered that he had asked Archer _what_ cathedral in Paris, and +Archer had answered, "The Cathedral de la Plaster of Paris." + +"He's a sketch," thought Tom. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES + + +"That's the way it is," thought Tom, "you get to know fellers and like +'em, and then you get separated and you don't see 'em any more." + +Perhaps he was the least bit homesick, coming into this new sector where +all were strangers to him. In any event, as he sat there finishing his +meal he fell to thinking of the past and of the "fellers" he had known. +He had known a good many for despite his soberness there was something +about him which people liked. Most of his friends had taken delight in +jollying him and he was one of those boys who are always being nicknamed +wherever they go. Over in the Toul sector they "joshed" and "kidded" him +from morning till night but woe be to you if you had sought to harm him! + +He had been sorry, in a way, to leave the Toul sector, just as he had +been sorry to leave Bridgeboro when he got his first job on a ship. +"That's one thing fellers can't understand," he thought, "how you can be +sorry about a thing and glad too. Girls understand better--I'll say that +much for 'em, even though I--even though they never had much use for +me----" + +He fell to thinking of the scout troop of which he had been a member +away back in America, of Mr. Ellsworth, the scoutmaster, who had lifted +him out of the gutter, and of Roy Blakeley who was always fooling, and +Peewee Harris. Peewee must be quite a boy by now--not a tenderfootlet +any more, as Roy had called him. + +And then there was Rossie Bent who worked in the bank and who had run +away the night before Registration Day, hoping to escape military +service. Tom fell to thinking of him and of how he had traced him up to +a lonely mountain top and made him go back and register just in time to +escape disgrace and punishment. + +"He thought he was a coward till he got the uniform on," he thought. +"That's what makes the difference. I bet he's one of the bravest +soldiers over here now. Funny if I should meet him. I always liked him +anyway, even when people said he was conceited. Maybe he had a right to +be. If girls liked me as much as they did him maybe _I'd_ be conceited. +Anyway, I'd like to see him again, that's one sure thing." + +When he had finished his meal he felt of his tires, gave his grease cup +a turn, mounted his machine and was off to the north for whatever +awaited him there, whether it be death or glory or just hard work; and +to new friends whom he would meet and part with, who doubtless would +"josh" him and make fun of his hair and tell him extravagant yarns and +belittle and discredit his soberly and simply told "adventures," and yet +who would like him nevertheless. + +"That's the funny thing about some fellers," he thought, "you never can +tell whether they like you or not. Rossie used to say girls were hard to +understand, but, gee, I think fellers are harder!" + +Swiftly and silently along the moonlit road he sped, the dispatch-rider +who had come from the blue hills of Alsace across the war-scorched area +into the din and fire and stenching suffocation and red-running streams +of Picardy "for service as required." Two miles behind the straining +line he rode and parallel with it, straight northward, keeping his keen, +steady eyes fixed upon the road for shell holes. Over to the east he +could hear the thundering boom of artillery and once the air just above +him seemed to buzz as if some mammoth wasp had passed. But he rode +steadily, easily, without a tremor. + +When he dismounted in front of headquarters at the little village of his +destination his stolid face was grimy from his long ride and the dust of +the blue Alsatian mountains mingled with the dust of devastated France +upon his khaki uniform (which was proper and fitting) and his rebellious +hair was streaky and matted and sprawled down over his frowning +forehead. + +A little group of soldiers gathered about him after he had given his +paper to the commanding officer, for he had come a long way and they +knew the nature of his present service if he did not. They watched him +rather curiously, for it was not customary to bring a dispatch-rider +from such a distance when there were others available in the +neighborhood. He was the second sensation of that memorable night, for +scarcely two hours before General Pershing himself had arrived and he +was at that very minute in conference with other officers in the little +red brick cottage. Even as the group of soldiers clustered about the +rider, officers hurried in and out with maps, and one young fellow, an +aviator apparently, suddenly emerged and hurried away. + +"What's going to be doing?" Tom asked, taking notice of all these +activities and speaking in his dull way. + +Evidently the boys had already taken his measure and formulated their +policy, for one answered, + +"Peace has been declared and they're trying to decide whether we'd +better take Berlin or have it sent C.O.D." + +"A soldier I met a couple of miles back," said Tom, "told me to tell you +to give 'em Hell." + +It was characteristic of him that although he never used profanity he +delivered the soldier's message exactly as it had been given him. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +GETTING READY + + +Tom wheeled his machine over to a long brick cottage which stood flush +with the road and attended to it with the same care and affection as a +man might show a favorite horse. Then he sat down with several others on +a long stone bench and waited. + +There was something in the very air which told him that important +matters were impending and though he believed that they had not expected +him to arrive just at this time he wondered whether he might not be +utilized now that he was here. So he sat quietly where he was, observant +of everything, but asking no questions. + +There was a continuous stream of officers entering and emerging from the +headquarters opposite and twice within half an hour companies of +soldiers were brought into formation and passed silently away along the +dark road. + +"You'll be in Germany in a couple of hours," called a private sitting +alongside Tom as some of them passed. + +"Cantigny isn't Germany," another said. + +"Sure it is," retorted a third; "all the land they hold is German soil. +Call us up when you get a chance," he added in a louder tone to the +receding ranks. + +"Is Cantigny near here?" Tom asked. + +"Just across the ditches." + +"Are we going to try to take it?" + +"_Try_ to? We're going to wrap it up and bring it home." + +Tom was going to ask the soldier if he thought there would be any chance +for _him_, though he knew well enough that his business was behind the +lines and that the most he could hope for was to carry the good news (if +such it proved to be) still farther back, away from the fighting. + +"This is going to be the first offensive of your old Uncle Samuel and if +we don't get the whole front page in the New York papers we'll be +peeved," Tom's neighbor condescended to inform him. + +Whatever Uncle Samuel was up to he was certainly very busy about it and +very quiet. On the little village green which the cottage faced groups +of officers talked earnestly. + +An enormous spool on wheels, which in the darkness seemed a mile high, +was rolled silently from somewhere or other, the wheels staked and bound +to the ground, and braces were erected against it. Very little sound was +made and there were no lights save in the houses, which seemed all to be +swarming with soldiers. Not a civilian was to be seen. Several soldiers +walked away from the big wheel and it moved around slowly like one of +those gigantic passenger-carrying wheels in an amusement resort. + +Presently some one remarked that Collie was in and there was a hurrying +away--toward the rear of the village, as it seemed to Tom. + +"Who's Collie?" he ventured to ask. + +"Collie? Oh, he's the Stormy Petrel; he's been piking around over the +Fritzies' heads, I s'pose." + +Evidently Collie, or the Stormy Petrel, was an aviator who had alighted +somewhere about the village with some sort of a report. + +"Collie can't see in the daylight," his neighbor added; "he and the +Jersey Snipe have got Fritzie vexed. You going to run between here and +the coast?" + +"I don't know what I'm going to do," said Tom. "I don't suppose I'll go +over the top, I'd like to go to Cantigny." + +"Never mind, they'll bring it back to you. Did you know the old gent is +here?" + +"Pershing?" + +"Yup. Going to run the show himself." + +"Are you going?" + +"Not as far as I know. I was in the orchestra--front row--last week. Got +a touch of trench fever." + +"D'you mean the front line trenches?" Tom asked. + +"Yup. Oh, look at Bricky!" he added suddenly. "You carrying wire, +Bricky? There's a target for a sniper for you--hair as red as----" + +"Just stick around at the other end of it," interrupted "Bricky" as he +passed, "and listen to what you hear." + +"Here come the tanks," said Tom's neighbor, "and there's the Jersey +Snipe perched on the one over at the other end. Good-_night_, Fritzie!" + +The whole scene reminded Tom vaguely of the hasty, quiet picking up and +departure of the circus in the night which, as a little boy, he had sat +up to watch. There were the tanks, half a dozen of them (and he knew +there were more elsewhere), covered with soldiers and waiting in the +darkness like elephants. Troops were constantly departing, for the front +trenches he supposed. + +Though he had never yet been before the lines, his experience as a rider +and his close touch with the fighting men had given him a pretty good +military sense in the matter of geography--that is, he understood now +without being told the geographical relation of one place to another in +the immediate neighborhood. Dispatch-riders acquire this sort of extra +sense very quickly and they come to have a knowledge of the lay of the +land infinitely more accurate than that of the average private soldier. + +Tom knew that this village, which was now the scene of hurried +preparation and mysterious comings and goings, was directly behind the +trench area. He knew that somewhere back of the village was the +artillery, and he believed that the village of Cantigny stood in the +same relation to the German trenches that this billet village stood to +the Allied trenches; that is, that it was just behind the German lines +and that the German artillery was still farther back. He had heard +enough talk about trench warfare to know how the Americans intended to +conduct this operation. + +But he had never seen an offensive in preparation, either large or +small, for there had been no American offensives--only raids, and of +course he had not participated in these. It seemed to him that now, at +last, he was drawn to the very threshold of active warfare only to be +compelled to sit silent and gaze upon a scene every detail of which +aroused his longing for action. The hurried consultation of officers, +the rapid falling in line in the darkness, the clear brisk words of +command, the quick mechanical response, the departure of one group after +another, the thought of that aviator alighting behind the village, the +sight of the great, ugly tanks and the big spool aroused his patriotism +and his craving for adventure as nothing else had in all the months of +his service. He was nearer to the trenches than ever before. + +"If you're riding to Clermont," he heard a soldier say, apparently to +him, "you'd better take the south road; turn out when you get to Airian. +The other's full of shell holes from the old trench line." + +"Best way is to go down through Estrees and follow the road back across +the old trench line," said another. + +Tom listened absently. He knew he could find the best way, that was his +business, but he did not want to go to Clermont. It seemed to him that +he was always going away from the war while others were going toward it. +While these boys were rushing forward he would be rushing backward. That +was always the way. + +"There's a lot of skeletons in those old trenches. You can follow the +ditches almost down to Paris." + +"They won't send him farther than Creil," another said. "The wires are +up all the way from Creil down." + +"You never can tell whether they'll stay up or not--not with this +seventy-five mile bean-shooter Fritzie's playing with. Ever been to +Paris, kid?" + +"No, but I s'pose I'll be sent there now--maybe," Tom answered. + +"They'll keep you moving up this way, all right. You were picked for +this sector--d'you know that?" + +"I don't know why." + +"Don't get rattled easy--that's what I heard." + +This was gratifying if it was true. Tom had not known why he had been +sent so far and he had wondered. + +Presently a Signal Corps captain came out of Headquarters, spoke briefly +with two officers who were near the big wire spool, and then turned +toward the bench on which Tom was sitting. His neighbors arose and +saluted and he did the same. + +"Never been under fire, I suppose?" said the captain, addressing Tom to +his great surprise. + +"Not before the lines, I haven't. The machine I had before this one was +knocked all out of shape by a shell. I was riding from Toul to----" + +"All right," interrupted the captain somewhat impatiently. Tom was used +to being interrupted in the midst of his sometimes rambling answers. He +could never learn the good military rule of being brief and explicit. +"How do you feel about going over the top? You don't have to." + +"It's just what I was thinking about," said Tom eagerly. "If you'd be +willing, I'd like to." + +"Of course you'd be under fire. Care to volunteer? Emergency work." + +"Often I wished----" + +"Care to volunteer?" + +"Yes, sir, I do." + +"All right; go inside and get some sleep. They'll wake you up in about +an hour. Machine in good shape?" + +This was nothing less than an insult. "I always keep it in good shape," +said Tom. "I got extra----" + +"All right. Go in and get some sleep; you haven't got long. The wire +boys will take care of you." + +He strode away and began to talk hurriedly with another man who showed +him some papers and Tom watched him as one in a trance. + +"Now you're in for it, kiddo," he heard some one say. + +"R. I. P. for yours," volunteered another. + +Tom knew well enough what R. I. P. meant. Often in his lonely night +rides through the towns close to the fighting he had seen it on row +after row of rough, carved wooden crosses. + +"There won't be much _resting in peace_ to-night. How about it, Toul +sector?" + +"I didn't feel very sleepy, anyway," said Tom. + +He slept upon one of the makeshift straw bunks on the stone floor of the +cellar under the cottage. With the first streak of dawn he arose and +went quietly out and sat on a powder keg under a small window, tore +several pages out of his pocket blank-book and using his knee for a +desk, wrote: + + "DEAR MARGARET: + + "Maybe you'll be surprised, kind of, to get a letter from me. And + maybe you won't like me calling you Margaret. I told Roy to show + you my letters, cause I knew he'd be going into Temple Camp + office on account of the troop getting ready to go to Camp and I + knew he'd see you. I'd like to be going up to camp with them, and + I'd kind of like to be back in the office, too. I remember how I + used to be scared of you and you said you must be worse than the + Germans 'cause I wasn't afraid of them. I hope you're working + there yet and I'd like to see Mr. Burton, too. + + "I was going to write to Roy but I decided I'd send a letter to + you because whenever something is going to happen the fellows + write letters home and leave them to be mailed in case they don't + get back. So if you get this you'll know I'm killed. Most of them + write to girls or their mothers, and as long as I haven't got any + mother I thought I'd write to you. Because maybe you'd like to + hear I'm killed more than anybody. I mean maybe you'd be more + interested. + + "I'm going to go over the top with this regiment. I got sent way + over to this sector for special service. A fellow told me he + heard it was because I got a level head. I can't tell you where I + am, but this morning we're going to take a town. I didn't have to + go, 'cause I'm a non-com., but I volunteered. I don't know what + I'll have to do. + + "I ain't exactly scared, but it kind of makes me think about home + and all like that. I often wished I'd meet Roscoe Bent over here. + Maybe he wrote to you. I bet everybody likes him wherever he is + over here. It's funny how I got to thinking about you last night. + I'll--there goes the bugle, so I can't write any more. Anyway, + you won't get it unless I'm killed. Maybe you won't like my + writing, but every fellow writes to a girl the last thing. It + seems kind of lonely if you can't write to a girl. + + "Your friend, + + "TOM SLADE." + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +OVER THE TOP + + +The first haze of dawn was not dispelled when the artillery began to +thunder and Tom knew that the big job was on. Stolid as he was and used +to the roar of the great guns, he made hasty work of his breakfast for +he was nervous and anxious to be on the move. + +Most of the troops that were to go seemed to have gone already. He +joined the two signal corps men, one of whom carried the wire and the +other a telephone apparatus, and as they moved along the road other +signal corps men picked up the wire behind them at intervals, carrying +it along. + +Tom was as proud of his machine as a general could be of his horse, and +he wheeled it along beside him, keeping pace with the slow advance of +his companions, his heart beating high. + +"If you have to come back with any message, you'll remember +Headquarters, won't you?" one asked him. + +"I always remember Headquarters," said Tom. + +"And don't get rattled." + +"I never get rattled." + +"Watch the roads carefully as we go, so you can get back all right. +Noise don't bother you?" + +"No, I'm used to artillery--I mean the noise," said Tom. + +"You probably won't have much to do unless in an emergency. If Fritzie +cuts the wire or it should get tangled and we couldn't reach the airmen +quick enough you'd have to beat it back. There's two roads out of +Cantigny. Remember to take the south one. We're attacking on a mile +front. If you took----" + +"If I have to come back," said Tom, "I'll come the same way. You needn't +worry." + +His advisor felt sufficiently squelched. And indeed, he had no cause to +worry. The Powers that Be had sent Thatchy into the West where the +battle line was changing every day and roads were being made and +destroyed and given new directions; where the highway which took one to +Headquarters one day led into the lair of the Hun on the next, and all +the land was topsy-turvy and changing like the designs in a +kaleidoscope--for the very good reason that Thatchy invariably reached +his destination and could be depended upon to come back, through all the +chaos, as a cat returns to her home. The prison camps in Germany were +not without Allied dispatch-riders who had become "rattled" and had +blundered into the enemy's arms, but Thatchy had a kind of uncanny extra +sense, a bump of locality, if you will, and that is why they had sent +him into this geographical tangle where maps became out of date as fast +as they were made. + +The sun was not yet up when they reached a wider road running crossways +to the one out of the village and here many troops were waiting as far +up and down the road as Tom could see. A narrow ditch led away from the +opposite side of the road through the fields beyond, and looking up and +down the road he could see that there were other ditches like it. + +The tanks were already lumbering and waddling across the fields, for all +the world like great clumsy mud turtles, with soldiers perched upon them +as if they were having a straw ride. Before Tom and his companions +entered the nearest ditch he could see crowds of soldiers disappearing +into other ditches far up the road. + +[Illustration: SHOWING WHERE THE AMERICANS WERE BILLETED: CANTIGNY, +WHICH THEY CAPTURED AND THE ROUTE TAKEN BY TOM AND THE CARRIERS. ARROWS +SHOW THE AREA OF ATTACK.] + +The fields above them were covered with shell holes, a little cemetery +flanked one side of the zigzag way, and the big dugouts of the reserves +were everywhere in this backyard of the trench area. Out of narrow, +crooked side avenues soldiers poured into the communication trench which +the wire carriers were following, falling in ahead of them. + +"We'll get into the road after the boys go over and then you'll have +more room for your machine. Close quarters, hey?" Tom's nearest +companion said. + +When they reached the second-line trench the boys were leaving it, by +hundreds as it seemed to Tom, and crowding through the crooked +communication trenches. The wire carriers followed on, holding up the +wire at intervals. Once when Tom peeped over the edge of the +communication trench he saw the tanks waddling along to right and left, +rearing up and bowing as they crossed the trench, like clumsy, trained +hippopotamuses. And all the while the artillery was booming with +continuous, deafening roar. + +Tom did not see the first of the boys to go over the top for they were +over by the time he reached the second-line trench, but as he passed +along the fire trench toward the road he could see them crowding over, +and when he reached the road the barbed wire entanglements lay flat in +many places, the boys picking their way across the fallen meshes, the +clumsy tanks waddling on ahead, across No Man's Land. As far as Tom +could see along the line in either direction this shell-torn area was +being crossed by hundreds of boys in khaki holding fixed bayonets, some +going ahead of the tanks and some perching on them. + +Above him the whole district seemed to be in pandemonium, men shouting +and their voices drowned by the thunder of artillery. + +His first real sight of the attack was when he clambered out of the +trench where it crossed the road and faced the flattened meshes of +barbed wire with its splintered supporting poles all tangled in it. +Never was there such a wreck. + +"All right," he shouted down. "It's as flat as a pancake--careful with +the machine--lift the back wheel--that's right!" + +He could hardly hear his own voice for the noise, and the very earth +seemed to shake under the heavy barrage fire which protected them. In +one sweeping, hasty glance he saw scores of figures in khaki running +like mad and disappearing into the enemy trenches beyond. + +"Do you mean to let the wire rest on this?" he asked, as his machine was +lifted up and the first of the wire carriers came scrambling up after +it; "it might get short-circuited." + +"We'll run it over the poles, only hurry," the men answered. + +They were evidently the very last of the advancing force, and even as +Tom looked across the shell-torn area of No Man's Land, he could see the +men picking their way over the flattened entanglements and pouring into +the enemy trenches. The tanks had already crossed these and were rearing +and waddling along, irresistible yet ridiculous, like so many heroic mud +turtles going forth to glory. Here and there Tom could see the gray-clad +form of a German clambering out of the trenches and rushing pell-mell to +the rear. + +But it was no time to stand and look. Hurriedly they disentangled a +couple of the supporting poles, laying them so that the telephone wire +passed over them free of the barbed meshes and Tom, mounting his +machine, started at top speed along the road across No Man's Land, +dragging the wire after him. Scarcely had he started when he heard that +wasplike whizzing close to him--once, twice, and then a sharp metallic +sound as a bullet hit some part of his machine. He looked back to see +if the wire carriers were following, but there was not a sign of any of +them except his companion who carried the apparatus, and just as Tom +looked this man twirled around like a top, staggered, and fell. + +The last of the Americans were picking their way across the tangle of +fallen wire before the German fire trench. He could see them now and +again amid dense clouds of smoke as they scrambled over the enemy +sandbags and disappeared. + +On he sped at top speed, not daring to look around again. He could feel +that the wire was dragging and he wondered where its supporters could +be; but he opened his cut-out to get every last bit of power and sped on +with the accumulating train of wire becoming a dead weight behind him. + +Now, far ahead, he could see gray-coated figures scrambling frantically +out of the first line trench, and he thought that the Americans must +have carried the attack successfully that far, in any event. Again came +that whizzing sound close to him, and still again a sharp metallic ring +as another bullet struck his machine. For a moment he feared least a +tire had been punctured, but when neither collapsed he took fresh +courage and sped on. + +The drag on the wire was lessening the speed of his machine now and +jerking dangerously at intervals. But he thought of what one of those +soldiers had said banteringly to another--_Stick around at the other end +of it and listen to what you hear_, and he was resolved that if limited +horse power and unlimited will power could get this wire to those brave +boys who were surging and battling in the trenches ahead of him, could +drag it to them wherever they went, for the glorious message they +intended to send back across it, it should be done. + +There was not another soul visible on that road now nor in the +shell-torn area of No Man's Land through which it ran. But the lone +rider forged ahead, zig-zagging his course to escape the bullets of that +unseen sharpshooter and because it seemed to free the dragging, catching +wire, affording him little spurts of unobstructed speed. + +Then suddenly the wire caught fast, and his machine stopped and strained +like a restive horse, the power wheel racing furiously. Hurriedly he +looked behind him where the sinuous wire lay along the road, far +back--as far as he could see, across the trampled entanglements and +trenches. Where were the others who were to help carry it over? Killed? + +Alone in the open area of No Man's Land, Tom Slade paused for an instant +to think. What should he do? + +Suddenly there appeared out of a shell hole not twenty feet ahead of him +a helmeted figure. It rose up grimly, uncannily, like a dragon out of +the sea, and levelled a rifle straight at him. So that was the lair of +the sharpshooter! + +Tom was not afraid. He knew that he had been facing death and he was not +afraid of what he had been facing. He knew that the sharpshooter had him +at last. Neither he nor the wire were going to bear any message back. + +"Anyway, I'm glad I wrote that letter," he muttered. + +[Illustration: TOM WAS SURPRISED TO FIND HIMSELF UNINJURED, WHILE THE +BOCHE COLLAPSED INTO HIS SHELL HOLE.] + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +A SHOT + + +Then, clear and crisp against the sound of the great guns far off, there +was the sharp crack of a rifle and Tom was surprised to find himself +still standing by his machine uninjured, while the Boche collapsed back +into his shell hole like a jack-in-the-box. + +He did not pause to think now. Leaving his machine, he rushed pell-mell +back to the barbed wire entanglement where the line was caught, +disengaged it and ran forward again to his wheel. Shells were bursting +all about him, but as he mounted he could see two figures emerge, one +after the other, from the American trench where it crossed the road, and +take up the burden of wire. He could feel the relief as he mounted and +rode forward and it lightened his heart as well as his load. What had +happened to delay the carriers he did not know. Perhaps those who +followed him now were new ones and his former companions lay dead or +wounded within their own lines. What he thought of most of all was his +extraordinary escape from the Boche sharpshooter and he wondered who and +where his deliverer could be. + +He avoided looking into the shell hole as he passed it and soon he +reached the enemy entanglements which the tanks had flattened. Even the +flat meshes had been cleared from the road and here several regulars +waited to help him. They were covered with dirt and looked as if they +had seen action. + +"Bully for you, kid!" one of them said, slapping Tom on the shoulder. + +"You're all right, Towhead!" + +"Lift the machine," said Tom; "they always put broken glass in the +roads. I thought maybe they'd punctured my tire out there." + +"They came near puncturing _you_, all right! What's your name?" + +"Thatchy is mostly what I get called. My motorcycle is named _Uncle +Sam_. Did you win yet?" + +For answer they laughed and slapped him on the shoulder and repeated, +"You're all right, kid!" + +"Looks as if Snipy must have had his eye on you, huh?" one of them +observed. + +"Who's Snipy?" Tom asked. + +"Oh, that's mostly what _he_ gets called," said someone, mimicking Tom's +own phrase. "His rifle's named _Tommy_. He's probably up in a tree +somewheres out there." + +"He's a good shot," said Tom simply. "I'd like to see him." + +"Nobody ever sees him--they _feel_ him," said another. + +"He must have been somewhere," said Tom. + +"Oh, he was _somewhere_ all right," several laughed. + +A couple of the Signal Corps men jumped out of the trench near by and +greeted Tom heartily, praising him as the others had done, all of which +he took with his usual stolidness. Already, though of course he did not +know it, he was becoming somewhat of a character. + +"You've got Paul Revere and Phil Sheridan beat a mile," one of the boys +said. + +"I don't know much about Sheridan," said Tom, "but I always liked Paul +Revere." + +He did not seem to understand why they laughed and clapped him on the +shoulder and said, "You'll do, kiddo." + +But it was necessary to keep moving, for the other carriers were coming +along. The little group passed up the road, Tom pushing his wheel and +answering their questions briefly and soberly as he always did. Planks +had been laid across the German trenches where they intersected the road +and as they passed over them Tom looked down upon many a gruesome sight +which evidenced the surprise by the Americans and their undoubted +victory. Not a live German was to be seen, nor a dead American either, +but here and there a fallen gray-coat lay sprawled in the crooked +topsy-turvy ditch. He could see the Red Cross stretcher-bearers passing +in and out of the communication trenches and already a number of boys in +grimy khaki were engaged in repairing the trenches where the tanks had +caved them in. In the second line trench lay several wounded Americans +and Tom was surprised to see one of these propped up smoking a cigarette +while the surgeons bandaged his head until it looked like a great white +ball. Out of the huge bandage a white face grinned up as the little +group passed across on the planks and seeing the men to be wire +carriers, the wounded soldier called, "Tell 'em we're here." + +"Ever hear of Paul Revere?" one of the Signal men called back cheerily. +And he rumpled Tom's hair to indicate whom he meant. + +Thus it was that Thatchy acquired the new nickname by which he was to be +known far and wide in the country back of the lines and in the billet +villages where he was to sit, his trusty motorcycle close at hand, +waiting for messages and standing no end of jollying. Some of the more +resourceful wits in khaki even parodied the famous poem for his benefit, +but he didn't care. He would have matched _Uncle Sam_ against Paul +Revere's gallant steed any day, and they could jolly him and "kid" him +as their mood prompted, but woe be to the person who touched his +faithful machine save in his watchful presence. Even General Pershing +would not have been permitted to do that. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +IN THE WOODS + + +Beyond the enemy second line trench the road led straight into Cantigny +and Tom could see the houses in the distance. Continuous firing was to +be heard there and he supposed that the Germans, routed from their +trenches, were making a stand in the village and in the high ground +beyond it. + +"They'll be able to 'phone back, won't they?" he asked anxiously. + +"They sure will," one of the men answered. + +"It ain't that I don't want to ride back," Tom explained, "but a +feller's waiting on the other end of this wire, 'cause I heard somebody +tell him to, and I wouldn't want him to be disappointed." + +"He won't be disappointed." + +The road, as well as the open country east and west of it, was strewn +with German dead and wounded, among whom Tom saw one or two figures in +khaki. The Red Cross was busy here, many stretchers being borne up +toward the village where dressing stations were already being +established. Then suddenly Tom beheld a sight which sent a thrill +through him. Far along the road, in the first glare of the rising sun, +flew the Stars and Stripes above a little cottage within the confines of +the village. + +"Headquarters," one of his companions said, laconically. + +"Does it mean we've won?" Tom asked. + +"Not exactly yet," the other answered, "but as long as the flag's up +they probably won't bother to take it down," and he looked at Tom in a +queer way. "There's cleaning up to do yet, kid," he added. + +As they approached the village the hand-to-hand fighting was nearing its +end, and the Germans were withdrawing into the woods beyond where they +had many machine gun nests which it would be the final work of the +Americans to smoke out. But Tom saw a little of that kind of warfare +which is fought in streets, from house to house, and in shaded village +greens. Singly and in little groups the Americans sought out, killing, +capturing and pursuing the diminishing horde of Germans. Two of these, +running frantically with apparently no definite purpose, surrendered to +Tom's group and he thought they seemed actually relieved. + +At last they reached the little cottage where the flag flew and were +received by the weary, but elated, men in charge. + +"All over but the shouting," someone said; "we're finishing up back +there in the woods." + +The telephone apparatus was fastened to a tree and Tom heard the words +of the speaker as he tried to get into communication with the village +which lay back across that shell-torn, trench-crossed area which they +had traversed. At last he heard those thrilling words which carried much +farther than the length of the sinuous wire: + +"Hello, this is Cantigny." + +And he knew that whatever yet remained to be done, the first real +offensive operation of the Americans was successful and he was proud to +feel that he had played his little part in it. + +He was given leave until three o'clock in the afternoon and, leaving +_Uncle Sam_ at the little makeshift headquarters, he went about the town +for a sight of the "clean-up." + +Farther back in the woods he could still hear the shooting where the +Americans were searching out machine gun nests and the boom of artillery +continued, but although an occasional shell fell in the town, the place +was quiet and even peaceful by comparison with the bloody clamor of an +hour before. + +It seemed strange that he, Tom Slade, should be strolling about this +quaint, war-scarred village, which but a little while before had +belonged to the Germans. Here and there in the streets he met sentinels +and occasionally an airplane sailed overhead. How he envied the men in +those airplanes! + +He glanced in through broken windows at the interiors of simple abodes +which the bestial Huns had devastated. It thrilled him that the boys +from America had dragged and driven the enemy out of these homes and +would dig their protecting trenches around the other side of this +stricken village, like a great embracing arm. It stirred him to think +that it was now within the refuge of the American lines and that the +arrogant Prussian officers could no longer defile those low, raftered +rooms. + +He inquired of a sentinel where he could get some gasoline which he +would need later. + +"There's a supply station along that road," the man said; "just beyond +the clearing." + +Tom turned in that direction. The road took him out of the village and +through a little clump of woods to a clearing where several Americans +were guarding a couple of big gasoline tanks--part of the spoils of war. +He lingered for a few minutes and then strolled on toward the edge of +the denser wood beyond where the firing, though less frequent, could +still be heard. + +He intended to go just far enough into this wood for a glimpse of the +forest shade which his scouting had taught him to love, and then to +return to headquarters for his machine. + +Crossing a plank bridge across a narrow stream, he paused in the edge of +the woods and listened to the firing which still occurred at intervals +in the higher ground beyond. He knew that the fighting there was of the +old-fashioned sort, from behind protecting trees and wooded hillocks, +something like the good old fights of Indians and buckskin scouts away +home in the wild west of America. And he could not repress his impulse +to venture farther into the solitude. + +[Illustration: TOM SLIPPED BEHIND A TREE AND WATCHED THE MAN WHO PAUSED +LIKE A STARTLED ANIMAL.] + +The stream which he had crossed had evidently its source in the more +densely wooded hills beyond and he followed it on its narrowing way up +toward the locality where the fighting seemed now to be going on. Once a +group of khaki-clad figures passed stealthily among the trees, intent +upon some quest. The sight of their rifles reminded Tom that he was +himself in danger, but he reflected that he was in no greater danger +than they and that he had with him the small arm which all messengers +carried. + +A little farther on he espied an American concealed behind a tree, who +nodded his head perfunctorily as Tom passed, seeming to discourage any +spoken greeting. + +The path of the stream led into an area of thick undergrowth covering +the side of a gentle slope where the water tumbled down in little falls. +He must be approaching very near to the source, he thought, for the +stream was becoming a mere trickle, picking its way around rocky +obstacles in a very jungle of thick underbrush. + +Suddenly he stopped at a slight rustling sound very near him. + +It was the familiar sound which he had so often heard away back in the +Adirondack woods, of some startled creature scurrying to shelter. + +He was the scout again now, standing motionless and silent--keenly +waiting. Then, to his amazement, a clump of bushes almost at his feet +stirred slightly. He waited still, watching, his heart in his mouth. +Could it have been the breeze? But there was no breeze. + +Startled, but discreetly motionless, he fixed his eyes upon the leafy +clump, still waiting. Presently it stirred again, very perceptibly now, +then moved, clumsily and uncannily, and with a slight rustling of its +leaves, along the bank of the stream! + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +THE MYSTERIOUS FUGITIVE + + +Suddenly the thing stopped, and its whole bulk was shaken very +noticeably. Then a head emerged from it and before Tom could realize +what had happened a German soldier was fully revealed, brushing the +leaves and dirt from his gray coat as he stole cautiously along the edge +of the stream, peering anxiously about him and pausing now and again to +listen. + +He was already some distance from Tom, whom apparently he had not +discovered, and his stealthy movements suggested that he was either in +the act of escaping or was bent upon some secret business of importance. + +Without a sound Tom slipped behind a tree and watched the man who paused +like a startled animal at every few steps, watching and listening. + +Tom knew that, notwithstanding his non-combatant status, he was quite +justified in drawing his pistol upon this fleeing Boche, but before he +had realized this the figure had gone too far to afford him much hope of +success with the small weapon which he was not accustomed to. Moreover, +just because he _was_ a "non-com" he balked at using it. If he should +miss, he thought, the man might turn upon him and with a surer aim lay +him low. + +But there was one thing in which Tom Slade felt himself to be the equal +of any German that lived, and that was stalking. Here, in the deep +woods, among these protecting trees, he felt at home, and the lure of +scouting was upon him now. No one could lose him; no one could get away +from him. And a bird in the air would make no more noise than he! + +Swiftly, silently, he slipped from one tree to another, his keen eye +always fixed upon the fleeting figure and his ears alert to learn if, +perchance, the Boche was being pursued. Not a sound could he hear except +that of the distant shooting. + +It occurred to him that the precaution of camouflaging might be useful +to him also, and he silently disposed one of the leafy boughs which the +German had left diagonally across his breast with the fork over his +shoulder so that it formed a sort of adjustable screen, more portable +and less clumsy than the leafy mound which had covered the Boche. + +With this he stole along, sometimes hiding behind trees, sometimes +crouching among the rocks along the bank, and keeping at an even +distance from the man. His method with its personal dexterity was +eloquent of the American scout, just as the Boche, under his mound of +foliage, had been typical of the German who depends largely upon +_device_ and little upon personal skill and dexterity. + +The scout from Temple Camp had his ruses, too, for once when the German, +startled by a fancied sound, seemed about to look behind him, Tom +dexterously hurled a stone far to the left of his quarry, which diverted +the man's attention to that direction and kept it there while Tom, +gliding this way and that and raising or lowering his scant disguise, +crept after him. + +They were now in an isolated spot and the distant firing seemed farther +and farther away. The stream, reduced to a mere trickle, worked its way +down among rocks and the German followed its course closely. What he was +about in this sequestered jungle Tom could not imagine, unless, indeed, +he was fleeing from his own masters. But surely open surrender to the +Americans would have been safer than that, and Tom remembered how +readily those other German soldiers had rushed into the arms of himself +and his companions. + +Moreover, the more overgrown the brook became and the more involved its +path, the more the hurrying German seemed bent upon following it and +instead of finding any measure of relief from anxiety in this isolated +place, he appeared more anxious than ever and peered carefully about him +at every few steps. + +At length, to Tom's astonishment, he stepped across the brook and felt +of a clump of bush which grew on the bank. Could he have expected to +find another camouflaged figure, Tom wondered? + +Whatever he was after, he apparently thought he had reached his +destination for he now moved hurriedly about, feeling the single bushes +and moving among the larger clumps as if in quest of something. After a +few moments he paused as if perplexed and moved farther up the stream. +And Tom, who had been crouching behind a bush at a safe distance, crept +silently to another one, greatly puzzled but watching him closely. + +Selecting another spot, the Boche moved about among the bushes as +before, carefully examining each one which stood by itself. Tom expected +every minute to see some grim, gray-coated figure step out of his leafy +retreat to join his comrade, but why such a person should wait to be +discovered Tom could not comprehend, for he must have heard and probably +seen this beating through the bushes. + +An especially symmetrical bush stood on the brink of the stream and +after poking about this as usual, the German stood upon tiptoe, +apparently looking down into it, then kneeled at its base while Tom +watched from his hiding-place. + +Suddenly a sharp report rang out and the German jumped to his feet, +clutched frantically at the brush which seemed to furnish a substantial +support, then reeled away and fell headlong into the brook, where he lay +motionless. + +The heedless current, adapting itself readily to this grim obstruction, +bubbled gaily around the gray, crumpled form, accelerating its cheery +progress in the narrow path and showing little glints of red in its +crystal, dancing ripples. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +THE JERSEY SNIPE + + +Tom hurried to the prostrate figure and saw that the German was quite +dead. There was no other sign of human presence and not a sound to be +heard but the rippling of the clear water at his feet. + +For a few moments he stood, surprised and silent, listening. Then he +fancied that he heard a rustling in the bushes some distance away and he +looked in that direction, standing motionless, alert for the slightest +stir. + +Suddenly there emerged out of the undergrowth a hundred or more feet +distant a strange looking figure clad in a dull shade of green with a +green skull cap and a green scarf, like a scout scarf, loosely thrown +about his neck. Even the rifle which he carried jauntily over his +shoulder was green in color, so that he seemed to Tom to have that +general hue which things assume when seen through green spectacles. He +was lithe and agile, gliding through the bushes as if he were a part of +them, and he came straight toward Tom, with a nimbleness which almost +rivalled that of a squirrel. + +There was something about his jaunty, light step which puzzled Tom and +he narrowed his eyes, watching the approaching figure closely. The +stranger removed a cigarette from his mouth to enable him the better to +lay his finger upon his lips, imposing silence, and as he did so the +movement of his hand and his way of holding the cigarette somehow caused +Tom to stare. + +Then his puzzled scrutiny gave way to an expression of blank amazement, +as again the figure raised his finger to his lips to anticipate any +impulse of Tom's to call. Nor did Tom violate this caution until the +stranger was within a dozen feet or so. + +"Roscoe--Bent!" he ejaculated. "Don't you know me? I'm Tom Slade." + +"Well--I'll--be----" Roscoe began, then broke off, holding Tom at arm's +length and looking at him incredulously. "Tom Slade--_I'll +be--jiggered_!" + +"I kinder knew it was you," said Tom in his impassive way, "as soon as I +saw you take that cigarette out of your mouth, 'cause you do it such a +swell way, kind of," he added, ingenuously; "just like the way you used +to when you sat on the window-sill in Temple Camp office and jollied +Margaret Ellison. Maybe you don't remember." + +Still Roscoe held him at arm's length, smiling all over his handsome, +vivacious face. Then he removed one of his hands from Tom's shoulder and +gave him a push in the chest in the old way. + +"It's the same old Tom Slade, I'll be---- And with the front of your +belt away around at the side, as usual. This is better than taking a +hundred prisoners. How are you and how'd you get here, you sober old +tow-head, you?" and he gripped Tom's hand with impulsive vehemence. +"This sure does beat all! I might have known if I found you at all it +would be in the woods, you old pathfinder!" and he gave Tom another +shove, then rapped him on the shoulder and slipped his hand around his +neck in a way all his own. + +"I--I like to hear you talk that way," said Tom, with that queer +dullness which Roscoe liked; "it reminds me of old times." + +"Kind of?" prompted Roscoe, laughing. "Is our friend here dead?" + +"Yes, he's very dead," said Tom soberly, "but I think there are others +around in the bushes." + +"There are some enemies there," said Roscoe, "but we won't kill them. +Contemptible murderers!" he muttered, as he hauled the dead Boche out of +the stream. "I'll pick you off one by one, as fast as you come up here, +you gang of back-stabbers! Look here," he added. + +"I got to admit you can do it," said Tom with frank admiration. + +Roscoe pulled away the shrubbery where the German had been kneeling when +he was struck and there was revealed a great hogshead, larger, Tom +thought, than any he had ever seen. + +"That's the kind of weapons they fight with," Roscoe said, disgustedly. +"Look here," he added, pulling the foliage away still more. "Don't touch +it. See? It leads down from another one. It's poison." + +Tom, staring, understood well enough now, and he peered into the bushes +about him in amazement as he heard Roscoe say, + +"Arsenic, the sneaky beasts." + +"See what he was going to do?" he added, startling Tom out of his silent +wondering. "There's half a dozen or more of these hogsheads in those +bushes. As fast as this one empties it fills up again from another that +stands higher. There's a whole nest of them here. See how the pipe from +this one leads into the stream?" + +"What's the wire for?" said Tom. + +"Oh, that's so's they can open this little cock here, see? Start the +thing going. Don't pull away the camouflage. There may be another chap +up here in a little while, to see what's the matter. _Tommy'll_ take +care of them all right, won't you, _Tommy_?" + +"Do you mean me?" Tom asked. + +"I mean your namesake here," Roscoe said, slapping his rifle. "I named +it after you, you old glum head. Remember how you told me a feller +couldn't aim straight, _kind of_" (he mimicked Tom's tone). "You said a +feller couldn't aim straight, _kind of_, if he smoked cigarettes." + +"I got to admit I was wrong," said Tom. + +"You bet you have! Jingoes, it's good to hear you talk!" Roscoe laughed. +"How in the world did you get here, anyway?" + +"I'll tell you all about it," said Tom, "only first tell me, are you the +feller they call the Jersey Snipe?" + +"Snipy, for short," said Roscoe. + +"Then maybe you saved my life already," said Tom, "out in No Man's +Land." + +"Were you the kid on that wheel?" Roscoe asked, surprised. + +"Yes, and I always knew you'd make a good soldier. I told everybody so." + +"_Kind of?_ Tommy, old boy, don't forget it was _you_ made me a +soldier," Roscoe said soberly. "Come on back to my perch with me," he +added, "and tell me all about your adventures. This is better than +taking Berlin. There's only one person in this little old world I'd +rather meet in a lonely place, and that's the Kaiser. Come on--quiet +now." + +"You don't think you can show _me_ how to stalk, do you?" said Tom. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +ON GUARD + + +"You see it was this way," said Roscoe after hie had scrambled with +amazing agility up to his "perch" in a tree several hundred feet distant +but in full view of the stream. Tom had climbed up after him and was +looking with curious pleasure at the little kit of rations and other +personal paraphernalia which hung from neighboring branches. "How do you +like my private camp? Got Temple Camp beat, hey?" he broke off in that +erratic way of his. "All the comforts of home. Come on, get into your +camouflage." + +"You don't seem the same as when you used to come up to our office from +the bank downstairs--that's one sure thing," said Tom, pulling the +leaves about him. + +"You thought all I was good for was to jolly Margaret Ellison, huh?" + +"I see now that you didn't only save my life but lots of other fellers', +too," said Tom. "Go on, you started to tell me about it." + +It was very pleasant and cosy up there in the sniper's perch where +Roscoe had gathered the thinner branches about him, forming a little +leafy lair, in which his agile figure and his quick glances about +reminded Tom for all the world of a squirrel. He could hardly believe +that this watchful, dexterous creature, peering cautiously out of his +romantic retreat, was the same Roscoe Bent who used to make fun of the +scouts and sneak upstairs to smoke cigarettes in the Temple Camp office; +who thought as much of his spotless high collar then as he seemed to +think of his rifle now. + +"I got to thank you because you named it after me," said Tom. + +"And I _got to thank you_ that you gave me the chance to get it to name +after you, Tommy. Well, you see it was this way," Roscoe went on in a +half whisper; "there were half a dozen of us over here in the woods and +we'd just cleaned out a machine gun nest when we saw this miniature +forest moving along. I thought it was a decorated moving van." + +"That's the trouble with them," agreed Tom; "they're no good in the +woods; they're clumsy. They're punk scouts." + +"Scouts!" Roscoe chuckled. "If we had to fight this gang of cut-throats +and murderers in the woods where old What's-his-name--Custer--had to +fight the Indians, take it from me, we'd have them wiped up in a month. +That fellow's idea of camouflaging was to bury himself under a couple of +tons of green stuff and then move the whole business along like a clumsy +old Zeppelin. I can camouflage myself with a branch with ten leaves on +it by studying the light." + +"Anybody can see you've learned something about scouting--that's one +sure thing," said Tom proudly. + +"_One sure thing!_" Roscoe laughed inaudibly. "It's the same old Tommy +Slade. Well, I was just going to bean this geezer when my officer told +me I'd better follow him." + +"I was following him, too," said Tom; "stalking is the word you ought to +use." + +"Captain thought he might be up to something special. So I +followed--_stalked_--how's that?" + +"All right." + +"So I stalked him and when I saw he was following the stream I made a +detour and waited for him right here. You see what he was up to? Way +down in Cantigny they could turn a switch and start this blamed poison, +half a dozen hogsheads of it, flowing into the stream. They waited till +they lost the town before they turned the switch, and they probably +thought they could poison us Americans by wholesale. Maybe they had some +reason to think the blamed thing hadn't worked, and sent this fellow up. +I beaned him just as he was going to turn the stop-cock." + +"Maybe you saved a whole lot of lives, hey?" said Tom proudly. + +Roscoe shrugged his shoulder in that careless way he had. "I'll be glad +to meet any more that come along," he said. + +It was well that Tom Slade's first sight of deliberate killing was in +connection with so despicable a proceeding as the wholesale poisoning of +a stream. He could feel no pity for the man who, fleeing from those who +fought cleanly and like men instead of beasts, had sought to pour this +potent liquid of anguish and death into the running crystal water. Such +acts, it seemed to him, were quite removed from the sphere of honorable, +manly fighting. + +As a scout he had learned that it was wrong even to bathe in a stream +whence drinking water was obtained, and at camp he had always +scrupulously observed this good rule. He felt that it was cowardly to +defile the waters of a brook. It was not a "mailed fist" at all which +could do such things, but a fist dripping with poison. + +And Tom Slade felt no qualm, as otherwise he might have felt, at hiding +there waiting for new victims. He was proud and thrilled to see his +friend, secreted in his perch, keen-eyed and alert, guarding alone the +crystal purity of this laughing, life-giving brook, as it hurried along +its pebbly bed and tumbled in little gushing falls and wound cheerily +around the rocks, bearing its grateful refreshment to the weary, thirsty +boys who were holding the neighboring village. + +"I used to think I wouldn't like to be a sniper," he said, "but now it +seems different. I saw two fellers in the village and one had a bandage +on his arm and the other one who was talking to him--I heard him say a +long drink of water would go good--and--I--kind of--now----" + +The Jersey Snipe winked at Tom and patted his rifle as a man might pat a +favorite dog. + +"It's good fresh water," said he. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +WHAT'S IN A NAME? + + +In Tom's visions of the great war there had been no picture of the +sniper, that single remnant of romantic and adventurous warfare, in all +the roar and clangor of the horrible modern fighting apparatus. + +He had seen American boys herded onto great ships by thousands; and, +marching and eating and drilling in thousands, they had seemed like a +great machine. He knew the murderous submarine, the aeroplane with its +ear-splitting whir, the big clumsy Zeppelin; and he had handled gas +masks and grenades and poison gas bombs. + +But in his thoughts of the war and all these diabolical agents of +wholesale death there had been no visions of the quiet, stealthy figure, +inconspicuous in the counterfeiting hues of tree and rock, stealing +silently away with his trusty rifle and his week's rations for a lonely +vigil in some sequestered spot. + +There was the same attraction about this freelance warfare which there +might have been about a privateer in contrast with a flotilla of modern +dreadnaughts and frantic chasers, and it reminded him of Daniel Boone, +and Kit Carson, and Davy Crockett, and other redoubtable scouts of old +who did not depend on stenching suffocation and the poisoning of +streams. It was odd that he had never known much about the sniper, that +one instrumentality of the war who seems to have been able to preserve a +romantic identity in all the bloody _mélée_ of the mighty conflict. + +For Tom had been a scout and the arts of stealth and concealment and +nature's resourceful disguises had been his. He had thought of the +sniper as of one whose shooting is done peculiarly in cold blood, and he +was surprised and pleased to find his friend in this romantic and noble +rôle of holding back, single-handed, as it were, these vile agents of +agonizing death. + +Arsenic! Tom knew from his memorized list of poison antidotes that if +one drinks arsenic he will be seized with agony unspeakable and die in +slow and utter torture. The more he thought about it, the more the cold, +steady eye of the unseen sniper and his felling shot seemed noble and +heroic. + +Almost unconsciously he reached out and patted the rifle also as if it +were some trusted living thing--an ally. + +"Did you really mean you named it after me--honest?" he asked. + +Roscoe laughed again silently. "See?" he whispered, holding it across, +and Tom could distinguish the crudely engraved letters, TOMMY. + +"--Because I never had anything named after me," he said in his simple, +dull way. "There's a place on the lake up at Temple Camp that the +fellers named after Roy Blakeley--Blakeley Isle. And there's a new +pavilion up there that's named after Mr. Ellsworth, our scoutmaster. And +Mr. Temple's got lots of things--orphan asylums and gymnasiums and +buildings and things--named after _him_. I always thought it must be +fine. I ain't that kind--sort of--that fellers name things after," he +added, with a blunt simplicity that went to Roscoe's heart; and he held +the rifle, as the sniper started to take it back, his eyes still fixed +upon the rough scratches which formed his own name. "In Bridgeboro +there was a place in Barrell Alley," he went on, apparently without +feeling, "where my father fell down one night when he was--when he'd had +too much to drink, and after that everybody down there called it Slade's +Hole. When I got in with the scouts, I didn't like it--kind of----" + +Roscoe looked straight at Tom with a look as sure and steady as his +rifle. "Slade's Hole isn't known outside of Barrell Alley, Tom," he said +impressively, although in the same cautious undertone, "but _Tom Slade_ +is known from one end of this sector to the other." + +"Thatchy's what they called me in Toul sector, 'cause my hair's always +mussed up, I s'pose, and----" + +"The first time I ever saw you to really know you, Tom, your hair was +all mussed up--and I hope it'll always stay that way. That was when you +came up there in the woods and made me promise to go back and register." + +"I knew you'd go back 'cause----" + +"I went back with bells on, and here I am. And here's _Tom Slade_ that's +stuck by me through this war. It's named _Tom Slade_ because it makes +good--see? Look here, I'll show you something else--you old hickory +nut, you. See that," he added, pulling a small object from somewhere in +his clothing. + +Tom stared. "It's the Distinguished Service Cross," he said, his longing +eyes fixed upon it. + +"That's what it is. The old gent handed me that--if anybody should ask +you." + +Tom smiled, remembering Roscoe's familiar way of speaking of the +dignified Mr. Temple, and of "Old Man" Burton, and "Pop" this and that. + +"General Pershing?" + +"The same. You've heard of him, haven't you? Very muchly, huh?" + +"Why don't you wear it?" Tom asked. + +"Why? Well, I'll tell you why. When your friend, Thatchy, followed me on +that crazy trip of mine he borrowed some money for railroad fare, didn't +he? And he had a Gold Cross that he used to get the money, huh? So I +made up my mind that this little old souvenir from Uncle Samuel wouldn't +hang on my distinguished breast till I got back and paid Tom Slade what +I owed him and made sure that he'd got his own Cross safely back and was +wearing it again. Do you get me?" + +"I got my Cross back," said Tom, "and it's home. So you can put that on. +You got to tell me how you got it, too. I always knew you'd make a +success." + +"It was _Tommy Slade_ helped me to it, as usual. I beaned nine Germans +out in No Man's Land, and got away slightly wounded--I stubbed my toe. +Old Pop Clemenceau gave me a kiss and the old gent slipped me this for +good luck," Roscoe said, pinning on the Cross to please Tom. "When +Clemmy saw the name on the rifle, he asked what it meant and I told him +it was named after a pal of mine back home in the U.S.A.--Tom Slade. +Little I knew you were waltzing around the war zone on that thing of +yours. I almost laughed in his face when he said, 'M'soo Tommee should +be proud.'" + +So the Premier of France had spoken the name of Tom Slade, whose father +had had a mud hole in Barrell Alley named after him. + +"I _am_ proud," he stammered; "that's one sure thing. I'm proud on +account of you--I am." + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +THE FOUNTAINS OF DESTRUCTION + + +As Tom had the balance of the day to himself he cherished but one +thought--that of remaining with Roscoe as long as his leave would +permit. If he had been in the woods up at Temple Camp, away back home in +his beloved Catskills, he could hardly have felt more at home than he +felt perched in this tree near the headwaters of the running stream; and +to have Roscoe Bent crouching there beside him was more than his fondest +dreams of doing his bit had pictured. + +At short intervals they could hear firing, sometimes voices in the +distance, and occasionally the boom of artillery, but except for these +reminders of the fighting the scene was of that sort which Tom loved. It +was there, while the sniper, all unseen, guarded the source of the +stream, his keen eye alert for any stealthy approach, that Tom told him +in hushed tones the story of his own experiences; how he had been a +ship's boy on a transport, and had been taken aboard the German U-boat +that had torpedoed her and held in a German prison camp, from which he +and Archer had escaped and made their way through the Black Forest and +across the Swiss border. + +"Some kid!" commented Roscoe, admiringly; "the world ain't big enough +for you, Tommy. If you were just back from Mars I don't believe you'd be +excited about it." + +"Why should I be?" said literal Tom. "It was only because the feller I +was with was born lucky; he always said so." + +"Oh, yes, of course," said Roscoe sarcastically. "_I_ say he was mighty +lucky to be with _you_. Feel like eating?" + +It was delightful to Tom sitting there in their leafy concealment, +waiting for any other hapless German emissaries who might come, bent on +the murderous defilement of that crystal brook, and eating of the +rations which Roscoe never failed to have with him. + +"You're kind of like a pioneer," he said, "going off where there isn't +anybody. They have to trust you to do what you think best a lot, I +guess, don't they? A feller said they often hear you but they never see +you. I saw you riding on one of the tanks, but I didn't know it was you. +Funny, wasn't it?" + +"I usually hook a ride. The tanks get on my nerves, though, they're so +slow." + +"You're like a squirrel," said Tom admiringly. + +"Well, you're like a bulldog," said Roscoe. "Still got the same old +scowl on your face, haven't you? So they kid you a lot, do they?" + +"I don't mind it." + +So they talked, in half whispers, always scanning the woods about them, +until after some time their vigil was rewarded by the sight of three +gray-coated, helmeted figures coming up the bank of the stream. They +made no pretence of concealment, evidently believing themselves to be +safe here in the forest. Roscoe had hauled the body of the dead German +under the thick brush so that it might not furnish a warning to other +visitors, and now he brought his rifle into position and touching his +finger to his lips by way of caution he fixed his steady eye on the +approaching trio. + +One of these was a tremendous man and, from his uniform and arrogant +bearing, evidently an officer. The other two were plain, ordinary +"Fritzies." Tom believed that they had come to this spot by some +circuitous route, bent upon the act which their comrade and the +mechanism had failed to accomplish. He watched them in suspense, +glancing occasionally at Roscoe. + +The German officer evidently knew the ground for he went straight to the +bush where the hogshead stood concealed, and beckoned to his two +underlings. Tom, not daring to stir, looked expectantly at Roscoe, whose +rifle was aimed and resting across a convenient branch before him. The +sniper's intent profile was a study. Tom wondered why he did not fire. +He saw one of the Boches approach the officer, who evidently would not +deign to stoop, and kneel at the foot of the bush. Then the crisp, +echoing report of Roscoe's rifle rang out, and on the instant the +officer and the remaining soldier disappeared behind the leaf-covered +hogshead. Tom was aware of the one German lying beside the bush, stark +and motionless, and of Roscoe jerking his head and screwing up his mouth +in a sort of spontaneous vexation. Then he looked suddenly at Tom and +winked unmirthfully with a kind of worried annoyance. + +"Think they can hit us from there? Think they know where we are?" Tom +asked in the faintest whisper. + +"'Tisn't that," Roscoe whispered back. "Look at that flat stone under +the bush there. Shh! I couldn't get him in the right light before. Shh!" + +Narrowing his eyes, Tom scanned the earth at the foot of the bush and +was just able to discern a little band of black upon a gray stone there. +It was evidently a wet spot on the dusty stone and for a second he +thought it was blood; then the staggering truth dawned upon him that in +shooting the Hun in the very act of letting loose the murderous liquid +Roscoe had shot a hole in the hogshead and the potent poison was flowing +out rapidly and down into the stream. + +And just in that moment there flashed into Tom's mind the picture of +that weary, perspiring boy in khaki down in captured Cantigny, who had +mopped his forehead, saying, "A drink of water would go good now." + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +TOM USES HIS FIRST BULLET + + +It had been a pet saying of Tom's scoutmaster back in America that you +should _wait long enough to make up your mind and not one second +longer_. + +Tom knew that the pressure of liquid above that fatal bullet hole near +the bottom of the hogshead was great enough to send the poison fairly +pouring out. He could not see this death-dealing stream, for it was +hidden in the bush, but he knew that it would continue to pour forth +until several of these great receptacles had been emptied and the +running brook with its refreshing coolness had become an instrument of +frightful death. + +Safe behind the protecting bulk of the hogshead crouched the two +surviving Germans, while Roscoe, covering the spot, kept his eyes +riveted upon it for the first rash move of either of the pair. And +meanwhile the poison poured out of the very bulwark that shielded them +and into the swift-running stream. + +"I don't think they've got us spotted," Tom whispered, moving cautiously +toward the trunk of the tree; "the private had a rifle, didn't he?" + +"What are you going to do?" Roscoe breathed. + +"Stop up that hole. Give me a bullet, will you?" + +"You're taking a big chance, Tom." + +"I ain't thinking about that. Give me a bullet. All _you_ got to do is +keep those two covered." + +With a silent dexterity which seemed singularly out of keeping with his +rather heavy build, Tom shinnied down the side of the tree farthest from +the brook, and lying almost prone upon the ground began wriggling his +way through the sparse brush, quickening his progress now and again +whenever the diverting roar of distant artillery or the closer report of +rifles and machine guns enabled him to advance with less caution. + +In a few minutes he reached the stream, apparently undiscovered, when +suddenly he was startled by another rifle report, close at hand, and he +lay flat, breathing in suspense. + +It was simply that one of that pair had made the mistake so often made +in the trenches of raising his head, and had paid the penalty. + +Tom was just cautiously crossing the brook when he became aware of a +frantic scramble in the bush and saw the German private rushing +pell-mell through the thick undergrowth beyond, hiding himself in it as +best he might and apparently trying to keep the bush-enshrouded hogshead +between himself and the tree where the sniper was. Evidently he had +discovered Roscoe's perch and, there being now no restraining authority, +had decided on flight. It had been the officer's battle, not his, and he +abandoned it as soon as the officer was shot. It was typical of the +German system and of the total lack of individual spirit and resource of +the poor wretches who fight for Kaiser Bill's glory. + +Reaching the bush, Tom pulled away the leafy covering and saw that the +poisonous liquid was pouring out of a clean bullet hole as he had +suspected. He hurriedly wrapped a bit of the gauze bandage which he +always carried around the bullet Roscoe had given him and forced it into +the hole, wedging it tight with a rock. Then he waved his hand in the +direction of the tree to let Roscoe know that all was well. + +Tom Slade had used his first bullet and it had saved hundreds of lives. + +"They're both dead," he said, as Roscoe came quickly through the +underbrush in the gathering dusk. "Did the officer put his head up?" + +"Mm-mm," said Roscoe, examining the two victims. + +"You always kill, don't you?" said Tom. + +"I have to, Tommy. You see, I'm all alone, mostly," Roscoe added as he +fumbled in the dead officer's clothing. "There are no surgeons or nurses +in reach. I don't have stretcher-bearers following _me_ around and it +isn't often that even a Hun will surrender, fair and square, to one man. +I've seen too much of this '_kamarad_' business. I can't afford to take +chances, Tommy. But I don't put nicks in my rifle butt like some of them +do. I don't want to know how many I beaned after it's all over. We kill +to save--that's the idea you want to get into your head, Tommy boy." + +"I know it," said Tom. + +The officer had no papers of any importance and since it was getting +dark and Tom must report at headquarters, they discussed the possibility +of upsetting these murderous hogsheads, and putting an end to the +danger. Evidently the woods were not yet wholly cleared of the enemy who +might still seek to make use of these agents of destruction. + +"There may be stragglers in the woods even to-morrow," Roscoe said. + +"S'pose we dig a little trench running away from the brook and then turn +on the cock and let the stuff flow off?" suggested Tom. + +The idea seemed a good one and they fell to, hewing out a ditch with a +couple of sticks. It was a very crude piece of engineering, as Roscoe +observed, and they were embarrassed in their work by the gathering +darkness, but at length they succeeded, by dint of jabbing and plowing +and lifting the earth out in handfuls, in excavating a little gully +through the rising bank so that the liquid would flow off and down the +rocky decline beyond at a safe distance from the stream. + +For upwards of an hour they remained close by, until the hogsheads had +run dry, and then they set out through the woods for the captured +village. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +THE GUN PIT + + +"I think the best way to get into the village," said Roscoe, "is to +follow the edge of the wood around. That'll bring us to the by-path that +runs into the main road. They've got the woods pretty well cleared out +over that way. There's a road a little north of here and I think the +Germans have withdrawn across that. What do you say?" + +"You know more about it than I do," said Tom. "I followed the brook up. +It's pretty bad in some places." + +"There's only two of us," said Roscoe, "and you've no rifle. Safety +first." + +"I suppose there's a lot of places they could hide along the brook; the +brush is pretty thick all the way up," Tom added. + +Roscoe whistled softly in indecision. "I like the open better," said he. + +"I guess so," Tom agreed, "when there's only two of us." + +"There's three of us, though," said Roscoe, "and _Tommy_ here likes the +open better. I'd toss up a coin only with these blamed French coins you +can't tell which is heads and which is tails." + +Roscoe was right about the Germans having withdrawn beyond the road +north of the woods. Whether he was right about its being safer to go +around the edge of the forest remained to be determined. + +This wood, in which they had passed the day, extended north of the +village (see map) and thinned out upon the eastern side so that one +following the eastern edge would emerge from the wood a little east of +the main settlement. Here was the by-path which Roscoe had mentioned, +and which led down into the main road. + +Running east and west across the northern extremity of the woods was a +road, and the Germans, driven first from their trenches, then out of the +village, and then out of the woods, were establishing their lines north +of this road. + +If the boys had followed the brook down they would have reached the +village by a much shorter course, but Roscoe preferred the open country +where they could keep a better lookout. Whether his decision was a wise +one, we shall see. + +[Illustration: SHOWING PATH TAKEN BY TOM AND ROSCOE THROUGH THE WOODS] + +Leaving the scene of their "complete annihilation of the crack poison +division," as Roscoe said, they followed the ragged edge of the woods +where it thinned out to the north, verging around with it until they +were headed in a southerly direction. + +"There's a house on that path," said Roscoe, "and we ought to be able to +see a light there pretty soon." + +"There's a little piece of woods ahead of us," said Tom; "when we get +past that we'll see it, I guess. We'll cut through there, hey?" + +"Wait a minute," said Roscoe, pausing and peering about in the half +darkness. "I'm all twisted. There's the house now." + +He pointed to a dim light in the opposite direction to that which they +had taken. + +"That's north," said Tom in his usual dull manner. + +"You're mistaken, my boy. What makes you think it's north?" + +"I didn't say I thought so," said Tom. "I said it _is_." + +Roscoe laughed. "Same old Tom," he said. "But how do you know it's +north?" + +"You remember that mountain up in the Catskills?" Tom said. "The first +time I ever went to the top of that mountain was in the middle of the +night. I never make that kind of mistakes. I know because I just know." + +Roscoe laughed again and looked rather dubiously at the light in the +distance. Then he shook his head, unconvinced. + +"We've been winding in and out along the edge of this woods," said Tom, +"so that you're kind of mixed up, that's all. It's always those little +turns that throw people out, just like it's a choppy sea that upsets a +boat; it ain't the big waves. I used to get rattled like that myself, +but I don't any more." + +Roscoe drew his lips tight and shook his head skeptically. "I can't +understand about that light," he said. + +"I always told you you made a mistake not to be a scout when you were +younger," said Tom in that impassive tone which seemed utterly free of +the spirit of criticism and which always amused Roscoe, "'cause then you +wouldn't bother about the light but you'd look at the stars. Those are +sure." + +Roscoe looked up at the sky and back at Tom, and perhaps he found a kind +of reassurance in that stolid face. "All right, Tommy," said he, "what +you say, goes. Come ahead." + +"That light is probably on the road the Germans retreated across," said +Tom, as they picked their way along. His unerring instinct left him +entirely free from the doubts which Roscoe could not altogether dismiss. +"I don't say there ain't a light on the path you're talking about, but +if we followed this one we'd probably get captured. I was seven months +in a German prison. I don't know how you'd like it, but I didn't." + +Roscoe laughed silently at Tom's dry way of putting it. "All right, +Tommy, boy," he said. "Have it your own way." + +"You ought to be satisfied the way you can shoot," said Tom, by way of +reconciling Roscoe to his leadership. + +"All right, Tommy. Maybe you've got the bump of locality. When we get +past that little arm of the woods just ahead we ought to see the right +light then, huh?" + +"_Spur_ is the right name for it, not _arm_," said Tom. "You might as +well say it right." + +"The pleasure is mine," laughed Roscoe; "Tommy, you're as good as a +circus." + +They made their way in a southeasterly direction, following the edge of +the woods, with the open country to the north and east of them. +Presently they reached the "spur," as Tom called it, which seemed to +consist of a little "cape" of woods, as one might say, sticking out +eastward. They could shorten their path a trifle by cutting through +here, and this they did, Roscoe (notwithstanding Tom's stolid +self-confidence) watching anxiously for the light which this spur had +probably concealed, and which would assure them that they were heading +southward toward the path which led into Cantigny village. + +Once, twice, in their passage through this little clump of woods Tom +paused, examining the trees and ground, picking up small branches and +looking at their ends, and throwing them away again. + +"Funny how those branches got broken off," he said. + +Roscoe answered with a touch of annoyance, the first he had shown since +their meeting in the woods. + +"I'm not worrying about those twigs," he said; "I don't see that light +and I think we're headed wrong." + +"They're not twigs," said Tom literally; "they're branches, and they're +broken off." + +"Any fool could tell the reason for that," said Roscoe, rather +scornfully. "It's the artillery fire." + +Tom said nothing, but he did not accept Roscoe's theory. He believed +that some one had been through here before them and that the branches +had been broken off by human hands; and but for the fact that Roscoe had +let him have his own way in the matter of direction he would have +suggested that they make a detour around this woody spur. However, he +contented himself by saying in his impassive way, "I know when branches +are broken off." + +"Well, what are we going to do now?" Roscoe demanded, stopping short and +speaking with undisguised impatience. "You can see far beyond those +trees now and you can see there's no light. They'll have us nailed upon +a couple of crosses to-morrow. I don't intend to be tortured on account +of the Boy Scouts of America." + +He used the name as being synonymous with bungling and silly notions and +star-gazing, and it hit Tom in a dangerous spot. He answered with a kind +of proud independence which he seldom showed. + +"I didn't say there'd be a light. Just because there's a house it +doesn't mean there's got to be a light. I said the light we saw was in +the north, and it's got nothing to do with the Boy Scouts. You wouldn't +let me point your rifle for you, would you? They sent me to this sector +'cause I don't get lost and I don't get rattled. You said that about the +Scouts just because you're mad. I'm not hunting for any light. I'm going +back to Cantigny and I know where I'm at. You can come if you want to or +you can go and get caught by the Germans if you want to. I went a +hundred miles through Germany and they didn't catch _me_--'cause I +always know where I'm at." + +He went on for a few steps, Roscoe, after the first shock of surprise, +following silently behind him. He saw Tom stumble, struggle to regain +his balance, heard a crunching sound, and then, to his consternation, +saw him sink down and disappear before his very eyes. + +In the same instant he was aware of a figure which was not Tom's +scrambling up out of the dark, leaf-covered hollow and of the muzzle of +a rifle pointed straight at him. + +Evidently Tom Slade had not known "where he was at" at all. + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +PRISONERS + + +Apparently some of the enemy had not yet withdrawn to the north, for in +less than five seconds Roscoe was surrounded by a group of German +soldiers, among whom towered a huge officer with an eye so fierce and +piercing that it was apparent even in the half darkness. He sported a +moustache more aggressively terrible than that of Kaiser Bill himself +and his demeanor was such as to make that of a roaring lion seem like a +docile lamb by comparison. An Iron Cross depended from a heavy chain +about his bull neck and his portly breast was so covered with the junk +of rank and commemoration that it seemed like one of those boards from +which street hawkers sell badges at a public celebration. + +Poor Tom, who had been hauled out of the hole, stood dogged and sullen +in the clutch of a Boche soldier, and Roscoe, even in his surprise at +this singular turn of affairs, bestowed a look of withering scorn upon +him. + +"I knew those branches were _broken_ off," Tom muttered, as if in +answer. "They're using them for camouflage. It's got nothing to do with +the other thing about which way we were going." + +But Roscoe only looked at him with a sneer. + +Wherever the wrong and right lay as to their direction, they had run +plunk into a machine-gun nest and Roscoe Bent, with all his diabolical +skill of aim, could not afford his fine indulgence of sneering, for as +an active combatant, which Tom was not, he should have known that these +nests were more likely to be found at the wood's edge than anywhere +else, where they could command the open country. The little spur of +woods afforded, indeed, an ideal spot for secreting a machine gun, +whence a clear range might be had both north and south. + +If Tom had not been a little afraid of Roscoe he would have acted on the +good scout warning of the broken branches and made a detour in time to +escape this dreadful plight. And the vain regret that he had not done so +rankled in his breast now. The pit was completely surrounded and almost +covered with branches, so that no part of the guns and their tripods +which rose out of it was discoverable, at least to Roscoe. + +"Vell, you go home, huh?" the officer demanded, with a grim touch of +humor. + +Roscoe was about to answer, but Tom took the words out of his mouth. + +"We got lost and we got rattled," he said, with a frank confession which +surprised Roscoe; "we thought we were headed south." + +The sniper bestowed another angrily contemptuous look upon him, but Tom +appeared not to notice it. + +"Vell, we rattle you some more--vat?" the officer said, without very +much meaning. His voice was enough to rattle any captive, but Tom was +not easily disconcerted, and instead of cowering under this martial +ferocity and the scorning looks of his friend, he glanced about him in +his frowning, lowering way as if the surroundings interested him more +than his captors. But he said nothing. + +"You English--no?" the officer demanded. + +"We're Americans," said Roscoe, regaining his self-possession. + +"Ach! Diss iss good for you. If you are English, ve kill you! You have +kamerads--vere?" + +"There's only the two of us," said Roscoe. Tom seemed willing enough to +let his companion do the talking, and indeed Roscoe, now that he had +recovered his poise, seemed altogether the fitter of the two to be the +spokesman. "We got rattled, as this kid says." "If we'd followed that +light we wouldn't have happened in on you. We hope we don't intrude," he +added sarcastically. + +The officer glanced at the tiny light in the distance, then at one of +the soldiers, then at another, then poured forth a gutteral torrent at +them all. Then he peered suspiciously into the darkness. + +"For treachery, ve kill," he said. + +"I told you there are only two of us," said Roscoe simply. + +"Ach, two! Two millions, you mean! Vat? Ach!" he added, with a +deprecating wave of his hands. "Vy not _billions_, huh?" + +Roscoe gathered that he was sneering skeptically about the number of +Americans reported to be in France. + +"Ve know just how many," the officer added; "vell, vat you got, huh?" + +At this two of the Boches proceeded to search the captives, neither of +whom had anything of value or importance about them, and handed the +booty to the officer. + +"Vat is diss, huh?" he said, looking at a small object in his hand. + +Tom's answer nearly knocked Roscoe off his feet. + +"It's a compass," said he. + +So Tom had had a compass with him all the time they had been discussing +which was the right direction to take! Why he had not brought it out to +prove the accuracy of his own contention Roscoe could not comprehend. + +"A compass, huh. Vy you not use it?" + +"Because I was sure I was right," said Tom. + +"Always sure you are right, you Yankees! Vat?" + +"Nothing," said Tom. + +The officer examined the trifling haul as well as he could in the +darkness, then began talking in German to one of his men. And meanwhile +Tom watched him in evident suspense, and Roscoe, unmollified, cast at +Tom a look of sneering disgust for his bungling error--a look which +seemed to include the whole brotherhood of scouts. + +Finally the officer turned upon Roscoe with his characteristic martial +ferocity. + +"How long you in France?" he demanded. + +"Oh, about a year or so." + +"Vat ship you come on?" + +"I don't know the name of it." + +"You come to Havre, vat?" + +"I didn't notice the port." + +"Huh! You are not so--vide-avake, huh?" + +"Absent-minded, yes," said Roscoe. + +The officer paused, glaring at Roscoe, and Tom could not help envying +his friend's easy and self-possessed air. + +"You know the _Texas Pioneer_?" the officer shot out in that short, +imperious tone of demand which is the only way in which a German knows +how to ask a question. + +"Never met him," said Roscoe. + +"A ship!" thundered the officer. + +"Oh, a ship. No, I've never been introduced." + +"She come to Havre--vat?" + +"That'll be nice," said Roscoe. + +"You never hear of dis ship, huh?" + +"No, there are so many, you know." + +"To bring billions, yes!" the officer said ironically. + +"That's the idea." + +Pause. + +"You hear about more doctors coming--no? Soon?" + +"Sorry I can't oblige you," said Roscoe. + +The officer paused a moment, glaring at him and Tom felt very +unimportant and insignificant. + +"Vell, anyway, you haf good muscle, huh?" the officer finally observed; +then, turning to his subordinates, he held forth in German until it +appeared to Tom that he and Roscoe were to carry the machine gun to the +enemy line. + +To Tom, under whose sullen, lowering manner, was a keenness of +observation sometimes almost uncanny, it seemed that these men were not +the regular crew which had been stationed here, but had themselves +somehow chanced upon the deserted nest in the course of their withdrawal +from the village. + +For one thing, it seemed to him that this imperious officer was a +personage of high rank, who would not ordinarily have been stationed in +one of these machine gun pits. And for another thing, there was +something (he could not tell exactly what) about the general demeanor of +their captors, their way of removing the gun and their apparent +unfamiliarity with the spot, which made him think that they had stumbled +into it in the course of their wanderings just as he and Roscoe had +done. They talked in German and he could not understand them, but he +noticed particularly; that the two who went into the pit to gather the +more valuable portion of the paraphernalia appeared not to be familiar +with the place, and he thought that the officer inquired of them whether +there were two or more guns. + +When he lifted his share of the burden, Roscoe noticed how he watched +the officer with a kind of apprehension, almost terror, in his furtive +glance, and kept his eyes upon him as they started away in the darkness. + +Roscoe was in a mood to think ill of Tom, whom he considered the +bungling, stubborn author of their predicament. It pleased him now to +believe that Tom was afraid and losing his nerve. He remembered that he +had said they would be crucified as a result of Tom's pin-headed error. +And he was rather glad to believe that Tom was thinking of that now. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +SHADES OF ARCHIBALD ARCHER + + +After a minute the officer paused and consulted with one of his men; +then another was summoned to the confab, the three of them reminding Tom +of a newspaper picture he had seen of the Kaiser standing in a field +with two officers and gazing fiercely at a map. + +One of the soldiers waved a hand toward the distance, while Tom watched +sharply. And Roscoe, who accepted their predicament with a kind of +reckless bravado, sneered slightly at Tom's evident apprehension. + +Then the officer produced something, holding it in his hand while the +others peered over his shoulder. And Tom watched them with lowering +brows, breathing hurriedly. No one knew it, but in that little pause Tom +Slade lived a whole life of nervous suspense. It was not, however, the +nervousness and suspense which his friend thought. + +Then, as if unable to control his impulse, he moved slightly as though +to start in the direction which he and Roscoe had been following. It was +only a slight movement, made in obedience to an overwhelming desire, and +as if he would incline his captors' thoughts in that direction. Roscoe, +who held his burden jointly with Tom, felt this impatient impulse +communicated to him and he took it as a confession from Tom that he had +made the fatal error of mistaking their way before. And he moved a +trifle, too, in the direction where he knew the German lines had been +established, muttering scornfully at Tom, "You know where you're headed +for now, all right. It's what I said right along." + +"I admit I know," said Tom dully. + +No doubt it was the compass which was the main agent in deciding the +officer as to their route, but he and his men moved, even as Tom did, as +if to make an end of needless parleying. + +As they tramped along, following the edge of the wood, a tiny light +appeared ahead of them, far in the distance, like a volunteer beacon, +and Roscoe, turning, a trifle puzzled, tried to discover the other +light, which had now diminished to a mere speck. Now and again the +officer paused and glanced at that trifling prize of war, Tom's little +glassless, tin-encased compass. But Tom Slade of Temple Camp, Scout of +the Circle and the Five Points, winner of the Acorn and the Indianhead, +looked up from time to time at the quiet, trustful stars. + +So they made their way along, following a fairly straight course, and +verging away from the wood's edge, heading toward the distant light. Two +of the Germans went ahead with fixed bayonets, scouring the underbrush, +and the others escorted Tom and Roscoe, who carried all of the burden. + +The officer strode midway between the advance guard and the escorting +party, pausing now and again as if to make sure of his ground and +occasionally consulting the compass. Once he looked up at the sky and +then Tom fairly trembled. He might have saved himself this worry, +however, for Herr Officer recognized no friends nor allies in that +peaceful, gold-studded heaven. + +"It was an unlucky day for me I ran into you over here," Roscoe +muttered, yielding to his very worst mood. + +Tom said nothing. + +"We won't even have the satisfaction of dying in action now." + +No answer. + +"After almost a year of watching my step I come to this just because I +took _your_ word. Believe _me_, I deserve to hang. I don't even get on +the casualty list, on account of you. You see what we're both up against +now, through that bump of locality you're so proud of. Edwards' Grove[1] +is where _you_ belong. I'm not blaming you, though--I'm blaming myself +for listening to a dispatch kid!" + +The Germans, not understanding, paid no attention, and Roscoe went on, +reminding Tom of the old, flippant, cheaply cynical Roscoe, who had +stolen his employer's time to smoke cigarettes in the Temple Camp +office, trying to arouse the stenographer's mirth by ridiculing the Boy +Scouts. + +"I'm not thinking about what you're saying," he said bluntly, after a few +minutes. "I'm remembering how you saved my life and named your gun after +me." + +"Hey, Fritzie, have they got any Boy Scouts in Germany?" Roscoe asked, +ignoring Tom, but speaking apparently at him. The nearest Boche gave a +glowering look at the word _Fritzie_, but otherwise paid no attention. + +"We were on our way to German headquarters, anyway," Roscoe added, +addressing himself indifferently to the soldiers, "but we're glad of +your company. The more, the merrier. Young Daniel Boone here was leading +the way." + +The Germans, of course, did not understand, but Tom felt ashamed of his +companion's cynical bravado. The insults to himself he did not mind. His +thoughts were fixed on something else. + +On they went, into a marshy area where Tom looked more apprehensively at +the officer than before, as if he feared the character of the ground +might arouse the suspicion of his captors. But they passed through here +without pause or question and soon were near enough to the flickering +light to see that it burned in a house. + +Again Roscoe looked perplexedly behind him, but the light there was not +visible at all now. Again the officer stopped and, as Tom watched him +fearfully, he glanced about and then looked again at the compass. + +For one brief moment the huge figure stood there, outlined in the +darkness as if doubting. And Tom, looking impassive and dogged, held his +breath in an agony of suspense. + +It was nothing and they moved on again, Roscoe, in complete repudiation +of his better self, indulging his sullen anger and making Tom and the +Scouts (as if they had anything to do with it) the victims of his +cutting shafts. + +And still again the big, medal-bespangled officer paused to look at the +compass, glanced, suspiciously, Tom thought, at the faint shadow of a +road ahead of them, and moved on, his medals clanging and chinking in +unison with his martial stride. + +And Tom Slade of Temple Camp, Scout of the Circle and the Five Points, +winner of the Acorn and the Indianhead, glanced up from time to time at +the quiet, trustful stars. + +If he thought of any human being then, it was not of Roscoe Bent (not +_this_ Roscoe Bent, in any event), but of a certain young friend far +away, he did not know where. And he thanked Archibald Archer, vandal +though he was, for, one idle, foolish thing that he had done. + +[1] The woods near Bridgeboro, in America, where Tom and the Scouts had +hiked and camped. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + +THE BIG COUP + + +No one knew, no one ever would know, of the anxiety and suspense which +Tom Slade experienced in that fateful march through the country above +Cantigny. Every uncertain pause of that huge officer, and every half +inquiring turn of his head sent a shock of chill misgiving through poor +Tom and he trudged along under the weight of his burden, hearing the +flippant and bitter jibes of Roscoe as if in a trance. + +At last, having crossed a large field, they fell into a well-worn path, +and here Tom experienced his moment of keenest anxiety, for the officer +paused as if in momentary recognition of the spot. For a second he +seemed a bit perplexed, then strode on. Still again he paused within a +few yards of the little house where the light had appeared. + +But it was too late. About this house a dozen or more figures moved in +the darkness. Their style of dress was not distinguishable, but Tom +Slade called aloud to them, "Here's some prisoners we brought you +back." + +In an instant they were surrounded by Americans and Tom thought that his +native tongue had never sounded so good before. + +"Hello, Snipy," some one said. + +But Roscoe Bent was too astonished to answer. In a kind of trance he saw +the big Prussian officer start back, heard him utter some terrific +German expletive, beheld the others of the party herded together, and +was aware of the young American captain giving orders. In a daze he +looked at Tom's stolid face, then at the Prussian officer, who seemed +too stunned to say anything after his first startled outburst. He saw +two boys in khaki approaching with lanterns and in the dim light of +these he could distinguish a dozen or so khaki-clad figures perched +along a fence. + +"Where are we at, anyway?" he finally managed to ask. + +"Just inside the village," one of the Americans answered. + +"What village?" + +"Coney Island on the subway," one of the boys on the fence called. + +"Cantigny," some one nearer to him said. "You made a good haul." + +"Well--I'll--be----" Roscoe began. + +Tom Slade said nothing. Like a trusty pilot leaving his ship he strolled +over and vaulted up on the fence beside the boys who, having taken the +village, were now making themselves comfortable in it. His first +question showed his thoughtfulness. + +"Is the brook water all right?" + +"Sure. Thirsty?" + +"No, I only wanted to make sure it was all right. There were some big +hogsheads of poison up in the woods where the brook starts and the other +feller killed three Germans who tried to empty them in the stream. By +mistake he shot a hole in one of the hogsheads and I thought maybe some +of the stuff got into the water. But I guess it didn't." + +It was characteristic of Tom that he did not mention his own part in the +business. + +"I drank about a quart of it around noontime," said a young sergeant, +"and I'm here yet." + +"It's good and cool," observed another. + +"What's the matter with Snipy, anyway?" a private asked, laughing. +"Somebody been spinning him around?" + +"He just got mixed up, kind of, that's all," Tom said. + +_That was all._ + +There was much excitement in and about the little cottage on the edge of +the village. Up the narrow path, from headquarters below, came other +Americans, officers as Tom could see, who disappeared inside the house. +Presently, the German prisoners, all except the big officer, came out, +sullen in captivity, poor losers as Germans always are, and marched away +toward the centre of the village, under escort. + +"They thought they were taking us to the German lines," said Tom simply. + +Roscoe, having recovered somewhat from his surprise and feeling deeply +chagrined, walked over and stood in front of Tom. + +"Why didn't you show me that compass, Tom?" he asked. + +"Because it was wrong, just like you were," Tom answered frankly, but +without any trace of resentment. "If I'd showed it to you you'd have +thought it proved you were right. It was marked, crazy like, by that +feller I told you about. I knew all the time we were coming to +Cantigny." + +There was a moment of silence, then Roscoe, his voice full of feeling, +said simply, + +"Tom Slade, you're a wonder." + +"Hear that, Paul Revere?" one of the soldiers said jokingly. "Praise +from the Jersey Snipe means something." + +"No, it don't either," Roscoe muttered in self-distrust. "You've saved +me from a Hun prison camp and while you were doing it you had to listen +to me--Gee! I feel like kicking myself," he broke off. + +"I ain't blaming you," said Tom, in his expressionless way. "If I'd had +my way we'd have made a detour when I saw those broken branches, 'cause +I knew it meant people were there, and then we wouldn't have got those +fellers as prisoners, at all. So they got to thank you more than me." + +This was queer reasoning, indeed, but it was Tom Slade all over. + +"Me!" said Roscoe, "that's the limit. Tom, you're the same old hickory +nut. Forgive me, old man, if you can." + +"I don't have to," said Tom. + +Roscoe stood there staring at him, thrilled with honest admiration and +stung by humiliation. + +And as the little group, augmented by other soldiers who strolled over +to hear of this extraordinary affair first hand, grew into something of +a crowd, Tom, alias Thatchy, alias Paul Revere, alias Towhead, sat upon +the fence, answering questions and telling of his great coup with a dull +unconcern which left them all gaping. + +"As soon as I made up my mind they didn't belong there," he said, "I +decided they weren't sure of their own way, kind of. If the big man +hadn't taken the compass away from me, I'd have given it to him anyway. +It had the N changed into an S and the S into an N. I think he kind of +thought the other way was right, but when he saw the compass, that +settled him. All the time I was looking at the Big Dipper, 'cause I knew +nobody ever tampered with that. I noticed he never even looked up, but +once, and then I was scared. When we got to the marsh, I was scared, +too, 'cause I thought maybe he'd know about the low land being south of +the woods. I was scared all the time, as you might say, but mostly when +he turned his head and seemed kind of uncertain-like. It ain't so much +any credit to me as it is to Archer--the feller that changed the +letters. Anyway, I ain't mad, that's sure," he added, evidently +intending this for Roscoe. "Everybody gets mistaken sometimes." + +"You're one bully old trump, Tom," said Roscoe shamefacedly. + +"So now you see how it was," Tom concluded. "I couldn't get rattled as +long as I could see the Big Dipper up there in the sky." + +For a few moments there was silence, save for the low whistling of one +of the soldiers. + +"You're all right, kiddo," he broke off to say. + +Then one of the others turned suddenly, giving Tom a cordial rap on the +shoulder which almost made him lose his balance. "Well, as long as we've +got the Big Dipper," said he, "and as long as the water's pure, what +d'you say we all go and have a drink--in honor of Paul Revere?" + +So it was that presently Tom and Roscoe found themselves sitting alone +upon the fence in the darkness. Neither spoke. In the distance they +could hear the muffled boom of some isolated field-piece, belching forth +its challenge in the night. High overhead there was a whirring, buzzing +sound as a shadow glided through the sky where the stars shone +peacefully. A company of boys in khaki, carrying intrenching implements, +passed by, greeting them cheerily as they trudged back from doing their +turn in digging the new trench line which would embrace Cantigny. + +Cantigny! + +"I'm glad we took the town, that's one sure thing," Tom said. + +"It's the first good whack we've given them," agreed Roscoe. + +Again there was silence. In the little house across the road a light +burned. Little did Tom Slade know what was going on there, and what it +would mean to him. And still the American boys guarding this approach +down into the town, moved to and fro, to and fro, in the darkness. + +"Tom," said Roscoe, "I was a fool again, just like I was before, back +home in America. Will you try to forget it, old man?" he added. + +"There ain't anything to forget," said Tom, "I got to be thankful I +found you; that's the only thing I'm thinking about and--and--that we +didn't let the Germans get us. If you like a feller you don't mind about +what he says. Do you think I forget you named that rifle after me? Just +because--because you didn't know about trusting to the stars,--I +wouldn't be mad at you----" + +Roscoe did not answer. + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN + +TOM IS QUESTIONED + + +When it became known in the captured village (as it did immediately) +that the tall prisoner whom Tom Slade had brought in, was none other +than the famous Major Johann Slauberstrauffn von Piffinhoeffer, +excitement ran high in the neighborhood, and the towheaded young +dispatch-rider from the Toul sector was hardly less of a celebrity than +the terrible Prussian himself. "Paul Revere" and his compass became the +subjects of much mirth, touched, as usual, with a kind of bantering +evidence of genuine liking. + +In face of all this, Tom bestowed all the credit on Roscoe (it would be +hard to say why), and on Archibald Archer and the Big Dipper. + +"Now that we've got the Big Dipper with us we ought to be able to push +right through to Berlin," observed one young corporal. "They say +Edison's got some new kind of a wrinkle up his sleeve, but believe me, +if he's got anything to beat Paul Revere's compass, he's a winner!" + +"Old Piff nearly threw a fit, I heard, when he found out that he was +captured by a kid in the messenger service," another added. + +"They may pull a big stroke with Mars, the god of war," still another +said, "but we've got the Big Dipper on our side." + +Indeed, some of them nicknamed Tom the Big Dipper, but he did not mind +for, as he said soberly, he had "always liked the Big Dipper, anyway." + +As the next day passed the importance of Tom's coup became known among +the troops stationed in the village and was the prime topic with those +who were digging the new trench line northeast of the town. Indeed, +aside from the particular reasons which were presently to appear, the +capture of Major von Piffinhoeffer was a "stunt" of the first order +which proved particularly humiliating to German dignity. That he should +have been captured at all was remarkable. That he should have been +hoodwinked and brought in by a young dispatch-rider was a matter of +crushing mortification to him, and must have been no less so to the +German high command. + +Who but Major von Piffinhoeffer had first suggested the use of the +poisoned bandage in the treatment of English prisoners' wounds? Who but +Major von Piffinhoeffer had devised the very scheme of contaminating +streams, which Tom and Roscoe had discovered? Who but Major von +Piffinhoeffer had invented the famous "circle code" which had so long +puzzled and baffled Uncle Sam's Secret Service agents? Who but Major von +Piffinhoeffer had first suggested putting cholera germs in rifle +bullets, and tuberculosis germs in American cigarettes? + +A soldier of the highest distinction was Major von Piffinhoeffer, of +Heidelberg University, whose decorative junk had come direct from the +grateful junkers, and whose famous eight-volume work on "Principles of +Modern Torture" was a text-book in the realm. A warrior of mettle was +Major von Piffinhoeffer, who deserved a more glorious fate than to be +captured by an American dispatch-rider! + +But Tom Slade was not vain and it is doubtful if his stolid face, +crowned by his shock of rebellious hair, would have shown the slightest +symptom of excitement if he had captured Hindenburg, or the Kaiser +himself. + +In the morning he rode down to Chepoix with some dispatches and in the +afternoon to St. Justen-Chaussee. He was kept busy all day. When he +returned to Cantigny, a little before dark, he was told to remain at +headquarters, and for a while he feared that he was going to be +court-martialled for overstaying his leave. + +When he was at last admitted into the presence of the commanding +officer, he shifted from one foot to the other, feeling ill at ease as +he always did in the presence of officialdom. The officer sat at a heavy +table which had evidently been the kitchen table of the French peasant +people who had originally occupied the poor cottage. Signs of petty +German devastation were all about the humble, low-ceiled place, and they +seemed to evidence a more loathsome brutality even than did the blighted +country which Tom had ridden through. + +Apparently everything which could show an arrogant contempt of the +simple family life which had reigned there had been done. There was a +kind of childish spitefulness in the sword thrusts through the few +pictures which hung on the walls. The German genius for destruction and +wanton vandalism was evident in broken knick-knacks and mottoes of hate +and bloody vengeance scrawled upon floor and wall. + +It did Tom's heart good to see the resolute, capable American officers +sitting there attending to their business in quiet disregard of all +these silly, vulgar signs of impotent hate and baffled power. + +"When you first met these Germans," the officer asked, "did the big +fellow have anything to say?" + +"He asked us some questions," said Tom. + +"Yes? Now what did he ask you?" the officer encouraged, as he reached +out and took a couple of papers pinned together, which lay among others +on the table. + +"He seemed to be interested in transports, kind of, and the number of +Americans there are here." + +"Hmm. Did he mention any particular ship--do you remember?" the officer +asked, glancing at the paper. + +"Yes, he did. _Texas Pioneer_. I don't remember whether it was Texan or +Texas." + +"Oh, yes," said the officer. + +"We didn't tell him anything," said Tom. + +"No, of course not." + +The officer sat whistling for a few seconds, and scrutinizing the +papers. + +"Do you remember the color of the officer's eyes?" he suddenly asked. + +"It was only in the dark we saw him." + +"Yes, surely. So you didn't get a very good look at him." + +"I saw he had a nose shaped like a carrot, kind of," said Tom +ingenuously. + +Both of the officers smiled. + +"I mean the big end of it," said Tom soberly. + +The two men glanced at each other and laughed outright. Tom did not +quite appreciate what they were laughing at but it encouraged him to +greater boldness, and shifting from one foot to the other, he said, + +"The thing I noticed specially was how his mouth went sideways when he +talked, so one side of it seemed to slant the same as his moustache, +like, and the other didn't." + +The officers smiled at each other again, but the one quizzing Tom looked +at him shrewdly and seemed interested. + +"I mean the two ends of his moustache that stuck up like the +Kaiser's----" + +"Oh, yes." + +"I mean they didn't slant the same when he talked. One was crooked." + +Again the officers smiled and the one who had been speaking said +thoughtfully, + +"I see." + +Tom shifted back to his other foot while the officer seemed to ruminate. + +"He had a breed mark, too," Tom volunteered. + +"A what?" + +"Breed mark--it's different from a species mark," he added naively. + +The officer looked at him rather curiously. "And what do you call a +breed mark?" he asked. + +Tom looked at the other man who seemed also to be watching him closely. +He shifted from one foot to the other and said, + +"It's a scout sign. A man named Jeb Rushmore told me about it. All +trappers know about it. It was his ear, how it stuck out, like." + +He shifted to the other foot. + +"Yes, go on." + +"Nothing, only that's what a breed sign is. If Jeb Rushmore saw a bear +and afterwards way off he saw another bear he could tell if the first +bear was its grandmother--most always he could. + +"Hmm. I see," said the officer, plainly interested and watching Tom +curiously. "And that's what a breed sign is, eh?" + +"Yes, sir. Eyes ain't breed signs, but ears are. Feet are, too, and +different ways of walking are, but ears are the best of all--that's one +sure thing." + +"And you mean that relationships can be determined by these breed +signs?" + +"I don't mean people just looking like each other," Tom explained, +"'cause any way animals don't look like each other in the face. But you +got to go by breed signs. Knuckles are good signs, too." + +"Well, well," said the officer, "that's very fine, and news to me." + +"Maybe you were never a scout," said Tom naively. + +"So that if you saw your Prussian major's brother or son somewhere, +where you had reason to think he would be, you'd know him--you'd +recognize him?" + +Tom hesitated and shifted again. It was getting pretty deep for him. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY + +THE MAJOR'S PAPERS + + +It was perfectly evident that the officer's purpose in sending for Tom, +whatever that was, was considerably affected by the boy's own remarks, +and he now, after pondering a few moments, handed Tom the two papers +which he had been holding. + +"Just glance that over and then I'll talk to you," he said. + +Tom felt very important, indeed, and somewhat perturbed as well, for +though he had carried many dispatches it had never been his lot to know +their purport. + +"If you know the importance and seriousness of what I am thinking of +letting you do," the officer said, "perhaps it will help you to be very +careful and thorough." + +"Yes, sir," said Tom, awkwardly. + +"All right, just glance that over." + +The two papers were clipped together, and as Tom looked at the one on +top he saw that it was soiled and creased and written in German. The +other was evidently a translation of it. It seemed to be a letter the +first part of which was missing, and this is what Tom read: + + "but, as you say, everything for the Fatherland. If you receive this + let them know that I'll have my arms crossed and to be careful + before they shoot. If you don't get this I'll just have to take my + chance. The other way isn't worth trying. As for the code key, that + will be safe enough--they'll never find it. If it wasn't for the ---- + English service ---- (worn and undecipherable) ---- as far as that's + concerned. As far as I can ascertain we'll go on the T.P. There was + some inquiry about my close relationship to you, but nothing + serious. All you have to do is cheer when they play the S.S.B. over + here. It isn't known if Schmitter had the key to this when they + caught him because he died on Ellis Island. But it's being abandoned + to be on the safe side. I have notice from H. not to use it after + sending this letter. If we can get the new one in your hands + before ---- (text undecipherable) ---- in time so it can be used + through Mexico. + + "I'll have much information to communicate verbally in T. and A. + matters, but will bring nothing in ---- ---- form but key and + credentials. The idea is L.'s--you remember him at Heidelberg, I + dare say. I brought him back once for holiday. Met him through + Handel, the fellow who was troubled with cataract. V. has furnished + funds. So don't fail to have them watch out. + + "To the day, + + "A. P." + +"So you see some one is probably coming over on the _Texas Pioneer_," +said the officer, as he took the papers from bewildered Tom, "and we'd +like to get hold of that fellow. The only trouble is we don't know who +he is." + +It was quite half a minute before Tom could get a grip on himself, so +dark and mysterious had seemed this extraordinary communication. And it +was not until afterward, when he was alone and not handicapped by his +present embarrassment, that certain puzzling things about it became +clear to him. At present he depended wholly upon what his superior told +him and thought of nothing else. + +"That was taken from your tall friend," said the officer, "and it means, +if it means anything, that somebody or other closely related to him is +coming over to France on the _Texas Pioneer_. From his mention of the +name to you I take it that is what T. P. means. + +"Now, my boy, we want to get hold of this fellow--he's a spy. +Apparently, he won't have anything incriminating about him. My +impression is that he's in the army and hopes to get himself captured by +his friends. Yet he may desert and take a chance of getting into Germany +through Holland. About the only clew there is, is the intimation that +he's related to the prisoner. He may look like him. We've been trying to +get in communication with Dieppe, where this transport is expected to +dock to-morrow, but the wires seem to be shot into a tangle again. + +"Do you think you could make Dieppe before morning--eighty to ninety +miles?" + +"Yes, sir. The first twenty or so will be bad on account of shell holes, +I heard they threw as far as Forges." + +"Hmm," said the officer, drumming with his fingers. "We'll leave all +that to you. The thing is to get there before morning." + +"I know they never let anybody ashore before daylight," said Tom, +"because I worked on a transport." + +"Very well. Now we'll see if the general and others hereabouts have been +overrating you. You've two things to do. One is to get to Dieppe before +to-morrow morning. That's imperative. The other is to assist the +authorities there to identify the writer of this letter if you can. Of +course, you'll not concern yourself with anything else in the letter. I +let you read it partly because of your very commendable bringing in of +this important captive and partly because I want you to know how serious +and important are the matters involved. I was rather impressed with what +you said about--er--breed marks." + +"Yes, sir." + +"And I believe you're thoughtful and careful. You've ridden by night a +good deal, I understand." + +"Yes, sir." + +"So. Now you are to ride at once to Breteuil, a little east of here, +where they're holding this prisoner. You'll deliver a note I shall give +you to Colonel Wallace, and he'll see to it that you have a look at the +man, in a sufficiently good light. Don't be afraid to observe him +closely. And whatever acuteness you may have in this way, let your +country have the benefit of it." + +"Yes, sir." + +"It may be that some striking likeness will enable you to recognize this +stranger. Possibly your special knowledge will be helpful. In any case, +when you reach Dieppe, present these papers, with the letter which I +shall give you, to the quartermaster there, and he will turn you over to +the Secret Service men. Do whatever they tell you and help them in every +way you can. I shall mention that you've seen the prisoner and observed +him closely. They may have means of discovery and identification which I +know nothing of, but don't be afraid to offer your help. Too much won't +be expected of you in that way, but it's imperative that you reach +Dieppe before morning. The roads are pretty bad, I know that. Think you +can do it?" + +"What you got to do, you can do," said Tom simply. + +It was a favorite saying of the same Jeb Rushmore, scout and woodsman, +who had told Tom about breed marks, and how they differed from mere +points of resemblance. And it made him think about Jeb Rushmore. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE + +THE MIDNIGHT RIDE OF PAUL REVERE + + +Swiftly and silently along the dark road sped the dispatch-rider who had +come out of the East, from the far-off Toul sector, _for service as +required_. All the way across bleeding, devastated France he had +travelled, and having paused, as it were, to help in the little job at +Cantigny, he was now speeding through the darkness toward the coast with +as important a message as he had ever carried. + +A little while before, as time is reckoned, he had been a Boy Scout in +America and had thought it was something to hike from New York to the +Catskills. Since then, he had been on a torpedoed transport, had been +carried in a submarine to Germany, had escaped through that war-mad land +and made his way to France, whose scarred and disordered territory he +had crossed almost from one end to the other, and was now headed for +almost the very point where he had first landed. Yet he was only +eighteen, and no one whom he met seemed to think that his experiences +had been remarkable. For in a world where all are having extraordinary +experiences, those of one particular person are hardly matter for +comment. + +At Breteuil Tom had another look at "Major Piff," who bent his terrible, +scornful gaze upon him, making poor Tom feel like an insignificant worm. +But the imperious Prussian's stare netted him not half so much in the +matter of valuable data as Tom derived from his rather timid scrutiny. +Yet he would almost have preferred to face the muzzle of a field-piece +rather than wither beneath that arrogant, contemptuous glare. + +It was close on to midnight when he reached Hardivillers, passing beyond +the point of the Huns' farthest advance, and sped along the straight +road for Marseille-en-Froissy, where he was to leave a relay packet for +Paris. From there he intended to run down to Gournay and then northwest +along the highway to the coast. He thought he had plenty of time. + +At Gournay they told him that some American engineers were repairing the +bridge at Saumont, which had been damaged by floods, but that he might +gain the north road to the coast by going back as far as Songeons and +following the path along the upper Therain River, which would take him +to Aumale, and bring him into the Neufchatel road. + +He lost perhaps two hours in doing this, partly by reason of the extra +distance and partly by reason of the muddy, and in some places +submerged, path along the Therain. The stream, ordinarily hardly more +than a creek, was so swollen that he had to run his machine through a +veritable swamp in places, and anything approaching speed was out of the +question. So difficult was his progress, what with running off the +flooded road and into the stream bed, and also from his wheels sticking +in the mud, that he began to fear that he was losing too much time in +this discouraging business. + +But there was nothing to do but go forward, and he struggled on, +sometimes wheeling his machine, sometimes riding it, until at last it +sank almost wheel deep in muddy water and he had to lose another half +hour in cleaning out his carbureter. He feared that it might give +trouble even then, but the machine labored along when the mud was not +too deep, and at last, after almost superhuman effort, he and _Uncle +Sam_ emerged, dirty and dripping, out of a region where he could almost +have made as good progress with a boat, into Aumale, where he stopped +long enough to clean the grit out of his engine parts. + +It was now nearly four o'clock in the morning, and his instructions were +to reach Dieppe not later than five. He knew, from his own experience, +that transports always discharge their thronging human cargoes early in +the morning, and that every minute after five o'clock would increase the +likelihood of his finding the soldiers already gone ashore and separated +for the journeys to their various destinations. To reach Dieppe after +the departure of the soldiers was simply unthinkable to Tom. Whatever +excuse there might have been to the authorities for his failure, that +also he could not allow to enter his thoughts. He had been trusted to do +something and he was going to do it. + +Perhaps it was this dogged resolve which deterred him from doing +something which he had thought of doing; that is, acquainting the +authorities at Aumale with his plight and letting them wire on to +Dieppe. Surely the wires between Aumale and the coast must be working, +but suppose---- + +Suppose the Germans should demolish those wires with a random shot from +some great gun such as the monster which had bombarded Paris at a +distance of seventy miles. Such a random shot might demolish Tom Slade, +too, but he did not think of that. What he thought of chiefly was the +inglorious rôle he would play if, after shifting his responsibility, he +should go riding into Dieppe only to find that the faithful dots and +dashes had done his work for him. Then again, suppose the wires should +be tapped--there were spies everywhere, he knew that. + +Whatever might have been the part of wisdom and caution, he was well +past Aumale before he allowed himself to realize that he was taking +rather a big chance. If there were floods in one place there might be +floods in another, but---- + +He banished the thought from his mind. Tom Slade, motorcycle +dispatch-bearer, had always regarded the villages he rushed through with +a kind of patronizing condescension. His business had always been +between some headquarters or other and some point of destination, and +between these points he had no interest. He and _Uncle Sam_ had a +little pride in these matters. French children with clattering wooden +shoes had clustered about him when he paused, old wives had called, +"_Vive l'Amerique!_" from windows and, like the post-boy of old, he had +enjoyed the prestige which was his. Should he, Tom Slade, surrender or +ask for help in one of these mere incidental places along his line of +travel? + +_What you got to do, you do_, he had said, and you cannot do it by going +half way and then letting some one else do the rest. He had read the +_Message to Garcia_ (as what scout has not), and did that bully +messenger--whatever his name was--turn back because the Cuban jungle was +too much for him? _He delivered the message to Garcia_, that was the +point. There were swamps, and dank, tangled, poisonous vines, and +venomous snakes, and the sickening breath of fever. _But he delivered +the message to Garcia._ + +It was sixty miles, Tom knew, from Aumale to Dieppe by the road. And he +must reach Dieppe not later than five o'clock. The road was a good road, +if it held nothing unexpected. The map showed it to be a good road, and +as far west as this there was small danger from shell holes. + +Fifty miles, and one hour! + +Swiftly along the dark road sped the dispatch-rider who had come from +the far-off blue hills of Alsace across the war-scorched area of +northern France into the din and fire and stenching suffocation and +red-running streams of Picardy _for service as required_. Past St. Prey +he rushed; past Thiueloy, and into Mortemer, and on to the hilly region +where the Eualine flows between its hilly banks. He was in and out of La +Tois in half a minute. + +When he passed through Neufchatel several poilus, lounging at the +station, hailed him cheerily in French, but he paid no heed, and they +stood gaping, seeing his bent form and head thrust forward with its +shock of tow hair flying all about. + +Twenty miles, and half an hour! + +Through St. Authon he sped, raising a cloud of dust, his keen eyes +rivetted upon the road ahead, and down into the valley where a tributary +of the Bethune winds its troubled way--past Le Farge, past tiny, +picturesque Loix, into an area of 'lowland where an isolated cottage +seemed like a lonely spectre of the night as he passed, on through +Mernoy to the crossing at Chabris, and then---- + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO + +"UNCLE SAM" + + +Tom Slade stood looking with consternation at the scene before him. His +trusty motorcycle which had borne him so far stood beside him, and as he +steadied it, it seemed as if this mute companion and co-patriot which he +had come to love, were sharing his utter dismay. Almost at his very feet +rushed a boisterous torrent, melting the packed earth of the road like +wax in a tropic sunshine, and carrying its devastating work of erosion +to the very spot where he stood. + +In a kind of cold despair, he stooped, reached for a board which lay +near, and retreating a little, stood upon it, watching the surging water +in its heedless career. This one board was all that was left of the +bridge over which Tom Slade and _Uncle Sam_ were to have rushed in their +race with the dawn. Already the first glimmering of gray was discernible +in the sky behind him, and Tom looked at _Uncle Sam_ as if for council +in his dilemma. The dawn would not require any bridge to get across. + +"We're checked in our grand drive, kind of," he said, with a pathetic +disappointment which his odd way of putting it did not disguise. "We're +checked, that's all, just like the Germans were--kind of." + +He knelt and let down the rest of his machine so that it might stand +unaided, as if he would be considerate of those mud-covered, weary +wheels. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed. + +"Anyway, you did _your_ part," he muttered. And then, "If you only could +swim." + +It was evident that the recent rains had swollen the stream which +ordinarily flowed in the narrow bed between slanting shores so that the +rushing water filled the whole space between the declivities and was +even flooding the two ends of road which had been connected by a bridge. +An old ramshackle house, which Tom thought might once have been a +boathouse, stood near, the water lapping its underpinning. Close by it +was a buoyed mooring float six or eight feet square, bobbing in the +rushing water. One of the four air-tight barrels which supported it had +caught in the mud and kept the buoyant, raft-like platform from being +carried downstream in the rush of water. + +Holding his flashlight to his watch Tom saw that it was nearly fifteen +minutes past four and he believed that about forty miles of road lay +ahead of him. Slowly, silently, the first pale tint of gray in the sky +behind him took on a more substantial hue, revealing the gaunt, black +outlines of trees and painting the sun-dried, ragged shingles on the +little house a dull silvery color. + +"Anyway, you stood by me and it ain't your fault," Tom muttered +disconsolately. He turned the handle bar this way and that, so that +_Uncle Sam's_ one big eye peered uncannily across the flooded stream and +flickered up the road upon the other side, which wound up the hillside +and away into the country beyond. The big, peering eye seemed to look +longingly upon that road. + +Then Tom was seized with a kind of frantic rebellion against fate--the +same futile passion which causes a convict to wrench madly at the bars +of his cell. The glimpse of that illuminated stretch of road across the +flooded stream drove him to distraction. Baffled, powerless, his wonted +stolidness left him, and he cast his eyes here and there with a sort of +challenge born of despair and desperation. + +Slowly, gently, the hazy dawn stole over the sky and the roof of dried +and ragged shingles seemed as if it were covered with gray dust. +Presently the light would flicker upon those black, mad waters and laugh +at Tom from the other side. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed. + +He believed that he could swim the torrent and make a landing even +though the rush of water carried him somewhat downstream. But what about +_Uncle Sam_? He turned off the searchlight and still _Uncle Sam_ was +clearly visible now, standing, waiting. He could count the spokes in the +wheels. + +The spokes in the wheels--_the spokes_. With a sudden inspiration born +of despair, Tom looked at that low, shingled roof. He could see it +fairly well now. The gray dawn had almost caught up with him. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed! + +In a frantic burst of energy he took a running jump, caught the edge of +the roof and swung himself upon it. In the thin haze his form was +outlined there, his shock of light hair jerking this way and that, as +he tore off one shingle after another, and threw them to the ground. He +was racing now, as he had not raced before, and there was upon his +square, homely face that look of uncompromising resolution which the +soldier wears as he goes over the top with his bayonet fixed. + +Leaping to the ground again he gathered up some half a dozen shingles, +selecting them with as much care as his desperate haste would permit. +Then he hurriedly opened the leather tool case on his machine and +tumbled the contents about until he found the roll of insulated wire +which he always carried. + +His next work was to split one of the shingles over his knee so that he +had a strip of wood about two inches wide. It took him but so many +seconds to jab four or five holes through this, and adjusting it between +two slopes of the power wheel so that it stood crossways and was +re-enforced by the spokes themselves, he proceeded to bind it in place +with the wire. Then he moved the wheel gently around, and found that the +projecting edge of wooden strip knocked against the mud-guard. +Hesitating not a second he pulled and bent and twisted the mud-guard, +wrenching it off. The wheel revolved freely now. The spokes were +beginning to shine in the brightening light. + +And meanwhile the seconds passed! + +It was the work of hardly a minute to bind three other narrow strips of +shingle among the spokes so that they stood more or less crossways. +There was no time to place and fasten more, but these, at equal +intervals, forming a sort of cross within the wheel, were quite +sufficient, Tom thought, for his purpose. It was necessary to shave the +edges of the shingles somewhat, after they were in place, so that they +would not chafe against the axle-bars. But this was also the hurried +work of a few seconds, and then Tom moved his machine to the old mooring +float and lifted it upon the bobbing platform. + +He must work with the feverish speed of desperation for the float was +held by no better anchor than one of its supporting barrels embedded in +the mud. If he placed his weight or that of _Uncle Sam_ upon the side of +the float already in the water the weight would probably release the +mud-held barrel and the float, with himself and _Uncle Sam_ upon it, +would be carried willy-nilly upon the impetuous waters. + +And meanwhile---- How plainly he could distinguish the trees now, and +the pale stars stealing away into the obscurity of the brightening +heavens. + +With all the strength that he could muster he wrenched a board from the +centre of the platform, and moving his arm about in the opening felt the +rushing water beneath. + +The buoyancy of the air-tight barrels, one of which was lodged under +each corner of the float, was such that with Tom and his machine upon +the planks the whole platform would float six or eight inches free of +the water. To pole or row this unwieldy raft in such a flood would have +been quite out of the question, and even in carrying out the plan which +Tom now thought furnished his only hope, he knew that the sole chance of +success lay in starting right. If the float, through premature or +unskilful starting, should get headed downstream, there would be no hope +of counteracting its impetus. + +Lifting his machine, he lowered it carefully into the opening left by +the torn-off plank, until the pedals rested upon the planks on either +side and the power wheel was partially submerged. So far, so good. + +In less than a minute now he would either succeed or fail. It was +necessary first to alter the position of the float slightly so that the +opening left by the plank pointed across and slightly upstream. He had +often noticed how the pilot of a ferryboat directs his craft above or +below the point of landing to counteract the rising or ebbing tide, and +this was his intention now; but to neutralize the force of the water +with another force not subject to direction or adjustment involved a +rather nice calculation. + +Very cautiously he waded out upon the precipitous, submerged bank and +brought the float into position. This done, he acted with lightning +rapidity. Leaping upon the freed float before it had time to swing +around, he raised his machine, started it, and lowering the power wheel +into the opening, steadied the machine as best he could. It was not +possible to let it hang upon its pedals for he must hold it at a steep +angle, and it required all his strength to manage its clumsy, furiously +vibrating bulk. + +But the effects of his makeshift paddle-wheel were pronounced and +instantaneous. His own weight and that of the machine sufficiently +submerged the racing power wheel so that the rough paddles plowed the +water, sending the float diagonally across the flooded stream with +tremendous force. He was even able, by inclining the upper end of the +machine to right or left, to guide his clumsy craft, which responded to +this live rudder with surprising promptness. + +In the rapid crossing this rough ferryboat lost rather more than Tom had +thought it would lose from the rush of water and it brought him close to +the opposite shore at a point some fifty feet beyond the road, but he +had been able to maintain its direction at least to the extent of +heading shoreward and preventing the buoyant float from fatal swirling, +which would have meant loss of control altogether. + +Perhaps it was better that his point of landing was some distance below +the road, where he was able to grasp at an overhanging tree with one +hand while shutting his power off and holding fast to his machine with +the other. A landing would have been difficult anywhere else. + +Even now he was in the precarious position of sitting upon a limb in a +rather complicated network of small branches and foliage, hanging onto +his motorcycle for dear life, while the buoyant float went swirling and +bobbing down the flood. + +It had taken him perhaps five minutes to prepare for his crossing and +about thirty seconds to cross. But his strategic position was far from +satisfactory. And already the more substantial light of the morning +revealed the gray road winding ribbon-like away into the distance, the +first glints of sunlight falling upon its bordering rocks and trees as +if to taunt and mock him. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE + +UP A TREE + + +In military parlance, Tom had advanced only to be caught in a pocket. +There he sat, astride a large limb, hanging onto the heavy machine, +which depended below him just free of the water. He had, with +difficulty, moved his painful grip upon a part of the machine's +mechanism and succeeded in clutching the edge of the forward wheel. This +did not cut his hands so much, but the weight was unbearable in his +embarrassed attitude. + +Indeed, it was not so much his strength, which was remarkable, that +enabled him to keep his hold upon this depending dead weight, as it was +sheer desperation. It seemed to be pulling his arms out of their +sockets, and his shoulders ached incessantly. At the risk of losing his +balance altogether he sought relief by the continual shifting of his +position but he knew that the strain was too great for him and that he +must let go presently. + +It seemed like a mockery that he should have gained the shore only to be +caught in this predicament, and to see his trusty machine go tumbling +into the water beyond all hope of present recovery, simply because he +could not hang on to it. + +Well, then, he _would_ hang on to it. He would hang on to it though +every muscle of his body throbbed, though his arms were dragged out, and +though he collapsed and fell from that limb himself in the last anguish +of the aching strain. He and _Uncle Sam_, having failed, would go down +together. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed and _Uncle Sam_ and Tom were reflected, +inverted, in the water where the spreading light was now flickering. How +strange and grotesque they looked, upside down and clinging to each +other for dear life and wriggling in the ripples of rushing water. +_Uncle Sam_ seemed to be holding _him_ up. It was all the same--they +were partners. + +He noticed in the water something which he had not noticed before--the +reflection of a short, thick, broken branch projecting from the heavy +limb he was straddling. He glanced about and found that it was behind +him. His stooping attitude, necessitated by the tremendous drag on his +arms, prevented him even from looking freely behind him, and in trying +to do so he nearly fell. The strain he was suffering was so great that +the least move caused him pain. + +But by looking into the water he was able to see that this little stub +of a limb might serve as a hook on which the machine might be hung if he +could clear away the leafy twigs which grew from it, and if he could +succeed in raising the cycle and slipping the wheel over it. That would +not end his predicament but it would save the machine, relieve him for a +few moments, and give him time to think. + +_For a few moments!_ They were fleeting by--the moments. + +There is a strength born of desperation--a strength of will which is +conjured into physical power in the last extremity. It is when the +frantic, baffled spirit calls aloud to rally every failing muscle and +weakening nerve. It is then that the lips tighten and the eyes become as +steel, as the last reserves waiting in the entrenchments of the soul are +summoned up to re-enforce the losing cause. + +And there in that tree, on the brink of the heedless, rushing waters +which crossed the highroad to Dieppe was going to be fought out one of +the most desperate battles of the whole war. There, in the mocking light +of the paling dawn, Tom Slade, his big mouth set like a vice, and with +every last reserve he could command, was going to make his last cast of +the dice--let go, give up--or, _hold on_. + +_Let go!_ Of all the inglorious forms of defeat or surrender! _To let +go!_ To be struck down, to be taken prisoner, to be---- + +But to _let go_! The bulldog, the snapping turtle, seemed like very +heroes now. + +"He always said I had a good muscle--he liked to feel it," he muttered. +"And besides, _she_ said she guessed I was strong." + +He was thinking of Margaret Ellison, away back in America, and of Roscoe +Bent, as he had known him there. When he muttered again there was a +beseeching pathos in his voice which would have pierced the heart of +anyone who could have seen him struggling still against fate, in this +all but hopeless predicament. + +But no one saw him except the sun who was raising his head above the +horizon as a soldier steals a cautious look over the trench parapet. + +There would be no report of this affair. + +He lowered his chest to the limb, wound his legs around it and for a +second lay there while he tightened and set his legs, as one will +tighten a belt against some impending strain. Not another fraction of an +inch could he have tightened those encircling legs. + +And now the fateful second was come. It had to come quickly for his +strength was ebbing. There is a pretty dependable rule that if you can +just manage to lift a weight with both hands, you can just about _budge_ +it with one hand. Tom had tried this at Temple Camp with a visiting +scout's baggage chest. With both hands he had been barely able to lift +it by its strap. With one hand he had been able to _budge_ it for the +fraction of a second. But there had been no overmastering incentive--and +no reserves called up out of the depths of his soul. + +He could feel his breast palpitating against the limb, drawn tight +against it by the dead weight. Yet he could not put his desperate +purpose to the test. + +And so a second--two, three, seconds--were wasted. + +"I won't let go," he muttered through his teeth. "I wish I could wipe +the sweat off my hand." Then, as if his dogged resolution were not +enough, he added, almost appealingly, "Don't _you_ drop and--and go back +on me." + +_Uncle Sam_ only swung a little in the breeze and wriggled like an eel +in the watery mirror. + +Slowly Tom loosened his perspiring left hand, not daring to withdraw it. +The act seemed to communicate an extra strain to every part of his body. +Of all the fateful moments of his life, this seemed to be the most +tense. Then, in an impulse of desperation, he drew his left hand away. + +"I won't--let--go," he muttered. + +The muscles on his taut right arm stood out like cords. His forearm +throbbed with an indescribable, pulling pain. There was a feeling of +dull soreness in his shoulder blade. His perspiring hand closed tighter +around the wheel's rim and he could feel his pulse pounding. His fingers +tingled as if they had been asleep. Then his hand slipped a little. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR + +"TO HIM THAT OVERCOMETH" + + +Whether merely from the change of an eighth of an inch or so in its hold +upon the rim, or because his palm fitted better around the slight +alteration of curve, Tom was conscious of the slightest measure of +relief. + +As quickly as he dared (for he knew that any sudden move would be +fatal), he reached behind him with his left arm and, groping for the +stub of limb, tore away from it the twigs which he knew would form an +obstacle to placing the wheel rim with its network of spokes over this +short projection. + +The dead soreness of his straining shoulder blade ran down his arm, +which throbbed painfully. His twitching, struggling fingers, straining +against the weight which was forcing them open, clutched the rim. They +were burning and yet seemed numb. Oh, if he could only wipe his palm and +that rim with a dry handkerchief! He tightened his slipping fingers +again and again. The muscles of his arm smarted as from a blow. He +tightened his lips--and that seemed to help. + +Carefully, though his aching breast pounded against the limb, he brought +back his left hand, cautiously rubbed it against his khaki shirt, then +encircled it about the rim. For a moment the weight seemed manageably +light in the quick relief he felt. + +Availing himself of the slight measure of refreshment he raised the +machine a trifle, a trifle more, squirmed about to get in better +position, bent, strained, got the bulky thing past his clutching legs, +exerted every muscle of chest and abdomen, which now could assume some +share of the strain, and by a superhuman effort of litheness and +dexterity and all the overwhelming power of physical strength and +frenzied resolution, he succeeded in slipping the wheel rim over the +stubby projection behind him. + +If he had been running for ten miles he could not have been more +exhausted. His breast heaved with every spasmodic breath he drew. His +shoulder blades throbbed like an aching tooth. His dripping palm was +utterly numb. For a few brief, precious seconds he sat upon the limb +with a sense of unutterable relief, and mopped his beaded forehead. And +the sun's full, round face smiled approvingly upon him. + +Meanwhile the minutes flew. + +Hurrying now, he scrambled down the tree trunk where he had a better and +less discouraging view of the situation. He saw that _Uncle Sam_ hung +about five feet from the brink and just clear of the water. If the bank +on this side was less precipitous than on the other there would be some +prospect of rescuing his machine without serious damage. He could afford +to let it get wet provided the carburetor and magneto were not submerged +and the gas tank---- + +_The gas tank._ That thought stabbed him. Could the gasoline have flowed +out of the tank while the machine was hanging up and down? That would +bring the supply hole, with its perforated screw-cover, underneath. + +He waded cautiously into the water and found to his infinite relief that +the submerged bank formed a gentle slope. He could not go far enough to +lift his machine, but he could reach to wiggle it off its hook and then +guide it, in some measure, enough to ease its fall and keep its +damageable parts clear of the water. At least he believed he could. In +any event, he had no alternative choice and time was flying. After what +he had already done he felt he could do anything. Success, however +wearying and exhausting, gives one a certain working capital of +strength, and having succeeded so far he would not now fail. His success +in crossing had given him that working capital of resolution and +incentive whence came his superhuman strength and overmastering resolve +in that lonely tree. And he would not fail now. + +Yet he could not bring himself to look at his watch. He was willing to +venture a guess, from the sun, as to what time it was, but he could not +clinch the knowledge by a look at the cruel, uncompromising little +glass-faced autocrat in his pocket. He preferred to work in the less +disheartening element of uncertainty. He did not want to know the hard, +cold truth--not till he was moving. + +Here now was the need of nice calculating, and Tom eyed the shore and +the tree and the machine with the appraising glance of a wrestler eyeing +his opponent. He broke several branches from the tree, laying them so as +to form a kind of springy, leafy mound close to the brink. Then +standing knee-deep he wiggled the wheel's rim very cautiously out to the +end of its hanger, so that it just balanced there. + +One more grand drive, one more effort of unyielding strength and +accurate dexterity and--_he would be upon the road_. + +The thought acted as a stimulant. Lodging one hand under the seat of the +machine and the other upon a stout bar of the mechanism which he thought +would afford him just the play and swing he needed, he joggled the wheel +off its hanger, and with a wide sweep, in which he skillfully minimized +the heavy weight, he swung the machine onto the springy bed which he had +made to receive it. + +Then, as the comrade of a wounded soldier may bend over him, he knelt +down beside his companion upon the makeshift, leafy couch. + +"Are you all right?" he asked in the agitation of his triumphant effort. + +_Uncle Sam_ did not answer. + +He stood the machine upright and lowered the rest so that it could stand +unaided; and he tore away the remnant of mud-guard which _Uncle Sam_ had +sacrificed in his role of combination engine and paddle-wheel. + +"You've got the wires all tangled up in your spokes," Tom said; "you +look like a--a wreck. What do you want with those old sticks of +shingles? How are you off for gas--you--you old tramp?" + +_Uncle Sam_ did not answer. + +"Anyway, you're all right," Tom panted; "only my arm is worse than your +old mud-guard. We're a pair of---- Can't you speak?" he added breathing +the deadly fatigue he felt and putting his foot upon the pedal. +"What--do--you--say? Huh?" + +And then _Uncle Sam_ answered. + +"Tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r---- Never mind your arm. Come +ahead--hurry," he seemed to say. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE + +"WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO--" + + +Swiftly along the sun-flecked road sped the dispatch-rider. In the +mellow freshness of the new day he rode, and the whir of his machine in +its lightning flight mingled with the cheery songs of the birds, whose +early morning chorus heartened and encouraged him. There was a balm in +the fragrant atmosphere of the cool, gray morning which entered the soul +of Tom Slade and whispered to him, _There is no such word as fail._ + +Out of the night he had come, out of travail, and brain-racking +perplexity and torturing effort, crossing rushing waters and matching +his splendid strength and towering will against obstacles, against fate, +against everything. + +As he held the handle-bar of _Uncle Sam_ in that continuous handshake +which they knew so well, his right arm felt numb and sore, and his +whole body ached. _Uncle Sam's_ big, leering glass eye was smashed, his +mud-guard wrenched off, and dried mud was upon his wheels. His rider's +uniform was torn and water-soaked, his face black with grime. They made +a good pair. + +Never a glance to right or left did the rider give, nor so much as a +perfunctory nod to the few early risers who paused to stare at him as he +sped by. In the little hamlet of Persan an old Frenchman sitting on a +rustic seat before the village inn, removed his pipe from his mouth long +enough to call, + +"_La côte?_" + +But never a word did the rider answer. Children, who, following the good +example of the early bird, were already abroad, scurried out of his way, +making a great clatter in their wooden shoes, and gaping until he passed +beyond their sight. + +Over the bridge at Soignois he rushed, making its ramshackle planks +rattle and throw up a cloud of dust from between the vibrating seams. +Out of this cloud he emerged like a gray spectre, body bent, head low, +gaze fixed and intense, leaving a pandemonium of dust and subsiding +echoes behind him. + +At Virneu an old housewife threw open her blinds and seeing the dusty +khaki of the rider, summoned her brood, who waved the tricolor from the +casement, laughing and calling, "_Vive l'Amerique!_" + +Their cheery voices and fraternal patriotism did cause Tom to turn his +head and call, + +"_Merci. Vive la France!_" + +And they answered again with a torrent of French. + +The morning was well established as he passed through Chuisson, and a +clock upon a romantic, medieval-looking little tower told him that it +lacked but ten minutes of five o'clock. + +A feeling of doubt, almost of despair, seized upon him and he called in +that impatient surliness which springs from tense anxiety, asking an old +man how far it was to Dieppe. + +The man shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in polite confession +that he did not understand English. + +In his anxiety it irritated Tom. "What _do_ you know?" he muttered. + +Out of Chuisson he labored up a long hill, and though _Uncle Sam_ made +no more concession to it than to slacken his unprecedented rate of +speed the merest trifle, the difference communicated itself to Tom at +once and it seemed, by contrast, as if they were creeping. On and up +_Uncle Sam_ went, plying his way sturdily, making a great noise and a +terrific odor--dogged, determined and irresistible. + +But the rider stirred impatiently. Would they ever, _ever_, reach the +top? And when they should, there would be another hamlet in a valley, +another bridge, more stupid people who could not speak English, more +villages, more bends in the road, still other villages, and +then--another hill. + +It seemed to Tom that he had been travelling for ten years and that +there was to be no end of it. Ride, ride, ride--it brought him nowhere. +His right arm which had borne that tremendous strain, was throbbing so +that he let go the handle-bar from time to time in the hope of relief. It +was the pain of acute tiredness, for which there could be no relief but +rest. Just to throw himself down and rest! Oh, if he could only lay that +weary, aching arm across some soft pillow and leave it there--just leave +it there. Let it hang, bend it, hold it above him, lay it on _Uncle +Sam's_ staunch, unfeeling arm of steel, he could not, _could_ not, get +it rested. + +The palm of his hand tingled with a kind of irritating feeling like +chilblains, and he must be continually removing one or other hand from +the bar so that he could reach one with the other. It did not help him +keep his poise. If he could only scratch his right hand once and be done +with it! But it annoyed him like a fly. + +Up, up, up, they went, and passed a quaint, old, thatch-roofed house. +Crazy place to build a house! And the people in it--probably all they +could do was to shrug their shoulders in that stupid way when asked a +question in English. + +He was losing his morale--was this dispatch-rider. + +But near the top of the hill he regained it somewhat. Perhaps he could +make up for this lost time in some straight, level reach of road beyond. + +Up, up, up, plowed _Uncle Sam_, one lonely splinter of shingle still +bound within his spokes, and his poor, dented headlight bereft of its +dignity. + +"I've an idea the road turns north about a mile down," Tom said to +himself, "and runs around through----" + +The words stopped upon his lips as _Uncle Sam_, still laboring upward, +reached level ground, and as if to answer Tom out of his own +uncomplaining and stouter courage, showed him a sight which sent his +faltering hope skyward and started his heart bounding. + +For there below them lay the vast and endless background of the sea, +throwing every intervening detail of the landscape into insignificance. +There it was, steel blue in the brightening sunlight and glimmering here +and there in changing white, where perhaps some treacherous rock or bar +lay just submerged. And upon it, looking infinitesimal in the limitless +expanse, was something solid with a column of black smoke rising and +winding away from it and dissolving in the clear, morning air. + +"There you are!" said Tom, patting _Uncle Sam_ patronizingly in a swift +change of mood. "See there? That's the Atlantic Ocean--that is. _Now_ +will you hurry? That's a ship coming in--see? I bet it's a whopper, too. +Do you know what--what's off beyond there?" he fairly panted in his +excitement; "do you? You old French hobo, you? _America!_ That's where +_I_ came from. _Now_ will you hurry? That's Dieppe, where the white[2] +is and those steeples, see? And way across there on the other side is +America!" + +For _Uncle Sam_, notwithstanding his name, was a French motorcycle and +had never seen America. + +[2] Dieppe's famous beach. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX + +A SURPRISE + + +Down the hill coasted _Uncle Sam_, bearing his rider furiously onward. A +fence along the wayside seemed like a very entanglement of stakes and +pickets. Then it was gone. A house loomed up in view, grew larger, and +was gone. A cow that was grazing in a field languidly raised her head, +blinked her eyes, and stood as if uncertain whether she had really seen +something pass or not. + +They were in the valley now and the sea was no longer discernible. On +they rushed with a fine disdain for poor little Charos, whose village +steeple appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning. The road was +broad and level and _Uncle Sam_ sped along amid a cloud of dust, the +bordering trees and houses flying away behind like dried leaves in a +hurricane. The rider's hair was fluttering like a victorious emblem, his +eyes fixed with a wild intensity. + +"We'd get arrested for this in America," he muttered; "we--we should +worry." + +It was little _Uncle Sam_ cared for the traffic laws of America. + +Around the outskirts of Teurley they swept and into the broad highway +like a pair of demons, and a muleteer, seeing discretion to be the +better part of valor, drove his team well to the side--far enough, even, +to escape any devilish contamination which this unearthly apparition +might diffuse. + +They had reached a broad highway, one of those noble roads which +Napoleon had made. They could not go wrong now. They passed a luxurious +chateau, then a great hotel where people haled them in French. Then they +passed an army auto truck loaded with mattresses, with the bully old +initials U. S. A. on its side. Two boys in khaki were on the seat. + +"Is the _Texas Pioneer_ in?" Tom yelled. + +"What?" one of them called back. + +"He's deaf or something," muttered Tom; "we--should worry." + +On they sped till the road merged into a street lined with shops, where +children in wooden shoes and men in blouses shuffled about. Tom thought +he had never seen people so slow in his life. + +[Illustration: DOWN THE HILL COASTED UNCLE SAM BEARING TOM FURIOUSLY +ONWARD.] + +Now, indeed, he must make some concession to the throngs moving back and +forth, and he slackened his speed, but only slightly. + +"Dieppe?" he called. + +"Dieppe," came the laughing answer from a passer-by, who was evidently +amused at Tom's pronunciation. + +"Where's the wharves?" + +Again that polite shrug of the shoulders. + +He took a chance with another passer-by, who nodded and pointed down a +narrow street with dull brown houses tumbling all over each other, as it +seemed to Tom. It was the familiar, old-world architecture of the French +coast towns, which he had seen in Brest and St. Nazaire, as if all the +houses had become suddenly frightened and huddled together like panicky +sheep. + +More leisurely now, but quickly still, rode the dispatch-rider through +this narrow, surging way which had all the earmarks of the +shore--damp-smelling barrels, brass lanterns, dilapidated ships' +figureheads, cosy but uncleanly drinking places, and sailors. + +And of all the sights save one which Tom Slade ever beheld, the one +which most gladdened his heart was a neat new sign outside a stone +building, + + Office of United States Quartermaster. + +Several American army wagons were backed up against the building and +half a dozen khaki-clad boys lounged about. There was much coming and +going, but it is a part of the dispatch-rider's prestige to have +immediate admittance anywhere, and Tom stopped before this building and +was immediately surrounded by a flattering representation of military +and civilian life, both French and American. + +To these he paid not the slightest heed, but carefully lowered _Uncle +Sam's_ rest so that his weary companion might stand alone. + +"You old tramp," he said in an undertone; "stay here and take it easy. +Keep away," he added curtly to a curious private who was venturing a too +close inspection of _Uncle Sam's_ honorable wounds. + +"What's the matter--run into something?" he asked. + +"No, I didn't," said Tom, starting toward the building. + +Suddenly he stopped short, staring. + +A man in civilian clothes sat tilted back in one of several chairs +beside the door. He wore a little black moustache and because his head +was pressed against the brick wall behind him, his hat was pushed +forward giving him a rakish look which was rather heightened by an +unlighted cigar sticking up out of the corner of his mouth like a piece +of field artillery. + +He might have been a travelling salesman waiting for his samples on the +veranda of a country hotel and he had about him a kind of sophisticated +look as if he took a sort of blasé pleasure in watching the world go +round. His feet rested upon the rung of his tilted chair, forming his +knees into a sort of desk upon which lay a French newspaper. The tilting +of his knees, the tilting of his chair, the tilting of his hat and the +rakish tilt of his cigar, gave him the appearance of great +self-sufficiency, as if, away down in his soul, he knew what he was +there for, and cared not a whit whether anyone else did or not. + +Tom Slade paused on the lower step and stared. Then with a slowly +dawning smile supplanting his look of astonishment, he ejaculated, + +"M-i-s-t-e-r _C-o-n-n-e_!" + +The man made not the slightest change in his attitude except to smile +the while he worked his cigar over to the other corner of his mouth. +Then he cocked his head slightly sideways. + +"H'lo, Tommy," said he. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN + +SMOKE AND FIRE + + +Mr. Carleton Conne, of the United States Secret Service, had come over +from Liverpool _via_ Dover on a blind quest after an elusive spy. There +had been a sort of undercurrent of rumor, with many extravagant +trappings, that a mysterious agent of the Kaiser was on his way to +Europe with secrets of a most important character. Some stories had it +that he was intimately related to Bloody Bill himself; others that he +gloried in a kinship with Ludendorf, while still other versions +represented him as holding Mexico in the palm of his hand. Dark stories +floated about and no one knew just where they originated. + +One sprightly form this story took, which had been whispered in New York +and then in Liverpool, was that a certain young lady (identity unknown) +had talked with a soldier (identity unknown) in the Grand Central +Station in New York, and that the soldier had told her that at his +cantonment (cantonment not identified) there was a man in a special +branch of the service (branch not mentioned) who was a cousin or a +brother or a nephew or a son or something or other to a German general +or statesman or something or other, and that he had got into the +American army by a pretty narrow squeak. There seemed to be a unanimity +of opinion in the lower strata of Uncle Sam's official family in +Liverpool that the soldier who had talked with the young lady was coming +over on the transport _Manchester_ and it was assumed (no one seemed to +know exactly why) that the mysterious and sinister personage would be +upon the same ship. + +But no soldier had been found upon the _Manchester_ who showed by his +appearance that he had chatted with a young lady. Perhaps several of +them had done that. It is a way soldiers have. + +As for the arch spy or propagandist, he did not come forward and +introduce himself as such, and though a few selected suspects of German +antecedents were searched and catechised by Mr. Conne and others, no one +was held. + +And there you are. + +Rumors of this kind are always in circulation and the Secret Service +people run them down as a matter of precaution. But though you can run a +rumor down and stab it through and through you cannot kill it. It now +appeared that this German agent had sailed from Mexico and would land at +Brest--with a message to some French statesman. Also it appeared that he +had stolen a secret from Edison and would land at Dieppe. It had also +been reported that someone had attempted to blow up the loaded transport +_Texas Pioneer_ on her way over. + +And so Mr. Carleton Conne, of the American Secret Service, quiet, +observant, uncommunicative, never too sanguine and never too skeptical, +had strolled on to the _Channel Queen_, lighted his cigar, and was now +tilted back in his chair outside the Quartermaster's office in Dieppe, +not at all excited and waiting for the _Texas Pioneer_ to dock. + +He had done this because he believed that where there is a great deal of +smoke there is apt to be a little fire. He was never ruffled, never +disappointed. + +Tom's acquaintance with Mr. Conne had begun on the transport on which he +had worked as a steward's boy, and where his observant qualities and +stolid soberness had attracted and amused the detective. + +"I never thought I'd see you here," said Tom, his face lighting up to an +unusual degree. "I'm a dispatch-rider now. I just rode from Cantigny. I +got a letter for the Quartermaster, but anyway he's got to turn me over +to the Secret Service (Mr. Conne regarded him with whimsical attention +as he stumbled on), because there's a plot and somebody--a spy--kind +of----" + +"A spy, kind of, eh?" + +"And I hope the _Texas Pioneer_ didn't land yet, that's one sure thing." + +"It's one sure thing that she'll dock in about fifteen minutes, Tommy," +said Mr. Conne rising. "Come inside and deliver your message. What's the +matter with your machine? Been trying to wipe out the Germans alone and +unaided, like the hero in a story book?" + +Tom followed him in, clumsily telling the story of his exciting journey; +"talking in chunks," as he usually did and leaving many gaps to be +filled in by the listener. + +"I'm glad I found you here, anyway," he finished, as if that were the +only part that really counted; "'cause now I feel as if I can tell +about an idea I've got. I'd of been scared to tell it to anybody else. I +ain't exactly got it yet," he added, "but maybe I can help even better +than they thought, 'cause as I was ridin' along I had a kind of an +idea----" + +"Yes?" + +"Kind of. Did you ever notice how you get fool ideas when there's a +steady noise going on?" + +"So?" said Mr. Conne, as he led the way along a hall. + +"It was the noise of my machine." + +"How about the smell, Tommy?" Mr. Conne asked, glancing around with that +pleasant, funny look which Tom had known so well. + +"You don't get ideas from smells," he answered soberly. + +In the Quartermaster's office he waited on a bench while Mr. Conne and +several other men, two in uniform and two that he thought might be +Secret Service men, talked in undertones. If he had been a hero in a +book, to use Mr. Conne's phrase, these officials would doubtless have +been assembled about him listening to his tale, but as it was he was +left quite out of the conference until, near its end, he was summoned to +tell of his capture of Major von Piffinhoeffer and asked if he thought +he could identify a close relation of that high and mighty personage +simply by seeing him pass as a total stranger. + +Tom thought he might "by a special way," and explained his knowledge of +breed marks and specie marks. He added, in his stolid way, that he had +another idea, too. But they did not ask him what that was. One of the +party, a naval officer, expressed surprise that he had ridden all the +way from Cantigny and asked him if it were not true that part of the +road was made impassible by floods. Tom answered that there were floods +but that they were not impassible "if you knew how." The officer said he +supposed Tom knew how, and Tom regarded this as a compliment. + +Soon, to his relief, Mr. Conne took all the papers in the case and left +the room, beckoning Tom to follow him. Another man in civilian clothes +hurried away and Tom thought he might be going to the dock. It seemed to +him that his rather doubtful ability to find a needle in a haystack had +not made much of an impression upon these officials, and he wondered +ruefully what Mr. Conne thought. He saw that his arrival with the +papers had produced an enlivening effect among the officials, but it +seemed that he himself was not taken very seriously. Well, in any event, +he had made the trip, he had beaten the ship, delivered the message to +Garcia. + +"I got to go down and turn my grease cup before I forget it," he said, +as they came out on the little stone portico again. + +Several soldiers who were soon to see more harrowing sights than a +bunged-up motorcycle, were gathered about _Uncle Sam_, gaping at him and +commenting upon his disfigurements. Big U. S. A. auto trucks were +passing by. A squad of German prisoners, of lowering and sullen aspect, +marched by with wheelbarrows full of gray blankets. They were keeping +perfect step, through sheer force of habit. Another dispatch-rider (a +"local") passed by, casting a curious eye at _Uncle Sam_. A French child +who sat upon the step had one of his wooden shoes full of smoky, used +bullets, which he seemed greatly to prize. Several "flivver" ambulances +stood across the way, new and roughly made, destined for the front. +American naval and military officers were all about. + +"We haven't got much time to spare, Tommy," said Mr. Conne, resuming +his former seat and glancing at his watch. + +"It's only a second. I just got to turn the grease cup." + +He hurried down past the child, who called him "M'sieu Yankee," and +elbowed his way through the group of soldiers who were standing about +_Uncle Sam_. + +"Your timer bar's bent," one of them volunteered. + +Tom did not answer, but knelt and turned the grease cup, then wiped the +nickel surfaces, bent and dented though they were, with a piece of +cotton waste. Then he felt of his tires. Then he adjusted the position +of the handle-bar more to his liking and as he did so the poor, dented, +glassless searchlight bobbed over sideways as if to look at the middle +of the street. Tom said something which was not audible to the curious +onlookers. Perhaps _Uncle Sam_ heard. + +The local rider came jogging around the corner on his way back. His +machine was American-made and a medley of nickel and polished brass. As +he made the turn his polished searchlight, with a tiny flag perched +jauntily upon it, seemed to be looking straight at _Uncle Sam_. And +_Uncle Sam's_ green-besprinkled,[3] glassless eye seemed to be leering +with a kind of sophisticated look at the passing machine. It was the +kind of look which the Chicago Limited might give to the five-thirty +suburban starting with its load of New York commuters for East Orange, +New Jersey. + +[3] The effect of water on brass is to produce a greenish, superficial +erosion. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT + +"MADE IN GERMANY" + + +"Now, Tommy, let's hear your idea," said Mr. Conne, indulgently, as he +worked his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "I find +there's generally a little fire where there's a good deal of smoke. +There's somebody or other, as you say, but the trouble is we don't know +who he is. We think maybe he looks like someone you've seen. We think he +may have a patent ear." He looked at Tom sideways and Tom could not help +laughing. Then he looked at the mysterious letter with a funny, +ruminating look. + +"What can we--you--do?" Tom ventured to ask, feeling somewhat squelched. + +Mr. Conne screwed up his mouth with a dubious look. "Search everybody on +board, two or three thousand, quiz a few, that's about all. It'll take a +long time and probably reveal nothing. Family resemblances are all right +when you know both members, Tommy, but out in the big world--Well, +let's look this over again," he added, taking up the letter. + +Tom knew that he was not being consulted. He had a feeling that his +suggestion about breed marks and personal resemblances was not being +taken seriously. He was glad that he had not put his foot too far in by +telling of his other precious idea. But he was proud of Mr. Conne's +companionable attitude toward him. He was proud to be the friend of such +a man. He was delighted at the thought of participation in this matter. +He knew Mr. Conne liked him and had at least a good enough opinion of +him to adopt the appearance of conferring with him. Mr. Conne's rather +whimsical attitude toward this conference did not lessen his pride. + +"Let's see now," said the detective. "This thing evidently went through +Holland in code. It's a rendering." + +It was easy for Tom to believe that Mr. Conne was re-reading the letter +just to himself--or to himself and Tom. + +"Let's see now--_but, as you say, everything for the Fatherland. If you +receive this, let them know that I'll have my arms crossed and to be +careful before they shoot_. I wish he'd cross his arms when he comes +ashore. He's evidently planning to get himself captured. _If you don't +get this I'll just have to take my chance. The other way isn't worth +trying._ Hmm! Probably thought of deserting at the wharf and getting +into Holland or Belgium. No, that wouldn't be worth trying. _As for the +code key, that'll be safe enough--they'll never find it._ Hmm! _If it +wasn't for the_--what's all this--_the English swine_. Humph! They fight +pretty good for swine, don't they, Tommy? _As far as I can ascertain, +we'll go on the T. P._ We know that much, anyway, thanks to you, Tommy." +(Tom felt highly elated.) "_There was some inquiry about my close +relationship to you, but nothing serious. All you have to do is to cheer +when they play the S. S. B. over here_. Humph! That's worth knowing. _It +isn't known if Schmitter had the key to this when they caught him_---- + +"He didn't," said Mr. Conne dryly; "I was the one who caught +him.--_because he died on Ellis Island. But it's being abandoned to be +on the safe side_. Safety first, hey? _I have notice from H. not to use +it after sending this letter. If we can get the new one in your hands +before_--Seems to be blotted out--_in time so it can be used through +Mexico. I'll have much information to communicate verbally in T. and A. +matters, but will bring nothing in ---- ---- form but key and +credentials_. He means actual, concealed or disguised form, I s'pose. +_The idea is L.'s._ I suppose he means the manner of concealing the key +and credentials." + +"Yes," said Tom rather excitedly. + +Mr. Conne glanced at him, joggled his cigar, and went on, + +"_You remember him at Heidelberg, I dare say. I brought him back once +for holiday. Met him through Handel, who was troubled with cataract. V. +has furnished funds. So don't fall to have them watch out._" + +"Hmm!" concluded Mr. Conne ruminatively. "You see what they're up to. We +caught Schmitter in Philadelphia. They think maybe Schmitter had the key +of a code with him. So they're changing the code and sending the key to +it across with this somebody or other. That's about the size of it. He's +got a lot of information, too, in his head, where we can't get at it." + +"But his credentials will have to be something that can be seen, won't +they?" Tom ventured to ask. + +"Prob'ly. You see, he means to desert or get captured. It's a long way +round, but about the best one--for him. Think of that snake wearing +Uncle Sam's uniform!" + +"It makes me mad, too--kind of," said Tom. + +"So he's probably got some secret means of identification about him, and +probably the new code key in actual form--somewhere else than just in +his head. Then there'd be a chance of getting it across even if he fell. +We'll give him an acid bath and look in his shoes if we can find him. +The whole thing hangs on a pretty thin thread. They used to have +invisible writing on their backs till we started the acid bath." + +He whistled reflectively for a few moments, while Tom struggled to +muster the courage to say something that he wished to say. + +"Could I tell you about that other idea of mine?" he blurted finally. + +"You sure can, Tommy. That's about all we're likely to get--ideas." And +he glanced at Tom again with that funny, sideways look. "Shoot, my boy." + +"It's only this," said Tom, still not without some trepidation, "and +maybe you'll say it's no good. You told me once not to be thinking of +things that's none of my business." + +"Uncle Sam's business is our business now, Tommy boy." + +"Well, then, it's just this, and I was thinking about it while I was +riding just after I started away from Cantigny. Mostly I was thinking +about it after I took that last special look at old Piff----" + +Mr. Conne chuckled. "I see," he said encouragingly. + +"Whoever that feller is," said Tom, "there's one thing sure. If he's +comin' as a soldier he won't get to the front very soon, 'cause they're +mostly the drafted fellers that are comin' now and they have to go in +training over here. I know, 'cause I've seen lots of 'em in billets." + +"Hmm," said Mr. Conne. + +"So if the feller expects to go to the front and get captured pretty +soon, prob'ly he's in a special unit. Maybe I might be all wrong about +it--some fellers used to call me Bullhead," he added by way of shaving +his boldness down a little. + +But Mr. Conne, with hat tilted far down over his forehead and cigar at +an outrageously rakish angle, was looking straight ahead of him, at a +French flag across the way. + +"Go on," he said crisply. + +"Anyway, I'm sure the feller wouldn't be an engineer, 'cause mostly +they're behind the lines. So I thought maybe he'd be a surgeon----" + +Mr. Conne was whistling, almost inaudibly, his eyes fixed upon the +flagpole opposite. "He was educated at Heidelberg," said he. + +"I didn't think of that," said Tom. + +"It's where he met L." + +Tom said nothing. His line of reasoning seemed to be lifted quietly away +from him. Mr. Conne was turning the kaleidoscope and showing him new +designs. "He took L. home for the holidays," he quietly observed. "Old +Piff and the boys." + +"I--I didn't think of that," said Tom, rather crestfallen. + +"You didn't ride fast enough and make enough noise," Mr. Conne said. His +eyes were still fixed on the fluttering tricolor and he whistled very +low. Then he rubbed his lip with his tongue and aimed his cigar in +another direction. + +"They were studying medicine there, I guess," he mused. + +"That's just what my idea's about," said Tom. "It ain't an idea exactly, +either," he added, "but it's kind of come to me sudden-like. You know +what a _hunch_ is, don't you? There's something there about somebody +having a cataract, and that's something the matter with your eyes; Mr. +Temple had one. So maybe that feller L. that he met again is an eye +doctor. Long before the war started they told Mr. Temple maybe he ought +to go to Berlin to see the eye specialists there--'cause they're so +fine. So maybe the spy is a surgeon and L. is an eye doctor. It says how +he met him again on account of somebody having a cataract. And he said +the way of bringing the code key was L.'s idea. I read about a dentist +that had a piece of paper with writing on it rolled up in his tooth. He +was a spy. So that made me think maybe L.'s idea had something to do +with eyes or glasses, as you might say." + +"Hmm! Go on. Anything else?" + +"But, anyway, that ain't the idea I had. In Temple Camp there was a +scout that had a little pocket looking-glass and you couldn't see +anything on it but your own reflection. But all you had to do was to +breathe on it and there was a picture--all mountains and a castle, like. +Then it would fade away again right away. Roy Blakeley wanted to swap +his scout knife for it, but the feller wouldn't do it. On the back of it +it said _Made in Germany_. It just came to me sudden-like that maybe +that was L.'s idea and they'd have it on a pair of spectacles. Maybe +it's a kind of crazy idea, but----" + +He looked doubtfully at Mr. Conne, who still sat tilted back, hat almost +hiding his face, cigar sticking out from under it like a camouflaged +field-piece. He was whistling very quietly, "_Oh, boy, where do we go +from here?_" He had whistled that same tune more than a year before when +he was waiting for a glimpse of "Dr. Curry," spy and bomb plotter, +aboard the vessel on which Tom was working at that time. He had whistled +it as he escorted the "doctor" down the companionway. How well Tom +remembered! + +"Come on, Tommy," he said, jumping suddenly to his feet. + +Tom followed. But Mr. Conne did not speak; he was still busy with the +tune. Only now he was singing the words. There was something portentous +in the careless way he sang them. It took Tom back to the days when it +was the battle hymn of the transport: + + "And when we meet a pretty girl, we whisper in her ear, + Oh, Boy! Oh, Joy! Where do we go from here?" + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE + +"NOW YOU SEE IT, NOW YOU DON'T" + + +The big transport _Texas Pioneer_ came slowly about in obedience to her +straining ropes and rubbed her mammoth side against the long wharf. Up +and down, this way and that, slanting-wise and curved, drab and gray and +white and red, the grotesque design upon her towering freeboard shone +like a distorted rainbow in the sunlight. Out of the night she had come, +stealing silently through the haunts where murder lurks, and the same +dancing rays which had run ahead of the dispatch-rider and turned to +mock him, had gilded her mighty prow as if to say, "Behold, I have +reached you first." + +At her rail crowded hundreds of boys in khaki, demanding in English and +atrocious French to know where they were. + +"Are we in France?" one called. + +"Where's the Boiderberlong, anyway?" another shouted, the famous +Parisian boulevard evidently being his only means of identifying +France. + +"Is that Napoleon's tomb?" another demanded, pointing to a little round +building. + +"Look at the pile of hams," shouted another gazing over the rail at a +stack of that delectable. "Maybe we're in _Hamburg_!" + +"This is Dippy," his neighbor corrected him. + +"You mean Deppy," another said. + +And so on and so on. There seemed to be hundreds of them, thousands of +them, and all on a gigantic picnic. + +"Which is the quickest way to Berlin?" one called, addressing the throng +impartially. + +"Second turn to your left." + +Some of these boys would settle down in France and make it their long, +final home, under little wooden crosses. But they did not seem to think +of that. + +At the foot of the gangplank stood the dispatch-rider and the man with +the cigar. Several other men, evidently of their party, stood near by. +Mr. Conne's head was cocked sideways and he scanned the gangway with a +leisurely, self-assured look. Tom was shaking all over--the victim of +suppressed excitement. He had been less excited on that memorable +morning when he had "done his bit" at Cantigny. + +It seemed to be in the air that something unusual was likely to happen. +Workers, passing with their wheelbarrows and hand trucks, slackened +their pace and dallied as long as they dared, near the gangplank. They +were quickly moved along. Tom shifted from one foot to the other, +waiting. Mr. Conne worked his cigar over to the opposite corner of his +mouth and observed to an American officer that the day was going to be +warm. Then he glanced up and smiled pleasantly at the boys crowding at +the rail. He might have been waiting on a street corner for a car. + +"Not nervous, are you?" he smiled at Tom. + +"Not exactly," said Tom, with his usual candor; "but it seems as if +nothing can happen at all, now that we're here. It seems different, +thinking up things when you're riding along the road--kind of." + +"Uh huh." + +Presently the soldiers began coming down the gangplank. + +"You watch for resemblances and I'll do the rest," said Mr. Conne in a +low tone. "Give yourself the benefit of every doubt. Know what I mean?" + +"Yes--I do." + +"I can't help you there." + +Tom felt a certain compunction at scrutinizing these fine, American +fellows as they came down with their kits--hearty, boisterous, +open-hearted. He felt that it was unworthy of him to suspect any of this +laughing, bantering army, of crime--and such a crime! Treason! In the +hope of catching one he must scrutinize them all, and in his generous +heart it seemed to put a stigma on them all. He hoped he wouldn't see +anyone who looked like Major von Piffinhoeffer. Then he hoped he would. +Then he wondered if he would dare to look at him after---- And suppose +he should be mistaken. He did not like this sort of work at all now that +he was face to face with it. He would rather be off with _Uncle Sam_, +riding along the French roads, with the French children calling to him. +For the first time in his life he was nervous and afraid--not of being +caught but of catching someone; of the danger of suspecting and being +mistaken. + +Mr. Conne, who never missed anything, noticed his perturbation and +patted him on the shoulder saying, + +"All kinds of work have to be done, Tommy." + +Tom tried to smile back at him. + +Down the long gangplank they came, one after another, pushing each +other, tripping each other--joking, laughing. Among them came a young +private, wearing glasses, who was singing, + +"Good-bye, Broadway. Hello, France!" + +He was startled out of his careless merriment by a tap on the shoulder +from Mr. Conne, and almost before Tom realized what had happened, he was +standing blinking at one of the other Secret Service men who was handing +him back his glasses. + +"All right, my boy," said Mr. Conne pleasantly, which seemed to wipe out +any indignity the young man might have felt. + +Tom looked up the gangplank as they surged down, holding the rail to +steady them on the steep incline. Nobody seemed to have noticed what had +happened. + +"Keep your mind on _your_ part, Tommy," said Mr. Conne warningly. + +Tom saw that of all those in sight only one wore glasses--a black-haired +youth who kept his hands on the shoulders of the man before him. Tom +made up his mind that he, in any event, would not detain this fellow on +the ground of anything in his appearance, nor any of the others now in +sight. He was drawn aside by Mr. Conne, however, and became the object +of attention of the other Secret Service men. + +Tom kept his eyes riveted upon the gangplank. One, two, more, wearing +glasses, came in view, were stopped, examined, and passed on. After that +perhaps a hundred passed down and away, none of them with glasses, and +all of them he scrutinized carefully. Now another, with neatly adjusted +rimless glasses, came down. He had a clean-cut, professional look. Tom +did not take his eyes off the descending column for a second, but he +heard Mr. Conne say pleasantly, + +"Just a minute." + +He was glad when he was conscious of this fine-looking young American +passing on. + +So it went. + +There were some whom poor Tom might have been inclined to stop by way of +precaution for no better reason than that they had a rough-and-ready +look--hard fellows. He was glad--_half_ glad--when Mr. Conne, for +reasons of his own, detained one, then another, of these, though they +wore no glasses. And he felt like apologizing to them for his momentary +suspicion, as he saw them pause surprised, answer frankly and honestly +and pass on. + +Then came a young officer, immaculately attired, his leather leggings +shining, his uniform fitting him as if he had been moulded into it. He +wore little rimless eye-glasses. He might lead a raiding party for all +that; but he was a bit pompous and very self-conscious. Tom was rather +gratified to see him hailed aside. + +Nothing. + +Down they came, holding both rails and lifting their feet to swing, like +school boys--hundreds of them, thousands of them, it seemed. Tom watched +them all keenly as they passed out like an endless ribbon from a +magician's hat. There seemed to be no end of them. + +There came now a fellow whom he watched closely. He had blond hair and +blue eyes, but no glasses. He looked something like--something like--oh, +who? Fritzie Schmitt, whom he used to know in Bridgeboro. No, he +didn't--not so much. + +But his blond hair and blue eyes did not escape Mr. Conne. + +Nothing. + +"Watching, Tommy?" + +"Yes, sir." + +A hundred more, two hundred, and then a young sergeant with glasses. + +While this young man was undergoing his ordeal (whatever it was, for Tom +kept his eyes riveted on the gangway), there appeared the tall figure of +a lieutenant. Tom thought he was of the medical corps, but he was not +certain. He seemed to be looking down at Mr. Conne's little group, with +a fierce, piercing stare. He wore horned spectacles of goodly +circumference and as Tom's eyes followed the thick, left wing of these, +he saw that it embraced an ear which stood out prominently. Both the ear +and the piercing eagle gaze set him all agog. + +Should he speak? The lieutenant was gazing steadfastly down at Mr. Conne +and coming nearer with every step. Of course, Mr. Conne would stop him +anyway, but---- To mention that piercing stare and that ear after the +man had been stopped for the more tangible reason--there would be no +triumph in that. + +Tom's hand trembled like a leaf and his voice was unsteady as he turned +to Mr. Conne, and said. + +"This one coming down--the one that's looking at you--he looks like--and +I notice----" + +"Put your hands down, my man," called Mr. Conne peremptorily, at the +same time leaping with the agility of a panther up past the descending +throng. "I'll take those." + +But Tom Slade had spoken first. He did not know whether Mr. Conne's +sudden dash had been prompted by his words or not. He saw him lift the +heavy spectacles off the man's ears and with beating heart watched him +as he came down alongside the lieutenant. + +"Going to throw them away, eh?" he heard Mr. Conne say. + +Evidently the man, seeing another's glasses examined, had tried to +remove his own before he reached the place of inspection. Mr. Conne, who +saw everything, had seen this. But Tom had spoken before Mr. Conne moved +and he was satisfied. + +"All right, Tommy," said Mr. Conne in his easy way. "You beat me to it." + +Tom hardly knew what took place in the next few moments. He saw Mr. +Conne breathe upon the glasses, was conscious of soldiers slackening +their pace to see and hear what was going on, and of their being +ordered forward. He saw the two men who were with Mr. Conne standing +beside the tall lieutenant, who seemed bewildered. He noticed (it is +funny how one notices these little things amid such great things) the +little ring of red upon the lieutenant's nose where the glasses had sat. + +"There you are, see?" he heard Mr. Conne say quietly, breathing heavily +upon the glasses and holding them up to the light, for the benefit of +his colleagues. "B L--two dots--X--see--Plain as day. See there, Tommy!" + +He breathed upon them again and held them quickly up so that Tom could +see. + +"Yes, sir," Tom stammered, somewhat perturbed at such official +attention. + +"Look in the other one, too, Tommy--now--quick!" + +"Oh, yes," said Tom as the strange figures die away. He felt very proud, +and not a little uncomfortable at being drawn into the centre of things. +And he did not feel slighted as he saw Mr. Conne and the captive +lieutenant, and the other officials whom he did not know, start away +thoughtless of anything else in the stress of the extraordinary affair. +He followed because he did not know what else to do, and he supposed +they wished him to follow. Outside the wharf he got _Uncle Sam_ and +wheeled him along at a respectful distance behind these high officials. +So he had one companion. Several times Mr. Conne looked back at him and +smiled. And once he said in that funny way of his, + +"All right, Tommy?" + +"Yes, sir," Tom answered, trudging along. He had been greatly agitated, +but his wonted stolidness was returning now. Probably he felt more +comfortable and at home coming along behind with _Uncle Sam_ than he +would have felt in the midst of this group where the vilest treason +walked baffled, but unashamed, in the uniform of Uncle Sam. + +Once Mr. Conne turned to see if Tom were following. His cigar was stuck +up in the corner; of his mouth as usual and he gave Tom a whimsical +look. + +"You hit the Piff family at both ends, didn't you, Tommy." + +"Y-yes, sir," said Tom. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTY + +HE DISAPPEARS + + +Swiftly and silently along the quiet, winding road sped the +dispatch-rider. Away from the ocean he was hurrying, where the great +ships were coming in, each a fulfilment and a challenge; away from +scenes of debarkation where Uncle Sam was pouring his endless wealth of +courage and determination into bleeding, suffering, gallant France. + +Past the big hotel he went, past the pleasant villa, through village and +hamlet, and farther and farther into the East, bound for the little +corner of the big salient whence he had come. + +He bore with him a packet and some letters. One was to be left at +Neufchatel; others at Breteuil. There was one in particular for +Cantigny. His name was mentioned in it, but he did not know that. He +never concerned himself with the contents of his papers. + +So he sped along, thinking how he would get a new headlight for _Uncle +Sam_ and a new mud-guard. He thought the people back at Cantigny would +wonder what had happened to his machine. He had no thought of telling +them. There was nothing to tell. + +Swiftly and silently along the road he sped, the dispatch-rider who had +come from the blue hills of Alsace, all the way across poor, devastated +France. The rays of the dying sun fell upon the handle-bar of _Uncle +Sam_, which the rider held in the steady, fraternal handshake that they +knew so well. Back from the coast they sped, those two, along the +winding road which lay on hill and in valley, bathed in the mellow glow +of the first twilight. Swiftly and silently they sped. Hills rose and +fell, the fair panorama of the lowlands with its quaint old houses here +and there opened before them. And so they journeyed on into the din and +fire and stenching suffocation and red-running streams of Picardy and +Flanders--for service as required. + + +(END) + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY +BOY SCOUT EDITION +SIMILAR TO THIS VOLUME + +The Boy Scouts of America in making up this Library, selected only such +books as had been proven by a nation-wide canvass to be most universally +in demand among the boys themselves. Originally published in more +expensive editions only, they are now, under the direction of the +Scout's National Council, re-issued at a lower price so that all boys +may have the advantage of reading and owning them. It is the only series +of books published under the control of this great organization, whose +sole object is the welfare and happiness of the boy himself. 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Fitzhugh. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + + p {margin-top: 0; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.1em; text-indent: 1.5em;} + p.noindent {margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; text-indent: 0;} + p.titleblock {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent: 0; text-align: center; } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; + border:1px solid white; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; text-indent: 0px; + font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; color: #444; + background-color: #EEE;} + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .center {text-indent: 0em; text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + hr.full {width:100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.major {width:75%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.minor {width:30%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + td.pr {padding-right:10px;} + + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 5%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 85%; text-align: right; text-decoration: none;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer, by +Percy Keese Fitzhugh + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer + +Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh + +Illustrator: R. Emmett Owen + +Release Date: October 8, 2006 [EBook #19495] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE MOTORCYCLE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-001" id="illus-001"></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='TOM TURNED ON HIS SEARCHLIGHT AND SAW A GERMAN SOLDIER, HATLESS AND COATLESS. Frontispiece (Page 8)' title='' width = '300' height = '468'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>TOM TURNED ON HIS SEARCHLIGHT AND SAW A GERMAN SOLDIER, HATLESS AND COATLESS. <i>Frontispiece</i> (<i>Page 8</i>)</span> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table width='400' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='' border='1'> + <tr><td> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 220%; margin-top: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; font-weight: bold;">TOM SLADE</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 140%; margin-top: 5px; font-weight: bold;">MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH-</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 140%; margin-bottom: 35px; font-weight: bold;">BEARER</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 90%;">BY</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 120%; margin-bottom: 35px;">PERCY K. FITZHUGH</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 80%; font-variant: small-caps;">Author of</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 80%;">TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 80%;">AT TEMPLE CAMP, TOM SLADE</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 80%;">ON THE RIVER, TOM SLADE</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 35px;">WITH THE COLORS, ETC.</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 80%; font-variant: small-caps;">illustrated by</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 35px;">R. EMMETT OWEN</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 80%; font-variant: small-caps;">published with the approval of</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 35px;">THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 120%;">GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p class='titleblock' style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 20px;">PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK.</p> + </td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<p style='text-align: center'> +Copyright, 1918, by<br /> +GROSSET & DUNLAP +</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> +<div class="smcap"> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<col style="width:20%;" /> +<col style="width:70%;" /> +<col style="width:10%;" /> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">Chapter</td><td></td><td align="right">Page</td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right"></td><td align="left">Preface</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_PREF"><span style="font-variant: normal">vii</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">I</td><td align="left">For Service As Required</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">II</td><td align="left">Aid and Comfort To The Enemy</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWO">8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">III</td><td align="left">The Old Compass</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_THREE">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">IV</td><td align="left">The Old Familiar Faces</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_FOUR">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">V</td><td align="left">Getting Ready</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_FIVE">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">VI</td><td align="left">Over the Top</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_SIX">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">VII</td><td align="left">A Shot</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_SEVEN">45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">VIII</td><td align="left">In the Woods</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_EIGHT">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">IX</td><td align="left">The Mysterious Fugitive</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_NINE">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">X</td><td align="left">The Jersey Snipe</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TEN">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XI</td><td align="left">On Guard</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_ELEVEN">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XII</td><td align="left">What's In a Name?</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWELVE">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XIII</td><td align="left">The Fountains of Destruction</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_THIRTEEN">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XIV</td><td align="left">Tom Uses His First Bullet</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_FOURTEEN">84</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XV</td><td align="left">The Gun Pit</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_FIFTEEN">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XVI</td><td align="left">Prisoners</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_SIXTEEN">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XVII</td><td align="left">Shades of Archibald Archer</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_SEVENTEEN">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XVIII</td><td align="left">The Big Coup</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_EIGHTEEN">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XIX</td><td align="left">Tom is Questioned</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_NINETEEN">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XX</td><td align="left">The Major's Papers</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY">127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXI</td><td align="left">The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-ONE">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXII</td><td align="left">"Uncle Sam"</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-TWO">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXIII</td><td align="left">Up a Tree</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-THREE">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXIV</td><td align="left">"To Him That Overcometh"</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-FOUR">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXV</td><td align="left">"What You Have to Do—"</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-FIVE">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXVI</td><td align="left">A Surprise</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-SIX">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXVII</td><td align="left">Smoke and Fire</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-SEVEN">175</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXVIII</td><td align="left">"Made in Germany"</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-EIGHT">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXIX</td><td align="left">"Now You See It, Now You Don't"</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_TWENTY-NINE">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="pr" align="right">XXX</td><td align="left">He Disappears</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_THIRTY">205</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_PREF" id="CHAPTER_PREF"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +</div> + +<p>It was good advice that Rudyard Kipling gave his "young British soldier" +in regard to the latter's rifle:</p> + +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<span style='margin-left: 0em;'>"She's human as you are—you treat her as sich<br /></span> +<span style='margin-left: 0em;'>And she'll fight for the young British soldier."<br /></span> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Tommy Atkins' rifle was by no means the first inanimate or dumb thing to +prove human and to deserve human treatment. Animals of all sorts have +been given this quality. Jack London's dog, in <i>The Call of the Wild</i>, +has human interest. So has the immortal <i>Black Beauty</i>.</p> + +<p>But we are not concerned with animals now. Kipling's ocean liner has +human interest—a soul. I need not tell you that a boat is human. Its +every erratic quality of crankiness, its veritable heroism under stress, +its temperament (if you like that word) makes it very human indeed. That +is why a man will often let his boat rot rather than sell it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">viii</a></span></p> + +<p>This is not true of all inanimate things. It depends. I have never heard +of a steam roller or a poison gas bomb being beloved by anybody. I +should not care to associate with a hand grenade. It is a matter of +taste; I dare say I could learn to love a British tank, but I could +never make a friend and confidante of a balloon. An aeroplane might +prove a good pal—we shall have to see.</p> + +<p>Davy Crockett actually made a friend and confidante of his famous gun, +<i>Betsy</i>. And <i>Betsy</i> is known in history. It is said that the gun crews +on armed liners have found this human quality in their guns, and many of +these have been given names—<i>Billy Sunday</i>, <i>Teddy Roosevelt</i>, etc.</p> + +<p>I need not tell you that a camp-fire is human and that trees are human.</p> + +<p>The pioneers of old, pressing into the dim wilderness, christened their +old flintlocks and talked to them as a man may talk to a man. The +woodsman's axe was "deare and greatly beloved," we are told.</p> + +<p>The hard-pressed Indian warrior knelt in the forest and besought that +life-long comrade, his bow, not to desert or fail him. King Philip kept +in his quiver a favorite arrow which he never used<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">ix</a></span> because it had +earned retirement by saving his own life.</p> + +<p>What Paul Revere may have said to his horse in that stirring midnight +ride we do not know. But may we not suppose that he urged his trusty +steed forward with resolute and inspiring words about the glorious +errand they were upon?</p> + +<p>Perhaps the lonely ringer of the immortal bell up in the Old South +steeple muttered some urgent word of incentive to that iron clanger as +it beat against its ringing wall of brass.</p> + +<p>So I have made <i>Uncle Sam</i>, the motorcycle, the friend and companion of +<i>Tom Slade</i>. I have withheld none of their confidences—or trifling +differences. I dare say they were both weary and impatient at times.</p> + +<p>If he is not companionable to you, then so much the worse for you and +for our story. But he was the friend, the inseparable associate and +co-patriot of <i>Tom Slade</i>, <i>the Dispatch Rider</i>.</p> + +<p>You will not like him any the less because of the noise he made in +trudging up a hill, or because his mud-guard was broken off, or his tire +wounded in the great cause, or his polished headlight knocked into a tin +can. You will not ridicule the old splint of a shingle which was bound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">x</a></span> +with such surgical nicety among his rusting spokes. If you do, then you +are the kind of a boy who would laugh at a wounded soldier and you had +better not read this book.</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<p class='center' style="font-size: 200%; margin-bottom: 0px; font-weight: bold;">TOM SLADE</p> +<p class='center' style="font-size: 140%; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 30px; font-weight: bold;">MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH-BEARER</p> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2><h3>FOR SERVICE AS REQUIRED</h3> +</div> + +<p>Swiftly and silently along the moonlit road sped the dispatch-rider. Out +of the East he had come, where the battle line runs between blue +mountains and the country is quiet and peaceful, and the boys in khaki +long for action and think wistfully of Picardy and Flanders. He was a +lucky young fellow, this dispatch-rider, and all the boys had told him +so.</p> + +<p>"We'll miss you, Thatchy," they had said.</p> + +<p>And "Thatchy" had answered characteristically, "I'm sorry, too, kind of, +in a way."</p> + +<p>His name was not Thatchy, but they had called him so because his thick +shock of light hair, which persisted in falling down over his forehead +and ears, had not a little the appearance of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span> thatched roofs on the +French peasant's cottages. He, with a loquacious young companion, had +blown into the Toul sector from no one seemed to know exactly where, +more than that he had originally been a ship's boy, had been in a German +prison camp, and had escaped through Alsace and reached the American +forces after a perilous journey.</p> + +<p>Lately he had been running back and forth on his motorcycle between the +lines and points south in a region which had not been defiled by the +invader, but now he was going far into the West "for service as +required."</p> + +<p>That was what the slip of paper from headquarters had said, and he did +not speculate as to what those services would be, but he knew that they +would not be exactly holding Sunday-School picnics in the neighborhood +of Montdidier. Billy Brownway, machine gunner, had assured Thatchy that +undoubtedly he was wanted to represent the messenger service on the War +Council at Versailles. But Thatchy did not mind that kind of talk.</p> + +<p>West of Revigny, he crossed the old trench line, and came into the area +which the Blond Beast had crossed and devastated in the first year<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> of +the war. Planks lay across the empty trenches and as he rode over first +the French and then the enemy ditches, he looked down and could see in +the moonlight some of the ghastly trophies of war. Somehow they affected +him more than had the fresher results of combat which he had seen even +in the quiet sector he had left.</p> + +<p>Silently he sped along the thirty-mile stretch from Revigny to Châlons, +where a little group of French children pressed about him when he paused +for gasoline.</p> + +<p>"Yankee!" they called, chattering at him and meddling with his machine.</p> + +<p>"Le cheveu!" one brazen youngster shouted, running his hand through his +own hair by way of demonstrating Thatchy's most conspicuous +characteristic.</p> + +<p>Thatchy poked him good-humoredly. "La route, est-belle bonne?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The child nodded enthusiastically, while the others broke out laughing +at Thatchy's queer French, and poured a verbal torrent at him by way of +explaining that the road to the South would take him through Vertus and +Montmirail, while the one to the north led to Epernay.</p> + +<p>"I'll bump my nose into the salient if I take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> that one," he said more +to himself than to them, but one little fellow, catching the word +<i>salient</i> took a chance on <i>nose</i> and jumped up and down in joyous +abandon, calling, "Bump le nez—le <i>salient</i>!" apparently in keen +appreciation of the absurdity of the rider's phrase.</p> + +<p>He rode away with a clamoring chorus behind him and he heard one brazen +youngster boldly mimicking his manner of asking if the roads were good. +These children lived in tumble-down houses which were all but ruins, and +played in shell holes as if these cruel, ragged gaps in the earth had +been made by the kind Boche for their especial entertainment.</p> + +<p>A mile or two west of Châlons the rider crossed the historic Marne on a +makeshift bridge built from the materials of a ruined house and the +remnants of the former span.</p> + +<p>On he sped, along the quiet, moonlit road, through the little village of +Thibie, past many a quaint old heavily-roofed brick cottage, over the +stream at Chaintrix and into Vertus, and along the straight, even +stretch of road for Montmirail. Not so long ago he might have gone from +Châlons in a bee-line from Montdidier, but the big, ugly salient stuck +out like a huge snout now, as if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> it were sniffing in longing +anticipation at that tempting morsel, Paris; so he must circle around it +and then turn almost straight north.</p> + +<p>At La Ferte, among the hills, he paused at a crossroads and, alighting +from his machine, stood watching as a long, silent procession of wagons +passed by in the quiet night, moving southward. He knew now what it +meant to go into the West. One after another they passed in deathlike +stillness, the Red Cross upon the side of each plainly visible in the +moonlight. As he paused, the rider could hear the thunder of great guns +in the north. Many stretchers, borne by men afoot, followed the wagons +and he could hear the groans of those who tossed restlessly upon them.</p> + +<p>"Look out for shell holes," he heard someone say. So there were +Americans in the fighting, he thought.</p> + +<p>He ran along the edge of the hills now on the fifteen-mile stretch to +Meaux, where he intended to follow the road northward through Senlis and +across the old trenches near Clermont. He could hear the booming all the +while, but it seemed weary and spent, like a runner who has slackened +his pace and begun to pant.</p> + +<p>At Meaux he crossed the path of another silent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> cavalcade of stretchers +and ambulances and wounded soldiers who were being supported as they +limped along. They spoke in French and one voice came out of an +ambulance, seeming hollow and far off, as though from a grave. Then came +a lot of German prisoners tramping along, some sullen and some with a +fine air of bravado sneering at their guards.</p> + +<p>The rider knew where he was going and how to get there and he did not +venture any inquiries either as to his way or what had been going on.</p> + +<p>Happenings in Flanders and Picardy are known in America before they are +known to the boys in Alsace. He knew there was fighting in the West and +that Fritz had poked a big bulge into the French line, for his superiors +had given him a road map with the bulge pencilled upon it so that he +might go around it and not bump his nose into it, as he had said. But he +had not expected to see such obvious signs of fighting and it made him +realize that at last he was getting into the war with a vengeance.</p> + +<p>Instead of following the road leading northwest out of Meaux, he took +the one leading northeast up through Villers-Cotterets, intending to run +along the edge of the forest to Campiegne<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> and then verge westward to +the billet villages northwest of Montdidier, where he was to report.</p> + +<p>This route brought him within ten miles of the west arm of the salient, +but the way was quiet and there was no sign of the fighting as he rode +along in the woody solitude. It reminded him of his home far back in +America and of the woods where he and his scout companions had camped +and hiked and followed the peaceful pursuits of stalking and trailing.</p> + +<p>He was thinking of home as he rode leisurely along the winding forest +road, when suddenly he was startled by a rustling sound among the trees.</p> + +<p>"Who goes there?" he demanded in pursuance of his general instructions +for such an emergency, at the same time drawing his pistol. "Halt!"</p> + +<p>He was the scout again now, keen, observant. But there was no answer to +his challenge and he narrowed his eyes to mere slits, peering into the +tree-studded solitude, waiting.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly, close by him he heard that unmistakable sound, the +clanking of a chain, and accompanying it a voice saying, "Kamerad."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWO" id="CHAPTER_TWO"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWO</h2><h3>AID AND COMFORT TO THE ENEMY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Tom Slade, dispatch-rider, knew well enough what <i>kamerad</i> meant. He had +learned at least that much of German warfare and German honor, even in +the quiet Toul sector. He knew that the German olive branch was +poisoned; that German treachery was a fine art—a part of the German +efficiency. Had not Private Coleburn, whom Tom knew well, listened to +that kindly uttered word and been stabbed with a Prussian bayonet in the +darkness of No Man's Land?</p> + +<p>"Stand up," said Tom. "Nobody can talk to <i>me</i> crouching down like +that."</p> + +<p>"Ach!" said the voice in the unmistakable tone of pain. "Vot goot—see!"</p> + +<p>Tom turned on his searchlight and saw crawling toward him a German +soldier, hatless and coatless, whose white face seemed all the more pale +and ghastly for the smear of blood upon it. He was quite without arms, +in proof of which he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> raised his open hands and slapped his sides and +hips. As he did so a long piece of heavy chain, which was manacled to +his wrist clanged and rattled.</p> + +<p>"Ach!" he said, shaking his head as if in agony.</p> + +<p>"Put your hands down. All right," said Tom. "Can you speak English?"</p> + +<p>"Kamerad," he repeated and shrugged his shoulders as if that were +enough.</p> + +<p>"You escape?" said Tom, trying to make himself understood. "How did you +get back of the French lines?"</p> + +<p>"Shot broke—yach," the man said, his face lapsing again into a hopeless +expression of suffering.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Tom, simply. "Comrade—I say it too. All right?"</p> + +<p>The soldier's face showed unmistakable relief through his suffering.</p> + +<p>"Let's see what's the matter," Tom said, though he knew the other only +vaguely understood him. Turning the wheel so as the better to focus the +light upon the man, he saw that he had been wounded in the foot, which +was shoeless and bleeding freely, but that the chief cause of his +suffering was the raw condition of his wrist where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> the manacle +encircled it and the heavy chain pulled. It seemed to Tom as if this +cruel sore might have been caused by the chain dragging behind him and +perhaps catching on the ground as he fled.</p> + +<p>"The French didn't put that on?" he queried, rather puzzled.</p> + +<p>The soldier shook his head. "Herr General," said he.</p> + +<p>"Not the Americans?"</p> + +<p>"Herr General—gun."</p> + +<p>Then suddenly there flashed into Tom's mind something he had heard about +German artillerymen being chained to their guns. So that was it. And +some French gunner, or an American maybe, had unconsciously set this +poor wretch free by smashing his chain with a shell.</p> + +<p>"You're in the French lines," Tom said. "Did you mean to come here? +You're a prisoner."</p> + +<p>"Ach, diss iss petter," the man said, only half understanding.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess it is," said Tom. "I'll bind your foot up and then I'll +take that chain off if I can and bind your wrist. Then we'll have to +find the nearest dressing station. I suppose you got lost in this +forest. I been in the German forest myself,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> he added; "it's +fine—better than this. I got to admit they've got fine lakes there."</p> + +<p>Whether he said this by way of comforting the stranger—though he knew +the man understood but little of it—or just out of the blunt honesty +which refused to twist everything German into a thing of evil, it would +be hard to say. He had about him that quality of candor which could not +be shaken even by righteous enmity.</p> + +<p>Tearing two strips from his shirt, he used the narrower one to make a +tourniquet, which he tied above the man's ankle.</p> + +<p>"If you haven't got poison in it, it won't be so bad," he said. "Now +I'll take off that chain."</p> + +<p>He raised his machine upon its rest so that the power wheel was free of +the ground. Then, to the wounded Boche's puzzled surprise, he removed +the tire and fumbling in his little tool kit he took out a piece of +emery cloth which he used for cleaning his plugs and platinum contact +points, and bent it over the edge of the rim, binding it to the spokes +with the length of insulated wire which he always carried. It was a +crude and makeshift contrivance at best, but at last he succeeded, by +dint of much bending and winding and tying of the pliable copper wire +among the spokes of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> the wheel, in fastening the emery cloth over the +fairly sharp rim so that it stayed in place when he started his power +and in about two revolutions it cut a piece of wire with which he tested +the power of his improvised mechanical file.</p> + +<p>"Often I sharpened a jackknife that way on the fly-wheel of a motor +boat," he said. The Boche did not understand him, but he was quick to +see the possibilities of this whirling hacksaw and he seemed to +acknowledge, with as much grace as a German may, the Yankee ingenuity of +his liberator.</p> + +<p>"Give me your wrist," said Tom, reaching for it; "I won't hurt it any +more than I have to; here—here's a good scheme."</p> + +<p>He carefully stuffed his handkerchief around under the metal band which +encircled the soldier's wrist and having thus formed a cushion to +receive the pressure and protect the raw flesh, he closed his switch +again and gently subjected the manacle to the revolving wheel, holding +it upon the edge of the concave tire bed.</p> + +<p>If the emery cloth had extended all the way around the wheel he could +have taken the manacle off in less time than it had taken Kaiser Bill to +lock it on, for the contrivance rivalled a buzzsaw.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> As it was, he had +to stop every minute or two to rearrange the worn emery cloth and bind +it in place anew. But for all that he succeeded in less than fifteen +minutes in working a furrow almost through the metal band so that a +little careful manipulating and squeezing and pressing of it enabled him +to break it and force it open.</p> + +<p>"There you are," he said, removing the handkerchief so as to get a +better look at the cruel sore beneath; "didn't hurt much, did it? That's +what Uncle Sam's trying to do for all the rest of you fellers—only you +haven't got sense enough to know it."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_THREE" id="CHAPTER_THREE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER THREE</h2><h3>THE OLD COMPASS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Tom took the limping Boche, his first war prisoner, to the Red Cross +station at Vivieres where they had knives and scissors and bandages and +antiseptics, but nothing with which to remove Prussian manacles, and all +the king's horses and all the king's men and the willing, kindly nurses +there could have done little for the poor Boche if Tom Slade, alias +Thatchy, had not administered his own particular kind of first aid.</p> + +<p>The French doctors sent him forth with unstinted praise which he only +half understood, and as he sped along the road for Compiegne he wondered +who could have been the allied gunner who at long range had cut Fritzie +loose from the piece of artillery to which he had been chained.</p> + +<p>"That feller and I did a good job anyway," he thought.</p> + +<p>At Compiegne the whole town was in a ferment as he passed through. +Hundreds of refugees with mule carts and wheelbarrows laden with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> their +household goods, were leaving the town in anticipation of the German +advance. They made a mournful procession as they passed out of the town +along the south road with babies crying and children clamoring about the +clumsy, overladen vehicles. He saw many boys in khaki here and there and +it cheered and inspired him to know that his country was represented in +the fighting. He had to pause in the street to let a company of them +pass by on their way northward to the trench line and it did his heart +good to hear their cheery laughter and typical American banter.</p> + +<p>"Got any cigarettes, kiddo?" one called.</p> + +<p>"Where you going—north?" asked another.</p> + +<p>"To the billets west of Montdidier," Tom answered. "I'm for new service. +I came from Toul sector."</p> + +<p>"Good-<i>night</i>! That's Sleepy Hollow over there."</p> + +<p>From Compiegne he followed the road across the Aronde and up through +Mery and Tricot into Le Cardonnois. The roads were full of Americans and +as he passed a little company of them he called,</p> + +<p>"How far is ——?" naming the village of his destination.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span></p> + +<p>"About two miles," one of them answered; "straight north."</p> + +<p>"Tell 'em to give 'em Hell," another called.</p> + +<p>This laconic utterance was the first intimation which Tom had that +anything special was brewing in the neighborhood, and he answered with +characteristic literalness, "All right, I will."</p> + +<p>The road northward from Le Cardonnois was through a hilly country, where +there were few houses. About half a mile farther on he reached the +junction of another road which appeared also to lead northward, verging +slightly in an easterly direction. He had made so many turns that he was +a little puzzled as to which was the true north road, so he stopped and +took out the trusty little compass which he always carried, and held it +in the glare of his headlight, thinking to verify his course. +Undoubtedly the westward road was the one leading to his destination for +as he walked a little way along the other road he found that it bent +still more to the eastward and he believed that it must reach the French +front after another mile or two.</p> + +<p>As he looked again at the cheap, tin-encased compass he smiled a little +ruefully, for it reminded him of Archibald Archer, with whom he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> had +escaped from the prison camp in Germany and made his perilous flight +through the Black Forest into Switzerland and to the American forces +near Toul.</p> + +<p>Archibald Archer! Where, in all that war-scourged country, was Archibald +Archer now, Tom wondered. No doubt, chatting familiarly with generals +and field marshals somewhere, in blithe disregard of dignity and +authority; for he was a brazen youngster and an indefatigable souvenir +hunter.</p> + +<p>So vivid were Tom's thoughts of Archer that, being off his machine, he +sat down by the roadside to eat the rations which his anxiety to reach +his destination had deterred him from eating before.</p> + +<p>"That's just like him," he thought, holding the compass out so that it +caught the subdued rays of his dimmed headlight; "always marking things +up, or whittling his initials or looking for souvenirs."</p> + +<p>The particular specimen of Archer's handiwork which opened this train of +reminiscence was part and parcel of the mischievous habit which +apparently had begun very early in his career, when he renovated the +habiliments of the heroes and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> statesmen in his school geography by +pencilling high hats and sunbonnets on their honored heads and giving +them flowing moustaches and frock coats.</p> + +<p>In the prison camp from which they had escaped he had carved his +initials on fence and shack, but his masterpiece was the conversion of +the N on this same glassless compass into a very presentable S (though +turned sideways) and the S into a very presentable N.</p> + +<p>The occasion of his doing this was a singular experience the two boys +had had in their flight through Germany when, after being carried across +a lake on a floating island while asleep, they had swum back and +retraced their steps northward supposing that they were still going +south.</p> + +<p>"Either we're wrong or the compass is wrong, Slady," the bewildered +Archer had said, and he had forthwith altered the compass points before +they discovered the explanation of their singular experience.</p> + +<p>After reaching the American forces Archer had gone forth to more +adventures and new glories in the transportation department, the line of +his activities being between Paris and the coast, and Tom had seen him +no more. He had given the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> compass to Tom as a "souvenir," and Tom, +whose sober nature had found much entertainment in Archer's +sprightliness, had cherished it as such. It was useful sometimes, too, +though he had to be careful always to remember that it was the "wrong +way round."</p> + +<p>"He'll turn up like a bad penny some day," he thought now, smiling a +little. "He said he'd bring me the clock from a Paris cathedral for a +souvenir, and he'd change the twelve to twenty-two on it."</p> + +<p>He remembered that he had asked Archer <i>what</i> cathedral in Paris, and +Archer had answered, "The Cathedral de la Plaster of Paris."</p> + +<p>"He's a sketch," thought Tom.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_FOUR" id="CHAPTER_FOUR"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER FOUR</h2><h3>THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES</h3> +</div> + +<p>"That's the way it is," thought Tom, "you get to know fellers and like +'em, and then you get separated and you don't see 'em any more."</p> + +<p>Perhaps he was the least bit homesick, coming into this new sector where +all were strangers to him. In any event, as he sat there finishing his +meal he fell to thinking of the past and of the "fellers" he had known. +He had known a good many for despite his soberness there was something +about him which people liked. Most of his friends had taken delight in +jollying him and he was one of those boys who are always being nicknamed +wherever they go. Over in the Toul sector they "joshed" and "kidded" him +from morning till night but woe be to you if you had sought to harm him!</p> + +<p>He had been sorry, in a way, to leave the Toul sector, just as he had +been sorry to leave Bridgeboro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> when he got his first job on a ship. +"That's one thing fellers can't understand," he thought, "how you can be +sorry about a thing and glad too. Girls understand better—I'll say that +much for 'em, even though I—even though they never had much use for +me——"</p> + +<p>He fell to thinking of the scout troop of which he had been a member +away back in America, of Mr. Ellsworth, the scoutmaster, who had lifted +him out of the gutter, and of Roy Blakeley who was always fooling, and +Peewee Harris. Peewee must be quite a boy by now—not a tenderfootlet +any more, as Roy had called him.</p> + +<p>And then there was Rossie Bent who worked in the bank and who had run +away the night before Registration Day, hoping to escape military +service. Tom fell to thinking of him and of how he had traced him up to +a lonely mountain top and made him go back and register just in time to +escape disgrace and punishment.</p> + +<p>"He thought he was a coward till he got the uniform on," he thought. +"That's what makes the difference. I bet he's one of the bravest +soldiers over here now. Funny if I should meet him. I always liked him +anyway, even when people said he was conceited. Maybe he had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> right to +be. If girls liked me as much as they did him maybe <i>I'd</i> be conceited. +Anyway, I'd like to see him again, that's one sure thing."</p> + +<p>When he had finished his meal he felt of his tires, gave his grease cup +a turn, mounted his machine and was off to the north for whatever +awaited him there, whether it be death or glory or just hard work; and +to new friends whom he would meet and part with, who doubtless would +"josh" him and make fun of his hair and tell him extravagant yarns and +belittle and discredit his soberly and simply told "adventures," and yet +who would like him nevertheless.</p> + +<p>"That's the funny thing about some fellers," he thought, "you never can +tell whether they like you or not. Rossie used to say girls were hard to +understand, but, gee, I think fellers are harder!"</p> + +<p>Swiftly and silently along the moonlit road he sped, the dispatch-rider +who had come from the blue hills of Alsace across the war-scorched area +into the din and fire and stenching suffocation and red-running streams +of Picardy "for service as required." Two miles behind the straining +line he rode and parallel with it, straight northward, keeping his keen, +steady eyes fixed upon the road for shell holes. Over to the east he +could hear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> the thundering boom of artillery and once the air just above +him seemed to buzz as if some mammoth wasp had passed. But he rode +steadily, easily, without a tremor.</p> + +<p>When he dismounted in front of headquarters at the little village of his +destination his stolid face was grimy from his long ride and the dust of +the blue Alsatian mountains mingled with the dust of devastated France +upon his khaki uniform (which was proper and fitting) and his rebellious +hair was streaky and matted and sprawled down over his frowning +forehead.</p> + +<p>A little group of soldiers gathered about him after he had given his +paper to the commanding officer, for he had come a long way and they +knew the nature of his present service if he did not. They watched him +rather curiously, for it was not customary to bring a dispatch-rider +from such a distance when there were others available in the +neighborhood. He was the second sensation of that memorable night, for +scarcely two hours before General Pershing himself had arrived and he +was at that very minute in conference with other officers in the little +red brick cottage. Even as the group of soldiers clustered about the +rider, officers hurried in and out with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> maps, and one young fellow, an +aviator apparently, suddenly emerged and hurried away.</p> + +<p>"What's going to be doing?" Tom asked, taking notice of all these +activities and speaking in his dull way.</p> + +<p>Evidently the boys had already taken his measure and formulated their +policy, for one answered,</p> + +<p>"Peace has been declared and they're trying to decide whether we'd +better take Berlin or have it sent C.O.D."</p> + +<p>"A soldier I met a couple of miles back," said Tom, "told me to tell you +to give 'em Hell."</p> + +<p>It was characteristic of him that although he never used profanity he +delivered the soldier's message exactly as it had been given him.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_FIVE" id="CHAPTER_FIVE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER FIVE</h2><h3>GETTING READY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Tom wheeled his machine over to a long brick cottage which stood flush +with the road and attended to it with the same care and affection as a +man might show a favorite horse. Then he sat down with several others on +a long stone bench and waited.</p> + +<p>There was something in the very air which told him that important +matters were impending and though he believed that they had not expected +him to arrive just at this time he wondered whether he might not be +utilized now that he was here. So he sat quietly where he was, observant +of everything, but asking no questions.</p> + +<p>There was a continuous stream of officers entering and emerging from the +headquarters opposite and twice within half an hour companies of +soldiers were brought into formation and passed silently away along the +dark road.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span></p> + +<p>"You'll be in Germany in a couple of hours," called a private sitting +alongside Tom as some of them passed.</p> + +<p>"Cantigny isn't Germany," another said.</p> + +<p>"Sure it is," retorted a third; "all the land they hold is German soil. +Call us up when you get a chance," he added in a louder tone to the +receding ranks.</p> + +<p>"Is Cantigny near here?" Tom asked.</p> + +<p>"Just across the ditches."</p> + +<p>"Are we going to try to take it?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Try</i> to? We're going to wrap it up and bring it home."</p> + +<p>Tom was going to ask the soldier if he thought there would be any chance +for <i>him</i>, though he knew well enough that his business was behind the +lines and that the most he could hope for was to carry the good news (if +such it proved to be) still farther back, away from the fighting.</p> + +<p>"This is going to be the first offensive of your old Uncle Samuel and if +we don't get the whole front page in the New York papers we'll be +peeved," Tom's neighbor condescended to inform him.</p> + +<p>Whatever Uncle Samuel was up to he was certainly very busy about it and +very quiet. On the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> little village green which the cottage faced groups +of officers talked earnestly.</p> + +<p>An enormous spool on wheels, which in the darkness seemed a mile high, +was rolled silently from somewhere or other, the wheels staked and bound +to the ground, and braces were erected against it. Very little sound was +made and there were no lights save in the houses, which seemed all to be +swarming with soldiers. Not a civilian was to be seen. Several soldiers +walked away from the big wheel and it moved around slowly like one of +those gigantic passenger-carrying wheels in an amusement resort.</p> + +<p>Presently some one remarked that Collie was in and there was a hurrying +away—toward the rear of the village, as it seemed to Tom.</p> + +<p>"Who's Collie?" he ventured to ask.</p> + +<p>"Collie? Oh, he's the Stormy Petrel; he's been piking around over the +Fritzies' heads, I s'pose."</p> + +<p>Evidently Collie, or the Stormy Petrel, was an aviator who had alighted +somewhere about the village with some sort of a report.</p> + +<p>"Collie can't see in the daylight," his neighbor added; "he and the +Jersey Snipe have got Fritzie vexed. You going to run between here and +the coast?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know what I'm going to do," said Tom. "I don't suppose I'll go +over the top, I'd like to go to Cantigny."</p> + +<p>"Never mind, they'll bring it back to you. Did you know the old gent is +here?"</p> + +<p>"Pershing?"</p> + +<p>"Yup. Going to run the show himself."</p> + +<p>"Are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Not as far as I know. I was in the orchestra—front row—last week. Got +a touch of trench fever."</p> + +<p>"D'you mean the front line trenches?" Tom asked.</p> + +<p>"Yup. Oh, look at Bricky!" he added suddenly. "You carrying wire, +Bricky? There's a target for a sniper for you—hair as red as——"</p> + +<p>"Just stick around at the other end of it," interrupted "Bricky" as he +passed, "and listen to what you hear."</p> + +<p>"Here come the tanks," said Tom's neighbor, "and there's the Jersey +Snipe perched on the one over at the other end. Good-<i>night</i>, Fritzie!"</p> + +<p>The whole scene reminded Tom vaguely of the hasty, quiet picking up and +departure of the circus in the night which, as a little boy, he had sat +up to watch. There were the tanks, half a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> dozen of them (and he knew +there were more elsewhere), covered with soldiers and waiting in the +darkness like elephants. Troops were constantly departing, for the front +trenches he supposed.</p> + +<p>Though he had never yet been before the lines, his experience as a rider +and his close touch with the fighting men had given him a pretty good +military sense in the matter of geography—that is, he understood now +without being told the geographical relation of one place to another in +the immediate neighborhood. Dispatch-riders acquire this sort of extra +sense very quickly and they come to have a knowledge of the lay of the +land infinitely more accurate than that of the average private soldier.</p> + +<p>Tom knew that this village, which was now the scene of hurried +preparation and mysterious comings and goings, was directly behind the +trench area. He knew that somewhere back of the village was the +artillery, and he believed that the village of Cantigny stood in the +same relation to the German trenches that this billet village stood to +the Allied trenches; that is, that it was just behind the German lines +and that the German artillery was still farther back. He had heard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> +enough talk about trench warfare to know how the Americans intended to +conduct this operation.</p> + +<p>But he had never seen an offensive in preparation, either large or +small, for there had been no American offensives—only raids, and of +course he had not participated in these. It seemed to him that now, at +last, he was drawn to the very threshold of active warfare only to be +compelled to sit silent and gaze upon a scene every detail of which +aroused his longing for action. The hurried consultation of officers, +the rapid falling in line in the darkness, the clear brisk words of +command, the quick mechanical response, the departure of one group after +another, the thought of that aviator alighting behind the village, the +sight of the great, ugly tanks and the big spool aroused his patriotism +and his craving for adventure as nothing else had in all the months of +his service. He was nearer to the trenches than ever before.</p> + +<p>"If you're riding to Clermont," he heard a soldier say, apparently to +him, "you'd better take the south road; turn out when you get to Airian. +The other's full of shell holes from the old trench line."</p> + +<p>"Best way is to go down through Estrees and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> follow the road back across +the old trench line," said another.</p> + +<p>Tom listened absently. He knew he could find the best way, that was his +business, but he did not want to go to Clermont. It seemed to him that +he was always going away from the war while others were going toward it. +While these boys were rushing forward he would be rushing backward. That +was always the way.</p> + +<p>"There's a lot of skeletons in those old trenches. You can follow the +ditches almost down to Paris."</p> + +<p>"They won't send him farther than Creil," another said. "The wires are +up all the way from Creil down."</p> + +<p>"You never can tell whether they'll stay up or not—not with this +seventy-five mile bean-shooter Fritzie's playing with. Ever been to +Paris, kid?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I s'pose I'll be sent there now—maybe," Tom answered.</p> + +<p>"They'll keep you moving up this way, all right. You were picked for +this sector—d'you know that?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know why."</p> + +<p>"Don't get rattled easy—that's what I heard."</p> + +<p>This was gratifying if it was true. Tom had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> not known why he had been +sent so far and he had wondered.</p> + +<p>Presently a Signal Corps captain came out of Headquarters, spoke briefly +with two officers who were near the big wire spool, and then turned +toward the bench on which Tom was sitting. His neighbors arose and +saluted and he did the same.</p> + +<p>"Never been under fire, I suppose?" said the captain, addressing Tom to +his great surprise.</p> + +<p>"Not before the lines, I haven't. The machine I had before this one was +knocked all out of shape by a shell. I was riding from Toul to——"</p> + +<p>"All right," interrupted the captain somewhat impatiently. Tom was used +to being interrupted in the midst of his sometimes rambling answers. He +could never learn the good military rule of being brief and explicit. +"How do you feel about going over the top? You don't have to."</p> + +<p>"It's just what I was thinking about," said Tom eagerly. "If you'd be +willing, I'd like to."</p> + +<p>"Of course you'd be under fire. Care to volunteer? Emergency work."</p> + +<p>"Often I wished——"</p> + +<p>"Care to volunteer?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I do."</p> + +<p>"All right; go inside and get some sleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> They'll wake you up in about +an hour. Machine in good shape?"</p> + +<p>This was nothing less than an insult. "I always keep it in good shape," +said Tom. "I got extra——"</p> + +<p>"All right. Go in and get some sleep; you haven't got long. The wire +boys will take care of you."</p> + +<p>He strode away and began to talk hurriedly with another man who showed +him some papers and Tom watched him as one in a trance.</p> + +<p>"Now you're in for it, kiddo," he heard some one say.</p> + +<p>"R. I. P. for yours," volunteered another.</p> + +<p>Tom knew well enough what R. I. P. meant. Often in his lonely night +rides through the towns close to the fighting he had seen it on row +after row of rough, carved wooden crosses.</p> + +<p>"There won't be much <i>resting in peace</i> to-night. How about it, Toul +sector?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't feel very sleepy, anyway," said Tom.</p> + +<p>He slept upon one of the makeshift straw bunks on the stone floor of the +cellar under the cottage. With the first streak of dawn he arose and +went quietly out and sat on a powder keg under a small window, tore +several pages out of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> his pocket blank-book and using his knee for a +desk, wrote:</p> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p class='noindent'><span class="smcap">"Dear Margaret</span>:</p> + +<p>"Maybe you'll be surprised, kind of, to get a letter from me. And maybe +you won't like me calling you Margaret. I told Roy to show you my +letters, cause I knew he'd be going into Temple Camp office on account +of the troop getting ready to go to Camp and I knew he'd see you. I'd +like to be going up to camp with them, and I'd kind of like to be back +in the office, too. I remember how I used to be scared of you and you +said you must be worse than the Germans 'cause I wasn't afraid of them. +I hope you're working there yet and I'd like to see Mr. Burton, too.</p> + +<p>"I was going to write to Roy but I decided I'd send a letter to you +because whenever something is going to happen the fellows write letters +home and leave them to be mailed in case they don't get back. So if you +get this you'll know I'm killed. Most of them write to girls or their +mothers, and as long as I haven't got any mother I thought I'd write to +you. Because maybe you'd like to hear I'm killed more than anybody. I +mean maybe you'd be more interested.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to go over the top with this regiment. I got sent way over to +this sector for special service. A fellow told me he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> heard it was +because I got a level head. I can't tell you where I am, but this +morning we're going to take a town. I didn't have to go, 'cause I'm a +non-com., but I volunteered. I don't know what I'll have to do.</p> + +<p>"I ain't exactly scared, but it kind of makes me think about home and +all like that. I often wished I'd meet Roscoe Bent over here. Maybe he +wrote to you. I bet everybody likes him wherever he is over here. It's +funny how I got to thinking about you last night. I'll—there goes the +bugle, so I can't write any more. Anyway, you won't get it unless I'm +killed. Maybe you won't like my writing, but every fellow writes to a +girl the last thing. It seems kind of lonely if you can't write to a +girl.</p> + +<p class='noindent'>"Your friend,<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Tom Slade</span>."</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_SIX" id="CHAPTER_SIX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER SIX</h2><h3>OVER THE TOP</h3> +</div> + +<p>The first haze of dawn was not dispelled when the artillery began to +thunder and Tom knew that the big job was on. Stolid as he was and used +to the roar of the great guns, he made hasty work of his breakfast for +he was nervous and anxious to be on the move.</p> + +<p>Most of the troops that were to go seemed to have gone already. He +joined the two signal corps men, one of whom carried the wire and the +other a telephone apparatus, and as they moved along the road other +signal corps men picked up the wire behind them at intervals, carrying +it along.</p> + +<p>Tom was as proud of his machine as a general could be of his horse, and +he wheeled it along beside him, keeping pace with the slow advance of +his companions, his heart beating high.</p> + +<p>"If you have to come back with any message, you'll remember +Headquarters, won't you?" one asked him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span></p> + +<p>"I always remember Headquarters," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"And don't get rattled."</p> + +<p>"I never get rattled."</p> + +<p>"Watch the roads carefully as we go, so you can get back all right. +Noise don't bother you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm used to artillery—I mean the noise," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"You probably won't have much to do unless in an emergency. If Fritzie +cuts the wire or it should get tangled and we couldn't reach the airmen +quick enough you'd have to beat it back. There's two roads out of +Cantigny. Remember to take the south one. We're attacking on a mile +front. If you took——"</p> + +<p>"If I have to come back," said Tom, "I'll come the same way. You needn't +worry."</p> + +<p>His advisor felt sufficiently squelched. And indeed, he had no cause to +worry. The Powers that Be had sent Thatchy into the West where the +battle line was changing every day and roads were being made and +destroyed and given new directions; where the highway which took one to +Headquarters one day led into the lair of the Hun on the next, and all +the land was topsy-turvy and changing like the designs in a +kaleidoscope—for the very good reason that Thatchy invariably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> reached +his destination and could be depended upon to come back, through all the +chaos, as a cat returns to her home. The prison camps in Germany were +not without Allied dispatch-riders who had become "rattled" and had +blundered into the enemy's arms, but Thatchy had a kind of uncanny extra +sense, a bump of locality, if you will, and that is why they had sent +him into this geographical tangle where maps became out of date as fast +as they were made.</p> + +<p>The sun was not yet up when they reached a wider road running crossways +to the one out of the village and here many troops were waiting as far +up and down the road as Tom could see. A narrow ditch led away from the +opposite side of the road through the fields beyond, and looking up and +down the road he could see that there were other ditches like it.</p> + +<p>The tanks were already lumbering and waddling across the fields, for all +the world like great clumsy mud turtles, with soldiers perched upon them +as if they were having a straw ride. Before Tom and his companions +entered the nearest ditch he could see crowds of soldiers disappearing +into other ditches far up the road.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-002" id="illus-002"></a> +<img src='images/illus-038.jpg' alt='SHOWING WHERE THE AMERICANS WERE BILLETED: CANTIGNY, WHICH THEY CAPTURED AND THE ROUTE TAKEN BY TOM AND THE CARRIERS. ARROWS SHOW THE AREA OF ATTACK.' title='' width = '400' height = '618'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>SHOWING WHERE THE AMERICANS WERE BILLETED: CANTIGNY, WHICH THEY CAPTURED AND THE ROUTE TAKEN BY TOM AND THE CARRIERS. ARROWS SHOW THE AREA OF ATTACK.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span>The fields above them were covered with shell holes, a little cemetery +flanked one side of the zigzag way, and the big dugouts of the reserves +were everywhere in this backyard of the trench area. Out of narrow, +crooked side avenues soldiers poured into the communication trench which +the wire carriers were following, falling in ahead of them.</p> + +<p>"We'll get into the road after the boys go over and then you'll have +more room for your machine. Close quarters, hey?" Tom's nearest +companion said.</p> + +<p>When they reached the second-line trench the boys were leaving it, by +hundreds as it seemed to Tom, and crowding through the crooked +communication trenches. The wire carriers followed on, holding up the +wire at intervals. Once when Tom peeped over the edge of the +communication trench he saw the tanks waddling along to right and left, +rearing up and bowing as they crossed the trench, like clumsy, trained +hippopotamuses. And all the while the artillery was booming with +continuous, deafening roar.</p> + +<p>Tom did not see the first of the boys to go over the top for they were +over by the time he reached the second-line trench, but as he passed +along the fire trench toward the road he could see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> them crowding over, +and when he reached the road the barbed wire entanglements lay flat in +many places, the boys picking their way across the fallen meshes, the +clumsy tanks waddling on ahead, across No Man's Land. As far as Tom +could see along the line in either direction this shell-torn area was +being crossed by hundreds of boys in khaki holding fixed bayonets, some +going ahead of the tanks and some perching on them.</p> + +<p>Above him the whole district seemed to be in pandemonium, men shouting +and their voices drowned by the thunder of artillery.</p> + +<p>His first real sight of the attack was when he clambered out of the +trench where it crossed the road and faced the flattened meshes of +barbed wire with its splintered supporting poles all tangled in it. +Never was there such a wreck.</p> + +<p>"All right," he shouted down. "It's as flat as a pancake—careful with +the machine—lift the back wheel—that's right!"</p> + +<p>He could hardly hear his own voice for the noise, and the very earth +seemed to shake under the heavy barrage fire which protected them. In +one sweeping, hasty glance he saw scores of figures in khaki running +like mad and disappearing into the enemy trenches beyond.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you mean to let the wire rest on this?" he asked, as his machine was +lifted up and the first of the wire carriers came scrambling up after +it; "it might get short-circuited."</p> + +<p>"We'll run it over the poles, only hurry," the men answered.</p> + +<p>They were evidently the very last of the advancing force, and even as +Tom looked across the shell-torn area of No Man's Land, he could see the +men picking their way over the flattened entanglements and pouring into +the enemy trenches. The tanks had already crossed these and were rearing +and waddling along, irresistible yet ridiculous, like so many heroic mud +turtles going forth to glory. Here and there Tom could see the gray-clad +form of a German clambering out of the trenches and rushing pell-mell to +the rear.</p> + +<p>But it was no time to stand and look. Hurriedly they disentangled a +couple of the supporting poles, laying them so that the telephone wire +passed over them free of the barbed meshes and Tom, mounting his +machine, started at top speed along the road across No Man's Land, +dragging the wire after him. Scarcely had he started when he heard that +wasplike whizzing close to him—once, twice, and then a sharp metallic +sound as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> bullet hit some part of his machine. He looked back to see +if the wire carriers were following, but there was not a sign of any of +them except his companion who carried the apparatus, and just as Tom +looked this man twirled around like a top, staggered, and fell.</p> + +<p>The last of the Americans were picking their way across the tangle of +fallen wire before the German fire trench. He could see them now and +again amid dense clouds of smoke as they scrambled over the enemy +sandbags and disappeared.</p> + +<p>On he sped at top speed, not daring to look around again. He could feel +that the wire was dragging and he wondered where its supporters could +be; but he opened his cut-out to get every last bit of power and sped on +with the accumulating train of wire becoming a dead weight behind him.</p> + +<p>Now, far ahead, he could see gray-coated figures scrambling frantically +out of the first line trench, and he thought that the Americans must +have carried the attack successfully that far, in any event. Again came +that whizzing sound close to him, and still again a sharp metallic ring +as another bullet struck his machine. For a moment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> he feared least a +tire had been punctured, but when neither collapsed he took fresh +courage and sped on.</p> + +<p>The drag on the wire was lessening the speed of his machine now and +jerking dangerously at intervals. But he thought of what one of those +soldiers had said banteringly to another—<i>Stick around at the other end +of it and listen to what you hear</i>, and he was resolved that if limited +horse power and unlimited will power could get this wire to those brave +boys who were surging and battling in the trenches ahead of him, could +drag it to them wherever they went, for the glorious message they +intended to send back across it, it should be done.</p> + +<p>There was not another soul visible on that road now nor in the +shell-torn area of No Man's Land through which it ran. But the lone +rider forged ahead, zig-zagging his course to escape the bullets of that +unseen sharpshooter and because it seemed to free the dragging, catching +wire, affording him little spurts of unobstructed speed.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly the wire caught fast, and his machine stopped and strained +like a restive horse, the power wheel racing furiously. Hurriedly he +looked behind him where the sinuous wire lay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> along the road, far +back—as far as he could see, across the trampled entanglements and +trenches. Where were the others who were to help carry it over? Killed?</p> + +<p>Alone in the open area of No Man's Land, Tom Slade paused for an instant +to think. What should he do?</p> + +<p>Suddenly there appeared out of a shell hole not twenty feet ahead of him +a helmeted figure. It rose up grimly, uncannily, like a dragon out of +the sea, and levelled a rifle straight at him. So that was the lair of +the sharpshooter!</p> + +<p>Tom was not afraid. He knew that he had been facing death and he was not +afraid of what he had been facing. He knew that the sharpshooter had him +at last. Neither he nor the wire were going to bear any message back.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, I'm glad I wrote that letter," he muttered.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-003" id="illus-003"></a> +<img src='images/illus-044.jpg' alt='TOM WAS SURPRISED TO FIND HIMSELF UNINJURED, WHILE THE BOCHE COLLAPSED INTO HIS SHELL HOLE.' title='' width = '300' height = '467'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>TOM WAS SURPRISED TO FIND HIMSELF UNINJURED, WHILE THE BOCHE COLLAPSED INTO HIS SHELL HOLE.</span> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_SEVEN" id="CHAPTER_SEVEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER SEVEN</h2><h3>A SHOT</h3> +</div> + +<p>Then, clear and crisp against the sound of the great guns far off, there +was the sharp crack of a rifle and Tom was surprised to find himself +still standing by his machine uninjured, while the Boche collapsed back +into his shell hole like a jack-in-the-box.</p> + +<p>He did not pause to think now. Leaving his machine, he rushed pell-mell +back to the barbed wire entanglement where the line was caught, +disengaged it and ran forward again to his wheel. Shells were bursting +all about him, but as he mounted he could see two figures emerge, one +after the other, from the American trench where it crossed the road, and +take up the burden of wire. He could feel the relief as he mounted and +rode forward and it lightened his heart as well as his load. What had +happened to delay the carriers he did not know. Perhaps those who +followed him now were new ones and his former<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> companions lay dead or +wounded within their own lines. What he thought of most of all was his +extraordinary escape from the Boche sharpshooter and he wondered who and +where his deliverer could be.</p> + +<p>He avoided looking into the shell hole as he passed it and soon he +reached the enemy entanglements which the tanks had flattened. Even the +flat meshes had been cleared from the road and here several regulars +waited to help him. They were covered with dirt and looked as if they +had seen action.</p> + +<p>"Bully for you, kid!" one of them said, slapping Tom on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You're all right, Towhead!"</p> + +<p>"Lift the machine," said Tom; "they always put broken glass in the +roads. I thought maybe they'd punctured my tire out there."</p> + +<p>"They came near puncturing <i>you</i>, all right! What's your name?"</p> + +<p>"Thatchy is mostly what I get called. My motorcycle is named <i>Uncle +Sam</i>. Did you win yet?"</p> + +<p>For answer they laughed and slapped him on the shoulder and repeated, +"You're all right, kid!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span></p> + +<p>"Looks as if Snipy must have had his eye on you, huh?" one of them +observed.</p> + +<p>"Who's Snipy?" Tom asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's mostly what <i>he</i> gets called," said someone, mimicking Tom's +own phrase. "His rifle's named <i>Tommy</i>. He's probably up in a tree +somewheres out there."</p> + +<p>"He's a good shot," said Tom simply. "I'd like to see him."</p> + +<p>"Nobody ever sees him—they <i>feel</i> him," said another.</p> + +<p>"He must have been somewhere," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he was <i>somewhere</i> all right," several laughed.</p> + +<p>A couple of the Signal Corps men jumped out of the trench near by and +greeted Tom heartily, praising him as the others had done, all of which +he took with his usual stolidness. Already, though of course he did not +know it, he was becoming somewhat of a character.</p> + +<p>"You've got Paul Revere and Phil Sheridan beat a mile," one of the boys +said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about Sheridan," said Tom, "but I always liked Paul +Revere."</p> + +<p>He did not seem to understand why they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> laughed and clapped him on the +shoulder and said, "You'll do, kiddo."</p> + +<p>But it was necessary to keep moving, for the other carriers were coming +along. The little group passed up the road, Tom pushing his wheel and +answering their questions briefly and soberly as he always did. Planks +had been laid across the German trenches where they intersected the road +and as they passed over them Tom looked down upon many a gruesome sight +which evidenced the surprise by the Americans and their undoubted +victory. Not a live German was to be seen, nor a dead American either, +but here and there a fallen gray-coat lay sprawled in the crooked +topsy-turvy ditch. He could see the Red Cross stretcher-bearers passing +in and out of the communication trenches and already a number of boys in +grimy khaki were engaged in repairing the trenches where the tanks had +caved them in. In the second line trench lay several wounded Americans +and Tom was surprised to see one of these propped up smoking a cigarette +while the surgeons bandaged his head until it looked like a great white +ball. Out of the huge bandage a white face grinned up as the little +group passed across on the planks and seeing the men to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> wire +carriers, the wounded soldier called, "Tell 'em we're here."</p> + +<p>"Ever hear of Paul Revere?" one of the Signal men called back cheerily. +And he rumpled Tom's hair to indicate whom he meant.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that Thatchy acquired the new nickname by which he was to be +known far and wide in the country back of the lines and in the billet +villages where he was to sit, his trusty motorcycle close at hand, +waiting for messages and standing no end of jollying. Some of the more +resourceful wits in khaki even parodied the famous poem for his benefit, +but he didn't care. He would have matched <i>Uncle Sam</i> against Paul +Revere's gallant steed any day, and they could jolly him and "kid" him +as their mood prompted, but woe be to the person who touched his +faithful machine save in his watchful presence. Even General Pershing +would not have been permitted to do that.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_EIGHT" id="CHAPTER_EIGHT"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER EIGHT</h2><h3>IN THE WOODS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Beyond the enemy second line trench the road led straight into Cantigny +and Tom could see the houses in the distance. Continuous firing was to +be heard there and he supposed that the Germans, routed from their +trenches, were making a stand in the village and in the high ground +beyond it.</p> + +<p>"They'll be able to 'phone back, won't they?" he asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"They sure will," one of the men answered.</p> + +<p>"It ain't that I don't want to ride back," Tom explained, "but a +feller's waiting on the other end of this wire, 'cause I heard somebody +tell him to, and I wouldn't want him to be disappointed."</p> + +<p>"He won't be disappointed."</p> + +<p>The road, as well as the open country east and west of it, was strewn +with German dead and wounded, among whom Tom saw one or two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> figures in +khaki. The Red Cross was busy here, many stretchers being borne up +toward the village where dressing stations were already being +established. Then suddenly Tom beheld a sight which sent a thrill +through him. Far along the road, in the first glare of the rising sun, +flew the Stars and Stripes above a little cottage within the confines of +the village.</p> + +<p>"Headquarters," one of his companions said, laconically.</p> + +<p>"Does it mean we've won?" Tom asked.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly yet," the other answered, "but as long as the flag's up +they probably won't bother to take it down," and he looked at Tom in a +queer way. "There's cleaning up to do yet, kid," he added.</p> + +<p>As they approached the village the hand-to-hand fighting was nearing its +end, and the Germans were withdrawing into the woods beyond where they +had many machine gun nests which it would be the final work of the +Americans to smoke out. But Tom saw a little of that kind of warfare +which is fought in streets, from house to house, and in shaded village +greens. Singly and in little groups the Americans sought out, killing, +capturing and pursuing the diminishing horde of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> Germans. Two of these, +running frantically with apparently no definite purpose, surrendered to +Tom's group and he thought they seemed actually relieved.</p> + +<p>At last they reached the little cottage where the flag flew and were +received by the weary, but elated, men in charge.</p> + +<p>"All over but the shouting," someone said; "we're finishing up back +there in the woods."</p> + +<p>The telephone apparatus was fastened to a tree and Tom heard the words +of the speaker as he tried to get into communication with the village +which lay back across that shell-torn, trench-crossed area which they +had traversed. At last he heard those thrilling words which carried much +farther than the length of the sinuous wire:</p> + +<p>"Hello, this is Cantigny."</p> + +<p>And he knew that whatever yet remained to be done, the first real +offensive operation of the Americans was successful and he was proud to +feel that he had played his little part in it.</p> + +<p>He was given leave until three o'clock in the afternoon and, leaving +<i>Uncle Sam</i> at the little makeshift headquarters, he went about the town +for a sight of the "clean-up."</p> + +<p>Farther back in the woods he could still hear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> the shooting where the +Americans were searching out machine gun nests and the boom of artillery +continued, but although an occasional shell fell in the town, the place +was quiet and even peaceful by comparison with the bloody clamor of an +hour before.</p> + +<p>It seemed strange that he, Tom Slade, should be strolling about this +quaint, war-scarred village, which but a little while before had +belonged to the Germans. Here and there in the streets he met sentinels +and occasionally an airplane sailed overhead. How he envied the men in +those airplanes!</p> + +<p>He glanced in through broken windows at the interiors of simple abodes +which the bestial Huns had devastated. It thrilled him that the boys +from America had dragged and driven the enemy out of these homes and +would dig their protecting trenches around the other side of this +stricken village, like a great embracing arm. It stirred him to think +that it was now within the refuge of the American lines and that the +arrogant Prussian officers could no longer defile those low, raftered +rooms.</p> + +<p>He inquired of a sentinel where he could get some gasoline which he +would need later.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's a supply station along that road," the man said; "just beyond +the clearing."</p> + +<p>Tom turned in that direction. The road took him out of the village and +through a little clump of woods to a clearing where several Americans +were guarding a couple of big gasoline tanks—part of the spoils of war. +He lingered for a few minutes and then strolled on toward the edge of +the denser wood beyond where the firing, though less frequent, could +still be heard.</p> + +<p>He intended to go just far enough into this wood for a glimpse of the +forest shade which his scouting had taught him to love, and then to +return to headquarters for his machine.</p> + +<p>Crossing a plank bridge across a narrow stream, he paused in the edge of +the woods and listened to the firing which still occurred at intervals +in the higher ground beyond. He knew that the fighting there was of the +old-fashioned sort, from behind protecting trees and wooded hillocks, +something like the good old fights of Indians and buckskin scouts away +home in the wild west of America. And he could not repress his impulse +to venture farther into the solitude.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-004" id="illus-004"></a> +<img src='images/illus-054.jpg' alt='TOM SLIPPED BEHIND A TREE AND WATCHED THE MAN WHO PAUSED LIKE A STARTLED ANIMAL.' title='' width = '300' height = '471'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>TOM SLIPPED BEHIND A TREE AND WATCHED THE MAN WHO PAUSED LIKE A STARTLED ANIMAL.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span>The stream which he had crossed had evidently its source in the more +densely wooded hills beyond and he followed it on its narrowing way up +toward the locality where the fighting seemed now to be going on. Once a +group of khaki-clad figures passed stealthily among the trees, intent +upon some quest. The sight of their rifles reminded Tom that he was +himself in danger, but he reflected that he was in no greater danger +than they and that he had with him the small arm which all messengers +carried.</p> + +<p>A little farther on he espied an American concealed behind a tree, who +nodded his head perfunctorily as Tom passed, seeming to discourage any +spoken greeting.</p> + +<p>The path of the stream led into an area of thick undergrowth covering +the side of a gentle slope where the water tumbled down in little falls. +He must be approaching very near to the source, he thought, for the +stream was becoming a mere trickle, picking its way around rocky +obstacles in a very jungle of thick underbrush.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stopped at a slight rustling sound very near him.</p> + +<p>It was the familiar sound which he had so often heard away back in the +Adirondack woods, of some startled creature scurrying to shelter.</p> + +<p>He was the scout again now, standing motionless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> and silent—keenly +waiting. Then, to his amazement, a clump of bushes almost at his feet +stirred slightly. He waited still, watching, his heart in his mouth. +Could it have been the breeze? But there was no breeze.</p> + +<p>Startled, but discreetly motionless, he fixed his eyes upon the leafy +clump, still waiting. Presently it stirred again, very perceptibly now, +then moved, clumsily and uncannily, and with a slight rustling of its +leaves, along the bank of the stream!</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_NINE" id="CHAPTER_NINE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER NINE</h2><h3>THE MYSTERIOUS FUGITIVE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Suddenly the thing stopped, and its whole bulk was shaken very +noticeably. Then a head emerged from it and before Tom could realize +what had happened a German soldier was fully revealed, brushing the +leaves and dirt from his gray coat as he stole cautiously along the edge +of the stream, peering anxiously about him and pausing now and again to +listen.</p> + +<p>He was already some distance from Tom, whom apparently he had not +discovered, and his stealthy movements suggested that he was either in +the act of escaping or was bent upon some secret business of importance.</p> + +<p>Without a sound Tom slipped behind a tree and watched the man who paused +like a startled animal at every few steps, watching and listening.</p> + +<p>Tom knew that, notwithstanding his non-combatant status, he was quite +justified in drawing his pistol upon this fleeing Boche, but before he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> +had realized this the figure had gone too far to afford him much hope of +success with the small weapon which he was not accustomed to. Moreover, +just because he <i>was</i> a "non-com" he balked at using it. If he should +miss, he thought, the man might turn upon him and with a surer aim lay +him low.</p> + +<p>But there was one thing in which Tom Slade felt himself to be the equal +of any German that lived, and that was stalking. Here, in the deep +woods, among these protecting trees, he felt at home, and the lure of +scouting was upon him now. No one could lose him; no one could get away +from him. And a bird in the air would make no more noise than he!</p> + +<p>Swiftly, silently, he slipped from one tree to another, his keen eye +always fixed upon the fleeting figure and his ears alert to learn if, +perchance, the Boche was being pursued. Not a sound could he hear except +that of the distant shooting.</p> + +<p>It occurred to him that the precaution of camouflaging might be useful +to him also, and he silently disposed one of the leafy boughs which the +German had left diagonally across his breast with the fork over his +shoulder so that it formed a sort of adjustable screen, more portable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> +and less clumsy than the leafy mound which had covered the Boche.</p> + +<p>With this he stole along, sometimes hiding behind trees, sometimes +crouching among the rocks along the bank, and keeping at an even +distance from the man. His method with its personal dexterity was +eloquent of the American scout, just as the Boche, under his mound of +foliage, had been typical of the German who depends largely upon +<i>device</i> and little upon personal skill and dexterity.</p> + +<p>The scout from Temple Camp had his ruses, too, for once when the German, +startled by a fancied sound, seemed about to look behind him, Tom +dexterously hurled a stone far to the left of his quarry, which diverted +the man's attention to that direction and kept it there while Tom, +gliding this way and that and raising or lowering his scant disguise, +crept after him.</p> + +<p>They were now in an isolated spot and the distant firing seemed farther +and farther away. The stream, reduced to a mere trickle, worked its way +down among rocks and the German followed its course closely. What he was +about in this sequestered jungle Tom could not imagine, unless, indeed, +he was fleeing from his own masters.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> But surely open surrender to the +Americans would have been safer than that, and Tom remembered how +readily those other German soldiers had rushed into the arms of himself +and his companions.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the more overgrown the brook became and the more involved its +path, the more the hurrying German seemed bent upon following it and +instead of finding any measure of relief from anxiety in this isolated +place, he appeared more anxious than ever and peered carefully about him +at every few steps.</p> + +<p>At length, to Tom's astonishment, he stepped across the brook and felt +of a clump of bush which grew on the bank. Could he have expected to +find another camouflaged figure, Tom wondered?</p> + +<p>Whatever he was after, he apparently thought he had reached his +destination for he now moved hurriedly about, feeling the single bushes +and moving among the larger clumps as if in quest of something. After a +few moments he paused as if perplexed and moved farther up the stream. +And Tom, who had been crouching behind a bush at a safe distance, crept +silently to another one, greatly puzzled but watching him closely.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span></p> + +<p>Selecting another spot, the Boche moved about among the bushes as +before, carefully examining each one which stood by itself. Tom expected +every minute to see some grim, gray-coated figure step out of his leafy +retreat to join his comrade, but why such a person should wait to be +discovered Tom could not comprehend, for he must have heard and probably +seen this beating through the bushes.</p> + +<p>An especially symmetrical bush stood on the brink of the stream and +after poking about this as usual, the German stood upon tiptoe, +apparently looking down into it, then kneeled at its base while Tom +watched from his hiding-place.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a sharp report rang out and the German jumped to his feet, +clutched frantically at the brush which seemed to furnish a substantial +support, then reeled away and fell headlong into the brook, where he lay +motionless.</p> + +<p>The heedless current, adapting itself readily to this grim obstruction, +bubbled gaily around the gray, crumpled form, accelerating its cheery +progress in the narrow path and showing little glints of red in its +crystal, dancing ripples.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TEN" id="CHAPTER_TEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TEN</h2><h3>THE JERSEY SNIPE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Tom hurried to the prostrate figure and saw that the German was quite +dead. There was no other sign of human presence and not a sound to be +heard but the rippling of the clear water at his feet.</p> + +<p>For a few moments he stood, surprised and silent, listening. Then he +fancied that he heard a rustling in the bushes some distance away and he +looked in that direction, standing motionless, alert for the slightest +stir.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there emerged out of the undergrowth a hundred or more feet +distant a strange looking figure clad in a dull shade of green with a +green skull cap and a green scarf, like a scout scarf, loosely thrown +about his neck. Even the rifle which he carried jauntily over his +shoulder was green in color, so that he seemed to Tom to have that +general hue which things assume when seen through green spectacles. He +was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> lithe and agile, gliding through the bushes as if he were a part of +them, and he came straight toward Tom, with a nimbleness which almost +rivalled that of a squirrel.</p> + +<p>There was something about his jaunty, light step which puzzled Tom and +he narrowed his eyes, watching the approaching figure closely. The +stranger removed a cigarette from his mouth to enable him the better to +lay his finger upon his lips, imposing silence, and as he did so the +movement of his hand and his way of holding the cigarette somehow caused +Tom to stare.</p> + +<p>Then his puzzled scrutiny gave way to an expression of blank amazement, +as again the figure raised his finger to his lips to anticipate any +impulse of Tom's to call. Nor did Tom violate this caution until the +stranger was within a dozen feet or so.</p> + +<p>"Roscoe—Bent!" he ejaculated. "Don't you know me? I'm Tom Slade."</p> + +<p>"Well—I'll—be——" Roscoe began, then broke off, holding Tom at arm's +length and looking at him incredulously. "Tom Slade—<i>I'll +be—jiggered</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I kinder knew it was you," said Tom in his impassive way, "as soon as I +saw you take that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> cigarette out of your mouth, 'cause you do it such a +swell way, kind of," he added, ingenuously; "just like the way you used +to when you sat on the window-sill in Temple Camp office and jollied +Margaret Ellison. Maybe you don't remember."</p> + +<p>Still Roscoe held him at arm's length, smiling all over his handsome, +vivacious face. Then he removed one of his hands from Tom's shoulder and +gave him a push in the chest in the old way.</p> + +<p>"It's the same old Tom Slade, I'll be—— And with the front of your +belt away around at the side, as usual. This is better than taking a +hundred prisoners. How are you and how'd you get here, you sober old +tow-head, you?" and he gripped Tom's hand with impulsive vehemence. +"This sure does beat all! I might have known if I found you at all it +would be in the woods, you old pathfinder!" and he gave Tom another +shove, then rapped him on the shoulder and slipped his hand around his +neck in a way all his own.</p> + +<p>"I—I like to hear you talk that way," said Tom, with that queer +dullness which Roscoe liked; "it reminds me of old times."</p> + +<p>"Kind of?" prompted Roscoe, laughing. "Is our friend here dead?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, he's very dead," said Tom soberly, "but I think there are others +around in the bushes."</p> + +<p>"There are some enemies there," said Roscoe, "but we won't kill them. +Contemptible murderers!" he muttered, as he hauled the dead Boche out of +the stream. "I'll pick you off one by one, as fast as you come up here, +you gang of back-stabbers! Look here," he added.</p> + +<p>"I got to admit you can do it," said Tom with frank admiration.</p> + +<p>Roscoe pulled away the shrubbery where the German had been kneeling when +he was struck and there was revealed a great hogshead, larger, Tom +thought, than any he had ever seen.</p> + +<p>"That's the kind of weapons they fight with," Roscoe said, disgustedly. +"Look here," he added, pulling the foliage away still more. "Don't touch +it. See? It leads down from another one. It's poison."</p> + +<p>Tom, staring, understood well enough now, and he peered into the bushes +about him in amazement as he heard Roscoe say,</p> + +<p>"Arsenic, the sneaky beasts."</p> + +<p>"See what he was going to do?" he added, startling Tom out of his silent +wondering. "There's half a dozen or more of these hogsheads<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> in those +bushes. As fast as this one empties it fills up again from another that +stands higher. There's a whole nest of them here. See how the pipe from +this one leads into the stream?"</p> + +<p>"What's the wire for?" said Tom.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's so's they can open this little cock here, see? Start the +thing going. Don't pull away the camouflage. There may be another chap +up here in a little while, to see what's the matter. <i>Tommy'll</i> take +care of them all right, won't you, <i>Tommy</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean me?" Tom asked.</p> + +<p>"I mean your namesake here," Roscoe said, slapping his rifle. "I named +it after you, you old glum head. Remember how you told me a feller +couldn't aim straight, <i>kind of</i>" (he mimicked Tom's tone). "You said a +feller couldn't aim straight, <i>kind of</i>, if he smoked cigarettes."</p> + +<p>"I got to admit I was wrong," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"You bet you have! Jingoes, it's good to hear you talk!" Roscoe laughed. +"How in the world did you get here, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you all about it," said Tom, "only first tell me, are you the +feller they call the Jersey Snipe?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span></p> + +<p>"Snipy, for short," said Roscoe.</p> + +<p>"Then maybe you saved my life already," said Tom, "out in No Man's +Land."</p> + +<p>"Were you the kid on that wheel?" Roscoe asked, surprised.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I always knew you'd make a good soldier. I told everybody so."</p> + +<p>"<i>Kind of</i>? Tommy, old boy, don't forget it was <i>you</i> made me a +soldier," Roscoe said soberly. "Come on back to my perch with me," he +added, "and tell me all about your adventures. This is better than +taking Berlin. There's only one person in this little old world I'd +rather meet in a lonely place, and that's the Kaiser. Come on—quiet +now."</p> + +<p>"You don't think you can show <i>me</i> how to stalk, do you?" said Tom.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_ELEVEN" id="CHAPTER_ELEVEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER ELEVEN</h2><h3>ON GUARD</h3> +</div> + +<p>"You see it was this way," said Roscoe after hie had scrambled with +amazing agility up to his "perch" in a tree several hundred feet distant +but in full view of the stream. Tom had climbed up after him and was +looking with curious pleasure at the little kit of rations and other +personal paraphernalia which hung from neighboring branches. "How do you +like my private camp? Got Temple Camp beat, hey?" he broke off in that +erratic way of his. "All the comforts of home. Come on, get into your +camouflage."</p> + +<p>"You don't seem the same as when you used to come up to our office from +the bank downstairs—that's one sure thing," said Tom, pulling the +leaves about him.</p> + +<p>"You thought all I was good for was to jolly Margaret Ellison, huh?"</p> + +<p>"I see now that you didn't only save my life but lots of other fellers', +too," said Tom. "Go on, you started to tell me about it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span></p> + +<p>It was very pleasant and cosy up there in the sniper's perch where +Roscoe had gathered the thinner branches about him, forming a little +leafy lair, in which his agile figure and his quick glances about +reminded Tom for all the world of a squirrel. He could hardly believe +that this watchful, dexterous creature, peering cautiously out of his +romantic retreat, was the same Roscoe Bent who used to make fun of the +scouts and sneak upstairs to smoke cigarettes in the Temple Camp office; +who thought as much of his spotless high collar then as he seemed to +think of his rifle now.</p> + +<p>"I got to thank you because you named it after me," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"And I <i>got to thank you</i> that you gave me the chance to get it to name +after you, Tommy. Well, you see it was this way," Roscoe went on in a +half whisper; "there were half a dozen of us over here in the woods and +we'd just cleaned out a machine gun nest when we saw this miniature +forest moving along. I thought it was a decorated moving van."</p> + +<p>"That's the trouble with them," agreed Tom; "they're no good in the +woods; they're clumsy. They're punk scouts."</p> + +<p>"Scouts!" Roscoe chuckled. "If we had to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> fight this gang of cut-throats +and murderers in the woods where old What's-his-name—Custer—had to +fight the Indians, take it from me, we'd have them wiped up in a month. +That fellow's idea of camouflaging was to bury himself under a couple of +tons of green stuff and then move the whole business along like a clumsy +old Zeppelin. I can camouflage myself with a branch with ten leaves on +it by studying the light."</p> + +<p>"Anybody can see you've learned something about scouting—that's one +sure thing," said Tom proudly.</p> + +<p>"<i>One sure thing</i>!" Roscoe laughed inaudibly. "It's the same old Tommy +Slade. Well, I was just going to bean this geezer when my officer told +me I'd better follow him."</p> + +<p>"I was following him, too," said Tom; "stalking is the word you ought to +use."</p> + +<p>"Captain thought he might be up to something special. So I +followed—<i>stalked</i>—how's that?"</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>"So I stalked him and when I saw he was following the stream I made a +detour and waited for him right here. You see what he was up to? Way +down in Cantigny they could turn a switch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> and start this blamed poison, +half a dozen hogsheads of it, flowing into the stream. They waited till +they lost the town before they turned the switch, and they probably +thought they could poison us Americans by wholesale. Maybe they had some +reason to think the blamed thing hadn't worked, and sent this fellow up. +I beaned him just as he was going to turn the stop-cock."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you saved a whole lot of lives, hey?" said Tom proudly.</p> + +<p>Roscoe shrugged his shoulder in that careless way he had. "I'll be glad +to meet any more that come along," he said.</p> + +<p>It was well that Tom Slade's first sight of deliberate killing was in +connection with so despicable a proceeding as the wholesale poisoning of +a stream. He could feel no pity for the man who, fleeing from those who +fought cleanly and like men instead of beasts, had sought to pour this +potent liquid of anguish and death into the running crystal water. Such +acts, it seemed to him, were quite removed from the sphere of honorable, +manly fighting.</p> + +<p>As a scout he had learned that it was wrong even to bathe in a stream +whence drinking water was obtained, and at camp he had always +scrupulously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> observed this good rule. He felt that it was cowardly to +defile the waters of a brook. It was not a "mailed fist" at all which +could do such things, but a fist dripping with poison.</p> + +<p>And Tom Slade felt no qualm, as otherwise he might have felt, at hiding +there waiting for new victims. He was proud and thrilled to see his +friend, secreted in his perch, keen-eyed and alert, guarding alone the +crystal purity of this laughing, life-giving brook, as it hurried along +its pebbly bed and tumbled in little gushing falls and wound cheerily +around the rocks, bearing its grateful refreshment to the weary, thirsty +boys who were holding the neighboring village.</p> + +<p>"I used to think I wouldn't like to be a sniper," he said, "but now it +seems different. I saw two fellers in the village and one had a bandage +on his arm and the other one who was talking to him—I heard him say a +long drink of water would go good—and—I—kind of—now——"</p> + +<p>The Jersey Snipe winked at Tom and patted his rifle as a man might pat a +favorite dog.</p> + +<p>"It's good fresh water," said he.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWELVE" id="CHAPTER_TWELVE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWELVE</h2><h3>WHAT'S IN A NAME?</h3> +</div> + +<p>In Tom's visions of the great war there had been no picture of the +sniper, that single remnant of romantic and adventurous warfare, in all +the roar and clangor of the horrible modern fighting apparatus.</p> + +<p>He had seen American boys herded onto great ships by thousands; and, +marching and eating and drilling in thousands, they had seemed like a +great machine. He knew the murderous submarine, the aeroplane with its +ear-splitting whir, the big clumsy Zeppelin; and he had handled gas +masks and grenades and poison gas bombs.</p> + +<p>But in his thoughts of the war and all these diabolical agents of +wholesale death there had been no visions of the quiet, stealthy figure, +inconspicuous in the counterfeiting hues of tree<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> and rock, stealing +silently away with his trusty rifle and his week's rations for a lonely +vigil in some sequestered spot.</p> + +<p>There was the same attraction about this freelance warfare which there +might have been about a privateer in contrast with a flotilla of modern +dreadnaughts and frantic chasers, and it reminded him of Daniel Boone, +and Kit Carson, and Davy Crockett, and other redoubtable scouts of old +who did not depend on stenching suffocation and the poisoning of +streams. It was odd that he had never known much about the sniper, that +one instrumentality of the war who seems to have been able to preserve a +romantic identity in all the bloody <i>mélée</i> of the mighty conflict.</p> + +<p>For Tom had been a scout and the arts of stealth and concealment and +nature's resourceful disguises had been his. He had thought of the +sniper as of one whose shooting is done peculiarly in cold blood, and he +was surprised and pleased to find his friend in this romantic and noble +rôle of holding back, single-handed, as it were, these vile agents of +agonizing death.</p> + +<p>Arsenic! Tom knew from his memorized list of poison antidotes that if +one drinks arsenic he will be seized with agony unspeakable and die in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> +slow and utter torture. The more he thought about it, the more the cold, +steady eye of the unseen sniper and his felling shot seemed noble and +heroic.</p> + +<p>Almost unconsciously he reached out and patted the rifle also as if it +were some trusted living thing—an ally.</p> + +<p>"Did you really mean you named it after me—honest?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Roscoe laughed again silently. "See?" he whispered, holding it across, +and Tom could distinguish the crudely engraved letters, TOMMY.</p> + +<p>"—Because I never had anything named after me," he said in his simple, +dull way. "There's a place on the lake up at Temple Camp that the +fellers named after Roy Blakeley—Blakeley Isle. And there's a new +pavilion up there that's named after Mr. Ellsworth, our scoutmaster. And +Mr. Temple's got lots of things—orphan asylums and gymnasiums and +buildings and things—named after <i>him</i>. I always thought it must be +fine. I ain't that kind—sort of—that fellers name things after," he +added, with a blunt simplicity that went to Roscoe's heart; and he held +the rifle, as the sniper started to take it back, his eyes still fixed +upon the rough scratches which formed his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> own name. "In Bridgeboro +there was a place in Barrell Alley," he went on, apparently without +feeling, "where my father fell down one night when he was—when he'd had +too much to drink, and after that everybody down there called it Slade's +Hole. When I got in with the scouts, I didn't like it—kind of——"</p> + +<p>Roscoe looked straight at Tom with a look as sure and steady as his +rifle. "Slade's Hole isn't known outside of Barrell Alley, Tom," he said +impressively, although in the same cautious undertone, "but <i>Tom Slade</i> +is known from one end of this sector to the other."</p> + +<p>"Thatchy's what they called me in Toul sector, 'cause my hair's always +mussed up, I s'pose, and——"</p> + +<p>"The first time I ever saw you to really know you, Tom, your hair was +all mussed up—and I hope it'll always stay that way. That was when you +came up there in the woods and made me promise to go back and register."</p> + +<p>"I knew you'd go back 'cause——"</p> + +<p>"I went back with bells on, and here I am. And here's <i>Tom Slade</i> that's +stuck by me through this war. It's named <i>Tom Slade</i> because it makes +good—see? Look here, I'll show you something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> else—you old hickory +nut, you. See that," he added, pulling a small object from somewhere in +his clothing.</p> + +<p>Tom stared. "It's the Distinguished Service Cross," he said, his longing +eyes fixed upon it.</p> + +<p>"That's what it is. The old gent handed me that—if anybody should ask +you."</p> + +<p>Tom smiled, remembering Roscoe's familiar way of speaking of the +dignified Mr. Temple, and of "Old Man" Burton, and "Pop" this and that.</p> + +<p>"General Pershing?"</p> + +<p>"The same. You've heard of him, haven't you? Very muchly, huh?"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you wear it?" Tom asked.</p> + +<p>"Why? Well, I'll tell you why. When your friend, Thatchy, followed me on +that crazy trip of mine he borrowed some money for railroad fare, didn't +he? And he had a Gold Cross that he used to get the money, huh? So I +made up my mind that this little old souvenir from Uncle Samuel wouldn't +hang on my distinguished breast till I got back and paid Tom Slade what +I owed him and made sure that he'd got his own Cross safely back and was +wearing it again. Do you get me?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span></p> + +<p>"I got my Cross back," said Tom, "and it's home. So you can put that on. +You got to tell me how you got it, too. I always knew you'd make a +success."</p> + +<p>"It was <i>Tommy Slade</i> helped me to it, as usual. I beaned nine Germans +out in No Man's Land, and got away slightly wounded—I stubbed my toe. +Old Pop Clemenceau gave me a kiss and the old gent slipped me this for +good luck," Roscoe said, pinning on the Cross to please Tom. "When +Clemmy saw the name on the rifle, he asked what it meant and I told him +it was named after a pal of mine back home in the U.S.A.—Tom Slade. +Little I knew you were waltzing around the war zone on that thing of +yours. I almost laughed in his face when he said, 'M'soo Tommee should +be proud.'"</p> + +<p>So the Premier of France had spoken the name of Tom Slade, whose father +had had a mud hole in Barrell Alley named after him.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> proud," he stammered; "that's one sure thing. I'm proud on +account of you—I am."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_THIRTEEN" id="CHAPTER_THIRTEEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER THIRTEEN</h2><h3>THE FOUNTAINS OF DESTRUCTION</h3> +</div> + +<p>As Tom had the balance of the day to himself he cherished but one +thought—that of remaining with Roscoe as long as his leave would +permit. If he had been in the woods up at Temple Camp, away back home in +his beloved Catskills, he could hardly have felt more at home than he +felt perched in this tree near the headwaters of the running stream; and +to have Roscoe Bent crouching there beside him was more than his fondest +dreams of doing his bit had pictured.</p> + +<p>At short intervals they could hear firing, sometimes voices in the +distance, and occasionally the boom of artillery, but except for these +reminders of the fighting the scene was of that sort which Tom loved. It +was there, while the sniper, all unseen, guarded the source of the +stream, his keen eye alert for any stealthy approach, that Tom told him +in hushed tones the story of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> own experiences; how he had been a +ship's boy on a transport, and had been taken aboard the German <i>U</i>-boat +that had torpedoed her and held in a German prison camp, from which he +and Archer had escaped and made their way through the Black Forest and +across the Swiss border.</p> + +<p>"Some kid!" commented Roscoe, admiringly; "the world ain't big enough +for you, Tommy. If you were just back from Mars I don't believe you'd be +excited about it."</p> + +<p>"Why should I be?" said literal Tom. "It was only because the feller I +was with was born lucky; he always said so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, of course," said Roscoe sarcastically. "<i>I</i> say he was mighty +lucky to be with <i>you</i>. Feel like eating?"</p> + +<p>It was delightful to Tom sitting there in their leafy concealment, +waiting for any other hapless German emissaries who might come, bent on +the murderous defilement of that crystal brook, and eating of the +rations which Roscoe never failed to have with him.</p> + +<p>"You're kind of like a pioneer," he said, "going off where there isn't +anybody. They have to trust you to do what you think best a lot, I +guess, don't they? A feller said they often hear you but they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> never see +you. I saw you riding on one of the tanks, but I didn't know it was you. +Funny, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I usually hook a ride. The tanks get on my nerves, though, they're so +slow."</p> + +<p>"You're like a squirrel," said Tom admiringly.</p> + +<p>"Well, you're like a bulldog," said Roscoe. "Still got the same old +scowl on your face, haven't you? So they kid you a lot, do they?"</p> + +<p>"I don't mind it."</p> + +<p>So they talked, in half whispers, always scanning the woods about them, +until after some time their vigil was rewarded by the sight of three +gray-coated, helmeted figures coming up the bank of the stream. They +made no pretence of concealment, evidently believing themselves to be +safe here in the forest. Roscoe had hauled the body of the dead German +under the thick brush so that it might not furnish a warning to other +visitors, and now he brought his rifle into position and touching his +finger to his lips by way of caution he fixed his steady eye on the +approaching trio.</p> + +<p>One of these was a tremendous man and, from his uniform and arrogant +bearing, evidently an officer. The other two were plain, ordinary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> +"Fritzies." Tom believed that they had come to this spot by some +circuitous route, bent upon the act which their comrade and the +mechanism had failed to accomplish. He watched them in suspense, +glancing occasionally at Roscoe.</p> + +<p>The German officer evidently knew the ground for he went straight to the +bush where the hogshead stood concealed, and beckoned to his two +underlings. Tom, not daring to stir, looked expectantly at Roscoe, whose +rifle was aimed and resting across a convenient branch before him. The +sniper's intent profile was a study. Tom wondered why he did not fire. +He saw one of the Boches approach the officer, who evidently would not +deign to stoop, and kneel at the foot of the bush. Then the crisp, +echoing report of Roscoe's rifle rang out, and on the instant the +officer and the remaining soldier disappeared behind the leaf-covered +hogshead. Tom was aware of the one German lying beside the bush, stark +and motionless, and of Roscoe jerking his head and screwing up his mouth +in a sort of spontaneous vexation. Then he looked suddenly at Tom and +winked unmirthfully with a kind of worried annoyance.</p> + +<p>"Think they can hit us from there? Think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> they know where we are?" Tom +asked in the faintest whisper.</p> + +<p>"'Tisn't that," Roscoe whispered back. "Look at that flat stone under +the bush there. Shh! I couldn't get him in the right light before. Shh!"</p> + +<p>Narrowing his eyes, Tom scanned the earth at the foot of the bush and +was just able to discern a little band of black upon a gray stone there. +It was evidently a wet spot on the dusty stone and for a second he +thought it was blood; then the staggering truth dawned upon him that in +shooting the Hun in the very act of letting loose the murderous liquid +Roscoe had shot a hole in the hogshead and the potent poison was flowing +out rapidly and down into the stream.</p> + +<p>And just in that moment there flashed into Tom's mind the picture of +that weary, perspiring boy in khaki down in captured Cantigny, who had +mopped his forehead, saying, "A drink of water would go good now."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_FOURTEEN" id="CHAPTER_FOURTEEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER FOURTEEN</h2><h3>TOM USES HIS FIRST BULLET</h3> +</div> + +<p>It had been a pet saying of Tom's scoutmaster back in America that you +should <i>wait long enough to make up your mind and not one second +longer</i>.</p> + +<p>Tom knew that the pressure of liquid above that fatal bullet hole near +the bottom of the hogshead was great enough to send the poison fairly +pouring out. He could not see this death-dealing stream, for it was +hidden in the bush, but he knew that it would continue to pour forth +until several of these great receptacles had been emptied and the +running brook with its refreshing coolness had become an instrument of +frightful death.</p> + +<p>Safe behind the protecting bulk of the hogshead crouched the two +surviving Germans, while Roscoe, covering the spot, kept his eyes +riveted upon it for the first rash move of either of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> pair. And +meanwhile the poison poured out of the very bulwark that shielded them +and into the swift-running stream.</p> + +<p>"I don't think they've got us spotted," Tom whispered, moving cautiously +toward the trunk of the tree; "the private had a rifle, didn't he?"</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?" Roscoe breathed.</p> + +<p>"Stop up that hole. Give me a bullet, will you?"</p> + +<p>"You're taking a big chance, Tom."</p> + +<p>"I ain't thinking about that. Give me a bullet. All <i>you</i> got to do is +keep those two covered."</p> + +<p>With a silent dexterity which seemed singularly out of keeping with his +rather heavy build, Tom shinnied down the side of the tree farthest from +the brook, and lying almost prone upon the ground began wriggling his +way through the sparse brush, quickening his progress now and again +whenever the diverting roar of distant artillery or the closer report of +rifles and machine guns enabled him to advance with less caution.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes he reached the stream, apparently undiscovered, when +suddenly he was startled by another rifle report, close at hand, and he +lay flat, breathing in suspense.</p> + +<p>It was simply that one of that pair had made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> the mistake so often made +in the trenches of raising his head, and had paid the penalty.</p> + +<p>Tom was just cautiously crossing the brook when he became aware of a +frantic scramble in the bush and saw the German private rushing +pell-mell through the thick undergrowth beyond, hiding himself in it as +best he might and apparently trying to keep the bush-enshrouded hogshead +between himself and the tree where the sniper was. Evidently he had +discovered Roscoe's perch and, there being now no restraining authority, +had decided on flight. It had been the officer's battle, not his, and he +abandoned it as soon as the officer was shot. It was typical of the +German system and of the total lack of individual spirit and resource of +the poor wretches who fight for Kaiser Bill's glory.</p> + +<p>Reaching the bush, Tom pulled away the leafy covering and saw that the +poisonous liquid was pouring out of a clean bullet hole as he had +suspected. He hurriedly wrapped a bit of the gauze bandage which he +always carried around the bullet Roscoe had given him and forced it into +the hole, wedging it tight with a rock. Then he waved his hand in the +direction of the tree to let Roscoe know that all was well.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span></p> + +<p>Tom Slade had used his first bullet and it had saved hundreds of lives.</p> + +<p>"They're both dead," he said, as Roscoe came quickly through the +underbrush in the gathering dusk. "Did the officer put his head up?"</p> + +<p>"Mm-mm," said Roscoe, examining the two victims.</p> + +<p>"You always kill, don't you?" said Tom.</p> + +<p>"I have to, Tommy. You see, I'm all alone, mostly," Roscoe added as he +fumbled in the dead officer's clothing. "There are no surgeons or nurses +in reach. I don't have stretcher-bearers following <i>me</i> around and it +isn't often that even a Hun will surrender, fair and square, to one man. +I've seen too much of this '<i>kamarad</i>' business. I can't afford to take +chances, Tommy. But I don't put nicks in my rifle butt like some of them +do. I don't want to know how many I beaned after it's all over. We kill +to save—that's the idea you want to get into your head, Tommy boy."</p> + +<p>"I know it," said Tom.</p> + +<p>The officer had no papers of any importance and since it was getting +dark and Tom must report at headquarters, they discussed the possibility +of upsetting these murderous hogsheads, and putting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> an end to the +danger. Evidently the woods were not yet wholly cleared of the enemy who +might still seek to make use of these agents of destruction.</p> + +<p>"There may be stragglers in the woods even to-morrow," Roscoe said.</p> + +<p>"S'pose we dig a little trench running away from the brook and then turn +on the cock and let the stuff flow off?" suggested Tom.</p> + +<p>The idea seemed a good one and they fell to, hewing out a ditch with a +couple of sticks. It was a very crude piece of engineering, as Roscoe +observed, and they were embarrassed in their work by the gathering +darkness, but at length they succeeded, by dint of jabbing and plowing +and lifting the earth out in handfuls, in excavating a little gully +through the rising bank so that the liquid would flow off and down the +rocky decline beyond at a safe distance from the stream.</p> + +<p>For upwards of an hour they remained close by, until the hogsheads had +run dry, and then they set out through the woods for the captured +village.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_FIFTEEN" id="CHAPTER_FIFTEEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER FIFTEEN</h2><h3>THE GUN PIT</h3> +</div> + +<p>"I think the best way to get into the village," said Roscoe, "is to +follow the edge of the wood around. That'll bring us to the by-path that +runs into the main road. They've got the woods pretty well cleared out +over that way. There's a road a little north of here and I think the +Germans have withdrawn across that. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>"You know more about it than I do," said Tom. "I followed the brook up. +It's pretty bad in some places."</p> + +<p>"There's only two of us," said Roscoe, "and you've no rifle. Safety +first."</p> + +<p>"I suppose there's a lot of places they could hide along the brook; the +brush is pretty thick all the way up," Tom added.</p> + +<p>Roscoe whistled softly in indecision. "I like the open better," said he.</p> + +<p>"I guess so," Tom agreed, "when there's only two of us."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's three of us, though," said Roscoe, "and <i>Tommy</i> here likes the +open better. I'd toss up a coin only with these blamed French coins you +can't tell which is heads and which is tails."</p> + +<p>Roscoe was right about the Germans having withdrawn beyond the road +north of the woods. Whether he was right about its being safer to go +around the edge of the forest remained to be determined.</p> + +<p>This wood, in which they had passed the day, extended north of the +village (see map) and thinned out upon the eastern side so that one +following the eastern edge would emerge from the wood a little east of +the main settlement. Here was the by-path which Roscoe had mentioned, +and which led down into the main road.</p> + +<p>Running east and west across the northern extremity of the woods was a +road, and the Germans, driven first from their trenches, then out of the +village, and then out of the woods, were establishing their lines north +of this road.</p> + +<p>If the boys had followed the brook down they would have reached the +village by a much shorter course, but Roscoe preferred the open country +where they could keep a better lookout. Whether his decision was a wise +one, we shall see.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-005" id="illus-005"></a> +<img src='images/illus-091.jpg' alt='SHOWING PATH TAKEN BY TOM AND ROSCOE THROUGH THE WOODS' title='' width = '400' height = '521'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>SHOWING PATH TAKEN BY TOM AND ROSCOE THROUGH THE WOODS</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span>Leaving the scene of their "complete annihilation of the crack poison +division," as Roscoe said, they followed the ragged edge of the woods +where it thinned out to the north, verging around with it until they +were headed in a southerly direction.</p> + +<p>"There's a house on that path," said Roscoe, "and we ought to be able to +see a light there pretty soon."</p> + +<p>"There's a little piece of woods ahead of us," said Tom; "when we get +past that we'll see it, I guess. We'll cut through there, hey?"</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," said Roscoe, pausing and peering about in the half +darkness. "I'm all twisted. There's the house now."</p> + +<p>He pointed to a dim light in the opposite direction to that which they +had taken.</p> + +<p>"That's north," said Tom in his usual dull manner.</p> + +<p>"You're mistaken, my boy. What makes you think it's north?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say I thought so," said Tom. "I said it <i>is</i>."</p> + +<p>Roscoe laughed. "Same old Tom," he said. "But how do you know it's +north?"</p> + +<p>"You remember that mountain up in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> Catskills?" Tom said. "The first +time I ever went to the top of that mountain was in the middle of the +night. I never make that kind of mistakes. I know because I just know."</p> + +<p>Roscoe laughed again and looked rather dubiously at the light in the +distance. Then he shook his head, unconvinced.</p> + +<p>"We've been winding in and out along the edge of this woods," said Tom, +"so that you're kind of mixed up, that's all. It's always those little +turns that throw people out, just like it's a choppy sea that upsets a +boat; it ain't the big waves. I used to get rattled like that myself, +but I don't any more."</p> + +<p>Roscoe drew his lips tight and shook his head skeptically. "I can't +understand about that light," he said.</p> + +<p>"I always told you you made a mistake not to be a scout when you were +younger," said Tom in that impassive tone which seemed utterly free of +the spirit of criticism and which always amused Roscoe, "'cause then you +wouldn't bother about the light but you'd look at the stars. Those are +sure."</p> + +<p>Roscoe looked up at the sky and back at Tom, and perhaps he found a kind +of reassurance in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> that stolid face. "All right, Tommy," said he, "what +you say, goes. Come ahead."</p> + +<p>"That light is probably on the road the Germans retreated across," said +Tom, as they picked their way along. His unerring instinct left him +entirely free from the doubts which Roscoe could not altogether dismiss. +"I don't say there ain't a light on the path you're talking about, but +if we followed this one we'd probably get captured. I was seven months +in a German prison. I don't know how you'd like it, but I didn't."</p> + +<p>Roscoe laughed silently at Tom's dry way of putting it. "All right, +Tommy, boy," he said. "Have it your own way."</p> + +<p>"You ought to be satisfied the way you can shoot," said Tom, by way of +reconciling Roscoe to his leadership.</p> + +<p>"All right, Tommy. Maybe you've got the bump of locality. When we get +past that little arm of the woods just ahead we ought to see the right +light then, huh?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Spur</i> is the right name for it, not <i>arm</i>," said Tom. "You might as +well say it right."</p> + +<p>"The pleasure is mine," laughed Roscoe; "Tommy, you're as good as a +circus."</p> + +<p>They made their way in a southeasterly direction,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> following the edge of +the woods, with the open country to the north and east of them. +Presently they reached the "spur," as Tom called it, which seemed to +consist of a little "cape" of woods, as one might say, sticking out +eastward. They could shorten their path a trifle by cutting through +here, and this they did, Roscoe (notwithstanding Tom's stolid +self-confidence) watching anxiously for the light which this spur had +probably concealed, and which would assure them that they were heading +southward toward the path which led into Cantigny village.</p> + +<p>Once, twice, in their passage through this little clump of woods Tom +paused, examining the trees and ground, picking up small branches and +looking at their ends, and throwing them away again.</p> + +<p>"Funny how those branches got broken off," he said.</p> + +<p>Roscoe answered with a touch of annoyance, the first he had shown since +their meeting in the woods.</p> + +<p>"I'm not worrying about those twigs," he said; "I don't see that light +and I think we're headed wrong."</p> + +<p>"They're not twigs," said Tom literally; "they're branches, and they're +broken off."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span></p> + +<p>"Any fool could tell the reason for that," said Roscoe, rather +scornfully. "It's the artillery fire."</p> + +<p>Tom said nothing, but he did not accept Roscoe's theory. He believed +that some one had been through here before them and that the branches +had been broken off by human hands; and but for the fact that Roscoe had +let him have his own way in the matter of direction he would have +suggested that they make a detour around this woody spur. However, he +contented himself by saying in his impassive way, "I know when branches +are broken off."</p> + +<p>"Well, what are we going to do now?" Roscoe demanded, stopping short and +speaking with undisguised impatience. "You can see far beyond those +trees now and you can see there's no light. They'll have us nailed upon +a couple of crosses to-morrow. I don't intend to be tortured on account +of the Boy Scouts of America."</p> + +<p>He used the name as being synonymous with bungling and silly notions and +star-gazing, and it hit Tom in a dangerous spot. He answered with a kind +of proud independence which he seldom showed.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say there'd be a light. Just because there's a house it +doesn't mean there's got to be a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> light. I said the light we saw was in +the north, and it's got nothing to do with the Boy Scouts. You wouldn't +let me point your rifle for you, would you? They sent me to this sector +'cause I don't get lost and I don't get rattled. You said that about the +Scouts just because you're mad. I'm not hunting for any light. I'm going +back to Cantigny and I know where I'm at. You can come if you want to or +you can go and get caught by the Germans if you want to. I went a +hundred miles through Germany and they didn't catch <i>me</i>—'cause I +always know where I'm at."</p> + +<p>He went on for a few steps, Roscoe, after the first shock of surprise, +following silently behind him. He saw Tom stumble, struggle to regain +his balance, heard a crunching sound, and then, to his consternation, +saw him sink down and disappear before his very eyes.</p> + +<p>In the same instant he was aware of a figure which was not Tom's +scrambling up out of the dark, leaf-covered hollow and of the muzzle of +a rifle pointed straight at him.</p> + +<p>Evidently Tom Slade had not known "where he was at" at all.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_SIXTEEN" id="CHAPTER_SIXTEEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER SIXTEEN</h2><h3>PRISONERS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Apparently some of the enemy had not yet withdrawn to the north, for in +less than five seconds Roscoe was surrounded by a group of German +soldiers, among whom towered a huge officer with an eye so fierce and +piercing that it was apparent even in the half darkness. He sported a +moustache more aggressively terrible than that of Kaiser Bill himself +and his demeanor was such as to make that of a roaring lion seem like a +docile lamb by comparison. An Iron Cross depended from a heavy chain +about his bull neck and his portly breast was so covered with the junk +of rank and commemoration that it seemed like one of those boards from +which street hawkers sell badges at a public celebration.</p> + +<p>Poor Tom, who had been hauled out of the hole, stood dogged and sullen +in the clutch of a Boche soldier, and Roscoe, even in his surprise at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> +this singular turn of affairs, bestowed a look of withering scorn upon +him.</p> + +<p>"I knew those branches were <i>broken</i> off," Tom muttered, as if in +answer. "They're using them for camouflage. It's got nothing to do with +the other thing about which way we were going."</p> + +<p>But Roscoe only looked at him with a sneer.</p> + +<p>Wherever the wrong and right lay as to their direction, they had run +plunk into a machine-gun nest and Roscoe Bent, with all his diabolical +skill of aim, could not afford his fine indulgence of sneering, for as +an active combatant, which Tom was not, he should have known that these +nests were more likely to be found at the wood's edge than anywhere +else, where they could command the open country. The little spur of +woods afforded, indeed, an ideal spot for secreting a machine gun, +whence a clear range might be had both north and south.</p> + +<p>If Tom had not been a little afraid of Roscoe he would have acted on the +good scout warning of the broken branches and made a detour in time to +escape this dreadful plight. And the vain regret that he had not done so +rankled in his breast now. The pit was completely surrounded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> and almost +covered with branches, so that no part of the guns and their tripods +which rose out of it was discoverable, at least to Roscoe.</p> + +<p>"Vell, you go home, huh?" the officer demanded, with a grim touch of +humor.</p> + +<p>Roscoe was about to answer, but Tom took the words out of his mouth.</p> + +<p>"We got lost and we got rattled," he said, with a frank confession which +surprised Roscoe; "we thought we were headed south."</p> + +<p>The sniper bestowed another angrily contemptuous look upon him, but Tom +appeared not to notice it.</p> + +<p>"Vell, we rattle you some more—vat?" the officer said, without very +much meaning. His voice was enough to rattle any captive, but Tom was +not easily disconcerted, and instead of cowering under this martial +ferocity and the scorning looks of his friend, he glanced about him in +his frowning, lowering way as if the surroundings interested him more +than his captors. But he said nothing.</p> + +<p>"You English—no?" the officer demanded.</p> + +<p>"We're Americans," said Roscoe, regaining his self-possession.</p> + +<p>"Ach! Diss iss good for you. If you are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> English, ve kill you! You have +kamerads—vere?"</p> + +<p>"There's only the two of us," said Roscoe. Tom seemed willing enough to +let his companion do the talking, and indeed Roscoe, now that he had +recovered his poise, seemed altogether the fitter of the two to be the +spokesman. "We got rattled, as this kid says." "If we'd followed that +light we wouldn't have happened in on you. We hope we don't intrude," he +added sarcastically.</p> + +<p>The officer glanced at the tiny light in the distance, then at one of +the soldiers, then at another, then poured forth a gutteral torrent at +them all. Then he peered suspiciously into the darkness.</p> + +<p>"For treachery, ve kill," he said.</p> + +<p>"I told you there are only two of us," said Roscoe simply.</p> + +<p>"Ach, two! Two millions, you mean! Vat? Ach!" he added, with a +deprecating wave of his hands. "Vy not <i>billions</i>, huh?"</p> + +<p>Roscoe gathered that he was sneering skeptically about the number of +Americans reported to be in France.</p> + +<p>"Ve know just how many," the officer added; "vell, vat you got, huh?"</p> + +<p>At this two of the Boches proceeded to search<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> the captives, neither of +whom had anything of value or importance about them, and handed the +booty to the officer.</p> + +<p>"Vat is diss, huh?" he said, looking at a small object in his hand.</p> + +<p>Tom's answer nearly knocked Roscoe off his feet.</p> + +<p>"It's a compass," said he.</p> + +<p>So Tom had had a compass with him all the time they had been discussing +which was the right direction to take! Why he had not brought it out to +prove the accuracy of his own contention Roscoe could not comprehend.</p> + +<p>"A compass, huh. Vy you not use it?"</p> + +<p>"Because I was sure I was right," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"Always sure you are right, you Yankees! Vat?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Tom.</p> + +<p>The officer examined the trifling haul as well as he could in the +darkness, then began talking in German to one of his men. And meanwhile +Tom watched him in evident suspense, and Roscoe, unmollified, cast at +Tom a look of sneering disgust for his bungling error—a look which +seemed to include the whole brotherhood of scouts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span></p> + +<p>Finally the officer turned upon Roscoe with his characteristic martial +ferocity.</p> + +<p>"How long you in France?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Oh, about a year or so."</p> + +<p>"Vat ship you come on?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know the name of it."</p> + +<p>"You come to Havre, vat?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't notice the port."</p> + +<p>"Huh! You are not so—vide-avake, huh?"</p> + +<p>"Absent-minded, yes," said Roscoe.</p> + +<p>The officer paused, glaring at Roscoe, and Tom could not help envying +his friend's easy and self-possessed air.</p> + +<p>"You know the <i>Texas Pioneer</i>?" the officer shot out in that short, +imperious tone of demand which is the only way in which a German knows +how to ask a question.</p> + +<p>"Never met him," said Roscoe.</p> + +<p>"A ship!" thundered the officer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a ship. No, I've never been introduced."</p> + +<p>"She come to Havre—vat?"</p> + +<p>"That'll be nice," said Roscoe.</p> + +<p>"You never hear of dis ship, huh?"</p> + +<p>"No, there are so many, you know."</p> + +<p>"To bring billions, yes!" the officer said ironically.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's the idea."</p> + +<p>Pause.</p> + +<p>"You hear about more doctors coming—no? Soon?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry I can't oblige you," said Roscoe.</p> + +<p>The officer paused a moment, glaring at him and Tom felt very +unimportant and insignificant.</p> + +<p>"Vell, anyway, you haf good muscle, huh?" the officer finally observed; +then, turning to his subordinates, he held forth in German until it +appeared to Tom that he and Roscoe were to carry the machine gun to the +enemy line.</p> + +<p>To Tom, under whose sullen, lowering manner, was a keenness of +observation sometimes almost uncanny, it seemed that these men were not +the regular crew which had been stationed here, but had themselves +somehow chanced upon the deserted nest in the course of their withdrawal +from the village.</p> + +<p>For one thing, it seemed to him that this imperious officer was a +personage of high rank, who would not ordinarily have been stationed in +one of these machine gun pits. And for another thing, there was +something (he could not tell exactly what) about the general demeanor of +their captors, their way of removing the gun and their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> apparent +unfamiliarity with the spot, which made him think that they had stumbled +into it in the course of their wanderings just as he and Roscoe had +done. They talked in German and he could not understand them, but he +noticed particularly; that the two who went into the pit to gather the +more valuable portion of the paraphernalia appeared not to be familiar +with the place, and he thought that the officer inquired of them whether +there were two or more guns.</p> + +<p>When he lifted his share of the burden, Roscoe noticed how he watched +the officer with a kind of apprehension, almost terror, in his furtive +glance, and kept his eyes upon him as they started away in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Roscoe was in a mood to think ill of Tom, whom he considered the +bungling, stubborn author of their predicament. It pleased him now to +believe that Tom was afraid and losing his nerve. He remembered that he +had said they would be crucified as a result of Tom's pin-headed error. +And he was rather glad to believe that Tom was thinking of that now.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_SEVENTEEN" id="CHAPTER_SEVENTEEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER SEVENTEEN</h2><h3>SHADES OF ARCHIBALD ARCHER</h3> +</div> + +<p>After a minute the officer paused and consulted with one of his men; +then another was summoned to the confab, the three of them reminding Tom +of a newspaper picture he had seen of the Kaiser standing in a field +with two officers and gazing fiercely at a map.</p> + +<p>One of the soldiers waved a hand toward the distance, while Tom watched +sharply. And Roscoe, who accepted their predicament with a kind of +reckless bravado, sneered slightly at Tom's evident apprehension.</p> + +<p>Then the officer produced something, holding it in his hand while the +others peered over his shoulder. And Tom watched them with lowering +brows, breathing hurriedly. No one knew it, but in that little pause Tom +Slade lived a whole life of nervous suspense. It was not, however, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> +nervousness and suspense which his friend thought.</p> + +<p>Then, as if unable to control his impulse, he moved slightly as though +to start in the direction which he and Roscoe had been following. It was +only a slight movement, made in obedience to an overwhelming desire, and +as if he would incline his captors' thoughts in that direction. Roscoe, +who held his burden jointly with Tom, felt this impatient impulse +communicated to him and he took it as a confession from Tom that he had +made the fatal error of mistaking their way before. And he moved a +trifle, too, in the direction where he knew the German lines had been +established, muttering scornfully at Tom, "You know where you're headed +for now, all right. It's what I said right along."</p> + +<p>"I admit I know," said Tom dully.</p> + +<p>No doubt it was the compass which was the main agent in deciding the +officer as to their route, but he and his men moved, even as Tom did, as +if to make an end of needless parleying.</p> + +<p>As they tramped along, following the edge of the wood, a tiny light +appeared ahead of them, far in the distance, like a volunteer beacon, +and Roscoe, turning, a trifle puzzled, tried to discover the other +light, which had now diminished to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> mere speck. Now and again the +officer paused and glanced at that trifling prize of war, Tom's little +glassless, tin-encased compass. But Tom Slade of Temple Camp, Scout of +the Circle and the Five Points, winner of the Acorn and the Indianhead, +looked up from time to time at the quiet, trustful stars.</p> + +<p>So they made their way along, following a fairly straight course, and +verging away from the wood's edge, heading toward the distant light. Two +of the Germans went ahead with fixed bayonets, scouring the underbrush, +and the others escorted Tom and Roscoe, who carried all of the burden.</p> + +<p>The officer strode midway between the advance guard and the escorting +party, pausing now and again as if to make sure of his ground and +occasionally consulting the compass. Once he looked up at the sky and +then Tom fairly trembled. He might have saved himself this worry, +however, for Herr Officer recognized no friends nor allies in that +peaceful, gold-studded heaven.</p> + +<p>"It was an unlucky day for me I ran into you over here," Roscoe +muttered, yielding to his very worst mood.</p> + +<p>Tom said nothing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span></p> + +<p>"We won't even have the satisfaction of dying in action now."</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"After almost a year of watching my step I come to this just because I +took <i>your</i> word. Believe <i>me</i>, I deserve to hang. I don't even get on +the casualty list, on account of you. You see what we're both up against +now, through that bump of locality you're so proud of. Edwards' +Grove<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +is where <i>you</i> belong. I'm not blaming you, though—I'm blaming myself +for listening to a dispatch kid!"</p> + +<p>The Germans, not understanding, paid no attention, and Roscoe went on, +reminding Tom of the old, flippant, cheaply cynical Roscoe, who had +stolen his employer's time to smoke cigarettes in the Temple Camp +office, trying to arouse the stenographer's mirth by ridiculing the Boy +Scouts.</p> + +<p>"I'm not thinking about what you're saying," he said bluntly, after a few +minutes. "I'm remembering how you saved my life and named your gun after +me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span></p><p>"Hey, Fritzie, have they got any Boy Scouts in Germany?" Roscoe asked, +ignoring Tom, but speaking apparently at him. The nearest Boche gave a +glowering look at the word <i>Fritzie</i>, but otherwise paid no attention.</p> + +<p>"We were on our way to German headquarters, anyway," Roscoe added, +addressing himself indifferently to the soldiers, "but we're glad of +your company. The more, the merrier. Young Daniel Boone here was leading +the way."</p> + +<p>The Germans, of course, did not understand, but Tom felt ashamed of his +companion's cynical bravado. The insults to himself he did not mind. His +thoughts were fixed on something else.</p> + +<p>On they went, into a marshy area where Tom looked more apprehensively at +the officer than before, as if he feared the character of the ground +might arouse the suspicion of his captors. But they passed through here +without pause or question and soon were near enough to the flickering +light to see that it burned in a house.</p> + +<p>Again Roscoe looked perplexedly behind him, but the light there was not +visible at all now. Again the officer stopped and, as Tom watched him +fearfully, he glanced about and then looked again at the compass.</p> + +<p>For one brief moment the huge figure stood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> there, outlined in the +darkness as if doubting. And Tom, looking impassive and dogged, held his +breath in an agony of suspense.</p> + +<p>It was nothing and they moved on again, Roscoe, in complete repudiation +of his better self, indulging his sullen anger and making Tom and the +Scouts (as if they had anything to do with it) the victims of his +cutting shafts.</p> + +<p>And still again the big, medal-bespangled officer paused to look at the +compass, glanced, suspiciously, Tom thought, at the faint shadow of a +road ahead of them, and moved on, his medals clanging and chinking in +unison with his martial stride.</p> + +<p>And Tom Slade of Temple Camp, Scout of the Circle and the Five Points, +winner of the Acorn and the Indianhead, glanced up from time to time at +the quiet, trustful stars.</p> + +<p>If he thought of any human being then, it was not of Roscoe Bent (not +<i>this</i> Roscoe Bent, in any event), but of a certain young friend far +away, he did not know where. And he thanked Archibald Archer, vandal +though he was, for, one idle, foolish thing that he had done.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p class='noindent'><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"> +<span class="label">[1]</span></a> The woods near Bridgeboro, in America, where Tom and the Scouts had hiked and camped.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_EIGHTEEN" id="CHAPTER_EIGHTEEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER EIGHTEEN</h2><h3>THE BIG COUP</h3> +</div> + +<p>No one knew, no one ever would know, of the anxiety and suspense which +Tom Slade experienced in that fateful march through the country above +Cantigny. Every uncertain pause of that huge officer, and every half +inquiring turn of his head sent a shock of chill misgiving through poor +Tom and he trudged along under the weight of his burden, hearing the +flippant and bitter jibes of Roscoe as if in a trance.</p> + +<p>At last, having crossed a large field, they fell into a well-worn path, +and here Tom experienced his moment of keenest anxiety, for the officer +paused as if in momentary recognition of the spot. For a second he +seemed a bit perplexed, then strode on. Still again he paused within a +few yards of the little house where the light had appeared.</p> + +<p>But it was too late. About this house a dozen or more figures moved in +the darkness. Their style of dress was not distinguishable, but Tom +Slade called aloud to them, "Here's some prisoners we brought you +back."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span></p> + +<p>In an instant they were surrounded by Americans and Tom thought that his +native tongue had never sounded so good before.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Snipy," some one said.</p> + +<p>But Roscoe Bent was too astonished to answer. In a kind of trance he saw +the big Prussian officer start back, heard him utter some terrific +German expletive, beheld the others of the party herded together, and +was aware of the young American captain giving orders. In a daze he +looked at Tom's stolid face, then at the Prussian officer, who seemed +too stunned to say anything after his first startled outburst. He saw +two boys in khaki approaching with lanterns and in the dim light of +these he could distinguish a dozen or so khaki-clad figures perched +along a fence.</p> + +<p>"Where are we at, anyway?" he finally managed to ask.</p> + +<p>"Just inside the village," one of the Americans answered.</p> + +<p>"What village?"</p> + +<p>"Coney Island on the subway," one of the boys on the fence called.</p> + +<p>"Cantigny," some one nearer to him said. "You made a good haul."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well—I'll—be——" Roscoe began.</p> + +<p>Tom Slade said nothing. Like a trusty pilot leaving his ship he strolled +over and vaulted up on the fence beside the boys who, having taken the +village, were now making themselves comfortable in it. His first +question showed his thoughtfulness.</p> + +<p>"Is the brook water all right?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. Thirsty?"</p> + +<p>"No, I only wanted to make sure it was all right. There were some big +hogsheads of poison up in the woods where the brook starts and the other +feller killed three Germans who tried to empty them in the stream. By +mistake he shot a hole in one of the hogsheads and I thought maybe some +of the stuff got into the water. But I guess it didn't."</p> + +<p>It was characteristic of Tom that he did not mention his own part in the +business.</p> + +<p>"I drank about a quart of it around noontime," said a young sergeant, +"and I'm here yet."</p> + +<p>"It's good and cool," observed another.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with Snipy, anyway?" a private asked, laughing. +"Somebody been spinning him around?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span></p> + +<p>"He just got mixed up, kind of, that's all," Tom said.</p> + +<p><i>That was all</i>.</p> + +<p>There was much excitement in and about the little cottage on the edge of +the village. Up the narrow path, from headquarters below, came other +Americans, officers as Tom could see, who disappeared inside the house. +Presently, the German prisoners, all except the big officer, came out, +sullen in captivity, poor losers as Germans always are, and marched away +toward the centre of the village, under escort.</p> + +<p>"They thought they were taking us to the German lines," said Tom simply.</p> + +<p>Roscoe, having recovered somewhat from his surprise and feeling deeply +chagrined, walked over and stood in front of Tom.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you show me that compass, Tom?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Because it was wrong, just like you were," Tom answered frankly, but +without any trace of resentment. "If I'd showed it to you you'd have +thought it proved you were right. It was marked, crazy like, by that +feller I told you about. I knew all the time we were coming to +Cantigny."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a moment of silence, then Roscoe, his voice full of feeling, +said simply,</p> + +<p>"Tom Slade, you're a wonder."</p> + +<p>"Hear that, Paul Revere?" one of the soldiers said jokingly. "Praise +from the Jersey Snipe means something."</p> + +<p>"No, it don't either," Roscoe muttered in self-distrust. "You've saved +me from a Hun prison camp and while you were doing it you had to listen +to me—Gee! I feel like kicking myself," he broke off.</p> + +<p>"I ain't blaming you," said Tom, in his expressionless way. "If I'd had +my way we'd have made a detour when I saw those broken branches, 'cause +I knew it meant people were there, and then we wouldn't have got those +fellers as prisoners, at all. So they got to thank you more than me."</p> + +<p>This was queer reasoning, indeed, but it was Tom Slade all over.</p> + +<p>"Me!" said Roscoe, "that's the limit. Tom, you're the same old hickory +nut. Forgive me, old man, if you can."</p> + +<p>"I don't have to," said Tom.</p> + +<p>Roscoe stood there staring at him, thrilled with honest admiration and +stung by humiliation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span></p> + +<p>And as the little group, augmented by other soldiers who strolled over +to hear of this extraordinary affair first hand, grew into something of +a crowd, Tom, alias Thatchy, alias Paul Revere, alias Towhead, sat upon +the fence, answering questions and telling of his great coup with a dull +unconcern which left them all gaping.</p> + +<p>"As soon as I made up my mind they didn't belong there," he said, "I +decided they weren't sure of their own way, kind of. If the big man +hadn't taken the compass away from me, I'd have given it to him anyway. +It had the N changed into an S and the S into an N. I think he kind of +thought the other way was right, but when he saw the compass, that +settled him. All the time I was looking at the Big Dipper, 'cause I knew +nobody ever tampered with that. I noticed he never even looked up, but +once, and then I was scared. When we got to the marsh, I was scared, +too, 'cause I thought maybe he'd know about the low land being south of +the woods. I was scared all the time, as you might say, but mostly when +he turned his head and seemed kind of uncertain-like. It ain't so much +any credit to me as it is to Archer—the feller that changed the +letters. Anyway, I ain't mad,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> that's sure," he added, evidently +intending this for Roscoe. "Everybody gets mistaken sometimes."</p> + +<p>"You're one bully old trump, Tom," said Roscoe shamefacedly.</p> + +<p>"So now you see how it was," Tom concluded. "I couldn't get rattled as +long as I could see the Big Dipper up there in the sky."</p> + +<p>For a few moments there was silence, save for the low whistling of one +of the soldiers.</p> + +<p>"You're all right, kiddo," he broke off to say.</p> + +<p>Then one of the others turned suddenly, giving Tom a cordial rap on the +shoulder which almost made him lose his balance. "Well, as long as we've +got the Big Dipper," said he, "and as long as the water's pure, what +d'you say we all go and have a drink—in honor of Paul Revere?"</p> + +<p>So it was that presently Tom and Roscoe found themselves sitting alone +upon the fence in the darkness. Neither spoke. In the distance they +could hear the muffled boom of some isolated field-piece, belching forth +its challenge in the night. High overhead there was a whirring, buzzing +sound as a shadow glided through the sky where the stars shone +peacefully. A company of boys in khaki, carrying intrenching implements, +passed by, greeting them cheerily as they trudged back from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> doing their +turn in digging the new trench line which would embrace Cantigny.</p> + +<p>Cantigny!</p> + +<p>"I'm glad we took the town, that's one sure thing," Tom said.</p> + +<p>"It's the first good whack we've given them," agreed Roscoe.</p> + +<p>Again there was silence. In the little house across the road a light +burned. Little did Tom Slade know what was going on there, and what it +would mean to him. And still the American boys guarding this approach +down into the town, moved to and fro, to and fro, in the darkness.</p> + +<p>"Tom," said Roscoe, "I was a fool again, just like I was before, back +home in America. Will you try to forget it, old man?" he added.</p> + +<p>"There ain't anything to forget," said Tom, "I got to be thankful I +found you; that's the only thing I'm thinking about and—and—that we +didn't let the Germans get us. If you like a feller you don't mind about +what he says. Do you think I forget you named that rifle after me? Just +because—because you didn't know about trusting to the stars,—I +wouldn't be mad at you——"</p> + +<p>Roscoe did not answer.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_NINETEEN" id="CHAPTER_NINETEEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER NINETEEN</h2><h3>TOM IS QUESTIONED</h3> +</div> + +<p>When it became known in the captured village (as it did immediately) +that the tall prisoner whom Tom Slade had brought in, was none other +than the famous Major Johann Slauberstrauffn von Piffinhoeffer, +excitement ran high in the neighborhood, and the towheaded young +dispatch-rider from the Toul sector was hardly less of a celebrity than +the terrible Prussian himself. "Paul Revere" and his compass became the +subjects of much mirth, touched, as usual, with a kind of bantering +evidence of genuine liking.</p> + +<p>In face of all this, Tom bestowed all the credit on Roscoe (it would be +hard to say why), and on Archibald Archer and the Big Dipper.</p> + +<p>"Now that we've got the Big Dipper with us we ought to be able to push +right through to Berlin," observed one young corporal. "They say +Edison's got some new kind of a wrinkle up his sleeve, but believe me, +if he's got anything to beat Paul Revere's compass, he's a winner!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span></p> + +<p>"Old Piff nearly threw a fit, I heard, when he found out that he was +captured by a kid in the messenger service," another added.</p> + +<p>"They may pull a big stroke with Mars, the god of war," still another +said, "but we've got the Big Dipper on our side."</p> + +<p>Indeed, some of them nicknamed Tom the Big Dipper, but he did not mind +for, as he said soberly, he had "always liked the Big Dipper, anyway."</p> + +<p>As the next day passed the importance of Tom's coup became known among +the troops stationed in the village and was the prime topic with those +who were digging the new trench line northeast of the town. Indeed, +aside from the particular reasons which were presently to appear, the +capture of Major von Piffinhoeffer was a "stunt" of the first order +which proved particularly humiliating to German dignity. That he should +have been captured at all was remarkable. That he should have been +hoodwinked and brought in by a young dispatch-rider was a matter of +crushing mortification to him, and must have been no less so to the +German high command.</p> + +<p>Who but Major von Piffinhoeffer had first suggested the use of the +poisoned bandage in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> treatment of English prisoners' wounds? Who but +Major von Piffinhoeffer had devised the very scheme of contaminating +streams, which Tom and Roscoe had discovered? Who but Major von +Piffinhoeffer had invented the famous "circle code" which had so long +puzzled and baffled Uncle Sam's Secret Service agents? Who but Major von +Piffinhoeffer had first suggested putting cholera germs in rifle +bullets, and tuberculosis germs in American cigarettes?</p> + +<p>A soldier of the highest distinction was Major von Piffinhoeffer, of +Heidelberg University, whose decorative junk had come direct from the +grateful junkers, and whose famous eight-volume work on "Principles of +Modern Torture" was a text-book in the realm. A warrior of mettle was +Major von Piffinhoeffer, who deserved a more glorious fate than to be +captured by an American dispatch-rider!</p> + +<p>But Tom Slade was not vain and it is doubtful if his stolid face, +crowned by his shock of rebellious hair, would have shown the slightest +symptom of excitement if he had captured Hindenburg, or the Kaiser +himself.</p> + +<p>In the morning he rode down to Chepoix with some dispatches and in the +afternoon to St. Justen-Chaussee.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> He was kept busy all day. When he +returned to Cantigny, a little before dark, he was told to remain at +headquarters, and for a while he feared that he was going to be +court-martialled for overstaying his leave.</p> + +<p>When he was at last admitted into the presence of the commanding +officer, he shifted from one foot to the other, feeling ill at ease as +he always did in the presence of officialdom. The officer sat at a heavy +table which had evidently been the kitchen table of the French peasant +people who had originally occupied the poor cottage. Signs of petty +German devastation were all about the humble, low-ceiled place, and they +seemed to evidence a more loathsome brutality even than did the blighted +country which Tom had ridden through.</p> + +<p>Apparently everything which could show an arrogant contempt of the +simple family life which had reigned there had been done. There was a +kind of childish spitefulness in the sword thrusts through the few +pictures which hung on the walls. The German genius for destruction and +wanton vandalism was evident in broken knick-knacks and mottoes of hate +and bloody vengeance scrawled upon floor and wall.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span></p> + +<p>It did Tom's heart good to see the resolute, capable American officers +sitting there attending to their business in quiet disregard of all +these silly, vulgar signs of impotent hate and baffled power.</p> + +<p>"When you first met these Germans," the officer asked, "did the big +fellow have anything to say?"</p> + +<p>"He asked us some questions," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"Yes? Now what did he ask you?" the officer encouraged, as he reached +out and took a couple of papers pinned together, which lay among others +on the table.</p> + +<p>"He seemed to be interested in transports, kind of, and the number of +Americans there are here."</p> + +<p>"Hmm. Did he mention any particular ship—do you remember?" the officer +asked, glancing at the paper.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he did. <i>Texas Pioneer</i>. I don't remember whether it was Texan or +Texas."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said the officer.</p> + +<p>"We didn't tell him anything," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not."</p> + +<p>The officer sat whistling for a few seconds, and scrutinizing the +papers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you remember the color of the officer's eyes?" he suddenly asked.</p> + +<p>"It was only in the dark we saw him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, surely. So you didn't get a very good look at him."</p> + +<p>"I saw he had a nose shaped like a carrot, kind of," said Tom +ingenuously.</p> + +<p>Both of the officers smiled.</p> + +<p>"I mean the big end of it," said Tom soberly.</p> + +<p>The two men glanced at each other and laughed outright. Tom did not +quite appreciate what they were laughing at but it encouraged him to +greater boldness, and shifting from one foot to the other, he said,</p> + +<p>"The thing I noticed specially was how his mouth went sideways when he +talked, so one side of it seemed to slant the same as his moustache, +like, and the other didn't."</p> + +<p>The officers smiled at each other again, but the one quizzing Tom looked +at him shrewdly and seemed interested.</p> + +<p>"I mean the two ends of his moustache that stuck up like the +Kaiser's——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"I mean they didn't slant the same when he talked. One was crooked."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span></p> + +<p>Again the officers smiled and the one who had been speaking said +thoughtfully,</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>Tom shifted back to his other foot while the officer seemed to ruminate.</p> + +<p>"He had a breed mark, too," Tom volunteered.</p> + +<p>"A what?"</p> + +<p>"Breed mark—it's different from a species mark," he added naively.</p> + +<p>The officer looked at him rather curiously. "And what do you call a +breed mark?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Tom looked at the other man who seemed also to be watching him closely. +He shifted from one foot to the other and said,</p> + +<p>"It's a scout sign. A man named Jeb Rushmore told me about it. All +trappers know about it. It was his ear, how it stuck out, like."</p> + +<p>He shifted to the other foot.</p> + +<p>"Yes, go on."</p> + +<p>"Nothing, only that's what a breed sign is. If Jeb Rushmore saw a bear +and afterwards way off he saw another bear he could tell if the first +bear was its grandmother—most always he could.</p> + +<p>"Hmm. I see," said the officer, plainly interested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> and watching Tom +curiously. "And that's what a breed sign is, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Eyes ain't breed signs, but ears are. Feet are, too, and +different ways of walking are, but ears are the best of all—that's one +sure thing."</p> + +<p>"And you mean that relationships can be determined by these breed +signs?"</p> + +<p>"I don't mean people just looking like each other," Tom explained, +"'cause any way animals don't look like each other in the face. But you +got to go by breed signs. Knuckles are good signs, too."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said the officer, "that's very fine, and news to me."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you were never a scout," said Tom naively.</p> + +<p>"So that if you saw your Prussian major's brother or son somewhere, +where you had reason to think he would be, you'd know him—you'd +recognize him?"</p> + +<p>Tom hesitated and shifted again. It was getting pretty deep for him.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY</h2><h3>THE MAJOR'S PAPERS</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was perfectly evident that the officer's purpose in sending for Tom, +whatever that was, was considerably affected by the boy's own remarks, +and he now, after pondering a few moments, handed Tom the two papers +which he had been holding.</p> + +<p>"Just glance that over and then I'll talk to you," he said.</p> + +<p>Tom felt very important, indeed, and somewhat perturbed as well, for +though he had carried many dispatches it had never been his lot to know +their purport.</p> + +<p>"If you know the importance and seriousness of what I am thinking of +letting you do," the officer said, "perhaps it will help you to be very +careful and thorough."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Tom, awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"All right, just glance that over."</p> + +<p>The two papers were clipped together, and as Tom looked at the one on +top he saw that it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> soiled and creased and written in German. The +other was evidently a translation of it. It seemed to be a letter the +first part of which was missing, and this is what Tom read:</p> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p class='noindent'>"but, as you say, everything for the Fatherland. If you receive this +let them know that I'll have my arms crossed and to be careful +before they shoot. If you don't get this I'll just have to take my +chance. The other way isn't worth trying. As for the code key, that +will be safe enough—they'll never find it. If it wasn't for the —— +English service —— (worn and undecipherable) —— as far as that's +concerned. As far as I can ascertain we'll go on the T.P. There was +some inquiry about my close relationship to you, but nothing +serious. All you have to do is cheer when they play the S.S.B. over +here. It isn't known if Schmitter had the key to this when they +caught him because he died on Ellis Island. But it's being abandoned +to be on the safe side. I have notice from H. not to use it after +sending this letter. If we can get the new one in your hands +before —— (text undecipherable) —— in time so it can be used +through Mexico.</p> + +<p class='noindent'>"I'll have much information to communicate verbally in T. and A. +matters, but will bring nothing in —— —— form but key and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span>credentials. +The idea is L.'s—you remember him at Heidelberg, I +dare say. I brought him back once for holiday. Met him through +Handel, the fellow who was troubled with cataract. V. has furnished +funds. So don't fail to have them watch out.</p> + +<p class='noindent'>"To the day,<br /> +"A. P."</p> +</div> + +<p>"So you see some one is probably coming over on the <i>Texas Pioneer</i>," +said the officer, as he took the papers from bewildered Tom, "and we'd +like to get hold of that fellow. The only trouble is we don't know who +he is."</p> + +<p>It was quite half a minute before Tom could get a grip on himself, so +dark and mysterious had seemed this extraordinary communication. And it +was not until afterward, when he was alone and not handicapped by his +present embarrassment, that certain puzzling things about it became +clear to him. At present he depended wholly upon what his superior told +him and thought of nothing else.</p> + +<p>"That was taken from your tall friend," said the officer, "and it means, +if it means anything, that somebody or other closely related to him is +coming over to France on the <i>Texas Pioneer</i>. From his mention of the +name to you I take it that is what T. P. means.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now, my boy, we want to get hold of this fellow—he's a spy. +Apparently, he won't have anything incriminating about him. My +impression is that he's in the army and hopes to get himself captured by +his friends. Yet he may desert and take a chance of getting into Germany +through Holland. About the only clew there is, is the intimation that +he's related to the prisoner. He may look like him. We've been trying to +get in communication with Dieppe, where this transport is expected to +dock to-morrow, but the wires seem to be shot into a tangle again.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you could make Dieppe before morning—eighty to ninety +miles?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. The first twenty or so will be bad on account of shell holes, +I heard they threw as far as Forges."</p> + +<p>"Hmm," said the officer, drumming with his fingers. "We'll leave all +that to you. The thing is to get there before morning."</p> + +<p>"I know they never let anybody ashore before daylight," said Tom, +"because I worked on a transport."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now we'll see if the general and others hereabouts have been +overrating you. You've two things to do. One is to get to Dieppe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> before +to-morrow morning. That's imperative. The other is to assist the +authorities there to identify the writer of this letter if you can. Of +course, you'll not concern yourself with anything else in the letter. I +let you read it partly because of your very commendable bringing in of +this important captive and partly because I want you to know how serious +and important are the matters involved. I was rather impressed with what +you said about—er—breed marks."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"And I believe you're thoughtful and careful. You've ridden by night a +good deal, I understand."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"So. Now you are to ride at once to Breteuil, a little east of here, +where they're holding this prisoner. You'll deliver a note I shall give +you to Colonel Wallace, and he'll see to it that you have a look at the +man, in a sufficiently good light. Don't be afraid to observe him +closely. And whatever acuteness you may have in this way, let your +country have the benefit of it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"It may be that some striking likeness will enable you to recognize this +stranger. Possibly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> your special knowledge will be helpful. In any case, +when you reach Dieppe, present these papers, with the letter which I +shall give you, to the quartermaster there, and he will turn you over to +the Secret Service men. Do whatever they tell you and help them in every +way you can. I shall mention that you've seen the prisoner and observed +him closely. They may have means of discovery and identification which I +know nothing of, but don't be afraid to offer your help. Too much won't +be expected of you in that way, but it's imperative that you reach +Dieppe before morning. The roads are pretty bad, I know that. Think you +can do it?"</p> + +<p>"What you got to do, you can do," said Tom simply.</p> + +<p>It was a favorite saying of the same Jeb Rushmore, scout and woodsman, +who had told Tom about breed marks, and how they differed from mere +points of resemblance. And it made him think about Jeb Rushmore.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-ONE" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-ONE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE</h2><h3>THE MIDNIGHT RIDE OF PAUL REVERE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Swiftly and silently along the dark road sped the dispatch-rider who had +come out of the East, from the far-off Toul sector, <i>for service as +required</i>. All the way across bleeding, devastated France he had +travelled, and having paused, as it were, to help in the little job at +Cantigny, he was now speeding through the darkness toward the coast with +as important a message as he had ever carried.</p> + +<p>A little while before, as time is reckoned, he had been a Boy Scout in +America and had thought it was something to hike from New York to the +Catskills. Since then, he had been on a torpedoed transport, had been +carried in a submarine to Germany, had escaped through that war-mad land +and made his way to France, whose scarred and disordered territory he +had crossed almost from one end to the other, and was now headed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> for +almost the very point where he had first landed. Yet he was only +eighteen, and no one whom he met seemed to think that his experiences +had been remarkable. For in a world where all are having extraordinary +experiences, those of one particular person are hardly matter for +comment.</p> + +<p>At Breteuil Tom had another look at "Major Piff," who bent his terrible, +scornful gaze upon him, making poor Tom feel like an insignificant worm. +But the imperious Prussian's stare netted him not half so much in the +matter of valuable data as Tom derived from his rather timid scrutiny. +Yet he would almost have preferred to face the muzzle of a field-piece +rather than wither beneath that arrogant, contemptuous glare.</p> + +<p>It was close on to midnight when he reached Hardivillers, passing beyond +the point of the Huns' farthest advance, and sped along the straight +road for Marseille-en-Froissy, where he was to leave a relay packet for +Paris. From there he intended to run down to Gournay and then northwest +along the highway to the coast. He thought he had plenty of time.</p> + +<p>At Gournay they told him that some American engineers were repairing the +bridge at Saumont, which had been damaged by floods, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> that he might +gain the north road to the coast by going back as far as Songeons and +following the path along the upper Therain River, which would take him +to Aumale, and bring him into the Neufchatel road.</p> + +<p>He lost perhaps two hours in doing this, partly by reason of the extra +distance and partly by reason of the muddy, and in some places +submerged, path along the Therain. The stream, ordinarily hardly more +than a creek, was so swollen that he had to run his machine through a +veritable swamp in places, and anything approaching speed was out of the +question. So difficult was his progress, what with running off the +flooded road and into the stream bed, and also from his wheels sticking +in the mud, that he began to fear that he was losing too much time in +this discouraging business.</p> + +<p>But there was nothing to do but go forward, and he struggled on, +sometimes wheeling his machine, sometimes riding it, until at last it +sank almost wheel deep in muddy water and he had to lose another half +hour in cleaning out his carbureter. He feared that it might give +trouble even then, but the machine labored along when the mud was not +too deep, and at last, after almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> superhuman effort, he and <i>Uncle +Sam</i> emerged, dirty and dripping, out of a region where he could almost +have made as good progress with a boat, into Aumale, where he stopped +long enough to clean the grit out of his engine parts.</p> + +<p>It was now nearly four o'clock in the morning, and his instructions were +to reach Dieppe not later than five. He knew, from his own experience, +that transports always discharge their thronging human cargoes early in +the morning, and that every minute after five o'clock would increase the +likelihood of his finding the soldiers already gone ashore and separated +for the journeys to their various destinations. To reach Dieppe after +the departure of the soldiers was simply unthinkable to Tom. Whatever +excuse there might have been to the authorities for his failure, that +also he could not allow to enter his thoughts. He had been trusted to do +something and he was going to do it.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was this dogged resolve which deterred him from doing +something which he had thought of doing; that is, acquainting the +authorities at Aumale with his plight and letting them wire on to +Dieppe. Surely the wires between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> Aumale and the coast must be working, +but suppose——</p> + +<p>Suppose the Germans should demolish those wires with a random shot from +some great gun such as the monster which had bombarded Paris at a +distance of seventy miles. Such a random shot might demolish Tom Slade, +too, but he did not think of that. What he thought of chiefly was the +inglorious rôle he would play if, after shifting his responsibility, he +should go riding into Dieppe only to find that the faithful dots and +dashes had done his work for him. Then again, suppose the wires should +be tapped—there were spies everywhere, he knew that.</p> + +<p>Whatever might have been the part of wisdom and caution, he was well +past Aumale before he allowed himself to realize that he was taking +rather a big chance. If there were floods in one place there might be +floods in another, but——</p> + +<p>He banished the thought from his mind. Tom Slade, motorcycle +dispatch-bearer, had always regarded the villages he rushed through with +a kind of patronizing condescension. His business had always been +between some headquarters or other and some point of destination, and +between these points he had no interest. He and <i>Uncle Sam</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> had a +little pride in these matters. French children with clattering wooden +shoes had clustered about him when he paused, old wives had called, +"<i>Vive l'Amerique</i>!" from windows and, like the post-boy of old, he had +enjoyed the prestige which was his. Should he, Tom Slade, surrender or +ask for help in one of these mere incidental places along his line of +travel?</p> + +<p><i>What you got to do, you do</i>, he had said, and you cannot do it by going +half way and then letting some one else do the rest. He had read the +<i>Message to Garcia</i> (as what scout has not), and did that bully +messenger—whatever his name was—turn back because the Cuban jungle was +too much for him? <i>He delivered the message to Garcia</i>, that was the +point. There were swamps, and dank, tangled, poisonous vines, and +venomous snakes, and the sickening breath of fever. <i>But he delivered +the message to Garcia</i>.</p> + +<p>It was sixty miles, Tom knew, from Aumale to Dieppe by the road. And he +must reach Dieppe not later than five o'clock. The road was a good road, +if it held nothing unexpected. The map showed it to be a good road, and +as far west as this there was small danger from shell holes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span></p> + +<p>Fifty miles, and one hour!</p> + +<p>Swiftly along the dark road sped the dispatch-rider who had come from +the far-off blue hills of Alsace across the war-scorched area of +northern France into the din and fire and stenching suffocation and +red-running streams of Picardy <i>for service as required</i>. Past St. Prey +he rushed; past Thiueloy, and into Mortemer, and on to the hilly region +where the Eualine flows between its hilly banks. He was in and out of La +Tois in half a minute.</p> + +<p>When he passed through Neufchatel several poilus, lounging at the +station, hailed him cheerily in French, but he paid no heed, and they +stood gaping, seeing his bent form and head thrust forward with its +shock of tow hair flying all about.</p> + +<p>Twenty miles, and half an hour!</p> + +<p>Through St. Authon he sped, raising a cloud of dust, his keen eyes +rivetted upon the road ahead, and down into the valley where a tributary +of the Bethune winds its troubled way—past Le Farge, past tiny, +picturesque Loix, into an area of 'lowland where an isolated cottage +seemed like a lonely spectre of the night as he passed, on through +Mernoy to the crossing at Chabris, and then——</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-TWO" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-TWO"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO</h2><h3>"UNCLE SAM"</h3> +</div> + +<p>Tom Slade stood looking with consternation at the scene before him. His +trusty motorcycle which had borne him so far stood beside him, and as he +steadied it, it seemed as if this mute companion and co-patriot which he +had come to love, were sharing his utter dismay. Almost at his very feet +rushed a boisterous torrent, melting the packed earth of the road like +wax in a tropic sunshine, and carrying its devastating work of erosion +to the very spot where he stood.</p> + +<p>In a kind of cold despair, he stooped, reached for a board which lay +near, and retreating a little, stood upon it, watching the surging water +in its heedless career. This one board was all that was left of the +bridge over which Tom Slade and <i>Uncle Sam</i> were to have rushed in their +race with the dawn. Already the first glimmering of gray was discernible +in the sky behind him, and Tom looked at <i>Uncle Sam</i> as if for council<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> +in his dilemma. The dawn would not require any bridge to get across.</p> + +<p>"We're checked in our grand drive, kind of," he said, with a pathetic +disappointment which his odd way of putting it did not disguise. "We're +checked, that's all, just like the Germans were—kind of."</p> + +<p>He knelt and let down the rest of his machine so that it might stand +unaided, as if he would be considerate of those mud-covered, weary +wheels.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile the minutes passed.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, you did <i>your</i> part," he muttered. And then, "If you only could +swim."</p> + +<p>It was evident that the recent rains had swollen the stream which +ordinarily flowed in the narrow bed between slanting shores so that the +rushing water filled the whole space between the declivities and was +even flooding the two ends of road which had been connected by a bridge. +An old ramshackle house, which Tom thought might once have been a +boathouse, stood near, the water lapping its underpinning. Close by it +was a buoyed mooring float six or eight feet square, bobbing in the +rushing water. One of the four air-tight barrels which supported it had +caught in the mud and kept the buoyant, raft-like platform<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> from being +carried downstream in the rush of water.</p> + +<p>Holding his flashlight to his watch Tom saw that it was nearly fifteen +minutes past four and he believed that about forty miles of road lay +ahead of him. Slowly, silently, the first pale tint of gray in the sky +behind him took on a more substantial hue, revealing the gaunt, black +outlines of trees and painting the sun-dried, ragged shingles on the +little house a dull silvery color.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, you stood by me and it ain't your fault," Tom muttered +disconsolately. He turned the handle bar this way and that, so that +<i>Uncle Sam's</i> one big eye peered uncannily across the flooded stream and +flickered up the road upon the other side, which wound up the hillside +and away into the country beyond. The big, peering eye seemed to look +longingly upon that road.</p> + +<p>Then Tom was seized with a kind of frantic rebellion against fate—the +same futile passion which causes a convict to wrench madly at the bars +of his cell. The glimpse of that illuminated stretch of road across the +flooded stream drove him to distraction. Baffled, powerless, his wonted +stolidness left him, and he cast his eyes here and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> there with a sort of +challenge born of despair and desperation.</p> + +<p>Slowly, gently, the hazy dawn stole over the sky and the roof of dried +and ragged shingles seemed as if it were covered with gray dust. +Presently the light would flicker upon those black, mad waters and laugh +at Tom from the other side.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile the minutes passed.</p> + +<p>He believed that he could swim the torrent and make a landing even +though the rush of water carried him somewhat downstream. But what about +<i>Uncle Sam</i>? He turned off the searchlight and still <i>Uncle Sam</i> was +clearly visible now, standing, waiting. He could count the spokes in the +wheels.</p> + +<p>The spokes in the wheels—<i>the spokes</i>. With a sudden inspiration born +of despair, Tom looked at that low, shingled roof. He could see it +fairly well now. The gray dawn had almost caught up with him.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile the minutes passed!</p> + +<p>In a frantic burst of energy he took a running jump, caught the edge of +the roof and swung himself upon it. In the thin haze his form was +outlined there, his shock of light hair jerking this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> way and that, as +he tore off one shingle after another, and threw them to the ground. He +was racing now, as he had not raced before, and there was upon his +square, homely face that look of uncompromising resolution which the +soldier wears as he goes over the top with his bayonet fixed.</p> + +<p>Leaping to the ground again he gathered up some half a dozen shingles, +selecting them with as much care as his desperate haste would permit. +Then he hurriedly opened the leather tool case on his machine and +tumbled the contents about until he found the roll of insulated wire +which he always carried.</p> + +<p>His next work was to split one of the shingles over his knee so that he +had a strip of wood about two inches wide. It took him but so many +seconds to jab four or five holes through this, and adjusting it between +two slopes of the power wheel so that it stood crossways and was +re-enforced by the spokes themselves, he proceeded to bind it in place +with the wire. Then he moved the wheel gently around, and found that the +projecting edge of wooden strip knocked against the mud-guard. +Hesitating not a second he pulled and bent and twisted the mud-guard,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> +wrenching it off. The wheel revolved freely now. The spokes were +beginning to shine in the brightening light.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile the seconds passed!</p> + +<p>It was the work of hardly a minute to bind three other narrow strips of +shingle among the spokes so that they stood more or less crossways. +There was no time to place and fasten more, but these, at equal +intervals, forming a sort of cross within the wheel, were quite +sufficient, Tom thought, for his purpose. It was necessary to shave the +edges of the shingles somewhat, after they were in place, so that they +would not chafe against the axle-bars. But this was also the hurried +work of a few seconds, and then Tom moved his machine to the old mooring +float and lifted it upon the bobbing platform.</p> + +<p>He must work with the feverish speed of desperation for the float was +held by no better anchor than one of its supporting barrels embedded in +the mud. If he placed his weight or that of <i>Uncle Sam</i> upon the side of +the float already in the water the weight would probably release the +mud-held barrel and the float, with himself and <i>Uncle Sam</i> upon it, +would be carried willy-nilly upon the impetuous waters.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span></p> + +<p>And meanwhile—— How plainly he could distinguish the trees now, and +the pale stars stealing away into the obscurity of the brightening +heavens.</p> + +<p>With all the strength that he could muster he wrenched a board from the +centre of the platform, and moving his arm about in the opening felt the +rushing water beneath.</p> + +<p>The buoyancy of the air-tight barrels, one of which was lodged under +each corner of the float, was such that with Tom and his machine upon +the planks the whole platform would float six or eight inches free of +the water. To pole or row this unwieldy raft in such a flood would have +been quite out of the question, and even in carrying out the plan which +Tom now thought furnished his only hope, he knew that the sole chance of +success lay in starting right. If the float, through premature or +unskilful starting, should get headed downstream, there would be no hope +of counteracting its impetus.</p> + +<p>Lifting his machine, he lowered it carefully into the opening left by +the torn-off plank, until the pedals rested upon the planks on either +side and the power wheel was partially submerged. So far, so good.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span></p> + +<p>In less than a minute now he would either succeed or fail. It was +necessary first to alter the position of the float slightly so that the +opening left by the plank pointed across and slightly upstream. He had +often noticed how the pilot of a ferryboat directs his craft above or +below the point of landing to counteract the rising or ebbing tide, and +this was his intention now; but to neutralize the force of the water +with another force not subject to direction or adjustment involved a +rather nice calculation.</p> + +<p>Very cautiously he waded out upon the precipitous, submerged bank and +brought the float into position. This done, he acted with lightning +rapidity. Leaping upon the freed float before it had time to swing +around, he raised his machine, started it, and lowering the power wheel +into the opening, steadied the machine as best he could. It was not +possible to let it hang upon its pedals for he must hold it at a steep +angle, and it required all his strength to manage its clumsy, furiously +vibrating bulk.</p> + +<p>But the effects of his makeshift paddle-wheel were pronounced and +instantaneous. His own weight and that of the machine sufficiently +submerged the racing power wheel so that the rough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> paddles plowed the +water, sending the float diagonally across the flooded stream with +tremendous force. He was even able, by inclining the upper end of the +machine to right or left, to guide his clumsy craft, which responded to +this live rudder with surprising promptness.</p> + +<p>In the rapid crossing this rough ferryboat lost rather more than Tom had +thought it would lose from the rush of water and it brought him close to +the opposite shore at a point some fifty feet beyond the road, but he +had been able to maintain its direction at least to the extent of +heading shoreward and preventing the buoyant float from fatal swirling, +which would have meant loss of control altogether.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was better that his point of landing was some distance below +the road, where he was able to grasp at an overhanging tree with one +hand while shutting his power off and holding fast to his machine with +the other. A landing would have been difficult anywhere else.</p> + +<p>Even now he was in the precarious position of sitting upon a limb in a +rather complicated network of small branches and foliage, hanging onto +his motorcycle for dear life, while the buoyant float went swirling and +bobbing down the flood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span></p> + +<p>It had taken him perhaps five minutes to prepare for his crossing and +about thirty seconds to cross. But his strategic position was far from +satisfactory. And already the more substantial light of the morning +revealed the gray road winding ribbon-like away into the distance, the +first glints of sunlight falling upon its bordering rocks and trees as +if to taunt and mock him.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile the minutes passed.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-THREE" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-THREE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE</h2><h3>UP A TREE</h3> +</div> + +<p>In military parlance, Tom had advanced only to be caught in a pocket. +There he sat, astride a large limb, hanging onto the heavy machine, +which depended below him just free of the water. He had, with +difficulty, moved his painful grip upon a part of the machine's +mechanism and succeeded in clutching the edge of the forward wheel. This +did not cut his hands so much, but the weight was unbearable in his +embarrassed attitude.</p> + +<p>Indeed, it was not so much his strength, which was remarkable, that +enabled him to keep his hold upon this depending dead weight, as it was +sheer desperation. It seemed to be pulling his arms out of their +sockets, and his shoulders ached incessantly. At the risk of losing his +balance altogether he sought relief by the continual shifting of his +position but he knew that the strain was too great for him and that he +must let go presently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span></p> + +<p>It seemed like a mockery that he should have gained the shore only to be +caught in this predicament, and to see his trusty machine go tumbling +into the water beyond all hope of present recovery, simply because he +could not hang on to it.</p> + +<p>Well, then, he <i>would</i> hang on to it. He would hang on to it though +every muscle of his body throbbed, though his arms were dragged out, and +though he collapsed and fell from that limb himself in the last anguish +of the aching strain. He and <i>Uncle Sam</i>, having failed, would go down +together.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile the minutes passed and <i>Uncle Sam</i> and Tom were reflected, +inverted, in the water where the spreading light was now flickering. How +strange and grotesque they looked, upside down and clinging to each +other for dear life and wriggling in the ripples of rushing water. +<i>Uncle Sam</i> seemed to be holding <i>him</i> up. It was all the same—they +were partners.</p> + +<p>He noticed in the water something which he had not noticed before—the +reflection of a short, thick, broken branch projecting from the heavy +limb he was straddling. He glanced about and found that it was behind +him. His stooping attitude,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> necessitated by the tremendous drag on his +arms, prevented him even from looking freely behind him, and in trying +to do so he nearly fell. The strain he was suffering was so great that +the least move caused him pain.</p> + +<p>But by looking into the water he was able to see that this little stub +of a limb might serve as a hook on which the machine might be hung if he +could clear away the leafy twigs which grew from it, and if he could +succeed in raising the cycle and slipping the wheel over it. That would +not end his predicament but it would save the machine, relieve him for a +few moments, and give him time to think.</p> + +<p><i>For a few moments</i>! They were fleeting by—the moments.</p> + +<p>There is a strength born of desperation—a strength of will which is +conjured into physical power in the last extremity. It is when the +frantic, baffled spirit calls aloud to rally every failing muscle and +weakening nerve. It is then that the lips tighten and the eyes become as +steel, as the last reserves waiting in the entrenchments of the soul are +summoned up to re-enforce the losing cause.</p> + +<p>And there in that tree, on the brink of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> heedless, rushing waters +which crossed the highroad to Dieppe was going to be fought out one of +the most desperate battles of the whole war. There, in the mocking light +of the paling dawn, Tom Slade, his big mouth set like a vice, and with +every last reserve he could command, was going to make his last cast of +the dice—let go, give up—or, <i>hold on</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Let go</i>! Of all the inglorious forms of defeat or surrender! <i>To let +go!</i> To be struck down, to be taken prisoner, to be——</p> + +<p>But to <i>let go!</i> The bulldog, the snapping turtle, seemed like very +heroes now.</p> + +<p>"He always said I had a good muscle—he liked to feel it," he muttered. +"And besides, <i>she</i> said she guessed I was strong."</p> + +<p>He was thinking of Margaret Ellison, away back in America, and of Roscoe +Bent, as he had known him there. When he muttered again there was a +beseeching pathos in his voice which would have pierced the heart of +anyone who could have seen him struggling still against fate, in this +all but hopeless predicament.</p> + +<p>But no one saw him except the sun who was raising his head above the +horizon as a soldier steals a cautious look over the trench parapet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span></p> + +<p>There would be no report of this affair.</p> + +<p>He lowered his chest to the limb, wound his legs around it and for a +second lay there while he tightened and set his legs, as one will +tighten a belt against some impending strain. Not another fraction of an +inch could he have tightened those encircling legs.</p> + +<p>And now the fateful second was come. It had to come quickly for his +strength was ebbing. There is a pretty dependable rule that if you can +just manage to lift a weight with both hands, you can just about <i>budge</i> +it with one hand. Tom had tried this at Temple Camp with a visiting +scout's baggage chest. With both hands he had been barely able to lift +it by its strap. With one hand he had been able to <i>budge</i> it for the +fraction of a second. But there had been no overmastering incentive—and +no reserves called up out of the depths of his soul.</p> + +<p>He could feel his breast palpitating against the limb, drawn tight +against it by the dead weight. Yet he could not put his desperate +purpose to the test.</p> + +<p>And so a second—two, three, seconds—were wasted.</p> + +<p>"I won't let go," he muttered through his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> teeth. "I wish I could wipe +the sweat off my hand." Then, as if his dogged resolution were not +enough, he added, almost appealingly, "Don't <i>you</i> drop and—and go back +on me."</p> + +<p><i>Uncle Sam</i> only swung a little in the breeze and wriggled like an eel +in the watery mirror.</p> + +<p>Slowly Tom loosened his perspiring left hand, not daring to withdraw it. +The act seemed to communicate an extra strain to every part of his body. +Of all the fateful moments of his life, this seemed to be the most +tense. Then, in an impulse of desperation, he drew his left hand away.</p> + +<p>"I won't—let—go," he muttered.</p> + +<p>The muscles on his taut right arm stood out like cords. His forearm +throbbed with an indescribable, pulling pain. There was a feeling of +dull soreness in his shoulder blade. His perspiring hand closed tighter +around the wheel's rim and he could feel his pulse pounding. His fingers +tingled as if they had been asleep. Then his hand slipped a little.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-FOUR" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-FOUR"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR</h2><h3>"TO HIM THAT OVERCOMETH"</h3> +</div> + +<p>Whether merely from the change of an eighth of an inch or so in its hold +upon the rim, or because his palm fitted better around the slight +alteration of curve, Tom was conscious of the slightest measure of +relief.</p> + +<p>As quickly as he dared (for he knew that any sudden move would be +fatal), he reached behind him with his left arm and, groping for the +stub of limb, tore away from it the twigs which he knew would form an +obstacle to placing the wheel rim with its network of spokes over this +short projection.</p> + +<p>The dead soreness of his straining shoulder blade ran down his arm, +which throbbed painfully. His twitching, struggling fingers, straining +against the weight which was forcing them open, clutched the rim. They +were burning and yet seemed numb. Oh, if he could only wipe his palm and +that rim with a dry handkerchief! He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> tightened his slipping fingers +again and again. The muscles of his arm smarted as from a blow. He +tightened his lips—and that seemed to help.</p> + +<p>Carefully, though his aching breast pounded against the limb, he brought +back his left hand, cautiously rubbed it against his khaki shirt, then +encircled it about the rim. For a moment the weight seemed manageably +light in the quick relief he felt.</p> + +<p>Availing himself of the slight measure of refreshment he raised the +machine a trifle, a trifle more, squirmed about to get in better +position, bent, strained, got the bulky thing past his clutching legs, +exerted every muscle of chest and abdomen, which now could assume some +share of the strain, and by a superhuman effort of litheness and +dexterity and all the overwhelming power of physical strength and +frenzied resolution, he succeeded in slipping the wheel rim over the +stubby projection behind him.</p> + +<p>If he had been running for ten miles he could not have been more +exhausted. His breast heaved with every spasmodic breath he drew. His +shoulder blades throbbed like an aching tooth. His dripping palm was +utterly numb. For a few brief, precious seconds he sat upon the limb<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> +with a sense of unutterable relief, and mopped his beaded forehead. And +the sun's full, round face smiled approvingly upon him.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the minutes flew.</p> + +<p>Hurrying now, he scrambled down the tree trunk where he had a better and +less discouraging view of the situation. He saw that <i>Uncle Sam</i> hung +about five feet from the brink and just clear of the water. If the bank +on this side was less precipitous than on the other there would be some +prospect of rescuing his machine without serious damage. He could afford +to let it get wet provided the carburetor and magneto were not submerged +and the gas tank——</p> + +<p><i>The gas tank</i>. That thought stabbed him. Could the gasoline have flowed +out of the tank while the machine was hanging up and down? That would +bring the supply hole, with its perforated screw-cover, underneath.</p> + +<p>He waded cautiously into the water and found to his infinite relief that +the submerged bank formed a gentle slope. He could not go far enough to +lift his machine, but he could reach to wiggle it off its hook and then +guide it, in some measure, enough to ease its fall and keep its +damageable parts clear of the water. At least<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> he believed he could. In +any event, he had no alternative choice and time was flying. After what +he had already done he felt he could do anything. Success, however +wearying and exhausting, gives one a certain working capital of +strength, and having succeeded so far he would not now fail. His success +in crossing had given him that working capital of resolution and +incentive whence came his superhuman strength and overmastering resolve +in that lonely tree. And he would not fail now.</p> + +<p>Yet he could not bring himself to look at his watch. He was willing to +venture a guess, from the sun, as to what time it was, but he could not +clinch the knowledge by a look at the cruel, uncompromising little +glass-faced autocrat in his pocket. He preferred to work in the less +disheartening element of uncertainty. He did not want to know the hard, +cold truth—not till he was moving.</p> + +<p>Here now was the need of nice calculating, and Tom eyed the shore and +the tree and the machine with the appraising glance of a wrestler eyeing +his opponent. He broke several branches from the tree, laying them so as +to form a kind of springy, leafy mound close to the brink. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> +standing knee-deep he wiggled the wheel's rim very cautiously out to the +end of its hanger, so that it just balanced there.</p> + +<p>One more grand drive, one more effort of unyielding strength and +accurate dexterity and—<i>he would be upon the road</i>.</p> + +<p>The thought acted as a stimulant. Lodging one hand under the seat of the +machine and the other upon a stout bar of the mechanism which he thought +would afford him just the play and swing he needed, he joggled the wheel +off its hanger, and with a wide sweep, in which he skillfully minimized +the heavy weight, he swung the machine onto the springy bed which he had +made to receive it.</p> + +<p>Then, as the comrade of a wounded soldier may bend over him, he knelt +down beside his companion upon the makeshift, leafy couch.</p> + +<p>"Are you all right?" he asked in the agitation of his triumphant effort.</p> + +<p><i>Uncle Sam</i> did not answer.</p> + +<p>He stood the machine upright and lowered the rest so that it could stand +unaided; and he tore away the remnant of mud-guard which <i>Uncle Sam</i> had +sacrificed in his role of combination engine and paddle-wheel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span></p> + +<p>"You've got the wires all tangled up in your spokes," Tom said; "you +look like a—a wreck. What do you want with those old sticks of +shingles? How are you off for gas—you—you old tramp?"</p> + +<p><i>Uncle Sam</i> did not answer.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, you're all right," Tom panted; "only my arm is worse than your +old mud-guard. We're a pair of—— Can't you speak?" he added breathing +the deadly fatigue he felt and putting his foot upon the pedal. +"What—do—you—say? Huh?"</p> + +<p>And then <i>Uncle Sam</i> answered.</p> + +<p>"Tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r—— Never mind your arm. Come +ahead—hurry," he seemed to say.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-FIVE" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-FIVE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE</h2><h3>"WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO—"</h3> +</div> + +<p>Swiftly along the sun-flecked road sped the dispatch-rider. In the +mellow freshness of the new day he rode, and the whir of his machine in +its lightning flight mingled with the cheery songs of the birds, whose +early morning chorus heartened and encouraged him. There was a balm in +the fragrant atmosphere of the cool, gray morning which entered the soul +of Tom Slade and whispered to him, <i>There is no such word as fail</i>.</p> + +<p>Out of the night he had come, out of travail, and brain-racking +perplexity and torturing effort, crossing rushing waters and matching +his splendid strength and towering will against obstacles, against fate, +against everything.</p> + +<p>As he held the handle-bar of <i>Uncle Sam</i> in that continuous handshake +which they knew so well, his right arm felt numb and sore, and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> +whole body ached. <i>Uncle Sam's</i> big, leering glass eye was smashed, his +mud-guard wrenched off, and dried mud was upon his wheels. His rider's +uniform was torn and water-soaked, his face black with grime. They made +a good pair.</p> + +<p>Never a glance to right or left did the rider give, nor so much as a +perfunctory nod to the few early risers who paused to stare at him as he +sped by. In the little hamlet of Persan an old Frenchman sitting on a +rustic seat before the village inn, removed his pipe from his mouth long +enough to call,</p> + +<p>"<i>La côte?</i>"</p> + +<p>But never a word did the rider answer. Children, who, following the good +example of the early bird, were already abroad, scurried out of his way, +making a great clatter in their wooden shoes, and gaping until he passed +beyond their sight.</p> + +<p>Over the bridge at Soignois he rushed, making its ramshackle planks +rattle and throw up a cloud of dust from between the vibrating seams. +Out of this cloud he emerged like a gray spectre, body bent, head low, +gaze fixed and intense, leaving a pandemonium of dust and subsiding +echoes behind him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span></p> + +<p>At Virneu an old housewife threw open her blinds and seeing the dusty +khaki of the rider, summoned her brood, who waved the tricolor from the +casement, laughing and calling, "<i>Vive l'Amerique</i>!"</p> + +<p>Their cheery voices and fraternal patriotism did cause Tom to turn his +head and call,</p> + +<p>"<i>Merci. Vive la France!</i>"</p> + +<p>And they answered again with a torrent of French.</p> + +<p>The morning was well established as he passed through Chuisson, and a +clock upon a romantic, medieval-looking little tower told him that it +lacked but ten minutes of five o'clock.</p> + +<p>A feeling of doubt, almost of despair, seized upon him and he called in +that impatient surliness which springs from tense anxiety, asking an old +man how far it was to Dieppe.</p> + +<p>The man shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in polite confession +that he did not understand English.</p> + +<p>In his anxiety it irritated Tom. "What <i>do</i> you know?" he muttered.</p> + +<p>Out of Chuisson he labored up a long hill, and though <i>Uncle Sam</i> made +no more concession to it than to slacken his unprecedented rate of +speed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> the merest trifle, the difference communicated itself to Tom at +once and it seemed, by contrast, as if they were creeping. On and up +<i>Uncle Sam</i> went, plying his way sturdily, making a great noise and a +terrific odor—dogged, determined and irresistible.</p> + +<p>But the rider stirred impatiently. Would they ever, <i>ever</i>, reach the +top? And when they should, there would be another hamlet in a valley, +another bridge, more stupid people who could not speak English, more +villages, more bends in the road, still other villages, and +then—another hill.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Tom that he had been travelling for ten years and that +there was to be no end of it. Ride, ride, ride—it brought him nowhere. +His right arm which had borne that tremendous strain, was throbbing so +that he let go the handle-bar from time to time in the hope of relief. It +was the pain of acute tiredness, for which there could be no relief but +rest. Just to throw himself down and rest! Oh, if he could only lay that +weary, aching arm across some soft pillow and leave it there—just leave +it there. Let it hang, bend it, hold it above him, lay it on <i>Uncle +Sam's</i> staunch, unfeeling arm of steel, he could not, <i>could</i> not, get +it rested.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span></p> + +<p>The palm of his hand tingled with a kind of irritating feeling like +chilblains, and he must be continually removing one or other hand from +the bar so that he could reach one with the other. It did not help him +keep his poise. If he could only scratch his right hand once and be done +with it! But it annoyed him like a fly.</p> + +<p>Up, up, up, they went, and passed a quaint, old, thatch-roofed house. +Crazy place to build a house! And the people in it—probably all they +could do was to shrug their shoulders in that stupid way when asked a +question in English.</p> + +<p>He was losing his morale—was this dispatch-rider.</p> + +<p>But near the top of the hill he regained it somewhat. Perhaps he could +make up for this lost time in some straight, level reach of road beyond.</p> + +<p>Up, up, up, plowed <i>Uncle Sam</i>, one lonely splinter of shingle still +bound within his spokes, and his poor, dented headlight bereft of its +dignity.</p> + +<p>"I've an idea the road turns north about a mile down," Tom said to +himself, "and runs around through——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span></p> + +<p>The words stopped upon his lips as <i>Uncle Sam</i>, still laboring upward, +reached level ground, and as if to answer Tom out of his own +uncomplaining and stouter courage, showed him a sight which sent his +faltering hope skyward and started his heart bounding.</p> + +<p>For there below them lay the vast and endless background of the sea, +throwing every intervening detail of the landscape into insignificance. +There it was, steel blue in the brightening sunlight and glimmering here +and there in changing white, where perhaps some treacherous rock or bar +lay just submerged. And upon it, looking infinitesimal in the limitless +expanse, was something solid with a column of black smoke rising and +winding away from it and dissolving in the clear, morning air.</p> + +<p>"There you are!" said Tom, patting <i>Uncle Sam</i> patronizingly in a swift +change of mood. "See there? That's the Atlantic Ocean—that is. <i>Now</i> +will you hurry? That's a ship coming in—see? I bet it's a whopper, too. +Do you know what—what's off beyond there?" he fairly panted in his +excitement; "do you? You old French hobo, you? <i>America</i>! That's where +<i>I</i> came from. <i>Now</i> will you hurry? That's Dieppe,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> where the +white<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +is and those steeples, see? And way across there on the other side is +America!"</p> + +<p>For <i>Uncle Sam</i>, notwithstanding his name, was a French motorcycle and +had never seen America.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p class='noindent'><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"> +<span class="label">[2]</span></a> Dieppe's famous beach.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-SIX" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-SIX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX</h2><h3>A SURPRISE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Down the hill coasted <i>Uncle Sam</i>, bearing his rider furiously onward. A +fence along the wayside seemed like a very entanglement of stakes and +pickets. Then it was gone. A house loomed up in view, grew larger, and +was gone. A cow that was grazing in a field languidly raised her head, +blinked her eyes, and stood as if uncertain whether she had really seen +something pass or not.</p> + +<p>They were in the valley now and the sea was no longer discernible. On +they rushed with a fine disdain for poor little Charos, whose village +steeple appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning. The road was +broad and level and <i>Uncle Sam</i> sped along amid a cloud of dust, the +bordering trees and houses flying away behind like dried leaves in a +hurricane. The rider's hair was fluttering like a victorious emblem, his +eyes fixed with a wild intensity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span></p> + +<p>"We'd get arrested for this in America," he muttered; "we—we should +worry."</p> + +<p>It was little <i>Uncle Sam</i> cared for the traffic laws of America.</p> + +<p>Around the outskirts of Teurley they swept and into the broad highway +like a pair of demons, and a muleteer, seeing discretion to be the +better part of valor, drove his team well to the side—far enough, even, +to escape any devilish contamination which this unearthly apparition +might diffuse.</p> + +<p>They had reached a broad highway, one of those noble roads which +Napoleon had made. They could not go wrong now. They passed a luxurious +chateau, then a great hotel where people haled them in French. Then they +passed an army auto truck loaded with mattresses, with the bully old +initials U. S. A. on its side. Two boys in khaki were on the seat.</p> + +<p>"Is the <i>Texas Pioneer</i> in?" Tom yelled.</p> + +<p>"What?" one of them called back.</p> + +<p>"He's deaf or something," muttered Tom; "we—should worry."</p> + +<p>On they sped till the road merged into a street lined with shops, where +children in wooden shoes and men in blouses shuffled about. Tom thought +he had never seen people so slow in his life.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-006" id="illus-006"></a> +<img src='images/illus-170.jpg' alt='DOWN THE HILL COASTED UNCLE SAM BEARING TOM FURIOUSLY ONWARD.' title='' width = '300' height = '473'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>DOWN THE HILL COASTED UNCLE SAM BEARING TOM FURIOUSLY ONWARD.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span>Now, indeed, he must make some concession to the throngs moving back and +forth, and he slackened his speed, but only slightly.</p> + +<p>"Dieppe?" he called.</p> + +<p>"Dieppe," came the laughing answer from a passer-by, who was evidently +amused at Tom's pronunciation.</p> + +<p>"Where's the wharves?"</p> + +<p>Again that polite shrug of the shoulders.</p> + +<p>He took a chance with another passer-by, who nodded and pointed down a +narrow street with dull brown houses tumbling all over each other, as it +seemed to Tom. It was the familiar, old-world architecture of the French +coast towns, which he had seen in Brest and St. Nazaire, as if all the +houses had become suddenly frightened and huddled together like panicky +sheep.</p> + +<p>More leisurely now, but quickly still, rode the dispatch-rider through +this narrow, surging way which had all the earmarks of the +shore—damp-smelling barrels, brass lanterns, dilapidated ships' +figureheads, cosy but uncleanly drinking places, and sailors.</p> + +<p>And of all the sights save one which Tom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> Slade ever beheld, the one +which most gladdened his heart was a neat new sign outside a stone +building,</p> + +<p class='center'>Office of United States Quartermaster.</p> + +<p>Several American army wagons were backed up against the building and +half a dozen khaki-clad boys lounged about. There was much coming and +going, but it is a part of the dispatch-rider's prestige to have +immediate admittance anywhere, and Tom stopped before this building and +was immediately surrounded by a flattering representation of military +and civilian life, both French and American.</p> + +<p>To these he paid not the slightest heed, but carefully lowered <i>Uncle +Sam's</i> rest so that his weary companion might stand alone.</p> + +<p>"You old tramp," he said in an undertone; "stay here and take it easy. +Keep away," he added curtly to a curious private who was venturing a too +close inspection of <i>Uncle Sam's</i> honorable wounds.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter—run into something?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't," said Tom, starting toward the building.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly he stopped short, staring.</p> + +<p>A man in civilian clothes sat tilted back in one of several chairs +beside the door. He wore a little black moustache and because his head +was pressed against the brick wall behind him, his hat was pushed +forward giving him a rakish look which was rather heightened by an +unlighted cigar sticking up out of the corner of his mouth like a piece +of field artillery.</p> + +<p>He might have been a travelling salesman waiting for his samples on the +veranda of a country hotel and he had about him a kind of sophisticated +look as if he took a sort of blasé pleasure in watching the world go +round. His feet rested upon the rung of his tilted chair, forming his +knees into a sort of desk upon which lay a French newspaper. The tilting +of his knees, the tilting of his chair, the tilting of his hat and the +rakish tilt of his cigar, gave him the appearance of great +self-sufficiency, as if, away down in his soul, he knew what he was +there for, and cared not a whit whether anyone else did or not.</p> + +<p>Tom Slade paused on the lower step and stared. Then with a slowly +dawning smile supplanting his look of astonishment, he ejaculated,</p> + +<p>"M-i-s-t-e-r <i>C-o-n-n-e</i>!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span></p> + +<p>The man made not the slightest change in his attitude except to smile +the while he worked his cigar over to the other corner of his mouth. +Then he cocked his head slightly sideways.</p> + +<p>"H'lo, Tommy," said he.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-SEVEN" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-SEVEN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN</h2><h3>SMOKE AND FIRE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Carleton Conne, of the United States Secret Service, had come over +from Liverpool <i>via</i> Dover on a blind quest after an elusive spy. There +had been a sort of undercurrent of rumor, with many extravagant +trappings, that a mysterious agent of the Kaiser was on his way to +Europe with secrets of a most important character. Some stories had it +that he was intimately related to Bloody Bill himself; others that he +gloried in a kinship with Ludendorf, while still other versions +represented him as holding Mexico in the palm of his hand. Dark stories +floated about and no one knew just where they originated.</p> + +<p>One sprightly form this story took, which had been whispered in New York +and then in Liverpool, was that a certain young lady (identity unknown) +had talked with a soldier (identity unknown)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> in the Grand Central +Station in New York, and that the soldier had told her that at his +cantonment (cantonment not identified) there was a man in a special +branch of the service (branch not mentioned) who was a cousin or a +brother or a nephew or a son or something or other to a German general +or statesman or something or other, and that he had got into the +American army by a pretty narrow squeak. There seemed to be a unanimity +of opinion in the lower strata of Uncle Sam's official family in +Liverpool that the soldier who had talked with the young lady was coming +over on the transport <i>Manchester</i> and it was assumed (no one seemed to +know exactly why) that the mysterious and sinister personage would be +upon the same ship.</p> + +<p>But no soldier had been found upon the <i>Manchester</i> who showed by his +appearance that he had chatted with a young lady. Perhaps several of +them had done that. It is a way soldiers have.</p> + +<p>As for the arch spy or propagandist, he did not come forward and +introduce himself as such, and though a few selected suspects of German +antecedents were searched and catechised by Mr. Conne and others, no one +was held.</p> + +<p>And there you are.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span></p> + +<p>Rumors of this kind are always in circulation and the Secret Service +people run them down as a matter of precaution. But though you can run a +rumor down and stab it through and through you cannot kill it. It now +appeared that this German agent had sailed from Mexico and would land at +Brest—with a message to some French statesman. Also it appeared that he +had stolen a secret from Edison and would land at Dieppe. It had also +been reported that someone had attempted to blow up the loaded transport +<i>Texas Pioneer</i> on her way over.</p> + +<p>And so Mr. Carleton Conne, of the American Secret Service, quiet, +observant, uncommunicative, never too sanguine and never too skeptical, +had strolled on to the <i>Channel Queen</i>, lighted his cigar, and was now +tilted back in his chair outside the Quartermaster's office in Dieppe, +not at all excited and waiting for the <i>Texas Pioneer</i> to dock.</p> + +<p>He had done this because he believed that where there is a great deal of +smoke there is apt to be a little fire. He was never ruffled, never +disappointed.</p> + +<p>Tom's acquaintance with Mr. Conne had begun on the transport on which he +had worked as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> a steward's boy, and where his observant qualities and +stolid soberness had attracted and amused the detective.</p> + +<p>"I never thought I'd see you here," said Tom, his face lighting up to an +unusual degree. "I'm a dispatch-rider now. I just rode from Cantigny. I +got a letter for the Quartermaster, but anyway he's got to turn me over +to the Secret Service (Mr. Conne regarded him with whimsical attention +as he stumbled on), because there's a plot and somebody—a spy—kind +of——"</p> + +<p>"A spy, kind of, eh?"</p> + +<p>"And I hope the <i>Texas Pioneer</i> didn't land yet, that's one sure thing."</p> + +<p>"It's one sure thing that she'll dock in about fifteen minutes, Tommy," +said Mr. Conne rising. "Come inside and deliver your message. What's the +matter with your machine? Been trying to wipe out the Germans alone and +unaided, like the hero in a story book?"</p> + +<p>Tom followed him in, clumsily telling the story of his exciting journey; +"talking in chunks," as he usually did and leaving many gaps to be +filled in by the listener.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad I found you here, anyway," he finished, as if that were the +only part that really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> counted; "'cause now I feel as if I can tell +about an idea I've got. I'd of been scared to tell it to anybody else. I +ain't exactly got it yet," he added, "but maybe I can help even better +than they thought, 'cause as I was ridin' along I had a kind of an +idea——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Kind of. Did you ever notice how you get fool ideas when there's a +steady noise going on?"</p> + +<p>"So?" said Mr. Conne, as he led the way along a hall.</p> + +<p>"It was the noise of my machine."</p> + +<p>"How about the smell, Tommy?" Mr. Conne asked, glancing around with that +pleasant, funny look which Tom had known so well.</p> + +<p>"You don't get ideas from smells," he answered soberly.</p> + +<p>In the Quartermaster's office he waited on a bench while Mr. Conne and +several other men, two in uniform and two that he thought might be +Secret Service men, talked in undertones. If he had been a hero in a +book, to use Mr. Conne's phrase, these officials would doubtless have +been assembled about him listening to his tale, but as it was he was +left quite out of the conference until, near its end, he was summoned to +tell of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> his capture of Major von Piffinhoeffer and asked if he thought +he could identify a close relation of that high and mighty personage +simply by seeing him pass as a total stranger.</p> + +<p>Tom thought he might "by a special way," and explained his knowledge of +breed marks and specie marks. He added, in his stolid way, that he had +another idea, too. But they did not ask him what that was. One of the +party, a naval officer, expressed surprise that he had ridden all the +way from Cantigny and asked him if it were not true that part of the +road was made impassible by floods. Tom answered that there were floods +but that they were not impassible "if you knew how." The officer said he +supposed Tom knew how, and Tom regarded this as a compliment.</p> + +<p>Soon, to his relief, Mr. Conne took all the papers in the case and left +the room, beckoning Tom to follow him. Another man in civilian clothes +hurried away and Tom thought he might be going to the dock. It seemed to +him that his rather doubtful ability to find a needle in a haystack had +not made much of an impression upon these officials, and he wondered +ruefully what Mr. Conne thought. He saw that his arrival with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> the +papers had produced an enlivening effect among the officials, but it +seemed that he himself was not taken very seriously. Well, in any event, +he had made the trip, he had beaten the ship, delivered the message to +Garcia.</p> + +<p>"I got to go down and turn my grease cup before I forget it," he said, +as they came out on the little stone portico again.</p> + +<p>Several soldiers who were soon to see more harrowing sights than a +bunged-up motorcycle, were gathered about <i>Uncle Sam</i>, gaping at him and +commenting upon his disfigurements. Big U. S. A. auto trucks were +passing by. A squad of German prisoners, of lowering and sullen aspect, +marched by with wheelbarrows full of gray blankets. They were keeping +perfect step, through sheer force of habit. Another dispatch-rider (a +"local") passed by, casting a curious eye at <i>Uncle Sam</i>. A French child +who sat upon the step had one of his wooden shoes full of smoky, used +bullets, which he seemed greatly to prize. Several "flivver" ambulances +stood across the way, new and roughly made, destined for the front. +American naval and military officers were all about.</p> + +<p>"We haven't got much time to spare, Tommy,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> said Mr. Conne, resuming +his former seat and glancing at his watch.</p> + +<p>"It's only a second. I just got to turn the grease cup."</p> + +<p>He hurried down past the child, who called him "M'sieu Yankee," and +elbowed his way through the group of soldiers who were standing about +<i>Uncle Sam</i>.</p> + +<p>"Your timer bar's bent," one of them volunteered.</p> + +<p>Tom did not answer, but knelt and turned the grease cup, then wiped the +nickel surfaces, bent and dented though they were, with a piece of +cotton waste. Then he felt of his tires. Then he adjusted the position +of the handle-bar more to his liking and as he did so the poor, dented, +glassless searchlight bobbed over sideways as if to look at the middle +of the street. Tom said something which was not audible to the curious +onlookers. Perhaps <i>Uncle Sam</i> heard.</p> + +<p>The local rider came jogging around the corner on his way back. His +machine was American-made and a medley of nickel and polished brass. As +he made the turn his polished searchlight, with a tiny flag perched +jauntily upon it, seemed to be looking straight at <i>Uncle Sam</i>. And +<i>Uncle Sam's</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> +green-besprinkled,<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> +glassless eye seemed to be leering +with a kind of sophisticated look at the passing machine. It was the +kind of look which the Chicago Limited might give to the five-thirty +suburban starting with its load of New York commuters for East Orange, +New Jersey.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p class='noindent'><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"> +<span class="label">[3]</span></a> The effect of water on brass is to produce a greenish, superficial erosion.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-EIGHT" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-EIGHT"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT</h2><h3>"MADE IN GERMANY"</h3> +</div> + +<p>"Now, Tommy, let's hear your idea," said Mr. Conne, indulgently, as he +worked his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "I find +there's generally a little fire where there's a good deal of smoke. +There's somebody or other, as you say, but the trouble is we don't know +who he is. We think maybe he looks like someone you've seen. We think he +may have a patent ear." He looked at Tom sideways and Tom could not help +laughing. Then he looked at the mysterious letter with a funny, +ruminating look.</p> + +<p>"What can we—you—do?" Tom ventured to ask, feeling somewhat squelched.</p> + +<p>Mr. Conne screwed up his mouth with a dubious look. "Search everybody on +board, two or three thousand, quiz a few, that's about all. It'll take a +long time and probably reveal nothing. Family resemblances are all right +when you know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> both members, Tommy, but out in the big world—Well, +let's look this over again," he added, taking up the letter.</p> + +<p>Tom knew that he was not being consulted. He had a feeling that his +suggestion about breed marks and personal resemblances was not being +taken seriously. He was glad that he had not put his foot too far in by +telling of his other precious idea. But he was proud of Mr. Conne's +companionable attitude toward him. He was proud to be the friend of such +a man. He was delighted at the thought of participation in this matter. +He knew Mr. Conne liked him and had at least a good enough opinion of +him to adopt the appearance of conferring with him. Mr. Conne's rather +whimsical attitude toward this conference did not lessen his pride.</p> + +<p>"Let's see now," said the detective. "This thing evidently went through +Holland in code. It's a rendering."</p> + +<p>It was easy for Tom to believe that Mr. Conne was re-reading the letter +just to himself—or to himself and Tom.</p> + +<p>"Let's see now—<i>but, as you say, everything for the Fatherland. If you +receive this, let them know that I'll have my arms crossed and to be +careful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> before they shoot</i>. I wish he'd cross his arms when he comes +ashore. He's evidently planning to get himself captured. <i>If you don't +get this I'll just have to take my chance. The other way isn't worth +trying</i>. Hmm! Probably thought of deserting at the wharf and getting +into Holland or Belgium. No, that wouldn't be worth trying. <i>As for the +code key, that'll be safe enough—they'll never find it</i>. Hmm! <i>If it +wasn't for the</i>—what's all this—<i>the English swine</i>. Humph! They fight +pretty good for swine, don't they, Tommy? <i>As far as I can ascertain, +we'll go on the T. P.</i> We know that much, anyway, thanks to you, Tommy." +(Tom felt highly elated.) "<i>There was some inquiry about my close +relationship to you, but nothing serious. All you have to do is to cheer +when they play the S. S. B. over here</i>. Humph! That's worth knowing. <i>It +isn't known if Schmitter had the key to this when they caught him</i>——</p> + +<p>"He didn't," said Mr. Conne dryly; "I was the one who caught +him.—<i>because he died on Ellis Island. But it's being abandoned to be +on the safe side</i>. Safety first, hey? <i>I have notice from H. not to use +it after sending this letter. If we can get the new one in your hands +before</i>—Seems<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> to be blotted out—<i>in time so it can be used through +Mexico. I'll have much information to communicate verbally in T. and A. +matters, but will bring nothing in —— —— form but key and +credentials</i>. He means actual, concealed or disguised form, I s'pose. +<i>The idea is L.'s</i>. I suppose he means the manner of concealing the key +and credentials."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Tom rather excitedly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Conne glanced at him, joggled his cigar, and went on,</p> + +<p>"<i>You remember him at Heidelberg, I dare say. I brought him back once +for holiday. Met him through Handel, who was troubled with cataract. V. +has furnished funds. So don't fall to have them watch out</i>."</p> + +<p>"Hmm!" concluded Mr. Conne ruminatively. "You see what they're up to. We +caught Schmitter in Philadelphia. They think maybe Schmitter had the key +of a code with him. So they're changing the code and sending the key to +it across with this somebody or other. That's about the size of it. He's +got a lot of information, too, in his head, where we can't get at it."</p> + +<p>"But his credentials will have to be something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> that can be seen, won't +they?" Tom ventured to ask.</p> + +<p>"Prob'ly. You see, he means to desert or get captured. It's a long way +round, but about the best one—for him. Think of that snake wearing +Uncle Sam's uniform!"</p> + +<p>"It makes me mad, too—kind of," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"So he's probably got some secret means of identification about him, and +probably the new code key in actual form—somewhere else than just in +his head. Then there'd be a chance of getting it across even if he fell. +We'll give him an acid bath and look in his shoes if we can find him. +The whole thing hangs on a pretty thin thread. They used to have +invisible writing on their backs till we started the acid bath."</p> + +<p>He whistled reflectively for a few moments, while Tom struggled to +muster the courage to say something that he wished to say.</p> + +<p>"Could I tell you about that other idea of mine?" he blurted finally.</p> + +<p>"You sure can, Tommy. That's about all we're likely to get—ideas." And +he glanced at Tom again with that funny, sideways look. "Shoot, my boy."</p> + +<p>"It's only this," said Tom, still not without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> some trepidation, "and +maybe you'll say it's no good. You told me once not to be thinking of +things that's none of my business."</p> + +<p>"Uncle Sam's business is our business now, Tommy boy."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, it's just this, and I was thinking about it while I was +riding just after I started away from Cantigny. Mostly I was thinking +about it after I took that last special look at old Piff——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Conne chuckled. "I see," he said encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"Whoever that feller is," said Tom, "there's one thing sure. If he's +comin' as a soldier he won't get to the front very soon, 'cause they're +mostly the drafted fellers that are comin' now and they have to go in +training over here. I know, 'cause I've seen lots of 'em in billets."</p> + +<p>"Hmm," said Mr. Conne.</p> + +<p>"So if the feller expects to go to the front and get captured pretty +soon, prob'ly he's in a special unit. Maybe I might be all wrong about +it—some fellers used to call me Bullhead," he added by way of shaving +his boldness down a little.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Conne, with hat tilted far down over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> his forehead and cigar at +an outrageously rakish angle, was looking straight ahead of him, at a +French flag across the way.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said crisply.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, I'm sure the feller wouldn't be an engineer, 'cause mostly +they're behind the lines. So I thought maybe he'd be a surgeon——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Conne was whistling, almost inaudibly, his eyes fixed upon the +flagpole opposite. "He was educated at Heidelberg," said he.</p> + +<p>"I didn't think of that," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"It's where he met L."</p> + +<p>Tom said nothing. His line of reasoning seemed to be lifted quietly away +from him. Mr. Conne was turning the kaleidoscope and showing him new +designs. "He took L. home for the holidays," he quietly observed. "Old +Piff and the boys."</p> + +<p>"I—I didn't think of that," said Tom, rather crestfallen.</p> + +<p>"You didn't ride fast enough and make enough noise," Mr. Conne said. His +eyes were still fixed on the fluttering tricolor and he whistled very +low. Then he rubbed his lip with his tongue and aimed his cigar in +another direction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span></p> + +<p>"They were studying medicine there, I guess," he mused.</p> + +<p>"That's just what my idea's about," said Tom. "It ain't an idea exactly, +either," he added, "but it's kind of come to me sudden-like. You know +what a <i>hunch</i> is, don't you? There's something there about somebody +having a cataract, and that's something the matter with your eyes; Mr. +Temple had one. So maybe that feller L. that he met again is an eye +doctor. Long before the war started they told Mr. Temple maybe he ought +to go to Berlin to see the eye specialists there—'cause they're so +fine. So maybe the spy is a surgeon and L. is an eye doctor. It says how +he met him again on account of somebody having a cataract. And he said +the way of bringing the code key was L.'s idea. I read about a dentist +that had a piece of paper with writing on it rolled up in his tooth. He +was a spy. So that made me think maybe L.'s idea had something to do +with eyes or glasses, as you might say."</p> + +<p>"Hmm! Go on. Anything else?"</p> + +<p>"But, anyway, that ain't the idea I had. In Temple Camp there was a +scout that had a little pocket looking-glass and you couldn't see +anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> on it but your own reflection. But all you had to do was to +breathe on it and there was a picture—all mountains and a castle, like. +Then it would fade away again right away. Roy Blakeley wanted to swap +his scout knife for it, but the feller wouldn't do it. On the back of it +it said <i>Made in Germany</i>. It just came to me sudden-like that maybe +that was L.'s idea and they'd have it on a pair of spectacles. Maybe +it's a kind of crazy idea, but——"</p> + +<p>He looked doubtfully at Mr. Conne, who still sat tilted back, hat almost +hiding his face, cigar sticking out from under it like a camouflaged +field-piece. He was whistling very quietly, "<i>Oh, boy, where do we go +from here?</i>" He had whistled that same tune more than a year before when +he was waiting for a glimpse of "Dr. Curry," spy and bomb plotter, +aboard the vessel on which Tom was working at that time. He had whistled +it as he escorted the "doctor" down the companionway. How well Tom +remembered!</p> + +<p>"Come on, Tommy," he said, jumping suddenly to his feet.</p> + +<p>Tom followed. But Mr. Conne did not speak; he was still busy with the +tune. Only now he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> was singing the words. There was something portentous +in the careless way he sang them. It took Tom back to the days when it +was the battle hymn of the transport:</p> + +<p> +"And when we meet a pretty girl, we whisper in her ear,<br /> +Oh, Boy! Oh, Joy! Where do we go from here?"<br /> +</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_TWENTY-NINE" id="CHAPTER_TWENTY-NINE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE</h2><h3>"NOW YOU SEE IT, NOW YOU DON'T"</h3> +</div> + +<p>The big transport <i>Texas Pioneer</i> came slowly about in obedience to her +straining ropes and rubbed her mammoth side against the long wharf. Up +and down, this way and that, slanting-wise and curved, drab and gray and +white and red, the grotesque design upon her towering freeboard shone +like a distorted rainbow in the sunlight. Out of the night she had come, +stealing silently through the haunts where murder lurks, and the same +dancing rays which had run ahead of the dispatch-rider and turned to +mock him, had gilded her mighty prow as if to say, "Behold, I have +reached you first."</p> + +<p>At her rail crowded hundreds of boys in khaki, demanding in English and +atrocious French to know where they were.</p> + +<p>"Are we in France?" one called.</p> + +<p>"Where's the Boiderberlong, anyway?" another shouted, the famous +Parisian boulevard evidently being his only means of identifying +France.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is that Napoleon's tomb?" another demanded, pointing to a little round +building.</p> + +<p>"Look at the pile of hams," shouted another gazing over the rail at a +stack of that delectable. "Maybe we're in <i>Hamburg!</i>"</p> + +<p>"This is Dippy," his neighbor corrected him.</p> + +<p>"You mean Deppy," another said.</p> + +<p>And so on and so on. There seemed to be hundreds of them, thousands of +them, and all on a gigantic picnic.</p> + +<p>"Which is the quickest way to Berlin?" one called, addressing the throng +impartially.</p> + +<p>"Second turn to your left."</p> + +<p>Some of these boys would settle down in France and make it their long, +final home, under little wooden crosses. But they did not seem to think +of that.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the gangplank stood the dispatch-rider and the man with +the cigar. Several other men, evidently of their party, stood near by. +Mr. Conne's head was cocked sideways and he scanned the gangway with a +leisurely, self-assured look. Tom was shaking all over—the victim of +suppressed excitement. He had been less excited on that memorable +morning when he had "done his bit" at Cantigny.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span></p> + +<p>It seemed to be in the air that something unusual was likely to happen. +Workers, passing with their wheelbarrows and hand trucks, slackened +their pace and dallied as long as they dared, near the gangplank. They +were quickly moved along. Tom shifted from one foot to the other, +waiting. Mr. Conne worked his cigar over to the opposite corner of his +mouth and observed to an American officer that the day was going to be +warm. Then he glanced up and smiled pleasantly at the boys crowding at +the rail. He might have been waiting on a street corner for a car.</p> + +<p>"Not nervous, are you?" he smiled at Tom.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," said Tom, with his usual candor; "but it seems as if +nothing can happen at all, now that we're here. It seems different, +thinking up things when you're riding along the road—kind of."</p> + +<p>"Uh huh."</p> + +<p>Presently the soldiers began coming down the gangplank.</p> + +<p>"You watch for resemblances and I'll do the rest," said Mr. Conne in a +low tone. "Give yourself the benefit of every doubt. Know what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I do."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't help you there."</p> + +<p>Tom felt a certain compunction at scrutinizing these fine, American +fellows as they came down with their kits—hearty, boisterous, +open-hearted. He felt that it was unworthy of him to suspect any of this +laughing, bantering army, of crime—and such a crime! Treason! In the +hope of catching one he must scrutinize them all, and in his generous +heart it seemed to put a stigma on them all. He hoped he wouldn't see +anyone who looked like Major von Piffinhoeffer. Then he hoped he would. +Then he wondered if he would dare to look at him after—— And suppose +he should be mistaken. He did not like this sort of work at all now that +he was face to face with it. He would rather be off with <i>Uncle Sam</i>, +riding along the French roads, with the French children calling to him. +For the first time in his life he was nervous and afraid—not of being +caught but of catching someone; of the danger of suspecting and being +mistaken.</p> + +<p>Mr. Conne, who never missed anything, noticed his perturbation and +patted him on the shoulder saying,</p> + +<p>"All kinds of work have to be done, Tommy."</p> + +<p>Tom tried to smile back at him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span></p> + +<p>Down the long gangplank they came, one after another, pushing each +other, tripping each other—joking, laughing. Among them came a young +private, wearing glasses, who was singing,</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Broadway. Hello, France!"</p> + +<p>He was startled out of his careless merriment by a tap on the shoulder +from Mr. Conne, and almost before Tom realized what had happened, he was +standing blinking at one of the other Secret Service men who was handing +him back his glasses.</p> + +<p>"All right, my boy," said Mr. Conne pleasantly, which seemed to wipe out +any indignity the young man might have felt.</p> + +<p>Tom looked up the gangplank as they surged down, holding the rail to +steady them on the steep incline. Nobody seemed to have noticed what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"Keep your mind on <i>your</i> part, Tommy," said Mr. Conne warningly.</p> + +<p>Tom saw that of all those in sight only one wore glasses—a black-haired +youth who kept his hands on the shoulders of the man before him. Tom +made up his mind that he, in any event, would not detain this fellow on +the ground of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> anything in his appearance, nor any of the others now in +sight. He was drawn aside by Mr. Conne, however, and became the object +of attention of the other Secret Service men.</p> + +<p>Tom kept his eyes riveted upon the gangplank. One, two, more, wearing +glasses, came in view, were stopped, examined, and passed on. After that +perhaps a hundred passed down and away, none of them with glasses, and +all of them he scrutinized carefully. Now another, with neatly adjusted +rimless glasses, came down. He had a clean-cut, professional look. Tom +did not take his eyes off the descending column for a second, but he +heard Mr. Conne say pleasantly,</p> + +<p>"Just a minute."</p> + +<p>He was glad when he was conscious of this fine-looking young American +passing on.</p> + +<p>So it went.</p> + +<p>There were some whom poor Tom might have been inclined to stop by way of +precaution for no better reason than that they had a rough-and-ready +look—hard fellows. He was glad—<i>half</i> glad—when Mr. Conne, for +reasons of his own, detained one, then another, of these, though they +wore no glasses. And he felt like apologizing to them for his momentary +suspicion, as he saw them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> pause surprised, answer frankly and honestly +and pass on.</p> + +<p>Then came a young officer, immaculately attired, his leather leggings +shining, his uniform fitting him as if he had been moulded into it. He +wore little rimless eye-glasses. He might lead a raiding party for all +that; but he was a bit pompous and very self-conscious. Tom was rather +gratified to see him hailed aside.</p> + +<p>Nothing.</p> + +<p>Down they came, holding both rails and lifting their feet to swing, like +school boys—hundreds of them, thousands of them, it seemed. Tom watched +them all keenly as they passed out like an endless ribbon from a +magician's hat. There seemed to be no end of them.</p> + +<p>There came now a fellow whom he watched closely. He had blond hair and +blue eyes, but no glasses. He looked something like—something like—oh, +who? Fritzie Schmitt, whom he used to know in Bridgeboro. No, he +didn't—not so much.</p> + +<p>But his blond hair and blue eyes did not escape Mr. Conne.</p> + +<p>Nothing.</p> + +<p>"Watching, Tommy?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>A hundred more, two hundred, and then a young sergeant with glasses.</p> + +<p>While this young man was undergoing his ordeal (whatever it was, for Tom +kept his eyes riveted on the gangway), there appeared the tall figure of +a lieutenant. Tom thought he was of the medical corps, but he was not +certain. He seemed to be looking down at Mr. Conne's little group, with +a fierce, piercing stare. He wore horned spectacles of goodly +circumference and as Tom's eyes followed the thick, left wing of these, +he saw that it embraced an ear which stood out prominently. Both the ear +and the piercing eagle gaze set him all agog.</p> + +<p>Should he speak? The lieutenant was gazing steadfastly down at Mr. Conne +and coming nearer with every step. Of course, Mr. Conne would stop him +anyway, but—— To mention that piercing stare and that ear after the +man had been stopped for the more tangible reason—there would be no +triumph in that.</p> + +<p>Tom's hand trembled like a leaf and his voice was unsteady as he turned +to Mr. Conne, and said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span></p> + +<p>"This one coming down—the one that's looking at you—he looks like—and +I notice——"</p> + +<p>"Put your hands down, my man," called Mr. Conne peremptorily, at the +same time leaping with the agility of a panther up past the descending +throng. "I'll take those."</p> + +<p>But Tom Slade had spoken first. He did not know whether Mr. Conne's +sudden dash had been prompted by his words or not. He saw him lift the +heavy spectacles off the man's ears and with beating heart watched him +as he came down alongside the lieutenant.</p> + +<p>"Going to throw them away, eh?" he heard Mr. Conne say.</p> + +<p>Evidently the man, seeing another's glasses examined, had tried to +remove his own before he reached the place of inspection. Mr. Conne, who +saw everything, had seen this. But Tom had spoken before Mr. Conne moved +and he was satisfied.</p> + +<p>"All right, Tommy," said Mr. Conne in his easy way. "You beat me to it."</p> + +<p>Tom hardly knew what took place in the next few moments. He saw Mr. +Conne breathe upon the glasses, was conscious of soldiers slackening +their pace to see and hear what was going on,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> and of their being +ordered forward. He saw the two men who were with Mr. Conne standing +beside the tall lieutenant, who seemed bewildered. He noticed (it is +funny how one notices these little things amid such great things) the +little ring of red upon the lieutenant's nose where the glasses had sat.</p> + +<p>"There you are, see?" he heard Mr. Conne say quietly, breathing heavily +upon the glasses and holding them up to the light, for the benefit of +his colleagues. "B L—two dots—X—see—Plain as day. See there, Tommy!"</p> + +<p>He breathed upon them again and held them quickly up so that Tom could +see.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," Tom stammered, somewhat perturbed at such official +attention.</p> + +<p>"Look in the other one, too, Tommy—now—quick!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Tom as the strange figures die away. He felt very proud, +and not a little uncomfortable at being drawn into the centre of things. +And he did not feel slighted as he saw Mr. Conne and the captive +lieutenant, and the other officials whom he did not know, start away +thoughtless of anything else in the stress of the extraordinary affair. +He followed because he did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> not know what else to do, and he supposed +they wished him to follow. Outside the wharf he got <i>Uncle Sam</i> and +wheeled him along at a respectful distance behind these high officials. +So he had one companion. Several times Mr. Conne looked back at him and +smiled. And once he said in that funny way of his,</p> + +<p>"All right, Tommy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," Tom answered, trudging along. He had been greatly agitated, +but his wonted stolidness was returning now. Probably he felt more +comfortable and at home coming along behind with <i>Uncle Sam</i> than he +would have felt in the midst of this group where the vilest treason +walked baffled, but unashamed, in the uniform of Uncle Sam.</p> + +<p>Once Mr. Conne turned to see if Tom were following. His cigar was stuck +up in the corner; of his mouth as usual and he gave Tom a whimsical +look.</p> + +<p>"You hit the Piff family at both ends, didn't you, Tommy."</p> + +<p>"Y-yes, sir," said Tom.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHAPTER_THIRTY" id="CHAPTER_THIRTY"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER THIRTY</h2><h3>HE DISAPPEARS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Swiftly and silently along the quiet, winding road sped the +dispatch-rider. Away from the ocean he was hurrying, where the great +ships were coming in, each a fulfilment and a challenge; away from +scenes of debarkation where Uncle Sam was pouring his endless wealth of +courage and determination into bleeding, suffering, gallant France.</p> + +<p>Past the big hotel he went, past the pleasant villa, through village and +hamlet, and farther and farther into the East, bound for the little +corner of the big salient whence he had come.</p> + +<p>He bore with him a packet and some letters. One was to be left at +Neufchatel; others at Breteuil. There was one in particular for +Cantigny. His name was mentioned in it, but he did not know that. He +never concerned himself with the contents of his papers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span></p> + +<p>So he sped along, thinking how he would get a new headlight for <i>Uncle +Sam</i> and a new mud-guard. He thought the people back at Cantigny would +wonder what had happened to his machine. He had no thought of telling +them. There was nothing to tell.</p> + +<p>Swiftly and silently along the road he sped, the dispatch-rider who had +come from the blue hills of Alsace, all the way across poor, devastated +France. The rays of the dying sun fell upon the handle-bar of <i>Uncle +Sam</i>, which the rider held in the steady, fraternal handshake that they +knew so well. Back from the coast they sped, those two, along the +winding road which lay on hill and in valley, bathed in the mellow glow +of the first twilight. Swiftly and silently they sped. Hills rose and +fell, the fair panorama of the lowlands with its quaint old houses here +and there opened before them. And so they journeyed on into the din and +fire and stenching suffocation and red-running streams of Picardy and +Flanders—for service as required.</p> + +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 3em;'>(END)</p> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<h2><a name="EVERY_BOYS_LIBRARY" id="EVERY_BOYS_LIBRARY"></a>EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY</h2> + +<h3>BOY SCOUT EDITION<br /> + +SIMILAR TO THIS VOLUME</h3> + +<p class='noindent'>The Boy Scouts of America in making up this Library, selected only such +books as had been proven by a nation-wide canvass to be most universally +in demand among the boys themselves. Originally published in more +expensive editions only, they are now, under the direction of the +Scout's National Council, re-issued at a lower price so that all boys +may have the advantage of reading and owning them. It is the only series +of books published under the control of this great organization, whose +sole object is the welfare and happiness of the boy himself. For the +first time in history a <i>guaranteed</i> library is available, and at a +price so low as to be within the reach of all.</p> + +<p class='noindent'> +<b>Along the Mohawk Trail</b> Percy K. Fitzhugh<br /> +<b>Animal Heroes</b> Ernest Thompson Seton<br /> +<b>Baby Elton, Quarter-Back</b> Leslie W. Quirk<br /> +<b>Bartley, Freshman Pitcher</b> William Heyliger<br /> +<b>Be Prepared, The Boy Scouts in Florida</b> A. W. Bimock<br /> +<b>Ben-Hur</b> Lew Wallace<br /> +<b>Boat-Building and Boating</b> Dan. Beard<br /> +<b>The Boy Scouts of Black Eagle Patrol</b> Leslie W. Quirk<br /> +<b>The Boy Scouts of Bob's Hill</b> Charles Pierce Burton<br /> +<b>The Boys' Book of New Inventions</b> Harry E. Maule<br /> +<b>Buccaneers and Pirates of Our Coasts</b> Frank R. Stockton<br /> +<b>The Call of the Wild</b> Jack London<br /> +<b>Cattle Ranch to College</b> Russell Doubleday<br /> +<b>College Years</b> Ralph D. Paine<br /> +<b>Crooked Trails</b> Frederic Remington<br /> +<b>The Cruise of the Cachalot</b> Frank T. Bullen<br /> +<b>The Cruise of the Dazzler</b> Jack London<br /> +<b>Danny Fists</b> Walter Camp<br /> +<b>For the Honor of the School</b> Ralph Henry Barbour<br /> +<b>A Gunner Aboard the "Yankee"</b> From the Diary of Number Five of the After Port Gun<br /> +<b>The Half-Back</b> Ralph Henry Barbour<br /> +<b>Handbook for Boys, Revised Edition</b> Boy Scouts of America<br /> +<b>Handicraft for Outdoor Boys</b> Dan. Beard<br /> +<b>The Horsemen of the Plains</b> Joseph A. Altsheler<br /> +<b>Jeb Hutton; The Story of a Georgia Boy</b> James B. Connolly<br /> +<b>The Jester of St. Timothy's</b> Arthur Stanwood Pier<br /> +<b>Jim Davis</b> John Masefield<br /> +<b>Kidnapped</b> Robert Louis Stevenson<br /> +<b>Last of the Chiefs</b> Joseph A. Altsheler<br /> +<b>Last of the Plainsmen</b> Zane Grey<br /> +<b>The Last of the Mohicans</b> James Fenimore Cooper<br /> +<b>A Midshipman in the Pacific</b> Cyrus Townsend Brady<br /> +<b>Pitching in a Pinch</b> Christy Mathewson<br /> +<b>Ranche on the Oxhide</b> Henry Inman<br /> +<b>Redney McGaw; A Circus Story for Boys</b> Arthur E. McFarlane<br /> +<b>The School Days of Elliott Gray, Jr.</b> Colton Maynard<br /> +<b>Scouting with Daniel Boone</b> Everett T. Tomlinson<br /> +<b>Three Years Behind the Guns</b> Lieu Tisdale<br /> +<b>Tommy Remington's Battle</b> Burton E. Stevenson<br /> +<b>Tecumseh's Young Braves</b> Everett T. Tomlinson<br /> +<b>Tom Strong, Washington's Scout</b> Alfred Bishop Mason<br /> +<b>To the Land of the Caribou</b> Paul Greene Tomlinson<br /> +<b>Treasure Island</b> Robert Louis Stevenson<br /> +<b>20,000 Leagues Under the Sea</b> Jules Verne<br /> +<b>Ungava Bob; A Tale of the Fur Trappers</b> Dillon Wallace<br /> +<b>Wells Brothers; The Young Cattle Kings</b> Andy Adams<br /> +<b>Williams of West Point</b> Hugh S. Johnson<br /> +<b>The Wireless Man; His work and adventures</b> Francis A. Collins<br /> +<b>The Wolf Hunters</b> George Bird Grinnell<br /> +<b>The Wrecking Master</b> Ralph D. Paine<br /> +<b>Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors</b> James Barnes<br /> +</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p class='center'>GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK</p> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<h2><a name="THE_EVERY_CHILD_SHOULD_KNOW_SERIES" id="THE_EVERY_CHILD_SHOULD_KNOW_SERIES"></a>THE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW SERIES</h2> + +<p class='center'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> +<p class='noindent'> +BIRDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">By Neltje Blanchan. Illustrated</span></span><br /> +<br /> +EARTH AND SKY EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated</span> \</span><br /> +<br /> +ESSAYS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie</span></span><br /> +<br /> +FAIRY TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie</span></span><br /> +<br /> +FAMOUS STORIES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie</span></span><br /> +<br /> +FOLK TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie</span></span><br /> +<br /> +HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie</span></span><br /> +<br /> +HEROINES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Coedited by Hamilton W. Mabie and Kate Stephens</span></span><br /> +<br /> +HYMNS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Dolores Bacon</span></span><br /> +<br /> +LEGENDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie</span></span><br /> +<br /> +MYTHS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie</span></span><br /> +<br /> +OPERAS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">By Dolores Bacon. Illustrated</span></span><br /> +<br /> +PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">By Dolores Bacon. Illustrated</span></span><br /> +<br /> +POEMS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Mary E. Burt</span></span><br /> +<br /> +PROSE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Mary E. Burt</span></span><br /> +<br /> +SONGS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Edited by Dolores Bacon</span></span><br /> +<br /> +TREES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated</span></span><br /> +<br /> +WATER WONDERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">By Jean M. Thompson. Illustrated</span></span><br /> +<br /> +WILD ANIMALS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated</span></span><br /> +<br /> +WILD FLOWERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">By Frederic William Stack. Illustrated</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='center'><span class="smcap">Grosset</span> & <span class="smcap">Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<h2><a name="THE_CHILDRENS_CRIMSON_SERIES" id="THE_CHILDRENS_CRIMSON_SERIES"></a>THE CHILDREN'S CRIMSON SERIES</h2> + +<p class='center'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-size: 120%">The Editors; and What the Children's Crimson Series Offers Your Child</p> + +<p class='noindent'>In the first place, "The Children's Crimson Series" is designed to +please and interest every child, by reason of the sheer fascination of +the stories and poems contained therein.</p> + +<p class='noindent'>To accomplish such an end, a vast amount of patient labor, a rare +judgment, a life-long study of children, and a genuine love for all that +is best in literature, are essential factors of success.</p> + +<p class='noindent'>Kate Douglas Wiggin (Mrs. Riggs) and Nora Archibald Smith possess these +qualities and this experience. Their efforts, as pioneers of +kindergarten work, the love and admiration in which their works are held +by all young people, prove them to be in full sympathy with this unique +piece of work.</p> + +<p class='noindent'>Let all parents, who wish their little ones to have their minds and +tastes developed along the right paths, remember that once a child is +interested and amused, the rest is comparatively easy. Stories and poems +so admirably selected, cannot then but sow the seeds of a real literary +culture, which must be encouraged in childhood if it is ever to exercise +a real influence in life.</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p class='center'><span class="smcap">Edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith</span></p> +<p class='noindent'> +THE FAIRY RING: <i>Fairy Tales for Children 4 to 8</i><br /><br /> +MAGIC CASEMENTS: <i>Fairy Tales for Children 6 to 12</i><br /><br /> +TALES OF LAUGHTER: <i>Fairy Tales for Growing Boys and Girls</i><br /><br /> +TALES OF WONDER: <i>Fairy Tales that Make One Wonder</i><br /><br /> +PINAFORE PALACE: <i>Rhymes and Jingles for Tiny Tots</i><br /><br /> +THE POSY RING: <i>Verses and Poems that Children Love and Learn</i><br /><br /> +GOLDEN NUMBERS: <i>Verses and Poems for Children and Grown-ups</i><br /><br /> +THE TALKING BEASTS: <i>Birds and Beasts in Fable</i><br /> + <span class="smcap">Edited by Asa Don Dickinson</span><br /><br /> +CHRISTMAS STORIES: "<i>Read Us a Story About Christmas</i>"<br /> + <span class="smcap">Edited by Mary E. Burt and W. T. Chapin</span><br /><br /> +STORIES AND POEMS FROM KIPLING: "<i>How the Camel Got Its Hump</i>," <i>and other Stories</i>.<br /> +</p> + +<hr class='minor' /> +<p class='center'><span class="smcap">Grosset</span> & <span class="smcap">Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer, by +Percy Keese Fitzhugh + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE MOTORCYCLE *** + +***** This file should be named 19495-h.htm or 19495-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/4/9/19495/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tom Slade Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer + +Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh + +Illustrator: R. Emmett Owen + +Release Date: October 8, 2006 [EBook #19495] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE MOTORCYCLE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: TOM TURNED ON HIS SEARCHLIGHT AND SAW A GERMAN SOLDIER, +HATLESS AND COATLESS. Frontispiece (Page 8)] + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +TOM SLADE +MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH-BEARER + +BY PERCY K. FITZHUGH + +AUTHOR OF +TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP, TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER, +TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS, ETC. + +ILLUSTRATED BY R. EMMETT OWEN + +PUBLISHED WITH THE APPROVAL OF THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA + +GROSSET & DUNLAP +PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Copyright, 1918, by +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + +Preface vii + I. For Service as Required 1 + II. Aid and Comfort to the Enemy 8 + III. The Old Compass 14 + IV. The Old Familiar Faces 20 + V. Getting Ready 25 + VI. Over the Top 36 + VII. A Shot 45 + VIII. In the Woods 50 + IX. The Mysterious Fugitive 57 + X. The Jersey Snipe 62 + XI. On Guard 68 + XII. What's In a Name? 73 + XIII. The Fountains of Destruction 79 + XIV. Tom Uses His First Bullet 84 + XV. The Gun Pit 89 + XVI. Prisoners 97 + XVII. Shades of Archibald Archer 105 + XVIII. The Big Coup 111 + XIX. Tom is Questioned 119 + XX. The Major's Papers 127 + XXI. The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere 133 + XXII. "Uncle Sam" 140 + XXIII. Up a Tree 150 + XXIV. "To Him That Overcometh" 156 + XXV. "What You Have to Do--" 162 + XXVI. A Surprise 169 + XXVII. Smoke and Fire 175 + XXVIII. "Made in Germany" 184 + XXIX. "Now You See It, Now You Don't" 194 + XXX. He Disappears 205 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +PREFACE + + +It was good advice that Rudyard Kipling gave his "young British soldier" +in regard to the latter's rifle: + + "She's human as you are--you treat her as sich + And she'll fight for the young British soldier." + +Tommy Atkins' rifle was by no means the first inanimate or dumb thing to +prove human and to deserve human treatment. Animals of all sorts have +been given this quality. Jack London's dog, in _The Call of the Wild_, +has human interest. So has the immortal _Black Beauty_. + +But we are not concerned with animals now. Kipling's ocean liner has +human interest--a soul. I need not tell you that a boat is human. Its +every erratic quality of crankiness, its veritable heroism under stress, +its temperament (if you like that word) makes it very human indeed. That +is why a man will often let his boat rot rather than sell it. + +This is not true of all inanimate things. It depends. I have never heard +of a steam roller or a poison gas bomb being beloved by anybody. I +should not care to associate with a hand grenade. It is a matter of +taste; I dare say I could learn to love a British tank, but I could +never make a friend and confidante of a balloon. An aeroplane might +prove a good pal--we shall have to see. + +Davy Crockett actually made a friend and confidante of his famous gun, +_Betsy_. And _Betsy_ is known in history. It is said that the gun crews +on armed liners have found this human quality in their guns, and many of +these have been given names--_Billy Sunday_, _Teddy Roosevelt_, etc. + +I need not tell you that a camp-fire is human and that trees are human. + +The pioneers of old, pressing into the dim wilderness, christened their +old flintlocks and talked to them as a man may talk to a man. The +woodsman's axe was "deare and greatly beloved," we are told. + +The hard-pressed Indian warrior knelt in the forest and besought that +life-long comrade, his bow, not to desert or fail him. King Philip kept +in his quiver a favorite arrow which he never used because it had +earned retirement by saving his own life. + +What Paul Revere may have said to his horse in that stirring midnight +ride we do not know. But may we not suppose that he urged his trusty +steed forward with resolute and inspiring words about the glorious +errand they were upon? + +Perhaps the lonely ringer of the immortal bell up in the Old South +steeple muttered some urgent word of incentive to that iron clanger as +it beat against its ringing wall of brass. + +So I have made _Uncle Sam_, the motorcycle, the friend and companion of +_Tom Slade_. I have withheld none of their confidences--or trifling +differences. I dare say they were both weary and impatient at times. + +If he is not companionable to you, then so much the worse for you and +for our story. But he was the friend, the inseparable associate and +co-patriot of _Tom Slade, the Dispatch Rider_. + +You will not like him any the less because of the noise he made in +trudging up a hill, or because his mud-guard was broken off, or his tire +wounded in the great cause, or his polished headlight knocked into a tin +can. You will not ridicule the old splint of a shingle which was bound +with such surgical nicety among his rusting spokes. If you do, then you +are the kind of a boy who would laugh at a wounded soldier and you had +better not read this book. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +TOM SLADE + +MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH-BEARER + +CHAPTER I + +FOR SERVICE AS REQUIRED + + +Swiftly and silently along the moonlit road sped the dispatch-rider. Out +of the East he had come, where the battle line runs between blue +mountains and the country is quiet and peaceful, and the boys in khaki +long for action and think wistfully of Picardy and Flanders. He was a +lucky young fellow, this dispatch-rider, and all the boys had told him +so. + +"We'll miss you, Thatchy," they had said. + +And "Thatchy" had answered characteristically, "I'm sorry, too, kind of, +in a way." + +His name was not Thatchy, but they had called him so because his thick +shock of light hair, which persisted in falling down over his forehead +and ears, had not a little the appearance of the thatched roofs on the +French peasant's cottages. He, with a loquacious young companion, had +blown into the Toul sector from no one seemed to know exactly where, +more than that he had originally been a ship's boy, had been in a German +prison camp, and had escaped through Alsace and reached the American +forces after a perilous journey. + +Lately he had been running back and forth on his motorcycle between the +lines and points south in a region which had not been defiled by the +invader, but now he was going far into the West "for service as +required." + +That was what the slip of paper from headquarters had said, and he did +not speculate as to what those services would be, but he knew that they +would not be exactly holding Sunday-School picnics in the neighborhood +of Montdidier. Billy Brownway, machine gunner, had assured Thatchy that +undoubtedly he was wanted to represent the messenger service on the War +Council at Versailles. But Thatchy did not mind that kind of talk. + +West of Revigny, he crossed the old trench line, and came into the area +which the Blond Beast had crossed and devastated in the first year of +the war. Planks lay across the empty trenches and as he rode over first +the French and then the enemy ditches, he looked down and could see in +the moonlight some of the ghastly trophies of war. Somehow they affected +him more than had the fresher results of combat which he had seen even +in the quiet sector he had left. + +Silently he sped along the thirty-mile stretch from Revigny to Chalons, +where a little group of French children pressed about him when he paused +for gasoline. + +"Yankee!" they called, chattering at him and meddling with his machine. + +"Le cheveu!" one brazen youngster shouted, running his hand through his +own hair by way of demonstrating Thatchy's most conspicuous +characteristic. + +Thatchy poked him good-humoredly. "La route, est-belle bonne?" he asked. + +The child nodded enthusiastically, while the others broke out laughing +at Thatchy's queer French, and poured a verbal torrent at him by way of +explaining that the road to the South would take him through Vertus and +Montmirail, while the one to the north led to Epernay. + +"I'll bump my nose into the salient if I take that one," he said more +to himself than to them, but one little fellow, catching the word +_salient_ took a chance on _nose_ and jumped up and down in joyous +abandon, calling, "Bump le nez--le _salient_!" apparently in keen +appreciation of the absurdity of the rider's phrase. + +He rode away with a clamoring chorus behind him and he heard one brazen +youngster boldly mimicking his manner of asking if the roads were good. +These children lived in tumble-down houses which were all but ruins, and +played in shell holes as if these cruel, ragged gaps in the earth had +been made by the kind Boche for their especial entertainment. + +A mile or two west of Chalons the rider crossed the historic Marne on a +makeshift bridge built from the materials of a ruined house and the +remnants of the former span. + +On he sped, along the quiet, moonlit road, through the little village of +Thibie, past many a quaint old heavily-roofed brick cottage, over the +stream at Chaintrix and into Vertus, and along the straight, even +stretch of road for Montmirail. Not so long ago he might have gone from +Chalons in a bee-line from Montdidier, but the big, ugly salient stuck +out like a huge snout now, as if it were sniffing in longing +anticipation at that tempting morsel, Paris; so he must circle around it +and then turn almost straight north. + +At La Ferte, among the hills, he paused at a crossroads and, alighting +from his machine, stood watching as a long, silent procession of wagons +passed by in the quiet night, moving southward. He knew now what it +meant to go into the West. One after another they passed in deathlike +stillness, the Red Cross upon the side of each plainly visible in the +moonlight. As he paused, the rider could hear the thunder of great guns +in the north. Many stretchers, borne by men afoot, followed the wagons +and he could hear the groans of those who tossed restlessly upon them. + +"Look out for shell holes," he heard someone say. So there were +Americans in the fighting, he thought. + +He ran along the edge of the hills now on the fifteen-mile stretch to +Meaux, where he intended to follow the road northward through Senlis and +across the old trenches near Clermont. He could hear the booming all the +while, but it seemed weary and spent, like a runner who has slackened +his pace and begun to pant. + +At Meaux he crossed the path of another silent cavalcade of stretchers +and ambulances and wounded soldiers who were being supported as they +limped along. They spoke in French and one voice came out of an +ambulance, seeming hollow and far off, as though from a grave. Then came +a lot of German prisoners tramping along, some sullen and some with a +fine air of bravado sneering at their guards. + +The rider knew where he was going and how to get there and he did not +venture any inquiries either as to his way or what had been going on. + +Happenings in Flanders and Picardy are known in America before they are +known to the boys in Alsace. He knew there was fighting in the West and +that Fritz had poked a big bulge into the French line, for his superiors +had given him a road map with the bulge pencilled upon it so that he +might go around it and not bump his nose into it, as he had said. But he +had not expected to see such obvious signs of fighting and it made him +realize that at last he was getting into the war with a vengeance. + +Instead of following the road leading northwest out of Meaux, he took +the one leading northeast up through Villers-Cotterets, intending to run +along the edge of the forest to Campiegne and then verge westward to +the billet villages northwest of Montdidier, where he was to report. + +This route brought him within ten miles of the west arm of the salient, +but the way was quiet and there was no sign of the fighting as he rode +along in the woody solitude. It reminded him of his home far back in +America and of the woods where he and his scout companions had camped +and hiked and followed the peaceful pursuits of stalking and trailing. + +He was thinking of home as he rode leisurely along the winding forest +road, when suddenly he was startled by a rustling sound among the trees. + +"Who goes there?" he demanded in pursuance of his general instructions +for such an emergency, at the same time drawing his pistol. "Halt!" + +He was the scout again now, keen, observant. But there was no answer to +his challenge and he narrowed his eyes to mere slits, peering into the +tree-studded solitude, waiting. + +Then suddenly, close by him he heard that unmistakable sound, the +clanking of a chain, and accompanying it a voice saying, "Kamerad." + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +AID AND COMFORT TO THE ENEMY + + +Tom Slade, dispatch-rider, knew well enough what _kamerad_ meant. He had +learned at least that much of German warfare and German honor, even in +the quiet Toul sector. He knew that the German olive branch was +poisoned; that German treachery was a fine art--a part of the German +efficiency. Had not Private Coleburn, whom Tom knew well, listened to +that kindly uttered word and been stabbed with a Prussian bayonet in the +darkness of No Man's Land? + +"Stand up," said Tom. "Nobody can talk to _me_ crouching down like +that." + +"Ach!" said the voice in the unmistakable tone of pain. "Vot goot--see!" + +Tom turned on his searchlight and saw crawling toward him a German +soldier, hatless and coatless, whose white face seemed all the more pale +and ghastly for the smear of blood upon it. He was quite without arms, +in proof of which he raised his open hands and slapped his sides and +hips. As he did so a long piece of heavy chain, which was manacled to +his wrist clanged and rattled. + +"Ach!" he said, shaking his head as if in agony. + +"Put your hands down. All right," said Tom. "Can you speak English?" + +"Kamerad," he repeated and shrugged his shoulders as if that were +enough. + +"You escape?" said Tom, trying to make himself understood. "How did you +get back of the French lines?" + +"Shot broke--yach," the man said, his face lapsing again into a hopeless +expression of suffering. + +"All right," said Tom, simply. "Comrade--I say it too. All right?" + +The soldier's face showed unmistakable relief through his suffering. + +"Let's see what's the matter," Tom said, though he knew the other only +vaguely understood him. Turning the wheel so as the better to focus the +light upon the man, he saw that he had been wounded in the foot, which +was shoeless and bleeding freely, but that the chief cause of his +suffering was the raw condition of his wrist where the manacle +encircled it and the heavy chain pulled. It seemed to Tom as if this +cruel sore might have been caused by the chain dragging behind him and +perhaps catching on the ground as he fled. + +"The French didn't put that on?" he queried, rather puzzled. + +The soldier shook his head. "Herr General," said he. + +"Not the Americans?" + +"Herr General--gun." + +Then suddenly there flashed into Tom's mind something he had heard about +German artillerymen being chained to their guns. So that was it. And +some French gunner, or an American maybe, had unconsciously set this +poor wretch free by smashing his chain with a shell. + +"You're in the French lines," Tom said. "Did you mean to come here? +You're a prisoner." + +"Ach, diss iss petter," the man said, only half understanding. + +"Yes, I guess it is," said Tom. "I'll bind your foot up and then I'll +take that chain off if I can and bind your wrist. Then we'll have to +find the nearest dressing station. I suppose you got lost in this +forest. I been in the German forest myself," he added; "it's +fine--better than this. I got to admit they've got fine lakes there." + +Whether he said this by way of comforting the stranger--though he knew +the man understood but little of it--or just out of the blunt honesty +which refused to twist everything German into a thing of evil, it would +be hard to say. He had about him that quality of candor which could not +be shaken even by righteous enmity. + +Tearing two strips from his shirt, he used the narrower one to make a +tourniquet, which he tied above the man's ankle. + +"If you haven't got poison in it, it won't be so bad," he said. "Now +I'll take off that chain." + +He raised his machine upon its rest so that the power wheel was free of +the ground. Then, to the wounded Boche's puzzled surprise, he removed +the tire and fumbling in his little tool kit he took out a piece of +emery cloth which he used for cleaning his plugs and platinum contact +points, and bent it over the edge of the rim, binding it to the spokes +with the length of insulated wire which he always carried. It was a +crude and makeshift contrivance at best, but at last he succeeded, by +dint of much bending and winding and tying of the pliable copper wire +among the spokes of the wheel, in fastening the emery cloth over the +fairly sharp rim so that it stayed in place when he started his power +and in about two revolutions it cut a piece of wire with which he tested +the power of his improvised mechanical file. + +"Often I sharpened a jackknife that way on the fly-wheel of a motor +boat," he said. The Boche did not understand him, but he was quick to +see the possibilities of this whirling hacksaw and he seemed to +acknowledge, with as much grace as a German may, the Yankee ingenuity of +his liberator. + +"Give me your wrist," said Tom, reaching for it; "I won't hurt it any +more than I have to; here--here's a good scheme." + +He carefully stuffed his handkerchief around under the metal band which +encircled the soldier's wrist and having thus formed a cushion to +receive the pressure and protect the raw flesh, he closed his switch +again and gently subjected the manacle to the revolving wheel, holding +it upon the edge of the concave tire bed. + +If the emery cloth had extended all the way around the wheel he could +have taken the manacle off in less time than it had taken Kaiser Bill to +lock it on, for the contrivance rivalled a buzzsaw. As it was, he had +to stop every minute or two to rearrange the worn emery cloth and bind +it in place anew. But for all that he succeeded in less than fifteen +minutes in working a furrow almost through the metal band so that a +little careful manipulating and squeezing and pressing of it enabled him +to break it and force it open. + +"There you are," he said, removing the handkerchief so as to get a +better look at the cruel sore beneath; "didn't hurt much, did it? That's +what Uncle Sam's trying to do for all the rest of you fellers--only you +haven't got sense enough to know it." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE OLD COMPASS + + +Tom took the limping Boche, his first war prisoner, to the Red Cross +station at Vivieres where they had knives and scissors and bandages and +antiseptics, but nothing with which to remove Prussian manacles, and all +the king's horses and all the king's men and the willing, kindly nurses +there could have done little for the poor Boche if Tom Slade, alias +Thatchy, had not administered his own particular kind of first aid. + +The French doctors sent him forth with unstinted praise which he only +half understood, and as he sped along the road for Compiegne he wondered +who could have been the allied gunner who at long range had cut Fritzie +loose from the piece of artillery to which he had been chained. + +"That feller and I did a good job anyway," he thought. + +At Compiegne the whole town was in a ferment as he passed through. +Hundreds of refugees with mule carts and wheelbarrows laden with their +household goods, were leaving the town in anticipation of the German +advance. They made a mournful procession as they passed out of the town +along the south road with babies crying and children clamoring about the +clumsy, overladen vehicles. He saw many boys in khaki here and there and +it cheered and inspired him to know that his country was represented in +the fighting. He had to pause in the street to let a company of them +pass by on their way northward to the trench line and it did his heart +good to hear their cheery laughter and typical American banter. + +"Got any cigarettes, kiddo?" one called. + +"Where you going--north?" asked another. + +"To the billets west of Montdidier," Tom answered. "I'm for new service. +I came from Toul sector." + +"Good-_night_! That's Sleepy Hollow over there." + +From Compiegne he followed the road across the Aronde and up through +Mery and Tricot into Le Cardonnois. The roads were full of Americans and +as he passed a little company of them he called, + +"How far is ----?" naming the village of his destination. + +"About two miles," one of them answered; "straight north." + +"Tell 'em to give 'em Hell," another called. + +This laconic utterance was the first intimation which Tom had that +anything special was brewing in the neighborhood, and he answered with +characteristic literalness, "All right, I will." + +The road northward from Le Cardonnois was through a hilly country, where +there were few houses. About half a mile farther on he reached the +junction of another road which appeared also to lead northward, verging +slightly in an easterly direction. He had made so many turns that he was +a little puzzled as to which was the true north road, so he stopped and +took out the trusty little compass which he always carried, and held it +in the glare of his headlight, thinking to verify his course. +Undoubtedly the westward road was the one leading to his destination for +as he walked a little way along the other road he found that it bent +still more to the eastward and he believed that it must reach the French +front after another mile or two. + +As he looked again at the cheap, tin-encased compass he smiled a little +ruefully, for it reminded him of Archibald Archer, with whom he had +escaped from the prison camp in Germany and made his perilous flight +through the Black Forest into Switzerland and to the American forces +near Toul. + +Archibald Archer! Where, in all that war-scourged country, was Archibald +Archer now, Tom wondered. No doubt, chatting familiarly with generals +and field marshals somewhere, in blithe disregard of dignity and +authority; for he was a brazen youngster and an indefatigable souvenir +hunter. + +So vivid were Tom's thoughts of Archer that, being off his machine, he +sat down by the roadside to eat the rations which his anxiety to reach +his destination had deterred him from eating before. + +"That's just like him," he thought, holding the compass out so that it +caught the subdued rays of his dimmed headlight; "always marking things +up, or whittling his initials or looking for souvenirs." + +The particular specimen of Archer's handiwork which opened this train of +reminiscence was part and parcel of the mischievous habit which +apparently had begun very early in his career, when he renovated the +habiliments of the heroes and statesmen in his school geography by +pencilling high hats and sunbonnets on their honored heads and giving +them flowing moustaches and frock coats. + +In the prison camp from which they had escaped he had carved his +initials on fence and shack, but his masterpiece was the conversion of +the N on this same glassless compass into a very presentable S (though +turned sideways) and the S into a very presentable N. + +The occasion of his doing this was a singular experience the two boys +had had in their flight through Germany when, after being carried across +a lake on a floating island while asleep, they had swum back and +retraced their steps northward supposing that they were still going +south. + +"Either we're wrong or the compass is wrong, Slady," the bewildered +Archer had said, and he had forthwith altered the compass points before +they discovered the explanation of their singular experience. + +After reaching the American forces Archer had gone forth to more +adventures and new glories in the transportation department, the line of +his activities being between Paris and the coast, and Tom had seen him +no more. He had given the compass to Tom as a "souvenir," and Tom, +whose sober nature had found much entertainment in Archer's +sprightliness, had cherished it as such. It was useful sometimes, too, +though he had to be careful always to remember that it was the "wrong +way round." + +"He'll turn up like a bad penny some day," he thought now, smiling a +little. "He said he'd bring me the clock from a Paris cathedral for a +souvenir, and he'd change the twelve to twenty-two on it." + +He remembered that he had asked Archer _what_ cathedral in Paris, and +Archer had answered, "The Cathedral de la Plaster of Paris." + +"He's a sketch," thought Tom. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES + + +"That's the way it is," thought Tom, "you get to know fellers and like +'em, and then you get separated and you don't see 'em any more." + +Perhaps he was the least bit homesick, coming into this new sector where +all were strangers to him. In any event, as he sat there finishing his +meal he fell to thinking of the past and of the "fellers" he had known. +He had known a good many for despite his soberness there was something +about him which people liked. Most of his friends had taken delight in +jollying him and he was one of those boys who are always being nicknamed +wherever they go. Over in the Toul sector they "joshed" and "kidded" him +from morning till night but woe be to you if you had sought to harm him! + +He had been sorry, in a way, to leave the Toul sector, just as he had +been sorry to leave Bridgeboro when he got his first job on a ship. +"That's one thing fellers can't understand," he thought, "how you can be +sorry about a thing and glad too. Girls understand better--I'll say that +much for 'em, even though I--even though they never had much use for +me----" + +He fell to thinking of the scout troop of which he had been a member +away back in America, of Mr. Ellsworth, the scoutmaster, who had lifted +him out of the gutter, and of Roy Blakeley who was always fooling, and +Peewee Harris. Peewee must be quite a boy by now--not a tenderfootlet +any more, as Roy had called him. + +And then there was Rossie Bent who worked in the bank and who had run +away the night before Registration Day, hoping to escape military +service. Tom fell to thinking of him and of how he had traced him up to +a lonely mountain top and made him go back and register just in time to +escape disgrace and punishment. + +"He thought he was a coward till he got the uniform on," he thought. +"That's what makes the difference. I bet he's one of the bravest +soldiers over here now. Funny if I should meet him. I always liked him +anyway, even when people said he was conceited. Maybe he had a right to +be. If girls liked me as much as they did him maybe _I'd_ be conceited. +Anyway, I'd like to see him again, that's one sure thing." + +When he had finished his meal he felt of his tires, gave his grease cup +a turn, mounted his machine and was off to the north for whatever +awaited him there, whether it be death or glory or just hard work; and +to new friends whom he would meet and part with, who doubtless would +"josh" him and make fun of his hair and tell him extravagant yarns and +belittle and discredit his soberly and simply told "adventures," and yet +who would like him nevertheless. + +"That's the funny thing about some fellers," he thought, "you never can +tell whether they like you or not. Rossie used to say girls were hard to +understand, but, gee, I think fellers are harder!" + +Swiftly and silently along the moonlit road he sped, the dispatch-rider +who had come from the blue hills of Alsace across the war-scorched area +into the din and fire and stenching suffocation and red-running streams +of Picardy "for service as required." Two miles behind the straining +line he rode and parallel with it, straight northward, keeping his keen, +steady eyes fixed upon the road for shell holes. Over to the east he +could hear the thundering boom of artillery and once the air just above +him seemed to buzz as if some mammoth wasp had passed. But he rode +steadily, easily, without a tremor. + +When he dismounted in front of headquarters at the little village of his +destination his stolid face was grimy from his long ride and the dust of +the blue Alsatian mountains mingled with the dust of devastated France +upon his khaki uniform (which was proper and fitting) and his rebellious +hair was streaky and matted and sprawled down over his frowning +forehead. + +A little group of soldiers gathered about him after he had given his +paper to the commanding officer, for he had come a long way and they +knew the nature of his present service if he did not. They watched him +rather curiously, for it was not customary to bring a dispatch-rider +from such a distance when there were others available in the +neighborhood. He was the second sensation of that memorable night, for +scarcely two hours before General Pershing himself had arrived and he +was at that very minute in conference with other officers in the little +red brick cottage. Even as the group of soldiers clustered about the +rider, officers hurried in and out with maps, and one young fellow, an +aviator apparently, suddenly emerged and hurried away. + +"What's going to be doing?" Tom asked, taking notice of all these +activities and speaking in his dull way. + +Evidently the boys had already taken his measure and formulated their +policy, for one answered, + +"Peace has been declared and they're trying to decide whether we'd +better take Berlin or have it sent C.O.D." + +"A soldier I met a couple of miles back," said Tom, "told me to tell you +to give 'em Hell." + +It was characteristic of him that although he never used profanity he +delivered the soldier's message exactly as it had been given him. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +GETTING READY + + +Tom wheeled his machine over to a long brick cottage which stood flush +with the road and attended to it with the same care and affection as a +man might show a favorite horse. Then he sat down with several others on +a long stone bench and waited. + +There was something in the very air which told him that important +matters were impending and though he believed that they had not expected +him to arrive just at this time he wondered whether he might not be +utilized now that he was here. So he sat quietly where he was, observant +of everything, but asking no questions. + +There was a continuous stream of officers entering and emerging from the +headquarters opposite and twice within half an hour companies of +soldiers were brought into formation and passed silently away along the +dark road. + +"You'll be in Germany in a couple of hours," called a private sitting +alongside Tom as some of them passed. + +"Cantigny isn't Germany," another said. + +"Sure it is," retorted a third; "all the land they hold is German soil. +Call us up when you get a chance," he added in a louder tone to the +receding ranks. + +"Is Cantigny near here?" Tom asked. + +"Just across the ditches." + +"Are we going to try to take it?" + +"_Try_ to? We're going to wrap it up and bring it home." + +Tom was going to ask the soldier if he thought there would be any chance +for _him_, though he knew well enough that his business was behind the +lines and that the most he could hope for was to carry the good news (if +such it proved to be) still farther back, away from the fighting. + +"This is going to be the first offensive of your old Uncle Samuel and if +we don't get the whole front page in the New York papers we'll be +peeved," Tom's neighbor condescended to inform him. + +Whatever Uncle Samuel was up to he was certainly very busy about it and +very quiet. On the little village green which the cottage faced groups +of officers talked earnestly. + +An enormous spool on wheels, which in the darkness seemed a mile high, +was rolled silently from somewhere or other, the wheels staked and bound +to the ground, and braces were erected against it. Very little sound was +made and there were no lights save in the houses, which seemed all to be +swarming with soldiers. Not a civilian was to be seen. Several soldiers +walked away from the big wheel and it moved around slowly like one of +those gigantic passenger-carrying wheels in an amusement resort. + +Presently some one remarked that Collie was in and there was a hurrying +away--toward the rear of the village, as it seemed to Tom. + +"Who's Collie?" he ventured to ask. + +"Collie? Oh, he's the Stormy Petrel; he's been piking around over the +Fritzies' heads, I s'pose." + +Evidently Collie, or the Stormy Petrel, was an aviator who had alighted +somewhere about the village with some sort of a report. + +"Collie can't see in the daylight," his neighbor added; "he and the +Jersey Snipe have got Fritzie vexed. You going to run between here and +the coast?" + +"I don't know what I'm going to do," said Tom. "I don't suppose I'll go +over the top, I'd like to go to Cantigny." + +"Never mind, they'll bring it back to you. Did you know the old gent is +here?" + +"Pershing?" + +"Yup. Going to run the show himself." + +"Are you going?" + +"Not as far as I know. I was in the orchestra--front row--last week. Got +a touch of trench fever." + +"D'you mean the front line trenches?" Tom asked. + +"Yup. Oh, look at Bricky!" he added suddenly. "You carrying wire, +Bricky? There's a target for a sniper for you--hair as red as----" + +"Just stick around at the other end of it," interrupted "Bricky" as he +passed, "and listen to what you hear." + +"Here come the tanks," said Tom's neighbor, "and there's the Jersey +Snipe perched on the one over at the other end. Good-_night_, Fritzie!" + +The whole scene reminded Tom vaguely of the hasty, quiet picking up and +departure of the circus in the night which, as a little boy, he had sat +up to watch. There were the tanks, half a dozen of them (and he knew +there were more elsewhere), covered with soldiers and waiting in the +darkness like elephants. Troops were constantly departing, for the front +trenches he supposed. + +Though he had never yet been before the lines, his experience as a rider +and his close touch with the fighting men had given him a pretty good +military sense in the matter of geography--that is, he understood now +without being told the geographical relation of one place to another in +the immediate neighborhood. Dispatch-riders acquire this sort of extra +sense very quickly and they come to have a knowledge of the lay of the +land infinitely more accurate than that of the average private soldier. + +Tom knew that this village, which was now the scene of hurried +preparation and mysterious comings and goings, was directly behind the +trench area. He knew that somewhere back of the village was the +artillery, and he believed that the village of Cantigny stood in the +same relation to the German trenches that this billet village stood to +the Allied trenches; that is, that it was just behind the German lines +and that the German artillery was still farther back. He had heard +enough talk about trench warfare to know how the Americans intended to +conduct this operation. + +But he had never seen an offensive in preparation, either large or +small, for there had been no American offensives--only raids, and of +course he had not participated in these. It seemed to him that now, at +last, he was drawn to the very threshold of active warfare only to be +compelled to sit silent and gaze upon a scene every detail of which +aroused his longing for action. The hurried consultation of officers, +the rapid falling in line in the darkness, the clear brisk words of +command, the quick mechanical response, the departure of one group after +another, the thought of that aviator alighting behind the village, the +sight of the great, ugly tanks and the big spool aroused his patriotism +and his craving for adventure as nothing else had in all the months of +his service. He was nearer to the trenches than ever before. + +"If you're riding to Clermont," he heard a soldier say, apparently to +him, "you'd better take the south road; turn out when you get to Airian. +The other's full of shell holes from the old trench line." + +"Best way is to go down through Estrees and follow the road back across +the old trench line," said another. + +Tom listened absently. He knew he could find the best way, that was his +business, but he did not want to go to Clermont. It seemed to him that +he was always going away from the war while others were going toward it. +While these boys were rushing forward he would be rushing backward. That +was always the way. + +"There's a lot of skeletons in those old trenches. You can follow the +ditches almost down to Paris." + +"They won't send him farther than Creil," another said. "The wires are +up all the way from Creil down." + +"You never can tell whether they'll stay up or not--not with this +seventy-five mile bean-shooter Fritzie's playing with. Ever been to +Paris, kid?" + +"No, but I s'pose I'll be sent there now--maybe," Tom answered. + +"They'll keep you moving up this way, all right. You were picked for +this sector--d'you know that?" + +"I don't know why." + +"Don't get rattled easy--that's what I heard." + +This was gratifying if it was true. Tom had not known why he had been +sent so far and he had wondered. + +Presently a Signal Corps captain came out of Headquarters, spoke briefly +with two officers who were near the big wire spool, and then turned +toward the bench on which Tom was sitting. His neighbors arose and +saluted and he did the same. + +"Never been under fire, I suppose?" said the captain, addressing Tom to +his great surprise. + +"Not before the lines, I haven't. The machine I had before this one was +knocked all out of shape by a shell. I was riding from Toul to----" + +"All right," interrupted the captain somewhat impatiently. Tom was used +to being interrupted in the midst of his sometimes rambling answers. He +could never learn the good military rule of being brief and explicit. +"How do you feel about going over the top? You don't have to." + +"It's just what I was thinking about," said Tom eagerly. "If you'd be +willing, I'd like to." + +"Of course you'd be under fire. Care to volunteer? Emergency work." + +"Often I wished----" + +"Care to volunteer?" + +"Yes, sir, I do." + +"All right; go inside and get some sleep. They'll wake you up in about +an hour. Machine in good shape?" + +This was nothing less than an insult. "I always keep it in good shape," +said Tom. "I got extra----" + +"All right. Go in and get some sleep; you haven't got long. The wire +boys will take care of you." + +He strode away and began to talk hurriedly with another man who showed +him some papers and Tom watched him as one in a trance. + +"Now you're in for it, kiddo," he heard some one say. + +"R. I. P. for yours," volunteered another. + +Tom knew well enough what R. I. P. meant. Often in his lonely night +rides through the towns close to the fighting he had seen it on row +after row of rough, carved wooden crosses. + +"There won't be much _resting in peace_ to-night. How about it, Toul +sector?" + +"I didn't feel very sleepy, anyway," said Tom. + +He slept upon one of the makeshift straw bunks on the stone floor of the +cellar under the cottage. With the first streak of dawn he arose and +went quietly out and sat on a powder keg under a small window, tore +several pages out of his pocket blank-book and using his knee for a +desk, wrote: + + "DEAR MARGARET: + + "Maybe you'll be surprised, kind of, to get a letter from me. And + maybe you won't like me calling you Margaret. I told Roy to show + you my letters, cause I knew he'd be going into Temple Camp + office on account of the troop getting ready to go to Camp and I + knew he'd see you. I'd like to be going up to camp with them, and + I'd kind of like to be back in the office, too. I remember how I + used to be scared of you and you said you must be worse than the + Germans 'cause I wasn't afraid of them. I hope you're working + there yet and I'd like to see Mr. Burton, too. + + "I was going to write to Roy but I decided I'd send a letter to + you because whenever something is going to happen the fellows + write letters home and leave them to be mailed in case they don't + get back. So if you get this you'll know I'm killed. Most of them + write to girls or their mothers, and as long as I haven't got any + mother I thought I'd write to you. Because maybe you'd like to + hear I'm killed more than anybody. I mean maybe you'd be more + interested. + + "I'm going to go over the top with this regiment. I got sent way + over to this sector for special service. A fellow told me he + heard it was because I got a level head. I can't tell you where I + am, but this morning we're going to take a town. I didn't have to + go, 'cause I'm a non-com., but I volunteered. I don't know what + I'll have to do. + + "I ain't exactly scared, but it kind of makes me think about home + and all like that. I often wished I'd meet Roscoe Bent over here. + Maybe he wrote to you. I bet everybody likes him wherever he is + over here. It's funny how I got to thinking about you last night. + I'll--there goes the bugle, so I can't write any more. Anyway, + you won't get it unless I'm killed. Maybe you won't like my + writing, but every fellow writes to a girl the last thing. It + seems kind of lonely if you can't write to a girl. + + "Your friend, + + "TOM SLADE." + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +OVER THE TOP + + +The first haze of dawn was not dispelled when the artillery began to +thunder and Tom knew that the big job was on. Stolid as he was and used +to the roar of the great guns, he made hasty work of his breakfast for +he was nervous and anxious to be on the move. + +Most of the troops that were to go seemed to have gone already. He +joined the two signal corps men, one of whom carried the wire and the +other a telephone apparatus, and as they moved along the road other +signal corps men picked up the wire behind them at intervals, carrying +it along. + +Tom was as proud of his machine as a general could be of his horse, and +he wheeled it along beside him, keeping pace with the slow advance of +his companions, his heart beating high. + +"If you have to come back with any message, you'll remember +Headquarters, won't you?" one asked him. + +"I always remember Headquarters," said Tom. + +"And don't get rattled." + +"I never get rattled." + +"Watch the roads carefully as we go, so you can get back all right. +Noise don't bother you?" + +"No, I'm used to artillery--I mean the noise," said Tom. + +"You probably won't have much to do unless in an emergency. If Fritzie +cuts the wire or it should get tangled and we couldn't reach the airmen +quick enough you'd have to beat it back. There's two roads out of +Cantigny. Remember to take the south one. We're attacking on a mile +front. If you took----" + +"If I have to come back," said Tom, "I'll come the same way. You needn't +worry." + +His advisor felt sufficiently squelched. And indeed, he had no cause to +worry. The Powers that Be had sent Thatchy into the West where the +battle line was changing every day and roads were being made and +destroyed and given new directions; where the highway which took one to +Headquarters one day led into the lair of the Hun on the next, and all +the land was topsy-turvy and changing like the designs in a +kaleidoscope--for the very good reason that Thatchy invariably reached +his destination and could be depended upon to come back, through all the +chaos, as a cat returns to her home. The prison camps in Germany were +not without Allied dispatch-riders who had become "rattled" and had +blundered into the enemy's arms, but Thatchy had a kind of uncanny extra +sense, a bump of locality, if you will, and that is why they had sent +him into this geographical tangle where maps became out of date as fast +as they were made. + +The sun was not yet up when they reached a wider road running crossways +to the one out of the village and here many troops were waiting as far +up and down the road as Tom could see. A narrow ditch led away from the +opposite side of the road through the fields beyond, and looking up and +down the road he could see that there were other ditches like it. + +The tanks were already lumbering and waddling across the fields, for all +the world like great clumsy mud turtles, with soldiers perched upon them +as if they were having a straw ride. Before Tom and his companions +entered the nearest ditch he could see crowds of soldiers disappearing +into other ditches far up the road. + +[Illustration: SHOWING WHERE THE AMERICANS WERE BILLETED: CANTIGNY, +WHICH THEY CAPTURED AND THE ROUTE TAKEN BY TOM AND THE CARRIERS. ARROWS +SHOW THE AREA OF ATTACK.] + +The fields above them were covered with shell holes, a little cemetery +flanked one side of the zigzag way, and the big dugouts of the reserves +were everywhere in this backyard of the trench area. Out of narrow, +crooked side avenues soldiers poured into the communication trench which +the wire carriers were following, falling in ahead of them. + +"We'll get into the road after the boys go over and then you'll have +more room for your machine. Close quarters, hey?" Tom's nearest +companion said. + +When they reached the second-line trench the boys were leaving it, by +hundreds as it seemed to Tom, and crowding through the crooked +communication trenches. The wire carriers followed on, holding up the +wire at intervals. Once when Tom peeped over the edge of the +communication trench he saw the tanks waddling along to right and left, +rearing up and bowing as they crossed the trench, like clumsy, trained +hippopotamuses. And all the while the artillery was booming with +continuous, deafening roar. + +Tom did not see the first of the boys to go over the top for they were +over by the time he reached the second-line trench, but as he passed +along the fire trench toward the road he could see them crowding over, +and when he reached the road the barbed wire entanglements lay flat in +many places, the boys picking their way across the fallen meshes, the +clumsy tanks waddling on ahead, across No Man's Land. As far as Tom +could see along the line in either direction this shell-torn area was +being crossed by hundreds of boys in khaki holding fixed bayonets, some +going ahead of the tanks and some perching on them. + +Above him the whole district seemed to be in pandemonium, men shouting +and their voices drowned by the thunder of artillery. + +His first real sight of the attack was when he clambered out of the +trench where it crossed the road and faced the flattened meshes of +barbed wire with its splintered supporting poles all tangled in it. +Never was there such a wreck. + +"All right," he shouted down. "It's as flat as a pancake--careful with +the machine--lift the back wheel--that's right!" + +He could hardly hear his own voice for the noise, and the very earth +seemed to shake under the heavy barrage fire which protected them. In +one sweeping, hasty glance he saw scores of figures in khaki running +like mad and disappearing into the enemy trenches beyond. + +"Do you mean to let the wire rest on this?" he asked, as his machine was +lifted up and the first of the wire carriers came scrambling up after +it; "it might get short-circuited." + +"We'll run it over the poles, only hurry," the men answered. + +They were evidently the very last of the advancing force, and even as +Tom looked across the shell-torn area of No Man's Land, he could see the +men picking their way over the flattened entanglements and pouring into +the enemy trenches. The tanks had already crossed these and were rearing +and waddling along, irresistible yet ridiculous, like so many heroic mud +turtles going forth to glory. Here and there Tom could see the gray-clad +form of a German clambering out of the trenches and rushing pell-mell to +the rear. + +But it was no time to stand and look. Hurriedly they disentangled a +couple of the supporting poles, laying them so that the telephone wire +passed over them free of the barbed meshes and Tom, mounting his +machine, started at top speed along the road across No Man's Land, +dragging the wire after him. Scarcely had he started when he heard that +wasplike whizzing close to him--once, twice, and then a sharp metallic +sound as a bullet hit some part of his machine. He looked back to see +if the wire carriers were following, but there was not a sign of any of +them except his companion who carried the apparatus, and just as Tom +looked this man twirled around like a top, staggered, and fell. + +The last of the Americans were picking their way across the tangle of +fallen wire before the German fire trench. He could see them now and +again amid dense clouds of smoke as they scrambled over the enemy +sandbags and disappeared. + +On he sped at top speed, not daring to look around again. He could feel +that the wire was dragging and he wondered where its supporters could +be; but he opened his cut-out to get every last bit of power and sped on +with the accumulating train of wire becoming a dead weight behind him. + +Now, far ahead, he could see gray-coated figures scrambling frantically +out of the first line trench, and he thought that the Americans must +have carried the attack successfully that far, in any event. Again came +that whizzing sound close to him, and still again a sharp metallic ring +as another bullet struck his machine. For a moment he feared least a +tire had been punctured, but when neither collapsed he took fresh +courage and sped on. + +The drag on the wire was lessening the speed of his machine now and +jerking dangerously at intervals. But he thought of what one of those +soldiers had said banteringly to another--_Stick around at the other end +of it and listen to what you hear_, and he was resolved that if limited +horse power and unlimited will power could get this wire to those brave +boys who were surging and battling in the trenches ahead of him, could +drag it to them wherever they went, for the glorious message they +intended to send back across it, it should be done. + +There was not another soul visible on that road now nor in the +shell-torn area of No Man's Land through which it ran. But the lone +rider forged ahead, zig-zagging his course to escape the bullets of that +unseen sharpshooter and because it seemed to free the dragging, catching +wire, affording him little spurts of unobstructed speed. + +Then suddenly the wire caught fast, and his machine stopped and strained +like a restive horse, the power wheel racing furiously. Hurriedly he +looked behind him where the sinuous wire lay along the road, far +back--as far as he could see, across the trampled entanglements and +trenches. Where were the others who were to help carry it over? Killed? + +Alone in the open area of No Man's Land, Tom Slade paused for an instant +to think. What should he do? + +Suddenly there appeared out of a shell hole not twenty feet ahead of him +a helmeted figure. It rose up grimly, uncannily, like a dragon out of +the sea, and levelled a rifle straight at him. So that was the lair of +the sharpshooter! + +Tom was not afraid. He knew that he had been facing death and he was not +afraid of what he had been facing. He knew that the sharpshooter had him +at last. Neither he nor the wire were going to bear any message back. + +"Anyway, I'm glad I wrote that letter," he muttered. + +[Illustration: TOM WAS SURPRISED TO FIND HIMSELF UNINJURED, WHILE THE +BOCHE COLLAPSED INTO HIS SHELL HOLE.] + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +A SHOT + + +Then, clear and crisp against the sound of the great guns far off, there +was the sharp crack of a rifle and Tom was surprised to find himself +still standing by his machine uninjured, while the Boche collapsed back +into his shell hole like a jack-in-the-box. + +He did not pause to think now. Leaving his machine, he rushed pell-mell +back to the barbed wire entanglement where the line was caught, +disengaged it and ran forward again to his wheel. Shells were bursting +all about him, but as he mounted he could see two figures emerge, one +after the other, from the American trench where it crossed the road, and +take up the burden of wire. He could feel the relief as he mounted and +rode forward and it lightened his heart as well as his load. What had +happened to delay the carriers he did not know. Perhaps those who +followed him now were new ones and his former companions lay dead or +wounded within their own lines. What he thought of most of all was his +extraordinary escape from the Boche sharpshooter and he wondered who and +where his deliverer could be. + +He avoided looking into the shell hole as he passed it and soon he +reached the enemy entanglements which the tanks had flattened. Even the +flat meshes had been cleared from the road and here several regulars +waited to help him. They were covered with dirt and looked as if they +had seen action. + +"Bully for you, kid!" one of them said, slapping Tom on the shoulder. + +"You're all right, Towhead!" + +"Lift the machine," said Tom; "they always put broken glass in the +roads. I thought maybe they'd punctured my tire out there." + +"They came near puncturing _you_, all right! What's your name?" + +"Thatchy is mostly what I get called. My motorcycle is named _Uncle +Sam_. Did you win yet?" + +For answer they laughed and slapped him on the shoulder and repeated, +"You're all right, kid!" + +"Looks as if Snipy must have had his eye on you, huh?" one of them +observed. + +"Who's Snipy?" Tom asked. + +"Oh, that's mostly what _he_ gets called," said someone, mimicking Tom's +own phrase. "His rifle's named _Tommy_. He's probably up in a tree +somewheres out there." + +"He's a good shot," said Tom simply. "I'd like to see him." + +"Nobody ever sees him--they _feel_ him," said another. + +"He must have been somewhere," said Tom. + +"Oh, he was _somewhere_ all right," several laughed. + +A couple of the Signal Corps men jumped out of the trench near by and +greeted Tom heartily, praising him as the others had done, all of which +he took with his usual stolidness. Already, though of course he did not +know it, he was becoming somewhat of a character. + +"You've got Paul Revere and Phil Sheridan beat a mile," one of the boys +said. + +"I don't know much about Sheridan," said Tom, "but I always liked Paul +Revere." + +He did not seem to understand why they laughed and clapped him on the +shoulder and said, "You'll do, kiddo." + +But it was necessary to keep moving, for the other carriers were coming +along. The little group passed up the road, Tom pushing his wheel and +answering their questions briefly and soberly as he always did. Planks +had been laid across the German trenches where they intersected the road +and as they passed over them Tom looked down upon many a gruesome sight +which evidenced the surprise by the Americans and their undoubted +victory. Not a live German was to be seen, nor a dead American either, +but here and there a fallen gray-coat lay sprawled in the crooked +topsy-turvy ditch. He could see the Red Cross stretcher-bearers passing +in and out of the communication trenches and already a number of boys in +grimy khaki were engaged in repairing the trenches where the tanks had +caved them in. In the second line trench lay several wounded Americans +and Tom was surprised to see one of these propped up smoking a cigarette +while the surgeons bandaged his head until it looked like a great white +ball. Out of the huge bandage a white face grinned up as the little +group passed across on the planks and seeing the men to be wire +carriers, the wounded soldier called, "Tell 'em we're here." + +"Ever hear of Paul Revere?" one of the Signal men called back cheerily. +And he rumpled Tom's hair to indicate whom he meant. + +Thus it was that Thatchy acquired the new nickname by which he was to be +known far and wide in the country back of the lines and in the billet +villages where he was to sit, his trusty motorcycle close at hand, +waiting for messages and standing no end of jollying. Some of the more +resourceful wits in khaki even parodied the famous poem for his benefit, +but he didn't care. He would have matched _Uncle Sam_ against Paul +Revere's gallant steed any day, and they could jolly him and "kid" him +as their mood prompted, but woe be to the person who touched his +faithful machine save in his watchful presence. Even General Pershing +would not have been permitted to do that. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +IN THE WOODS + + +Beyond the enemy second line trench the road led straight into Cantigny +and Tom could see the houses in the distance. Continuous firing was to +be heard there and he supposed that the Germans, routed from their +trenches, were making a stand in the village and in the high ground +beyond it. + +"They'll be able to 'phone back, won't they?" he asked anxiously. + +"They sure will," one of the men answered. + +"It ain't that I don't want to ride back," Tom explained, "but a +feller's waiting on the other end of this wire, 'cause I heard somebody +tell him to, and I wouldn't want him to be disappointed." + +"He won't be disappointed." + +The road, as well as the open country east and west of it, was strewn +with German dead and wounded, among whom Tom saw one or two figures in +khaki. The Red Cross was busy here, many stretchers being borne up +toward the village where dressing stations were already being +established. Then suddenly Tom beheld a sight which sent a thrill +through him. Far along the road, in the first glare of the rising sun, +flew the Stars and Stripes above a little cottage within the confines of +the village. + +"Headquarters," one of his companions said, laconically. + +"Does it mean we've won?" Tom asked. + +"Not exactly yet," the other answered, "but as long as the flag's up +they probably won't bother to take it down," and he looked at Tom in a +queer way. "There's cleaning up to do yet, kid," he added. + +As they approached the village the hand-to-hand fighting was nearing its +end, and the Germans were withdrawing into the woods beyond where they +had many machine gun nests which it would be the final work of the +Americans to smoke out. But Tom saw a little of that kind of warfare +which is fought in streets, from house to house, and in shaded village +greens. Singly and in little groups the Americans sought out, killing, +capturing and pursuing the diminishing horde of Germans. Two of these, +running frantically with apparently no definite purpose, surrendered to +Tom's group and he thought they seemed actually relieved. + +At last they reached the little cottage where the flag flew and were +received by the weary, but elated, men in charge. + +"All over but the shouting," someone said; "we're finishing up back +there in the woods." + +The telephone apparatus was fastened to a tree and Tom heard the words +of the speaker as he tried to get into communication with the village +which lay back across that shell-torn, trench-crossed area which they +had traversed. At last he heard those thrilling words which carried much +farther than the length of the sinuous wire: + +"Hello, this is Cantigny." + +And he knew that whatever yet remained to be done, the first real +offensive operation of the Americans was successful and he was proud to +feel that he had played his little part in it. + +He was given leave until three o'clock in the afternoon and, leaving +_Uncle Sam_ at the little makeshift headquarters, he went about the town +for a sight of the "clean-up." + +Farther back in the woods he could still hear the shooting where the +Americans were searching out machine gun nests and the boom of artillery +continued, but although an occasional shell fell in the town, the place +was quiet and even peaceful by comparison with the bloody clamor of an +hour before. + +It seemed strange that he, Tom Slade, should be strolling about this +quaint, war-scarred village, which but a little while before had +belonged to the Germans. Here and there in the streets he met sentinels +and occasionally an airplane sailed overhead. How he envied the men in +those airplanes! + +He glanced in through broken windows at the interiors of simple abodes +which the bestial Huns had devastated. It thrilled him that the boys +from America had dragged and driven the enemy out of these homes and +would dig their protecting trenches around the other side of this +stricken village, like a great embracing arm. It stirred him to think +that it was now within the refuge of the American lines and that the +arrogant Prussian officers could no longer defile those low, raftered +rooms. + +He inquired of a sentinel where he could get some gasoline which he +would need later. + +"There's a supply station along that road," the man said; "just beyond +the clearing." + +Tom turned in that direction. The road took him out of the village and +through a little clump of woods to a clearing where several Americans +were guarding a couple of big gasoline tanks--part of the spoils of war. +He lingered for a few minutes and then strolled on toward the edge of +the denser wood beyond where the firing, though less frequent, could +still be heard. + +He intended to go just far enough into this wood for a glimpse of the +forest shade which his scouting had taught him to love, and then to +return to headquarters for his machine. + +Crossing a plank bridge across a narrow stream, he paused in the edge of +the woods and listened to the firing which still occurred at intervals +in the higher ground beyond. He knew that the fighting there was of the +old-fashioned sort, from behind protecting trees and wooded hillocks, +something like the good old fights of Indians and buckskin scouts away +home in the wild west of America. And he could not repress his impulse +to venture farther into the solitude. + +[Illustration: TOM SLIPPED BEHIND A TREE AND WATCHED THE MAN WHO PAUSED +LIKE A STARTLED ANIMAL.] + +The stream which he had crossed had evidently its source in the more +densely wooded hills beyond and he followed it on its narrowing way up +toward the locality where the fighting seemed now to be going on. Once a +group of khaki-clad figures passed stealthily among the trees, intent +upon some quest. The sight of their rifles reminded Tom that he was +himself in danger, but he reflected that he was in no greater danger +than they and that he had with him the small arm which all messengers +carried. + +A little farther on he espied an American concealed behind a tree, who +nodded his head perfunctorily as Tom passed, seeming to discourage any +spoken greeting. + +The path of the stream led into an area of thick undergrowth covering +the side of a gentle slope where the water tumbled down in little falls. +He must be approaching very near to the source, he thought, for the +stream was becoming a mere trickle, picking its way around rocky +obstacles in a very jungle of thick underbrush. + +Suddenly he stopped at a slight rustling sound very near him. + +It was the familiar sound which he had so often heard away back in the +Adirondack woods, of some startled creature scurrying to shelter. + +He was the scout again now, standing motionless and silent--keenly +waiting. Then, to his amazement, a clump of bushes almost at his feet +stirred slightly. He waited still, watching, his heart in his mouth. +Could it have been the breeze? But there was no breeze. + +Startled, but discreetly motionless, he fixed his eyes upon the leafy +clump, still waiting. Presently it stirred again, very perceptibly now, +then moved, clumsily and uncannily, and with a slight rustling of its +leaves, along the bank of the stream! + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +THE MYSTERIOUS FUGITIVE + + +Suddenly the thing stopped, and its whole bulk was shaken very +noticeably. Then a head emerged from it and before Tom could realize +what had happened a German soldier was fully revealed, brushing the +leaves and dirt from his gray coat as he stole cautiously along the edge +of the stream, peering anxiously about him and pausing now and again to +listen. + +He was already some distance from Tom, whom apparently he had not +discovered, and his stealthy movements suggested that he was either in +the act of escaping or was bent upon some secret business of importance. + +Without a sound Tom slipped behind a tree and watched the man who paused +like a startled animal at every few steps, watching and listening. + +Tom knew that, notwithstanding his non-combatant status, he was quite +justified in drawing his pistol upon this fleeing Boche, but before he +had realized this the figure had gone too far to afford him much hope of +success with the small weapon which he was not accustomed to. Moreover, +just because he _was_ a "non-com" he balked at using it. If he should +miss, he thought, the man might turn upon him and with a surer aim lay +him low. + +But there was one thing in which Tom Slade felt himself to be the equal +of any German that lived, and that was stalking. Here, in the deep +woods, among these protecting trees, he felt at home, and the lure of +scouting was upon him now. No one could lose him; no one could get away +from him. And a bird in the air would make no more noise than he! + +Swiftly, silently, he slipped from one tree to another, his keen eye +always fixed upon the fleeting figure and his ears alert to learn if, +perchance, the Boche was being pursued. Not a sound could he hear except +that of the distant shooting. + +It occurred to him that the precaution of camouflaging might be useful +to him also, and he silently disposed one of the leafy boughs which the +German had left diagonally across his breast with the fork over his +shoulder so that it formed a sort of adjustable screen, more portable +and less clumsy than the leafy mound which had covered the Boche. + +With this he stole along, sometimes hiding behind trees, sometimes +crouching among the rocks along the bank, and keeping at an even +distance from the man. His method with its personal dexterity was +eloquent of the American scout, just as the Boche, under his mound of +foliage, had been typical of the German who depends largely upon +_device_ and little upon personal skill and dexterity. + +The scout from Temple Camp had his ruses, too, for once when the German, +startled by a fancied sound, seemed about to look behind him, Tom +dexterously hurled a stone far to the left of his quarry, which diverted +the man's attention to that direction and kept it there while Tom, +gliding this way and that and raising or lowering his scant disguise, +crept after him. + +They were now in an isolated spot and the distant firing seemed farther +and farther away. The stream, reduced to a mere trickle, worked its way +down among rocks and the German followed its course closely. What he was +about in this sequestered jungle Tom could not imagine, unless, indeed, +he was fleeing from his own masters. But surely open surrender to the +Americans would have been safer than that, and Tom remembered how +readily those other German soldiers had rushed into the arms of himself +and his companions. + +Moreover, the more overgrown the brook became and the more involved its +path, the more the hurrying German seemed bent upon following it and +instead of finding any measure of relief from anxiety in this isolated +place, he appeared more anxious than ever and peered carefully about him +at every few steps. + +At length, to Tom's astonishment, he stepped across the brook and felt +of a clump of bush which grew on the bank. Could he have expected to +find another camouflaged figure, Tom wondered? + +Whatever he was after, he apparently thought he had reached his +destination for he now moved hurriedly about, feeling the single bushes +and moving among the larger clumps as if in quest of something. After a +few moments he paused as if perplexed and moved farther up the stream. +And Tom, who had been crouching behind a bush at a safe distance, crept +silently to another one, greatly puzzled but watching him closely. + +Selecting another spot, the Boche moved about among the bushes as +before, carefully examining each one which stood by itself. Tom expected +every minute to see some grim, gray-coated figure step out of his leafy +retreat to join his comrade, but why such a person should wait to be +discovered Tom could not comprehend, for he must have heard and probably +seen this beating through the bushes. + +An especially symmetrical bush stood on the brink of the stream and +after poking about this as usual, the German stood upon tiptoe, +apparently looking down into it, then kneeled at its base while Tom +watched from his hiding-place. + +Suddenly a sharp report rang out and the German jumped to his feet, +clutched frantically at the brush which seemed to furnish a substantial +support, then reeled away and fell headlong into the brook, where he lay +motionless. + +The heedless current, adapting itself readily to this grim obstruction, +bubbled gaily around the gray, crumpled form, accelerating its cheery +progress in the narrow path and showing little glints of red in its +crystal, dancing ripples. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +THE JERSEY SNIPE + + +Tom hurried to the prostrate figure and saw that the German was quite +dead. There was no other sign of human presence and not a sound to be +heard but the rippling of the clear water at his feet. + +For a few moments he stood, surprised and silent, listening. Then he +fancied that he heard a rustling in the bushes some distance away and he +looked in that direction, standing motionless, alert for the slightest +stir. + +Suddenly there emerged out of the undergrowth a hundred or more feet +distant a strange looking figure clad in a dull shade of green with a +green skull cap and a green scarf, like a scout scarf, loosely thrown +about his neck. Even the rifle which he carried jauntily over his +shoulder was green in color, so that he seemed to Tom to have that +general hue which things assume when seen through green spectacles. He +was lithe and agile, gliding through the bushes as if he were a part of +them, and he came straight toward Tom, with a nimbleness which almost +rivalled that of a squirrel. + +There was something about his jaunty, light step which puzzled Tom and +he narrowed his eyes, watching the approaching figure closely. The +stranger removed a cigarette from his mouth to enable him the better to +lay his finger upon his lips, imposing silence, and as he did so the +movement of his hand and his way of holding the cigarette somehow caused +Tom to stare. + +Then his puzzled scrutiny gave way to an expression of blank amazement, +as again the figure raised his finger to his lips to anticipate any +impulse of Tom's to call. Nor did Tom violate this caution until the +stranger was within a dozen feet or so. + +"Roscoe--Bent!" he ejaculated. "Don't you know me? I'm Tom Slade." + +"Well--I'll--be----" Roscoe began, then broke off, holding Tom at arm's +length and looking at him incredulously. "Tom Slade--_I'll +be--jiggered_!" + +"I kinder knew it was you," said Tom in his impassive way, "as soon as I +saw you take that cigarette out of your mouth, 'cause you do it such a +swell way, kind of," he added, ingenuously; "just like the way you used +to when you sat on the window-sill in Temple Camp office and jollied +Margaret Ellison. Maybe you don't remember." + +Still Roscoe held him at arm's length, smiling all over his handsome, +vivacious face. Then he removed one of his hands from Tom's shoulder and +gave him a push in the chest in the old way. + +"It's the same old Tom Slade, I'll be---- And with the front of your +belt away around at the side, as usual. This is better than taking a +hundred prisoners. How are you and how'd you get here, you sober old +tow-head, you?" and he gripped Tom's hand with impulsive vehemence. +"This sure does beat all! I might have known if I found you at all it +would be in the woods, you old pathfinder!" and he gave Tom another +shove, then rapped him on the shoulder and slipped his hand around his +neck in a way all his own. + +"I--I like to hear you talk that way," said Tom, with that queer +dullness which Roscoe liked; "it reminds me of old times." + +"Kind of?" prompted Roscoe, laughing. "Is our friend here dead?" + +"Yes, he's very dead," said Tom soberly, "but I think there are others +around in the bushes." + +"There are some enemies there," said Roscoe, "but we won't kill them. +Contemptible murderers!" he muttered, as he hauled the dead Boche out of +the stream. "I'll pick you off one by one, as fast as you come up here, +you gang of back-stabbers! Look here," he added. + +"I got to admit you can do it," said Tom with frank admiration. + +Roscoe pulled away the shrubbery where the German had been kneeling when +he was struck and there was revealed a great hogshead, larger, Tom +thought, than any he had ever seen. + +"That's the kind of weapons they fight with," Roscoe said, disgustedly. +"Look here," he added, pulling the foliage away still more. "Don't touch +it. See? It leads down from another one. It's poison." + +Tom, staring, understood well enough now, and he peered into the bushes +about him in amazement as he heard Roscoe say, + +"Arsenic, the sneaky beasts." + +"See what he was going to do?" he added, startling Tom out of his silent +wondering. "There's half a dozen or more of these hogsheads in those +bushes. As fast as this one empties it fills up again from another that +stands higher. There's a whole nest of them here. See how the pipe from +this one leads into the stream?" + +"What's the wire for?" said Tom. + +"Oh, that's so's they can open this little cock here, see? Start the +thing going. Don't pull away the camouflage. There may be another chap +up here in a little while, to see what's the matter. _Tommy'll_ take +care of them all right, won't you, _Tommy_?" + +"Do you mean me?" Tom asked. + +"I mean your namesake here," Roscoe said, slapping his rifle. "I named +it after you, you old glum head. Remember how you told me a feller +couldn't aim straight, _kind of_" (he mimicked Tom's tone). "You said a +feller couldn't aim straight, _kind of_, if he smoked cigarettes." + +"I got to admit I was wrong," said Tom. + +"You bet you have! Jingoes, it's good to hear you talk!" Roscoe laughed. +"How in the world did you get here, anyway?" + +"I'll tell you all about it," said Tom, "only first tell me, are you the +feller they call the Jersey Snipe?" + +"Snipy, for short," said Roscoe. + +"Then maybe you saved my life already," said Tom, "out in No Man's +Land." + +"Were you the kid on that wheel?" Roscoe asked, surprised. + +"Yes, and I always knew you'd make a good soldier. I told everybody so." + +"_Kind of?_ Tommy, old boy, don't forget it was _you_ made me a +soldier," Roscoe said soberly. "Come on back to my perch with me," he +added, "and tell me all about your adventures. This is better than +taking Berlin. There's only one person in this little old world I'd +rather meet in a lonely place, and that's the Kaiser. Come on--quiet +now." + +"You don't think you can show _me_ how to stalk, do you?" said Tom. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +ON GUARD + + +"You see it was this way," said Roscoe after hie had scrambled with +amazing agility up to his "perch" in a tree several hundred feet distant +but in full view of the stream. Tom had climbed up after him and was +looking with curious pleasure at the little kit of rations and other +personal paraphernalia which hung from neighboring branches. "How do you +like my private camp? Got Temple Camp beat, hey?" he broke off in that +erratic way of his. "All the comforts of home. Come on, get into your +camouflage." + +"You don't seem the same as when you used to come up to our office from +the bank downstairs--that's one sure thing," said Tom, pulling the +leaves about him. + +"You thought all I was good for was to jolly Margaret Ellison, huh?" + +"I see now that you didn't only save my life but lots of other fellers', +too," said Tom. "Go on, you started to tell me about it." + +It was very pleasant and cosy up there in the sniper's perch where +Roscoe had gathered the thinner branches about him, forming a little +leafy lair, in which his agile figure and his quick glances about +reminded Tom for all the world of a squirrel. He could hardly believe +that this watchful, dexterous creature, peering cautiously out of his +romantic retreat, was the same Roscoe Bent who used to make fun of the +scouts and sneak upstairs to smoke cigarettes in the Temple Camp office; +who thought as much of his spotless high collar then as he seemed to +think of his rifle now. + +"I got to thank you because you named it after me," said Tom. + +"And I _got to thank you_ that you gave me the chance to get it to name +after you, Tommy. Well, you see it was this way," Roscoe went on in a +half whisper; "there were half a dozen of us over here in the woods and +we'd just cleaned out a machine gun nest when we saw this miniature +forest moving along. I thought it was a decorated moving van." + +"That's the trouble with them," agreed Tom; "they're no good in the +woods; they're clumsy. They're punk scouts." + +"Scouts!" Roscoe chuckled. "If we had to fight this gang of cut-throats +and murderers in the woods where old What's-his-name--Custer--had to +fight the Indians, take it from me, we'd have them wiped up in a month. +That fellow's idea of camouflaging was to bury himself under a couple of +tons of green stuff and then move the whole business along like a clumsy +old Zeppelin. I can camouflage myself with a branch with ten leaves on +it by studying the light." + +"Anybody can see you've learned something about scouting--that's one +sure thing," said Tom proudly. + +"_One sure thing!_" Roscoe laughed inaudibly. "It's the same old Tommy +Slade. Well, I was just going to bean this geezer when my officer told +me I'd better follow him." + +"I was following him, too," said Tom; "stalking is the word you ought to +use." + +"Captain thought he might be up to something special. So I +followed--_stalked_--how's that?" + +"All right." + +"So I stalked him and when I saw he was following the stream I made a +detour and waited for him right here. You see what he was up to? Way +down in Cantigny they could turn a switch and start this blamed poison, +half a dozen hogsheads of it, flowing into the stream. They waited till +they lost the town before they turned the switch, and they probably +thought they could poison us Americans by wholesale. Maybe they had some +reason to think the blamed thing hadn't worked, and sent this fellow up. +I beaned him just as he was going to turn the stop-cock." + +"Maybe you saved a whole lot of lives, hey?" said Tom proudly. + +Roscoe shrugged his shoulder in that careless way he had. "I'll be glad +to meet any more that come along," he said. + +It was well that Tom Slade's first sight of deliberate killing was in +connection with so despicable a proceeding as the wholesale poisoning of +a stream. He could feel no pity for the man who, fleeing from those who +fought cleanly and like men instead of beasts, had sought to pour this +potent liquid of anguish and death into the running crystal water. Such +acts, it seemed to him, were quite removed from the sphere of honorable, +manly fighting. + +As a scout he had learned that it was wrong even to bathe in a stream +whence drinking water was obtained, and at camp he had always +scrupulously observed this good rule. He felt that it was cowardly to +defile the waters of a brook. It was not a "mailed fist" at all which +could do such things, but a fist dripping with poison. + +And Tom Slade felt no qualm, as otherwise he might have felt, at hiding +there waiting for new victims. He was proud and thrilled to see his +friend, secreted in his perch, keen-eyed and alert, guarding alone the +crystal purity of this laughing, life-giving brook, as it hurried along +its pebbly bed and tumbled in little gushing falls and wound cheerily +around the rocks, bearing its grateful refreshment to the weary, thirsty +boys who were holding the neighboring village. + +"I used to think I wouldn't like to be a sniper," he said, "but now it +seems different. I saw two fellers in the village and one had a bandage +on his arm and the other one who was talking to him--I heard him say a +long drink of water would go good--and--I--kind of--now----" + +The Jersey Snipe winked at Tom and patted his rifle as a man might pat a +favorite dog. + +"It's good fresh water," said he. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +WHAT'S IN A NAME? + + +In Tom's visions of the great war there had been no picture of the +sniper, that single remnant of romantic and adventurous warfare, in all +the roar and clangor of the horrible modern fighting apparatus. + +He had seen American boys herded onto great ships by thousands; and, +marching and eating and drilling in thousands, they had seemed like a +great machine. He knew the murderous submarine, the aeroplane with its +ear-splitting whir, the big clumsy Zeppelin; and he had handled gas +masks and grenades and poison gas bombs. + +But in his thoughts of the war and all these diabolical agents of +wholesale death there had been no visions of the quiet, stealthy figure, +inconspicuous in the counterfeiting hues of tree and rock, stealing +silently away with his trusty rifle and his week's rations for a lonely +vigil in some sequestered spot. + +There was the same attraction about this freelance warfare which there +might have been about a privateer in contrast with a flotilla of modern +dreadnaughts and frantic chasers, and it reminded him of Daniel Boone, +and Kit Carson, and Davy Crockett, and other redoubtable scouts of old +who did not depend on stenching suffocation and the poisoning of +streams. It was odd that he had never known much about the sniper, that +one instrumentality of the war who seems to have been able to preserve a +romantic identity in all the bloody _melee_ of the mighty conflict. + +For Tom had been a scout and the arts of stealth and concealment and +nature's resourceful disguises had been his. He had thought of the +sniper as of one whose shooting is done peculiarly in cold blood, and he +was surprised and pleased to find his friend in this romantic and noble +role of holding back, single-handed, as it were, these vile agents of +agonizing death. + +Arsenic! Tom knew from his memorized list of poison antidotes that if +one drinks arsenic he will be seized with agony unspeakable and die in +slow and utter torture. The more he thought about it, the more the cold, +steady eye of the unseen sniper and his felling shot seemed noble and +heroic. + +Almost unconsciously he reached out and patted the rifle also as if it +were some trusted living thing--an ally. + +"Did you really mean you named it after me--honest?" he asked. + +Roscoe laughed again silently. "See?" he whispered, holding it across, +and Tom could distinguish the crudely engraved letters, TOMMY. + +"--Because I never had anything named after me," he said in his simple, +dull way. "There's a place on the lake up at Temple Camp that the +fellers named after Roy Blakeley--Blakeley Isle. And there's a new +pavilion up there that's named after Mr. Ellsworth, our scoutmaster. And +Mr. Temple's got lots of things--orphan asylums and gymnasiums and +buildings and things--named after _him_. I always thought it must be +fine. I ain't that kind--sort of--that fellers name things after," he +added, with a blunt simplicity that went to Roscoe's heart; and he held +the rifle, as the sniper started to take it back, his eyes still fixed +upon the rough scratches which formed his own name. "In Bridgeboro +there was a place in Barrell Alley," he went on, apparently without +feeling, "where my father fell down one night when he was--when he'd had +too much to drink, and after that everybody down there called it Slade's +Hole. When I got in with the scouts, I didn't like it--kind of----" + +Roscoe looked straight at Tom with a look as sure and steady as his +rifle. "Slade's Hole isn't known outside of Barrell Alley, Tom," he said +impressively, although in the same cautious undertone, "but _Tom Slade_ +is known from one end of this sector to the other." + +"Thatchy's what they called me in Toul sector, 'cause my hair's always +mussed up, I s'pose, and----" + +"The first time I ever saw you to really know you, Tom, your hair was +all mussed up--and I hope it'll always stay that way. That was when you +came up there in the woods and made me promise to go back and register." + +"I knew you'd go back 'cause----" + +"I went back with bells on, and here I am. And here's _Tom Slade_ that's +stuck by me through this war. It's named _Tom Slade_ because it makes +good--see? Look here, I'll show you something else--you old hickory +nut, you. See that," he added, pulling a small object from somewhere in +his clothing. + +Tom stared. "It's the Distinguished Service Cross," he said, his longing +eyes fixed upon it. + +"That's what it is. The old gent handed me that--if anybody should ask +you." + +Tom smiled, remembering Roscoe's familiar way of speaking of the +dignified Mr. Temple, and of "Old Man" Burton, and "Pop" this and that. + +"General Pershing?" + +"The same. You've heard of him, haven't you? Very muchly, huh?" + +"Why don't you wear it?" Tom asked. + +"Why? Well, I'll tell you why. When your friend, Thatchy, followed me on +that crazy trip of mine he borrowed some money for railroad fare, didn't +he? And he had a Gold Cross that he used to get the money, huh? So I +made up my mind that this little old souvenir from Uncle Samuel wouldn't +hang on my distinguished breast till I got back and paid Tom Slade what +I owed him and made sure that he'd got his own Cross safely back and was +wearing it again. Do you get me?" + +"I got my Cross back," said Tom, "and it's home. So you can put that on. +You got to tell me how you got it, too. I always knew you'd make a +success." + +"It was _Tommy Slade_ helped me to it, as usual. I beaned nine Germans +out in No Man's Land, and got away slightly wounded--I stubbed my toe. +Old Pop Clemenceau gave me a kiss and the old gent slipped me this for +good luck," Roscoe said, pinning on the Cross to please Tom. "When +Clemmy saw the name on the rifle, he asked what it meant and I told him +it was named after a pal of mine back home in the U.S.A.--Tom Slade. +Little I knew you were waltzing around the war zone on that thing of +yours. I almost laughed in his face when he said, 'M'soo Tommee should +be proud.'" + +So the Premier of France had spoken the name of Tom Slade, whose father +had had a mud hole in Barrell Alley named after him. + +"I _am_ proud," he stammered; "that's one sure thing. I'm proud on +account of you--I am." + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +THE FOUNTAINS OF DESTRUCTION + + +As Tom had the balance of the day to himself he cherished but one +thought--that of remaining with Roscoe as long as his leave would +permit. If he had been in the woods up at Temple Camp, away back home in +his beloved Catskills, he could hardly have felt more at home than he +felt perched in this tree near the headwaters of the running stream; and +to have Roscoe Bent crouching there beside him was more than his fondest +dreams of doing his bit had pictured. + +At short intervals they could hear firing, sometimes voices in the +distance, and occasionally the boom of artillery, but except for these +reminders of the fighting the scene was of that sort which Tom loved. It +was there, while the sniper, all unseen, guarded the source of the +stream, his keen eye alert for any stealthy approach, that Tom told him +in hushed tones the story of his own experiences; how he had been a +ship's boy on a transport, and had been taken aboard the German U-boat +that had torpedoed her and held in a German prison camp, from which he +and Archer had escaped and made their way through the Black Forest and +across the Swiss border. + +"Some kid!" commented Roscoe, admiringly; "the world ain't big enough +for you, Tommy. If you were just back from Mars I don't believe you'd be +excited about it." + +"Why should I be?" said literal Tom. "It was only because the feller I +was with was born lucky; he always said so." + +"Oh, yes, of course," said Roscoe sarcastically. "_I_ say he was mighty +lucky to be with _you_. Feel like eating?" + +It was delightful to Tom sitting there in their leafy concealment, +waiting for any other hapless German emissaries who might come, bent on +the murderous defilement of that crystal brook, and eating of the +rations which Roscoe never failed to have with him. + +"You're kind of like a pioneer," he said, "going off where there isn't +anybody. They have to trust you to do what you think best a lot, I +guess, don't they? A feller said they often hear you but they never see +you. I saw you riding on one of the tanks, but I didn't know it was you. +Funny, wasn't it?" + +"I usually hook a ride. The tanks get on my nerves, though, they're so +slow." + +"You're like a squirrel," said Tom admiringly. + +"Well, you're like a bulldog," said Roscoe. "Still got the same old +scowl on your face, haven't you? So they kid you a lot, do they?" + +"I don't mind it." + +So they talked, in half whispers, always scanning the woods about them, +until after some time their vigil was rewarded by the sight of three +gray-coated, helmeted figures coming up the bank of the stream. They +made no pretence of concealment, evidently believing themselves to be +safe here in the forest. Roscoe had hauled the body of the dead German +under the thick brush so that it might not furnish a warning to other +visitors, and now he brought his rifle into position and touching his +finger to his lips by way of caution he fixed his steady eye on the +approaching trio. + +One of these was a tremendous man and, from his uniform and arrogant +bearing, evidently an officer. The other two were plain, ordinary +"Fritzies." Tom believed that they had come to this spot by some +circuitous route, bent upon the act which their comrade and the +mechanism had failed to accomplish. He watched them in suspense, +glancing occasionally at Roscoe. + +The German officer evidently knew the ground for he went straight to the +bush where the hogshead stood concealed, and beckoned to his two +underlings. Tom, not daring to stir, looked expectantly at Roscoe, whose +rifle was aimed and resting across a convenient branch before him. The +sniper's intent profile was a study. Tom wondered why he did not fire. +He saw one of the Boches approach the officer, who evidently would not +deign to stoop, and kneel at the foot of the bush. Then the crisp, +echoing report of Roscoe's rifle rang out, and on the instant the +officer and the remaining soldier disappeared behind the leaf-covered +hogshead. Tom was aware of the one German lying beside the bush, stark +and motionless, and of Roscoe jerking his head and screwing up his mouth +in a sort of spontaneous vexation. Then he looked suddenly at Tom and +winked unmirthfully with a kind of worried annoyance. + +"Think they can hit us from there? Think they know where we are?" Tom +asked in the faintest whisper. + +"'Tisn't that," Roscoe whispered back. "Look at that flat stone under +the bush there. Shh! I couldn't get him in the right light before. Shh!" + +Narrowing his eyes, Tom scanned the earth at the foot of the bush and +was just able to discern a little band of black upon a gray stone there. +It was evidently a wet spot on the dusty stone and for a second he +thought it was blood; then the staggering truth dawned upon him that in +shooting the Hun in the very act of letting loose the murderous liquid +Roscoe had shot a hole in the hogshead and the potent poison was flowing +out rapidly and down into the stream. + +And just in that moment there flashed into Tom's mind the picture of +that weary, perspiring boy in khaki down in captured Cantigny, who had +mopped his forehead, saying, "A drink of water would go good now." + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +TOM USES HIS FIRST BULLET + + +It had been a pet saying of Tom's scoutmaster back in America that you +should _wait long enough to make up your mind and not one second +longer_. + +Tom knew that the pressure of liquid above that fatal bullet hole near +the bottom of the hogshead was great enough to send the poison fairly +pouring out. He could not see this death-dealing stream, for it was +hidden in the bush, but he knew that it would continue to pour forth +until several of these great receptacles had been emptied and the +running brook with its refreshing coolness had become an instrument of +frightful death. + +Safe behind the protecting bulk of the hogshead crouched the two +surviving Germans, while Roscoe, covering the spot, kept his eyes +riveted upon it for the first rash move of either of the pair. And +meanwhile the poison poured out of the very bulwark that shielded them +and into the swift-running stream. + +"I don't think they've got us spotted," Tom whispered, moving cautiously +toward the trunk of the tree; "the private had a rifle, didn't he?" + +"What are you going to do?" Roscoe breathed. + +"Stop up that hole. Give me a bullet, will you?" + +"You're taking a big chance, Tom." + +"I ain't thinking about that. Give me a bullet. All _you_ got to do is +keep those two covered." + +With a silent dexterity which seemed singularly out of keeping with his +rather heavy build, Tom shinnied down the side of the tree farthest from +the brook, and lying almost prone upon the ground began wriggling his +way through the sparse brush, quickening his progress now and again +whenever the diverting roar of distant artillery or the closer report of +rifles and machine guns enabled him to advance with less caution. + +In a few minutes he reached the stream, apparently undiscovered, when +suddenly he was startled by another rifle report, close at hand, and he +lay flat, breathing in suspense. + +It was simply that one of that pair had made the mistake so often made +in the trenches of raising his head, and had paid the penalty. + +Tom was just cautiously crossing the brook when he became aware of a +frantic scramble in the bush and saw the German private rushing +pell-mell through the thick undergrowth beyond, hiding himself in it as +best he might and apparently trying to keep the bush-enshrouded hogshead +between himself and the tree where the sniper was. Evidently he had +discovered Roscoe's perch and, there being now no restraining authority, +had decided on flight. It had been the officer's battle, not his, and he +abandoned it as soon as the officer was shot. It was typical of the +German system and of the total lack of individual spirit and resource of +the poor wretches who fight for Kaiser Bill's glory. + +Reaching the bush, Tom pulled away the leafy covering and saw that the +poisonous liquid was pouring out of a clean bullet hole as he had +suspected. He hurriedly wrapped a bit of the gauze bandage which he +always carried around the bullet Roscoe had given him and forced it into +the hole, wedging it tight with a rock. Then he waved his hand in the +direction of the tree to let Roscoe know that all was well. + +Tom Slade had used his first bullet and it had saved hundreds of lives. + +"They're both dead," he said, as Roscoe came quickly through the +underbrush in the gathering dusk. "Did the officer put his head up?" + +"Mm-mm," said Roscoe, examining the two victims. + +"You always kill, don't you?" said Tom. + +"I have to, Tommy. You see, I'm all alone, mostly," Roscoe added as he +fumbled in the dead officer's clothing. "There are no surgeons or nurses +in reach. I don't have stretcher-bearers following _me_ around and it +isn't often that even a Hun will surrender, fair and square, to one man. +I've seen too much of this '_kamarad_' business. I can't afford to take +chances, Tommy. But I don't put nicks in my rifle butt like some of them +do. I don't want to know how many I beaned after it's all over. We kill +to save--that's the idea you want to get into your head, Tommy boy." + +"I know it," said Tom. + +The officer had no papers of any importance and since it was getting +dark and Tom must report at headquarters, they discussed the possibility +of upsetting these murderous hogsheads, and putting an end to the +danger. Evidently the woods were not yet wholly cleared of the enemy who +might still seek to make use of these agents of destruction. + +"There may be stragglers in the woods even to-morrow," Roscoe said. + +"S'pose we dig a little trench running away from the brook and then turn +on the cock and let the stuff flow off?" suggested Tom. + +The idea seemed a good one and they fell to, hewing out a ditch with a +couple of sticks. It was a very crude piece of engineering, as Roscoe +observed, and they were embarrassed in their work by the gathering +darkness, but at length they succeeded, by dint of jabbing and plowing +and lifting the earth out in handfuls, in excavating a little gully +through the rising bank so that the liquid would flow off and down the +rocky decline beyond at a safe distance from the stream. + +For upwards of an hour they remained close by, until the hogsheads had +run dry, and then they set out through the woods for the captured +village. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +THE GUN PIT + + +"I think the best way to get into the village," said Roscoe, "is to +follow the edge of the wood around. That'll bring us to the by-path that +runs into the main road. They've got the woods pretty well cleared out +over that way. There's a road a little north of here and I think the +Germans have withdrawn across that. What do you say?" + +"You know more about it than I do," said Tom. "I followed the brook up. +It's pretty bad in some places." + +"There's only two of us," said Roscoe, "and you've no rifle. Safety +first." + +"I suppose there's a lot of places they could hide along the brook; the +brush is pretty thick all the way up," Tom added. + +Roscoe whistled softly in indecision. "I like the open better," said he. + +"I guess so," Tom agreed, "when there's only two of us." + +"There's three of us, though," said Roscoe, "and _Tommy_ here likes the +open better. I'd toss up a coin only with these blamed French coins you +can't tell which is heads and which is tails." + +Roscoe was right about the Germans having withdrawn beyond the road +north of the woods. Whether he was right about its being safer to go +around the edge of the forest remained to be determined. + +This wood, in which they had passed the day, extended north of the +village (see map) and thinned out upon the eastern side so that one +following the eastern edge would emerge from the wood a little east of +the main settlement. Here was the by-path which Roscoe had mentioned, +and which led down into the main road. + +Running east and west across the northern extremity of the woods was a +road, and the Germans, driven first from their trenches, then out of the +village, and then out of the woods, were establishing their lines north +of this road. + +If the boys had followed the brook down they would have reached the +village by a much shorter course, but Roscoe preferred the open country +where they could keep a better lookout. Whether his decision was a wise +one, we shall see. + +[Illustration: SHOWING PATH TAKEN BY TOM AND ROSCOE THROUGH THE WOODS] + +Leaving the scene of their "complete annihilation of the crack poison +division," as Roscoe said, they followed the ragged edge of the woods +where it thinned out to the north, verging around with it until they +were headed in a southerly direction. + +"There's a house on that path," said Roscoe, "and we ought to be able to +see a light there pretty soon." + +"There's a little piece of woods ahead of us," said Tom; "when we get +past that we'll see it, I guess. We'll cut through there, hey?" + +"Wait a minute," said Roscoe, pausing and peering about in the half +darkness. "I'm all twisted. There's the house now." + +He pointed to a dim light in the opposite direction to that which they +had taken. + +"That's north," said Tom in his usual dull manner. + +"You're mistaken, my boy. What makes you think it's north?" + +"I didn't say I thought so," said Tom. "I said it _is_." + +Roscoe laughed. "Same old Tom," he said. "But how do you know it's +north?" + +"You remember that mountain up in the Catskills?" Tom said. "The first +time I ever went to the top of that mountain was in the middle of the +night. I never make that kind of mistakes. I know because I just know." + +Roscoe laughed again and looked rather dubiously at the light in the +distance. Then he shook his head, unconvinced. + +"We've been winding in and out along the edge of this woods," said Tom, +"so that you're kind of mixed up, that's all. It's always those little +turns that throw people out, just like it's a choppy sea that upsets a +boat; it ain't the big waves. I used to get rattled like that myself, +but I don't any more." + +Roscoe drew his lips tight and shook his head skeptically. "I can't +understand about that light," he said. + +"I always told you you made a mistake not to be a scout when you were +younger," said Tom in that impassive tone which seemed utterly free of +the spirit of criticism and which always amused Roscoe, "'cause then you +wouldn't bother about the light but you'd look at the stars. Those are +sure." + +Roscoe looked up at the sky and back at Tom, and perhaps he found a kind +of reassurance in that stolid face. "All right, Tommy," said he, "what +you say, goes. Come ahead." + +"That light is probably on the road the Germans retreated across," said +Tom, as they picked their way along. His unerring instinct left him +entirely free from the doubts which Roscoe could not altogether dismiss. +"I don't say there ain't a light on the path you're talking about, but +if we followed this one we'd probably get captured. I was seven months +in a German prison. I don't know how you'd like it, but I didn't." + +Roscoe laughed silently at Tom's dry way of putting it. "All right, +Tommy, boy," he said. "Have it your own way." + +"You ought to be satisfied the way you can shoot," said Tom, by way of +reconciling Roscoe to his leadership. + +"All right, Tommy. Maybe you've got the bump of locality. When we get +past that little arm of the woods just ahead we ought to see the right +light then, huh?" + +"_Spur_ is the right name for it, not _arm_," said Tom. "You might as +well say it right." + +"The pleasure is mine," laughed Roscoe; "Tommy, you're as good as a +circus." + +They made their way in a southeasterly direction, following the edge of +the woods, with the open country to the north and east of them. +Presently they reached the "spur," as Tom called it, which seemed to +consist of a little "cape" of woods, as one might say, sticking out +eastward. They could shorten their path a trifle by cutting through +here, and this they did, Roscoe (notwithstanding Tom's stolid +self-confidence) watching anxiously for the light which this spur had +probably concealed, and which would assure them that they were heading +southward toward the path which led into Cantigny village. + +Once, twice, in their passage through this little clump of woods Tom +paused, examining the trees and ground, picking up small branches and +looking at their ends, and throwing them away again. + +"Funny how those branches got broken off," he said. + +Roscoe answered with a touch of annoyance, the first he had shown since +their meeting in the woods. + +"I'm not worrying about those twigs," he said; "I don't see that light +and I think we're headed wrong." + +"They're not twigs," said Tom literally; "they're branches, and they're +broken off." + +"Any fool could tell the reason for that," said Roscoe, rather +scornfully. "It's the artillery fire." + +Tom said nothing, but he did not accept Roscoe's theory. He believed +that some one had been through here before them and that the branches +had been broken off by human hands; and but for the fact that Roscoe had +let him have his own way in the matter of direction he would have +suggested that they make a detour around this woody spur. However, he +contented himself by saying in his impassive way, "I know when branches +are broken off." + +"Well, what are we going to do now?" Roscoe demanded, stopping short and +speaking with undisguised impatience. "You can see far beyond those +trees now and you can see there's no light. They'll have us nailed upon +a couple of crosses to-morrow. I don't intend to be tortured on account +of the Boy Scouts of America." + +He used the name as being synonymous with bungling and silly notions and +star-gazing, and it hit Tom in a dangerous spot. He answered with a kind +of proud independence which he seldom showed. + +"I didn't say there'd be a light. Just because there's a house it +doesn't mean there's got to be a light. I said the light we saw was in +the north, and it's got nothing to do with the Boy Scouts. You wouldn't +let me point your rifle for you, would you? They sent me to this sector +'cause I don't get lost and I don't get rattled. You said that about the +Scouts just because you're mad. I'm not hunting for any light. I'm going +back to Cantigny and I know where I'm at. You can come if you want to or +you can go and get caught by the Germans if you want to. I went a +hundred miles through Germany and they didn't catch _me_--'cause I +always know where I'm at." + +He went on for a few steps, Roscoe, after the first shock of surprise, +following silently behind him. He saw Tom stumble, struggle to regain +his balance, heard a crunching sound, and then, to his consternation, +saw him sink down and disappear before his very eyes. + +In the same instant he was aware of a figure which was not Tom's +scrambling up out of the dark, leaf-covered hollow and of the muzzle of +a rifle pointed straight at him. + +Evidently Tom Slade had not known "where he was at" at all. + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +PRISONERS + + +Apparently some of the enemy had not yet withdrawn to the north, for in +less than five seconds Roscoe was surrounded by a group of German +soldiers, among whom towered a huge officer with an eye so fierce and +piercing that it was apparent even in the half darkness. He sported a +moustache more aggressively terrible than that of Kaiser Bill himself +and his demeanor was such as to make that of a roaring lion seem like a +docile lamb by comparison. An Iron Cross depended from a heavy chain +about his bull neck and his portly breast was so covered with the junk +of rank and commemoration that it seemed like one of those boards from +which street hawkers sell badges at a public celebration. + +Poor Tom, who had been hauled out of the hole, stood dogged and sullen +in the clutch of a Boche soldier, and Roscoe, even in his surprise at +this singular turn of affairs, bestowed a look of withering scorn upon +him. + +"I knew those branches were _broken_ off," Tom muttered, as if in +answer. "They're using them for camouflage. It's got nothing to do with +the other thing about which way we were going." + +But Roscoe only looked at him with a sneer. + +Wherever the wrong and right lay as to their direction, they had run +plunk into a machine-gun nest and Roscoe Bent, with all his diabolical +skill of aim, could not afford his fine indulgence of sneering, for as +an active combatant, which Tom was not, he should have known that these +nests were more likely to be found at the wood's edge than anywhere +else, where they could command the open country. The little spur of +woods afforded, indeed, an ideal spot for secreting a machine gun, +whence a clear range might be had both north and south. + +If Tom had not been a little afraid of Roscoe he would have acted on the +good scout warning of the broken branches and made a detour in time to +escape this dreadful plight. And the vain regret that he had not done so +rankled in his breast now. The pit was completely surrounded and almost +covered with branches, so that no part of the guns and their tripods +which rose out of it was discoverable, at least to Roscoe. + +"Vell, you go home, huh?" the officer demanded, with a grim touch of +humor. + +Roscoe was about to answer, but Tom took the words out of his mouth. + +"We got lost and we got rattled," he said, with a frank confession which +surprised Roscoe; "we thought we were headed south." + +The sniper bestowed another angrily contemptuous look upon him, but Tom +appeared not to notice it. + +"Vell, we rattle you some more--vat?" the officer said, without very +much meaning. His voice was enough to rattle any captive, but Tom was +not easily disconcerted, and instead of cowering under this martial +ferocity and the scorning looks of his friend, he glanced about him in +his frowning, lowering way as if the surroundings interested him more +than his captors. But he said nothing. + +"You English--no?" the officer demanded. + +"We're Americans," said Roscoe, regaining his self-possession. + +"Ach! Diss iss good for you. If you are English, ve kill you! You have +kamerads--vere?" + +"There's only the two of us," said Roscoe. Tom seemed willing enough to +let his companion do the talking, and indeed Roscoe, now that he had +recovered his poise, seemed altogether the fitter of the two to be the +spokesman. "We got rattled, as this kid says." "If we'd followed that +light we wouldn't have happened in on you. We hope we don't intrude," he +added sarcastically. + +The officer glanced at the tiny light in the distance, then at one of +the soldiers, then at another, then poured forth a gutteral torrent at +them all. Then he peered suspiciously into the darkness. + +"For treachery, ve kill," he said. + +"I told you there are only two of us," said Roscoe simply. + +"Ach, two! Two millions, you mean! Vat? Ach!" he added, with a +deprecating wave of his hands. "Vy not _billions_, huh?" + +Roscoe gathered that he was sneering skeptically about the number of +Americans reported to be in France. + +"Ve know just how many," the officer added; "vell, vat you got, huh?" + +At this two of the Boches proceeded to search the captives, neither of +whom had anything of value or importance about them, and handed the +booty to the officer. + +"Vat is diss, huh?" he said, looking at a small object in his hand. + +Tom's answer nearly knocked Roscoe off his feet. + +"It's a compass," said he. + +So Tom had had a compass with him all the time they had been discussing +which was the right direction to take! Why he had not brought it out to +prove the accuracy of his own contention Roscoe could not comprehend. + +"A compass, huh. Vy you not use it?" + +"Because I was sure I was right," said Tom. + +"Always sure you are right, you Yankees! Vat?" + +"Nothing," said Tom. + +The officer examined the trifling haul as well as he could in the +darkness, then began talking in German to one of his men. And meanwhile +Tom watched him in evident suspense, and Roscoe, unmollified, cast at +Tom a look of sneering disgust for his bungling error--a look which +seemed to include the whole brotherhood of scouts. + +Finally the officer turned upon Roscoe with his characteristic martial +ferocity. + +"How long you in France?" he demanded. + +"Oh, about a year or so." + +"Vat ship you come on?" + +"I don't know the name of it." + +"You come to Havre, vat?" + +"I didn't notice the port." + +"Huh! You are not so--vide-avake, huh?" + +"Absent-minded, yes," said Roscoe. + +The officer paused, glaring at Roscoe, and Tom could not help envying +his friend's easy and self-possessed air. + +"You know the _Texas Pioneer_?" the officer shot out in that short, +imperious tone of demand which is the only way in which a German knows +how to ask a question. + +"Never met him," said Roscoe. + +"A ship!" thundered the officer. + +"Oh, a ship. No, I've never been introduced." + +"She come to Havre--vat?" + +"That'll be nice," said Roscoe. + +"You never hear of dis ship, huh?" + +"No, there are so many, you know." + +"To bring billions, yes!" the officer said ironically. + +"That's the idea." + +Pause. + +"You hear about more doctors coming--no? Soon?" + +"Sorry I can't oblige you," said Roscoe. + +The officer paused a moment, glaring at him and Tom felt very +unimportant and insignificant. + +"Vell, anyway, you haf good muscle, huh?" the officer finally observed; +then, turning to his subordinates, he held forth in German until it +appeared to Tom that he and Roscoe were to carry the machine gun to the +enemy line. + +To Tom, under whose sullen, lowering manner, was a keenness of +observation sometimes almost uncanny, it seemed that these men were not +the regular crew which had been stationed here, but had themselves +somehow chanced upon the deserted nest in the course of their withdrawal +from the village. + +For one thing, it seemed to him that this imperious officer was a +personage of high rank, who would not ordinarily have been stationed in +one of these machine gun pits. And for another thing, there was +something (he could not tell exactly what) about the general demeanor of +their captors, their way of removing the gun and their apparent +unfamiliarity with the spot, which made him think that they had stumbled +into it in the course of their wanderings just as he and Roscoe had +done. They talked in German and he could not understand them, but he +noticed particularly; that the two who went into the pit to gather the +more valuable portion of the paraphernalia appeared not to be familiar +with the place, and he thought that the officer inquired of them whether +there were two or more guns. + +When he lifted his share of the burden, Roscoe noticed how he watched +the officer with a kind of apprehension, almost terror, in his furtive +glance, and kept his eyes upon him as they started away in the darkness. + +Roscoe was in a mood to think ill of Tom, whom he considered the +bungling, stubborn author of their predicament. It pleased him now to +believe that Tom was afraid and losing his nerve. He remembered that he +had said they would be crucified as a result of Tom's pin-headed error. +And he was rather glad to believe that Tom was thinking of that now. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +SHADES OF ARCHIBALD ARCHER + + +After a minute the officer paused and consulted with one of his men; +then another was summoned to the confab, the three of them reminding Tom +of a newspaper picture he had seen of the Kaiser standing in a field +with two officers and gazing fiercely at a map. + +One of the soldiers waved a hand toward the distance, while Tom watched +sharply. And Roscoe, who accepted their predicament with a kind of +reckless bravado, sneered slightly at Tom's evident apprehension. + +Then the officer produced something, holding it in his hand while the +others peered over his shoulder. And Tom watched them with lowering +brows, breathing hurriedly. No one knew it, but in that little pause Tom +Slade lived a whole life of nervous suspense. It was not, however, the +nervousness and suspense which his friend thought. + +Then, as if unable to control his impulse, he moved slightly as though +to start in the direction which he and Roscoe had been following. It was +only a slight movement, made in obedience to an overwhelming desire, and +as if he would incline his captors' thoughts in that direction. Roscoe, +who held his burden jointly with Tom, felt this impatient impulse +communicated to him and he took it as a confession from Tom that he had +made the fatal error of mistaking their way before. And he moved a +trifle, too, in the direction where he knew the German lines had been +established, muttering scornfully at Tom, "You know where you're headed +for now, all right. It's what I said right along." + +"I admit I know," said Tom dully. + +No doubt it was the compass which was the main agent in deciding the +officer as to their route, but he and his men moved, even as Tom did, as +if to make an end of needless parleying. + +As they tramped along, following the edge of the wood, a tiny light +appeared ahead of them, far in the distance, like a volunteer beacon, +and Roscoe, turning, a trifle puzzled, tried to discover the other +light, which had now diminished to a mere speck. Now and again the +officer paused and glanced at that trifling prize of war, Tom's little +glassless, tin-encased compass. But Tom Slade of Temple Camp, Scout of +the Circle and the Five Points, winner of the Acorn and the Indianhead, +looked up from time to time at the quiet, trustful stars. + +So they made their way along, following a fairly straight course, and +verging away from the wood's edge, heading toward the distant light. Two +of the Germans went ahead with fixed bayonets, scouring the underbrush, +and the others escorted Tom and Roscoe, who carried all of the burden. + +The officer strode midway between the advance guard and the escorting +party, pausing now and again as if to make sure of his ground and +occasionally consulting the compass. Once he looked up at the sky and +then Tom fairly trembled. He might have saved himself this worry, +however, for Herr Officer recognized no friends nor allies in that +peaceful, gold-studded heaven. + +"It was an unlucky day for me I ran into you over here," Roscoe +muttered, yielding to his very worst mood. + +Tom said nothing. + +"We won't even have the satisfaction of dying in action now." + +No answer. + +"After almost a year of watching my step I come to this just because I +took _your_ word. Believe _me_, I deserve to hang. I don't even get on +the casualty list, on account of you. You see what we're both up against +now, through that bump of locality you're so proud of. Edwards' Grove[1] +is where _you_ belong. I'm not blaming you, though--I'm blaming myself +for listening to a dispatch kid!" + +The Germans, not understanding, paid no attention, and Roscoe went on, +reminding Tom of the old, flippant, cheaply cynical Roscoe, who had +stolen his employer's time to smoke cigarettes in the Temple Camp +office, trying to arouse the stenographer's mirth by ridiculing the Boy +Scouts. + +"I'm not thinking about what you're saying," he said bluntly, after a few +minutes. "I'm remembering how you saved my life and named your gun after +me." + +"Hey, Fritzie, have they got any Boy Scouts in Germany?" Roscoe asked, +ignoring Tom, but speaking apparently at him. The nearest Boche gave a +glowering look at the word _Fritzie_, but otherwise paid no attention. + +"We were on our way to German headquarters, anyway," Roscoe added, +addressing himself indifferently to the soldiers, "but we're glad of +your company. The more, the merrier. Young Daniel Boone here was leading +the way." + +The Germans, of course, did not understand, but Tom felt ashamed of his +companion's cynical bravado. The insults to himself he did not mind. His +thoughts were fixed on something else. + +On they went, into a marshy area where Tom looked more apprehensively at +the officer than before, as if he feared the character of the ground +might arouse the suspicion of his captors. But they passed through here +without pause or question and soon were near enough to the flickering +light to see that it burned in a house. + +Again Roscoe looked perplexedly behind him, but the light there was not +visible at all now. Again the officer stopped and, as Tom watched him +fearfully, he glanced about and then looked again at the compass. + +For one brief moment the huge figure stood there, outlined in the +darkness as if doubting. And Tom, looking impassive and dogged, held his +breath in an agony of suspense. + +It was nothing and they moved on again, Roscoe, in complete repudiation +of his better self, indulging his sullen anger and making Tom and the +Scouts (as if they had anything to do with it) the victims of his +cutting shafts. + +And still again the big, medal-bespangled officer paused to look at the +compass, glanced, suspiciously, Tom thought, at the faint shadow of a +road ahead of them, and moved on, his medals clanging and chinking in +unison with his martial stride. + +And Tom Slade of Temple Camp, Scout of the Circle and the Five Points, +winner of the Acorn and the Indianhead, glanced up from time to time at +the quiet, trustful stars. + +If he thought of any human being then, it was not of Roscoe Bent (not +_this_ Roscoe Bent, in any event), but of a certain young friend far +away, he did not know where. And he thanked Archibald Archer, vandal +though he was, for, one idle, foolish thing that he had done. + +[1] The woods near Bridgeboro, in America, where Tom and the Scouts had +hiked and camped. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + +THE BIG COUP + + +No one knew, no one ever would know, of the anxiety and suspense which +Tom Slade experienced in that fateful march through the country above +Cantigny. Every uncertain pause of that huge officer, and every half +inquiring turn of his head sent a shock of chill misgiving through poor +Tom and he trudged along under the weight of his burden, hearing the +flippant and bitter jibes of Roscoe as if in a trance. + +At last, having crossed a large field, they fell into a well-worn path, +and here Tom experienced his moment of keenest anxiety, for the officer +paused as if in momentary recognition of the spot. For a second he +seemed a bit perplexed, then strode on. Still again he paused within a +few yards of the little house where the light had appeared. + +But it was too late. About this house a dozen or more figures moved in +the darkness. Their style of dress was not distinguishable, but Tom +Slade called aloud to them, "Here's some prisoners we brought you +back." + +In an instant they were surrounded by Americans and Tom thought that his +native tongue had never sounded so good before. + +"Hello, Snipy," some one said. + +But Roscoe Bent was too astonished to answer. In a kind of trance he saw +the big Prussian officer start back, heard him utter some terrific +German expletive, beheld the others of the party herded together, and +was aware of the young American captain giving orders. In a daze he +looked at Tom's stolid face, then at the Prussian officer, who seemed +too stunned to say anything after his first startled outburst. He saw +two boys in khaki approaching with lanterns and in the dim light of +these he could distinguish a dozen or so khaki-clad figures perched +along a fence. + +"Where are we at, anyway?" he finally managed to ask. + +"Just inside the village," one of the Americans answered. + +"What village?" + +"Coney Island on the subway," one of the boys on the fence called. + +"Cantigny," some one nearer to him said. "You made a good haul." + +"Well--I'll--be----" Roscoe began. + +Tom Slade said nothing. Like a trusty pilot leaving his ship he strolled +over and vaulted up on the fence beside the boys who, having taken the +village, were now making themselves comfortable in it. His first +question showed his thoughtfulness. + +"Is the brook water all right?" + +"Sure. Thirsty?" + +"No, I only wanted to make sure it was all right. There were some big +hogsheads of poison up in the woods where the brook starts and the other +feller killed three Germans who tried to empty them in the stream. By +mistake he shot a hole in one of the hogsheads and I thought maybe some +of the stuff got into the water. But I guess it didn't." + +It was characteristic of Tom that he did not mention his own part in the +business. + +"I drank about a quart of it around noontime," said a young sergeant, +"and I'm here yet." + +"It's good and cool," observed another. + +"What's the matter with Snipy, anyway?" a private asked, laughing. +"Somebody been spinning him around?" + +"He just got mixed up, kind of, that's all," Tom said. + +_That was all._ + +There was much excitement in and about the little cottage on the edge of +the village. Up the narrow path, from headquarters below, came other +Americans, officers as Tom could see, who disappeared inside the house. +Presently, the German prisoners, all except the big officer, came out, +sullen in captivity, poor losers as Germans always are, and marched away +toward the centre of the village, under escort. + +"They thought they were taking us to the German lines," said Tom simply. + +Roscoe, having recovered somewhat from his surprise and feeling deeply +chagrined, walked over and stood in front of Tom. + +"Why didn't you show me that compass, Tom?" he asked. + +"Because it was wrong, just like you were," Tom answered frankly, but +without any trace of resentment. "If I'd showed it to you you'd have +thought it proved you were right. It was marked, crazy like, by that +feller I told you about. I knew all the time we were coming to +Cantigny." + +There was a moment of silence, then Roscoe, his voice full of feeling, +said simply, + +"Tom Slade, you're a wonder." + +"Hear that, Paul Revere?" one of the soldiers said jokingly. "Praise +from the Jersey Snipe means something." + +"No, it don't either," Roscoe muttered in self-distrust. "You've saved +me from a Hun prison camp and while you were doing it you had to listen +to me--Gee! I feel like kicking myself," he broke off. + +"I ain't blaming you," said Tom, in his expressionless way. "If I'd had +my way we'd have made a detour when I saw those broken branches, 'cause +I knew it meant people were there, and then we wouldn't have got those +fellers as prisoners, at all. So they got to thank you more than me." + +This was queer reasoning, indeed, but it was Tom Slade all over. + +"Me!" said Roscoe, "that's the limit. Tom, you're the same old hickory +nut. Forgive me, old man, if you can." + +"I don't have to," said Tom. + +Roscoe stood there staring at him, thrilled with honest admiration and +stung by humiliation. + +And as the little group, augmented by other soldiers who strolled over +to hear of this extraordinary affair first hand, grew into something of +a crowd, Tom, alias Thatchy, alias Paul Revere, alias Towhead, sat upon +the fence, answering questions and telling of his great coup with a dull +unconcern which left them all gaping. + +"As soon as I made up my mind they didn't belong there," he said, "I +decided they weren't sure of their own way, kind of. If the big man +hadn't taken the compass away from me, I'd have given it to him anyway. +It had the N changed into an S and the S into an N. I think he kind of +thought the other way was right, but when he saw the compass, that +settled him. All the time I was looking at the Big Dipper, 'cause I knew +nobody ever tampered with that. I noticed he never even looked up, but +once, and then I was scared. When we got to the marsh, I was scared, +too, 'cause I thought maybe he'd know about the low land being south of +the woods. I was scared all the time, as you might say, but mostly when +he turned his head and seemed kind of uncertain-like. It ain't so much +any credit to me as it is to Archer--the feller that changed the +letters. Anyway, I ain't mad, that's sure," he added, evidently +intending this for Roscoe. "Everybody gets mistaken sometimes." + +"You're one bully old trump, Tom," said Roscoe shamefacedly. + +"So now you see how it was," Tom concluded. "I couldn't get rattled as +long as I could see the Big Dipper up there in the sky." + +For a few moments there was silence, save for the low whistling of one +of the soldiers. + +"You're all right, kiddo," he broke off to say. + +Then one of the others turned suddenly, giving Tom a cordial rap on the +shoulder which almost made him lose his balance. "Well, as long as we've +got the Big Dipper," said he, "and as long as the water's pure, what +d'you say we all go and have a drink--in honor of Paul Revere?" + +So it was that presently Tom and Roscoe found themselves sitting alone +upon the fence in the darkness. Neither spoke. In the distance they +could hear the muffled boom of some isolated field-piece, belching forth +its challenge in the night. High overhead there was a whirring, buzzing +sound as a shadow glided through the sky where the stars shone +peacefully. A company of boys in khaki, carrying intrenching implements, +passed by, greeting them cheerily as they trudged back from doing their +turn in digging the new trench line which would embrace Cantigny. + +Cantigny! + +"I'm glad we took the town, that's one sure thing," Tom said. + +"It's the first good whack we've given them," agreed Roscoe. + +Again there was silence. In the little house across the road a light +burned. Little did Tom Slade know what was going on there, and what it +would mean to him. And still the American boys guarding this approach +down into the town, moved to and fro, to and fro, in the darkness. + +"Tom," said Roscoe, "I was a fool again, just like I was before, back +home in America. Will you try to forget it, old man?" he added. + +"There ain't anything to forget," said Tom, "I got to be thankful I +found you; that's the only thing I'm thinking about and--and--that we +didn't let the Germans get us. If you like a feller you don't mind about +what he says. Do you think I forget you named that rifle after me? Just +because--because you didn't know about trusting to the stars,--I +wouldn't be mad at you----" + +Roscoe did not answer. + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN + +TOM IS QUESTIONED + + +When it became known in the captured village (as it did immediately) +that the tall prisoner whom Tom Slade had brought in, was none other +than the famous Major Johann Slauberstrauffn von Piffinhoeffer, +excitement ran high in the neighborhood, and the towheaded young +dispatch-rider from the Toul sector was hardly less of a celebrity than +the terrible Prussian himself. "Paul Revere" and his compass became the +subjects of much mirth, touched, as usual, with a kind of bantering +evidence of genuine liking. + +In face of all this, Tom bestowed all the credit on Roscoe (it would be +hard to say why), and on Archibald Archer and the Big Dipper. + +"Now that we've got the Big Dipper with us we ought to be able to push +right through to Berlin," observed one young corporal. "They say +Edison's got some new kind of a wrinkle up his sleeve, but believe me, +if he's got anything to beat Paul Revere's compass, he's a winner!" + +"Old Piff nearly threw a fit, I heard, when he found out that he was +captured by a kid in the messenger service," another added. + +"They may pull a big stroke with Mars, the god of war," still another +said, "but we've got the Big Dipper on our side." + +Indeed, some of them nicknamed Tom the Big Dipper, but he did not mind +for, as he said soberly, he had "always liked the Big Dipper, anyway." + +As the next day passed the importance of Tom's coup became known among +the troops stationed in the village and was the prime topic with those +who were digging the new trench line northeast of the town. Indeed, +aside from the particular reasons which were presently to appear, the +capture of Major von Piffinhoeffer was a "stunt" of the first order +which proved particularly humiliating to German dignity. That he should +have been captured at all was remarkable. That he should have been +hoodwinked and brought in by a young dispatch-rider was a matter of +crushing mortification to him, and must have been no less so to the +German high command. + +Who but Major von Piffinhoeffer had first suggested the use of the +poisoned bandage in the treatment of English prisoners' wounds? Who but +Major von Piffinhoeffer had devised the very scheme of contaminating +streams, which Tom and Roscoe had discovered? Who but Major von +Piffinhoeffer had invented the famous "circle code" which had so long +puzzled and baffled Uncle Sam's Secret Service agents? Who but Major von +Piffinhoeffer had first suggested putting cholera germs in rifle +bullets, and tuberculosis germs in American cigarettes? + +A soldier of the highest distinction was Major von Piffinhoeffer, of +Heidelberg University, whose decorative junk had come direct from the +grateful junkers, and whose famous eight-volume work on "Principles of +Modern Torture" was a text-book in the realm. A warrior of mettle was +Major von Piffinhoeffer, who deserved a more glorious fate than to be +captured by an American dispatch-rider! + +But Tom Slade was not vain and it is doubtful if his stolid face, +crowned by his shock of rebellious hair, would have shown the slightest +symptom of excitement if he had captured Hindenburg, or the Kaiser +himself. + +In the morning he rode down to Chepoix with some dispatches and in the +afternoon to St. Justen-Chaussee. He was kept busy all day. When he +returned to Cantigny, a little before dark, he was told to remain at +headquarters, and for a while he feared that he was going to be +court-martialled for overstaying his leave. + +When he was at last admitted into the presence of the commanding +officer, he shifted from one foot to the other, feeling ill at ease as +he always did in the presence of officialdom. The officer sat at a heavy +table which had evidently been the kitchen table of the French peasant +people who had originally occupied the poor cottage. Signs of petty +German devastation were all about the humble, low-ceiled place, and they +seemed to evidence a more loathsome brutality even than did the blighted +country which Tom had ridden through. + +Apparently everything which could show an arrogant contempt of the +simple family life which had reigned there had been done. There was a +kind of childish spitefulness in the sword thrusts through the few +pictures which hung on the walls. The German genius for destruction and +wanton vandalism was evident in broken knick-knacks and mottoes of hate +and bloody vengeance scrawled upon floor and wall. + +It did Tom's heart good to see the resolute, capable American officers +sitting there attending to their business in quiet disregard of all +these silly, vulgar signs of impotent hate and baffled power. + +"When you first met these Germans," the officer asked, "did the big +fellow have anything to say?" + +"He asked us some questions," said Tom. + +"Yes? Now what did he ask you?" the officer encouraged, as he reached +out and took a couple of papers pinned together, which lay among others +on the table. + +"He seemed to be interested in transports, kind of, and the number of +Americans there are here." + +"Hmm. Did he mention any particular ship--do you remember?" the officer +asked, glancing at the paper. + +"Yes, he did. _Texas Pioneer_. I don't remember whether it was Texan or +Texas." + +"Oh, yes," said the officer. + +"We didn't tell him anything," said Tom. + +"No, of course not." + +The officer sat whistling for a few seconds, and scrutinizing the +papers. + +"Do you remember the color of the officer's eyes?" he suddenly asked. + +"It was only in the dark we saw him." + +"Yes, surely. So you didn't get a very good look at him." + +"I saw he had a nose shaped like a carrot, kind of," said Tom +ingenuously. + +Both of the officers smiled. + +"I mean the big end of it," said Tom soberly. + +The two men glanced at each other and laughed outright. Tom did not +quite appreciate what they were laughing at but it encouraged him to +greater boldness, and shifting from one foot to the other, he said, + +"The thing I noticed specially was how his mouth went sideways when he +talked, so one side of it seemed to slant the same as his moustache, +like, and the other didn't." + +The officers smiled at each other again, but the one quizzing Tom looked +at him shrewdly and seemed interested. + +"I mean the two ends of his moustache that stuck up like the +Kaiser's----" + +"Oh, yes." + +"I mean they didn't slant the same when he talked. One was crooked." + +Again the officers smiled and the one who had been speaking said +thoughtfully, + +"I see." + +Tom shifted back to his other foot while the officer seemed to ruminate. + +"He had a breed mark, too," Tom volunteered. + +"A what?" + +"Breed mark--it's different from a species mark," he added naively. + +The officer looked at him rather curiously. "And what do you call a +breed mark?" he asked. + +Tom looked at the other man who seemed also to be watching him closely. +He shifted from one foot to the other and said, + +"It's a scout sign. A man named Jeb Rushmore told me about it. All +trappers know about it. It was his ear, how it stuck out, like." + +He shifted to the other foot. + +"Yes, go on." + +"Nothing, only that's what a breed sign is. If Jeb Rushmore saw a bear +and afterwards way off he saw another bear he could tell if the first +bear was its grandmother--most always he could. + +"Hmm. I see," said the officer, plainly interested and watching Tom +curiously. "And that's what a breed sign is, eh?" + +"Yes, sir. Eyes ain't breed signs, but ears are. Feet are, too, and +different ways of walking are, but ears are the best of all--that's one +sure thing." + +"And you mean that relationships can be determined by these breed +signs?" + +"I don't mean people just looking like each other," Tom explained, +"'cause any way animals don't look like each other in the face. But you +got to go by breed signs. Knuckles are good signs, too." + +"Well, well," said the officer, "that's very fine, and news to me." + +"Maybe you were never a scout," said Tom naively. + +"So that if you saw your Prussian major's brother or son somewhere, +where you had reason to think he would be, you'd know him--you'd +recognize him?" + +Tom hesitated and shifted again. It was getting pretty deep for him. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY + +THE MAJOR'S PAPERS + + +It was perfectly evident that the officer's purpose in sending for Tom, +whatever that was, was considerably affected by the boy's own remarks, +and he now, after pondering a few moments, handed Tom the two papers +which he had been holding. + +"Just glance that over and then I'll talk to you," he said. + +Tom felt very important, indeed, and somewhat perturbed as well, for +though he had carried many dispatches it had never been his lot to know +their purport. + +"If you know the importance and seriousness of what I am thinking of +letting you do," the officer said, "perhaps it will help you to be very +careful and thorough." + +"Yes, sir," said Tom, awkwardly. + +"All right, just glance that over." + +The two papers were clipped together, and as Tom looked at the one on +top he saw that it was soiled and creased and written in German. The +other was evidently a translation of it. It seemed to be a letter the +first part of which was missing, and this is what Tom read: + + "but, as you say, everything for the Fatherland. If you receive this + let them know that I'll have my arms crossed and to be careful + before they shoot. If you don't get this I'll just have to take my + chance. The other way isn't worth trying. As for the code key, that + will be safe enough--they'll never find it. If it wasn't for the ---- + English service ---- (worn and undecipherable) ---- as far as that's + concerned. As far as I can ascertain we'll go on the T.P. There was + some inquiry about my close relationship to you, but nothing + serious. All you have to do is cheer when they play the S.S.B. over + here. It isn't known if Schmitter had the key to this when they + caught him because he died on Ellis Island. But it's being abandoned + to be on the safe side. I have notice from H. not to use it after + sending this letter. If we can get the new one in your hands + before ---- (text undecipherable) ---- in time so it can be used + through Mexico. + + "I'll have much information to communicate verbally in T. and A. + matters, but will bring nothing in ---- ---- form but key and + credentials. The idea is L.'s--you remember him at Heidelberg, I + dare say. I brought him back once for holiday. Met him through + Handel, the fellow who was troubled with cataract. V. has furnished + funds. So don't fail to have them watch out. + + "To the day, + + "A. P." + +"So you see some one is probably coming over on the _Texas Pioneer_," +said the officer, as he took the papers from bewildered Tom, "and we'd +like to get hold of that fellow. The only trouble is we don't know who +he is." + +It was quite half a minute before Tom could get a grip on himself, so +dark and mysterious had seemed this extraordinary communication. And it +was not until afterward, when he was alone and not handicapped by his +present embarrassment, that certain puzzling things about it became +clear to him. At present he depended wholly upon what his superior told +him and thought of nothing else. + +"That was taken from your tall friend," said the officer, "and it means, +if it means anything, that somebody or other closely related to him is +coming over to France on the _Texas Pioneer_. From his mention of the +name to you I take it that is what T. P. means. + +"Now, my boy, we want to get hold of this fellow--he's a spy. +Apparently, he won't have anything incriminating about him. My +impression is that he's in the army and hopes to get himself captured by +his friends. Yet he may desert and take a chance of getting into Germany +through Holland. About the only clew there is, is the intimation that +he's related to the prisoner. He may look like him. We've been trying to +get in communication with Dieppe, where this transport is expected to +dock to-morrow, but the wires seem to be shot into a tangle again. + +"Do you think you could make Dieppe before morning--eighty to ninety +miles?" + +"Yes, sir. The first twenty or so will be bad on account of shell holes, +I heard they threw as far as Forges." + +"Hmm," said the officer, drumming with his fingers. "We'll leave all +that to you. The thing is to get there before morning." + +"I know they never let anybody ashore before daylight," said Tom, +"because I worked on a transport." + +"Very well. Now we'll see if the general and others hereabouts have been +overrating you. You've two things to do. One is to get to Dieppe before +to-morrow morning. That's imperative. The other is to assist the +authorities there to identify the writer of this letter if you can. Of +course, you'll not concern yourself with anything else in the letter. I +let you read it partly because of your very commendable bringing in of +this important captive and partly because I want you to know how serious +and important are the matters involved. I was rather impressed with what +you said about--er--breed marks." + +"Yes, sir." + +"And I believe you're thoughtful and careful. You've ridden by night a +good deal, I understand." + +"Yes, sir." + +"So. Now you are to ride at once to Breteuil, a little east of here, +where they're holding this prisoner. You'll deliver a note I shall give +you to Colonel Wallace, and he'll see to it that you have a look at the +man, in a sufficiently good light. Don't be afraid to observe him +closely. And whatever acuteness you may have in this way, let your +country have the benefit of it." + +"Yes, sir." + +"It may be that some striking likeness will enable you to recognize this +stranger. Possibly your special knowledge will be helpful. In any case, +when you reach Dieppe, present these papers, with the letter which I +shall give you, to the quartermaster there, and he will turn you over to +the Secret Service men. Do whatever they tell you and help them in every +way you can. I shall mention that you've seen the prisoner and observed +him closely. They may have means of discovery and identification which I +know nothing of, but don't be afraid to offer your help. Too much won't +be expected of you in that way, but it's imperative that you reach +Dieppe before morning. The roads are pretty bad, I know that. Think you +can do it?" + +"What you got to do, you can do," said Tom simply. + +It was a favorite saying of the same Jeb Rushmore, scout and woodsman, +who had told Tom about breed marks, and how they differed from mere +points of resemblance. And it made him think about Jeb Rushmore. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE + +THE MIDNIGHT RIDE OF PAUL REVERE + + +Swiftly and silently along the dark road sped the dispatch-rider who had +come out of the East, from the far-off Toul sector, _for service as +required_. All the way across bleeding, devastated France he had +travelled, and having paused, as it were, to help in the little job at +Cantigny, he was now speeding through the darkness toward the coast with +as important a message as he had ever carried. + +A little while before, as time is reckoned, he had been a Boy Scout in +America and had thought it was something to hike from New York to the +Catskills. Since then, he had been on a torpedoed transport, had been +carried in a submarine to Germany, had escaped through that war-mad land +and made his way to France, whose scarred and disordered territory he +had crossed almost from one end to the other, and was now headed for +almost the very point where he had first landed. Yet he was only +eighteen, and no one whom he met seemed to think that his experiences +had been remarkable. For in a world where all are having extraordinary +experiences, those of one particular person are hardly matter for +comment. + +At Breteuil Tom had another look at "Major Piff," who bent his terrible, +scornful gaze upon him, making poor Tom feel like an insignificant worm. +But the imperious Prussian's stare netted him not half so much in the +matter of valuable data as Tom derived from his rather timid scrutiny. +Yet he would almost have preferred to face the muzzle of a field-piece +rather than wither beneath that arrogant, contemptuous glare. + +It was close on to midnight when he reached Hardivillers, passing beyond +the point of the Huns' farthest advance, and sped along the straight +road for Marseille-en-Froissy, where he was to leave a relay packet for +Paris. From there he intended to run down to Gournay and then northwest +along the highway to the coast. He thought he had plenty of time. + +At Gournay they told him that some American engineers were repairing the +bridge at Saumont, which had been damaged by floods, but that he might +gain the north road to the coast by going back as far as Songeons and +following the path along the upper Therain River, which would take him +to Aumale, and bring him into the Neufchatel road. + +He lost perhaps two hours in doing this, partly by reason of the extra +distance and partly by reason of the muddy, and in some places +submerged, path along the Therain. The stream, ordinarily hardly more +than a creek, was so swollen that he had to run his machine through a +veritable swamp in places, and anything approaching speed was out of the +question. So difficult was his progress, what with running off the +flooded road and into the stream bed, and also from his wheels sticking +in the mud, that he began to fear that he was losing too much time in +this discouraging business. + +But there was nothing to do but go forward, and he struggled on, +sometimes wheeling his machine, sometimes riding it, until at last it +sank almost wheel deep in muddy water and he had to lose another half +hour in cleaning out his carbureter. He feared that it might give +trouble even then, but the machine labored along when the mud was not +too deep, and at last, after almost superhuman effort, he and _Uncle +Sam_ emerged, dirty and dripping, out of a region where he could almost +have made as good progress with a boat, into Aumale, where he stopped +long enough to clean the grit out of his engine parts. + +It was now nearly four o'clock in the morning, and his instructions were +to reach Dieppe not later than five. He knew, from his own experience, +that transports always discharge their thronging human cargoes early in +the morning, and that every minute after five o'clock would increase the +likelihood of his finding the soldiers already gone ashore and separated +for the journeys to their various destinations. To reach Dieppe after +the departure of the soldiers was simply unthinkable to Tom. Whatever +excuse there might have been to the authorities for his failure, that +also he could not allow to enter his thoughts. He had been trusted to do +something and he was going to do it. + +Perhaps it was this dogged resolve which deterred him from doing +something which he had thought of doing; that is, acquainting the +authorities at Aumale with his plight and letting them wire on to +Dieppe. Surely the wires between Aumale and the coast must be working, +but suppose---- + +Suppose the Germans should demolish those wires with a random shot from +some great gun such as the monster which had bombarded Paris at a +distance of seventy miles. Such a random shot might demolish Tom Slade, +too, but he did not think of that. What he thought of chiefly was the +inglorious role he would play if, after shifting his responsibility, he +should go riding into Dieppe only to find that the faithful dots and +dashes had done his work for him. Then again, suppose the wires should +be tapped--there were spies everywhere, he knew that. + +Whatever might have been the part of wisdom and caution, he was well +past Aumale before he allowed himself to realize that he was taking +rather a big chance. If there were floods in one place there might be +floods in another, but---- + +He banished the thought from his mind. Tom Slade, motorcycle +dispatch-bearer, had always regarded the villages he rushed through with +a kind of patronizing condescension. His business had always been +between some headquarters or other and some point of destination, and +between these points he had no interest. He and _Uncle Sam_ had a +little pride in these matters. French children with clattering wooden +shoes had clustered about him when he paused, old wives had called, +"_Vive l'Amerique!_" from windows and, like the post-boy of old, he had +enjoyed the prestige which was his. Should he, Tom Slade, surrender or +ask for help in one of these mere incidental places along his line of +travel? + +_What you got to do, you do_, he had said, and you cannot do it by going +half way and then letting some one else do the rest. He had read the +_Message to Garcia_ (as what scout has not), and did that bully +messenger--whatever his name was--turn back because the Cuban jungle was +too much for him? _He delivered the message to Garcia_, that was the +point. There were swamps, and dank, tangled, poisonous vines, and +venomous snakes, and the sickening breath of fever. _But he delivered +the message to Garcia._ + +It was sixty miles, Tom knew, from Aumale to Dieppe by the road. And he +must reach Dieppe not later than five o'clock. The road was a good road, +if it held nothing unexpected. The map showed it to be a good road, and +as far west as this there was small danger from shell holes. + +Fifty miles, and one hour! + +Swiftly along the dark road sped the dispatch-rider who had come from +the far-off blue hills of Alsace across the war-scorched area of +northern France into the din and fire and stenching suffocation and +red-running streams of Picardy _for service as required_. Past St. Prey +he rushed; past Thiueloy, and into Mortemer, and on to the hilly region +where the Eualine flows between its hilly banks. He was in and out of La +Tois in half a minute. + +When he passed through Neufchatel several poilus, lounging at the +station, hailed him cheerily in French, but he paid no heed, and they +stood gaping, seeing his bent form and head thrust forward with its +shock of tow hair flying all about. + +Twenty miles, and half an hour! + +Through St. Authon he sped, raising a cloud of dust, his keen eyes +rivetted upon the road ahead, and down into the valley where a tributary +of the Bethune winds its troubled way--past Le Farge, past tiny, +picturesque Loix, into an area of 'lowland where an isolated cottage +seemed like a lonely spectre of the night as he passed, on through +Mernoy to the crossing at Chabris, and then---- + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO + +"UNCLE SAM" + + +Tom Slade stood looking with consternation at the scene before him. His +trusty motorcycle which had borne him so far stood beside him, and as he +steadied it, it seemed as if this mute companion and co-patriot which he +had come to love, were sharing his utter dismay. Almost at his very feet +rushed a boisterous torrent, melting the packed earth of the road like +wax in a tropic sunshine, and carrying its devastating work of erosion +to the very spot where he stood. + +In a kind of cold despair, he stooped, reached for a board which lay +near, and retreating a little, stood upon it, watching the surging water +in its heedless career. This one board was all that was left of the +bridge over which Tom Slade and _Uncle Sam_ were to have rushed in their +race with the dawn. Already the first glimmering of gray was discernible +in the sky behind him, and Tom looked at _Uncle Sam_ as if for council +in his dilemma. The dawn would not require any bridge to get across. + +"We're checked in our grand drive, kind of," he said, with a pathetic +disappointment which his odd way of putting it did not disguise. "We're +checked, that's all, just like the Germans were--kind of." + +He knelt and let down the rest of his machine so that it might stand +unaided, as if he would be considerate of those mud-covered, weary +wheels. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed. + +"Anyway, you did _your_ part," he muttered. And then, "If you only could +swim." + +It was evident that the recent rains had swollen the stream which +ordinarily flowed in the narrow bed between slanting shores so that the +rushing water filled the whole space between the declivities and was +even flooding the two ends of road which had been connected by a bridge. +An old ramshackle house, which Tom thought might once have been a +boathouse, stood near, the water lapping its underpinning. Close by it +was a buoyed mooring float six or eight feet square, bobbing in the +rushing water. One of the four air-tight barrels which supported it had +caught in the mud and kept the buoyant, raft-like platform from being +carried downstream in the rush of water. + +Holding his flashlight to his watch Tom saw that it was nearly fifteen +minutes past four and he believed that about forty miles of road lay +ahead of him. Slowly, silently, the first pale tint of gray in the sky +behind him took on a more substantial hue, revealing the gaunt, black +outlines of trees and painting the sun-dried, ragged shingles on the +little house a dull silvery color. + +"Anyway, you stood by me and it ain't your fault," Tom muttered +disconsolately. He turned the handle bar this way and that, so that +_Uncle Sam's_ one big eye peered uncannily across the flooded stream and +flickered up the road upon the other side, which wound up the hillside +and away into the country beyond. The big, peering eye seemed to look +longingly upon that road. + +Then Tom was seized with a kind of frantic rebellion against fate--the +same futile passion which causes a convict to wrench madly at the bars +of his cell. The glimpse of that illuminated stretch of road across the +flooded stream drove him to distraction. Baffled, powerless, his wonted +stolidness left him, and he cast his eyes here and there with a sort of +challenge born of despair and desperation. + +Slowly, gently, the hazy dawn stole over the sky and the roof of dried +and ragged shingles seemed as if it were covered with gray dust. +Presently the light would flicker upon those black, mad waters and laugh +at Tom from the other side. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed. + +He believed that he could swim the torrent and make a landing even +though the rush of water carried him somewhat downstream. But what about +_Uncle Sam_? He turned off the searchlight and still _Uncle Sam_ was +clearly visible now, standing, waiting. He could count the spokes in the +wheels. + +The spokes in the wheels--_the spokes_. With a sudden inspiration born +of despair, Tom looked at that low, shingled roof. He could see it +fairly well now. The gray dawn had almost caught up with him. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed! + +In a frantic burst of energy he took a running jump, caught the edge of +the roof and swung himself upon it. In the thin haze his form was +outlined there, his shock of light hair jerking this way and that, as +he tore off one shingle after another, and threw them to the ground. He +was racing now, as he had not raced before, and there was upon his +square, homely face that look of uncompromising resolution which the +soldier wears as he goes over the top with his bayonet fixed. + +Leaping to the ground again he gathered up some half a dozen shingles, +selecting them with as much care as his desperate haste would permit. +Then he hurriedly opened the leather tool case on his machine and +tumbled the contents about until he found the roll of insulated wire +which he always carried. + +His next work was to split one of the shingles over his knee so that he +had a strip of wood about two inches wide. It took him but so many +seconds to jab four or five holes through this, and adjusting it between +two slopes of the power wheel so that it stood crossways and was +re-enforced by the spokes themselves, he proceeded to bind it in place +with the wire. Then he moved the wheel gently around, and found that the +projecting edge of wooden strip knocked against the mud-guard. +Hesitating not a second he pulled and bent and twisted the mud-guard, +wrenching it off. The wheel revolved freely now. The spokes were +beginning to shine in the brightening light. + +And meanwhile the seconds passed! + +It was the work of hardly a minute to bind three other narrow strips of +shingle among the spokes so that they stood more or less crossways. +There was no time to place and fasten more, but these, at equal +intervals, forming a sort of cross within the wheel, were quite +sufficient, Tom thought, for his purpose. It was necessary to shave the +edges of the shingles somewhat, after they were in place, so that they +would not chafe against the axle-bars. But this was also the hurried +work of a few seconds, and then Tom moved his machine to the old mooring +float and lifted it upon the bobbing platform. + +He must work with the feverish speed of desperation for the float was +held by no better anchor than one of its supporting barrels embedded in +the mud. If he placed his weight or that of _Uncle Sam_ upon the side of +the float already in the water the weight would probably release the +mud-held barrel and the float, with himself and _Uncle Sam_ upon it, +would be carried willy-nilly upon the impetuous waters. + +And meanwhile---- How plainly he could distinguish the trees now, and +the pale stars stealing away into the obscurity of the brightening +heavens. + +With all the strength that he could muster he wrenched a board from the +centre of the platform, and moving his arm about in the opening felt the +rushing water beneath. + +The buoyancy of the air-tight barrels, one of which was lodged under +each corner of the float, was such that with Tom and his machine upon +the planks the whole platform would float six or eight inches free of +the water. To pole or row this unwieldy raft in such a flood would have +been quite out of the question, and even in carrying out the plan which +Tom now thought furnished his only hope, he knew that the sole chance of +success lay in starting right. If the float, through premature or +unskilful starting, should get headed downstream, there would be no hope +of counteracting its impetus. + +Lifting his machine, he lowered it carefully into the opening left by +the torn-off plank, until the pedals rested upon the planks on either +side and the power wheel was partially submerged. So far, so good. + +In less than a minute now he would either succeed or fail. It was +necessary first to alter the position of the float slightly so that the +opening left by the plank pointed across and slightly upstream. He had +often noticed how the pilot of a ferryboat directs his craft above or +below the point of landing to counteract the rising or ebbing tide, and +this was his intention now; but to neutralize the force of the water +with another force not subject to direction or adjustment involved a +rather nice calculation. + +Very cautiously he waded out upon the precipitous, submerged bank and +brought the float into position. This done, he acted with lightning +rapidity. Leaping upon the freed float before it had time to swing +around, he raised his machine, started it, and lowering the power wheel +into the opening, steadied the machine as best he could. It was not +possible to let it hang upon its pedals for he must hold it at a steep +angle, and it required all his strength to manage its clumsy, furiously +vibrating bulk. + +But the effects of his makeshift paddle-wheel were pronounced and +instantaneous. His own weight and that of the machine sufficiently +submerged the racing power wheel so that the rough paddles plowed the +water, sending the float diagonally across the flooded stream with +tremendous force. He was even able, by inclining the upper end of the +machine to right or left, to guide his clumsy craft, which responded to +this live rudder with surprising promptness. + +In the rapid crossing this rough ferryboat lost rather more than Tom had +thought it would lose from the rush of water and it brought him close to +the opposite shore at a point some fifty feet beyond the road, but he +had been able to maintain its direction at least to the extent of +heading shoreward and preventing the buoyant float from fatal swirling, +which would have meant loss of control altogether. + +Perhaps it was better that his point of landing was some distance below +the road, where he was able to grasp at an overhanging tree with one +hand while shutting his power off and holding fast to his machine with +the other. A landing would have been difficult anywhere else. + +Even now he was in the precarious position of sitting upon a limb in a +rather complicated network of small branches and foliage, hanging onto +his motorcycle for dear life, while the buoyant float went swirling and +bobbing down the flood. + +It had taken him perhaps five minutes to prepare for his crossing and +about thirty seconds to cross. But his strategic position was far from +satisfactory. And already the more substantial light of the morning +revealed the gray road winding ribbon-like away into the distance, the +first glints of sunlight falling upon its bordering rocks and trees as +if to taunt and mock him. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE + +UP A TREE + + +In military parlance, Tom had advanced only to be caught in a pocket. +There he sat, astride a large limb, hanging onto the heavy machine, +which depended below him just free of the water. He had, with +difficulty, moved his painful grip upon a part of the machine's +mechanism and succeeded in clutching the edge of the forward wheel. This +did not cut his hands so much, but the weight was unbearable in his +embarrassed attitude. + +Indeed, it was not so much his strength, which was remarkable, that +enabled him to keep his hold upon this depending dead weight, as it was +sheer desperation. It seemed to be pulling his arms out of their +sockets, and his shoulders ached incessantly. At the risk of losing his +balance altogether he sought relief by the continual shifting of his +position but he knew that the strain was too great for him and that he +must let go presently. + +It seemed like a mockery that he should have gained the shore only to be +caught in this predicament, and to see his trusty machine go tumbling +into the water beyond all hope of present recovery, simply because he +could not hang on to it. + +Well, then, he _would_ hang on to it. He would hang on to it though +every muscle of his body throbbed, though his arms were dragged out, and +though he collapsed and fell from that limb himself in the last anguish +of the aching strain. He and _Uncle Sam_, having failed, would go down +together. + +And meanwhile the minutes passed and _Uncle Sam_ and Tom were reflected, +inverted, in the water where the spreading light was now flickering. How +strange and grotesque they looked, upside down and clinging to each +other for dear life and wriggling in the ripples of rushing water. +_Uncle Sam_ seemed to be holding _him_ up. It was all the same--they +were partners. + +He noticed in the water something which he had not noticed before--the +reflection of a short, thick, broken branch projecting from the heavy +limb he was straddling. He glanced about and found that it was behind +him. His stooping attitude, necessitated by the tremendous drag on his +arms, prevented him even from looking freely behind him, and in trying +to do so he nearly fell. The strain he was suffering was so great that +the least move caused him pain. + +But by looking into the water he was able to see that this little stub +of a limb might serve as a hook on which the machine might be hung if he +could clear away the leafy twigs which grew from it, and if he could +succeed in raising the cycle and slipping the wheel over it. That would +not end his predicament but it would save the machine, relieve him for a +few moments, and give him time to think. + +_For a few moments!_ They were fleeting by--the moments. + +There is a strength born of desperation--a strength of will which is +conjured into physical power in the last extremity. It is when the +frantic, baffled spirit calls aloud to rally every failing muscle and +weakening nerve. It is then that the lips tighten and the eyes become as +steel, as the last reserves waiting in the entrenchments of the soul are +summoned up to re-enforce the losing cause. + +And there in that tree, on the brink of the heedless, rushing waters +which crossed the highroad to Dieppe was going to be fought out one of +the most desperate battles of the whole war. There, in the mocking light +of the paling dawn, Tom Slade, his big mouth set like a vice, and with +every last reserve he could command, was going to make his last cast of +the dice--let go, give up--or, _hold on_. + +_Let go!_ Of all the inglorious forms of defeat or surrender! _To let +go!_ To be struck down, to be taken prisoner, to be---- + +But to _let go_! The bulldog, the snapping turtle, seemed like very +heroes now. + +"He always said I had a good muscle--he liked to feel it," he muttered. +"And besides, _she_ said she guessed I was strong." + +He was thinking of Margaret Ellison, away back in America, and of Roscoe +Bent, as he had known him there. When he muttered again there was a +beseeching pathos in his voice which would have pierced the heart of +anyone who could have seen him struggling still against fate, in this +all but hopeless predicament. + +But no one saw him except the sun who was raising his head above the +horizon as a soldier steals a cautious look over the trench parapet. + +There would be no report of this affair. + +He lowered his chest to the limb, wound his legs around it and for a +second lay there while he tightened and set his legs, as one will +tighten a belt against some impending strain. Not another fraction of an +inch could he have tightened those encircling legs. + +And now the fateful second was come. It had to come quickly for his +strength was ebbing. There is a pretty dependable rule that if you can +just manage to lift a weight with both hands, you can just about _budge_ +it with one hand. Tom had tried this at Temple Camp with a visiting +scout's baggage chest. With both hands he had been barely able to lift +it by its strap. With one hand he had been able to _budge_ it for the +fraction of a second. But there had been no overmastering incentive--and +no reserves called up out of the depths of his soul. + +He could feel his breast palpitating against the limb, drawn tight +against it by the dead weight. Yet he could not put his desperate +purpose to the test. + +And so a second--two, three, seconds--were wasted. + +"I won't let go," he muttered through his teeth. "I wish I could wipe +the sweat off my hand." Then, as if his dogged resolution were not +enough, he added, almost appealingly, "Don't _you_ drop and--and go back +on me." + +_Uncle Sam_ only swung a little in the breeze and wriggled like an eel +in the watery mirror. + +Slowly Tom loosened his perspiring left hand, not daring to withdraw it. +The act seemed to communicate an extra strain to every part of his body. +Of all the fateful moments of his life, this seemed to be the most +tense. Then, in an impulse of desperation, he drew his left hand away. + +"I won't--let--go," he muttered. + +The muscles on his taut right arm stood out like cords. His forearm +throbbed with an indescribable, pulling pain. There was a feeling of +dull soreness in his shoulder blade. His perspiring hand closed tighter +around the wheel's rim and he could feel his pulse pounding. His fingers +tingled as if they had been asleep. Then his hand slipped a little. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR + +"TO HIM THAT OVERCOMETH" + + +Whether merely from the change of an eighth of an inch or so in its hold +upon the rim, or because his palm fitted better around the slight +alteration of curve, Tom was conscious of the slightest measure of +relief. + +As quickly as he dared (for he knew that any sudden move would be +fatal), he reached behind him with his left arm and, groping for the +stub of limb, tore away from it the twigs which he knew would form an +obstacle to placing the wheel rim with its network of spokes over this +short projection. + +The dead soreness of his straining shoulder blade ran down his arm, +which throbbed painfully. His twitching, struggling fingers, straining +against the weight which was forcing them open, clutched the rim. They +were burning and yet seemed numb. Oh, if he could only wipe his palm and +that rim with a dry handkerchief! He tightened his slipping fingers +again and again. The muscles of his arm smarted as from a blow. He +tightened his lips--and that seemed to help. + +Carefully, though his aching breast pounded against the limb, he brought +back his left hand, cautiously rubbed it against his khaki shirt, then +encircled it about the rim. For a moment the weight seemed manageably +light in the quick relief he felt. + +Availing himself of the slight measure of refreshment he raised the +machine a trifle, a trifle more, squirmed about to get in better +position, bent, strained, got the bulky thing past his clutching legs, +exerted every muscle of chest and abdomen, which now could assume some +share of the strain, and by a superhuman effort of litheness and +dexterity and all the overwhelming power of physical strength and +frenzied resolution, he succeeded in slipping the wheel rim over the +stubby projection behind him. + +If he had been running for ten miles he could not have been more +exhausted. His breast heaved with every spasmodic breath he drew. His +shoulder blades throbbed like an aching tooth. His dripping palm was +utterly numb. For a few brief, precious seconds he sat upon the limb +with a sense of unutterable relief, and mopped his beaded forehead. And +the sun's full, round face smiled approvingly upon him. + +Meanwhile the minutes flew. + +Hurrying now, he scrambled down the tree trunk where he had a better and +less discouraging view of the situation. He saw that _Uncle Sam_ hung +about five feet from the brink and just clear of the water. If the bank +on this side was less precipitous than on the other there would be some +prospect of rescuing his machine without serious damage. He could afford +to let it get wet provided the carburetor and magneto were not submerged +and the gas tank---- + +_The gas tank._ That thought stabbed him. Could the gasoline have flowed +out of the tank while the machine was hanging up and down? That would +bring the supply hole, with its perforated screw-cover, underneath. + +He waded cautiously into the water and found to his infinite relief that +the submerged bank formed a gentle slope. He could not go far enough to +lift his machine, but he could reach to wiggle it off its hook and then +guide it, in some measure, enough to ease its fall and keep its +damageable parts clear of the water. At least he believed he could. In +any event, he had no alternative choice and time was flying. After what +he had already done he felt he could do anything. Success, however +wearying and exhausting, gives one a certain working capital of +strength, and having succeeded so far he would not now fail. His success +in crossing had given him that working capital of resolution and +incentive whence came his superhuman strength and overmastering resolve +in that lonely tree. And he would not fail now. + +Yet he could not bring himself to look at his watch. He was willing to +venture a guess, from the sun, as to what time it was, but he could not +clinch the knowledge by a look at the cruel, uncompromising little +glass-faced autocrat in his pocket. He preferred to work in the less +disheartening element of uncertainty. He did not want to know the hard, +cold truth--not till he was moving. + +Here now was the need of nice calculating, and Tom eyed the shore and +the tree and the machine with the appraising glance of a wrestler eyeing +his opponent. He broke several branches from the tree, laying them so as +to form a kind of springy, leafy mound close to the brink. Then +standing knee-deep he wiggled the wheel's rim very cautiously out to the +end of its hanger, so that it just balanced there. + +One more grand drive, one more effort of unyielding strength and +accurate dexterity and--_he would be upon the road_. + +The thought acted as a stimulant. Lodging one hand under the seat of the +machine and the other upon a stout bar of the mechanism which he thought +would afford him just the play and swing he needed, he joggled the wheel +off its hanger, and with a wide sweep, in which he skillfully minimized +the heavy weight, he swung the machine onto the springy bed which he had +made to receive it. + +Then, as the comrade of a wounded soldier may bend over him, he knelt +down beside his companion upon the makeshift, leafy couch. + +"Are you all right?" he asked in the agitation of his triumphant effort. + +_Uncle Sam_ did not answer. + +He stood the machine upright and lowered the rest so that it could stand +unaided; and he tore away the remnant of mud-guard which _Uncle Sam_ had +sacrificed in his role of combination engine and paddle-wheel. + +"You've got the wires all tangled up in your spokes," Tom said; "you +look like a--a wreck. What do you want with those old sticks of +shingles? How are you off for gas--you--you old tramp?" + +_Uncle Sam_ did not answer. + +"Anyway, you're all right," Tom panted; "only my arm is worse than your +old mud-guard. We're a pair of---- Can't you speak?" he added breathing +the deadly fatigue he felt and putting his foot upon the pedal. +"What--do--you--say? Huh?" + +And then _Uncle Sam_ answered. + +"Tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r---- Never mind your arm. Come +ahead--hurry," he seemed to say. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE + +"WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO--" + + +Swiftly along the sun-flecked road sped the dispatch-rider. In the +mellow freshness of the new day he rode, and the whir of his machine in +its lightning flight mingled with the cheery songs of the birds, whose +early morning chorus heartened and encouraged him. There was a balm in +the fragrant atmosphere of the cool, gray morning which entered the soul +of Tom Slade and whispered to him, _There is no such word as fail._ + +Out of the night he had come, out of travail, and brain-racking +perplexity and torturing effort, crossing rushing waters and matching +his splendid strength and towering will against obstacles, against fate, +against everything. + +As he held the handle-bar of _Uncle Sam_ in that continuous handshake +which they knew so well, his right arm felt numb and sore, and his +whole body ached. _Uncle Sam's_ big, leering glass eye was smashed, his +mud-guard wrenched off, and dried mud was upon his wheels. His rider's +uniform was torn and water-soaked, his face black with grime. They made +a good pair. + +Never a glance to right or left did the rider give, nor so much as a +perfunctory nod to the few early risers who paused to stare at him as he +sped by. In the little hamlet of Persan an old Frenchman sitting on a +rustic seat before the village inn, removed his pipe from his mouth long +enough to call, + +"_La cote?_" + +But never a word did the rider answer. Children, who, following the good +example of the early bird, were already abroad, scurried out of his way, +making a great clatter in their wooden shoes, and gaping until he passed +beyond their sight. + +Over the bridge at Soignois he rushed, making its ramshackle planks +rattle and throw up a cloud of dust from between the vibrating seams. +Out of this cloud he emerged like a gray spectre, body bent, head low, +gaze fixed and intense, leaving a pandemonium of dust and subsiding +echoes behind him. + +At Virneu an old housewife threw open her blinds and seeing the dusty +khaki of the rider, summoned her brood, who waved the tricolor from the +casement, laughing and calling, "_Vive l'Amerique!_" + +Their cheery voices and fraternal patriotism did cause Tom to turn his +head and call, + +"_Merci. Vive la France!_" + +And they answered again with a torrent of French. + +The morning was well established as he passed through Chuisson, and a +clock upon a romantic, medieval-looking little tower told him that it +lacked but ten minutes of five o'clock. + +A feeling of doubt, almost of despair, seized upon him and he called in +that impatient surliness which springs from tense anxiety, asking an old +man how far it was to Dieppe. + +The man shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in polite confession +that he did not understand English. + +In his anxiety it irritated Tom. "What _do_ you know?" he muttered. + +Out of Chuisson he labored up a long hill, and though _Uncle Sam_ made +no more concession to it than to slacken his unprecedented rate of +speed the merest trifle, the difference communicated itself to Tom at +once and it seemed, by contrast, as if they were creeping. On and up +_Uncle Sam_ went, plying his way sturdily, making a great noise and a +terrific odor--dogged, determined and irresistible. + +But the rider stirred impatiently. Would they ever, _ever_, reach the +top? And when they should, there would be another hamlet in a valley, +another bridge, more stupid people who could not speak English, more +villages, more bends in the road, still other villages, and +then--another hill. + +It seemed to Tom that he had been travelling for ten years and that +there was to be no end of it. Ride, ride, ride--it brought him nowhere. +His right arm which had borne that tremendous strain, was throbbing so +that he let go the handle-bar from time to time in the hope of relief. It +was the pain of acute tiredness, for which there could be no relief but +rest. Just to throw himself down and rest! Oh, if he could only lay that +weary, aching arm across some soft pillow and leave it there--just leave +it there. Let it hang, bend it, hold it above him, lay it on _Uncle +Sam's_ staunch, unfeeling arm of steel, he could not, _could_ not, get +it rested. + +The palm of his hand tingled with a kind of irritating feeling like +chilblains, and he must be continually removing one or other hand from +the bar so that he could reach one with the other. It did not help him +keep his poise. If he could only scratch his right hand once and be done +with it! But it annoyed him like a fly. + +Up, up, up, they went, and passed a quaint, old, thatch-roofed house. +Crazy place to build a house! And the people in it--probably all they +could do was to shrug their shoulders in that stupid way when asked a +question in English. + +He was losing his morale--was this dispatch-rider. + +But near the top of the hill he regained it somewhat. Perhaps he could +make up for this lost time in some straight, level reach of road beyond. + +Up, up, up, plowed _Uncle Sam_, one lonely splinter of shingle still +bound within his spokes, and his poor, dented headlight bereft of its +dignity. + +"I've an idea the road turns north about a mile down," Tom said to +himself, "and runs around through----" + +The words stopped upon his lips as _Uncle Sam_, still laboring upward, +reached level ground, and as if to answer Tom out of his own +uncomplaining and stouter courage, showed him a sight which sent his +faltering hope skyward and started his heart bounding. + +For there below them lay the vast and endless background of the sea, +throwing every intervening detail of the landscape into insignificance. +There it was, steel blue in the brightening sunlight and glimmering here +and there in changing white, where perhaps some treacherous rock or bar +lay just submerged. And upon it, looking infinitesimal in the limitless +expanse, was something solid with a column of black smoke rising and +winding away from it and dissolving in the clear, morning air. + +"There you are!" said Tom, patting _Uncle Sam_ patronizingly in a swift +change of mood. "See there? That's the Atlantic Ocean--that is. _Now_ +will you hurry? That's a ship coming in--see? I bet it's a whopper, too. +Do you know what--what's off beyond there?" he fairly panted in his +excitement; "do you? You old French hobo, you? _America!_ That's where +_I_ came from. _Now_ will you hurry? That's Dieppe, where the white[2] +is and those steeples, see? And way across there on the other side is +America!" + +For _Uncle Sam_, notwithstanding his name, was a French motorcycle and +had never seen America. + +[2] Dieppe's famous beach. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX + +A SURPRISE + + +Down the hill coasted _Uncle Sam_, bearing his rider furiously onward. A +fence along the wayside seemed like a very entanglement of stakes and +pickets. Then it was gone. A house loomed up in view, grew larger, and +was gone. A cow that was grazing in a field languidly raised her head, +blinked her eyes, and stood as if uncertain whether she had really seen +something pass or not. + +They were in the valley now and the sea was no longer discernible. On +they rushed with a fine disdain for poor little Charos, whose village +steeple appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning. The road was +broad and level and _Uncle Sam_ sped along amid a cloud of dust, the +bordering trees and houses flying away behind like dried leaves in a +hurricane. The rider's hair was fluttering like a victorious emblem, his +eyes fixed with a wild intensity. + +"We'd get arrested for this in America," he muttered; "we--we should +worry." + +It was little _Uncle Sam_ cared for the traffic laws of America. + +Around the outskirts of Teurley they swept and into the broad highway +like a pair of demons, and a muleteer, seeing discretion to be the +better part of valor, drove his team well to the side--far enough, even, +to escape any devilish contamination which this unearthly apparition +might diffuse. + +They had reached a broad highway, one of those noble roads which +Napoleon had made. They could not go wrong now. They passed a luxurious +chateau, then a great hotel where people haled them in French. Then they +passed an army auto truck loaded with mattresses, with the bully old +initials U. S. A. on its side. Two boys in khaki were on the seat. + +"Is the _Texas Pioneer_ in?" Tom yelled. + +"What?" one of them called back. + +"He's deaf or something," muttered Tom; "we--should worry." + +On they sped till the road merged into a street lined with shops, where +children in wooden shoes and men in blouses shuffled about. Tom thought +he had never seen people so slow in his life. + +[Illustration: DOWN THE HILL COASTED UNCLE SAM BEARING TOM FURIOUSLY +ONWARD.] + +Now, indeed, he must make some concession to the throngs moving back and +forth, and he slackened his speed, but only slightly. + +"Dieppe?" he called. + +"Dieppe," came the laughing answer from a passer-by, who was evidently +amused at Tom's pronunciation. + +"Where's the wharves?" + +Again that polite shrug of the shoulders. + +He took a chance with another passer-by, who nodded and pointed down a +narrow street with dull brown houses tumbling all over each other, as it +seemed to Tom. It was the familiar, old-world architecture of the French +coast towns, which he had seen in Brest and St. Nazaire, as if all the +houses had become suddenly frightened and huddled together like panicky +sheep. + +More leisurely now, but quickly still, rode the dispatch-rider through +this narrow, surging way which had all the earmarks of the +shore--damp-smelling barrels, brass lanterns, dilapidated ships' +figureheads, cosy but uncleanly drinking places, and sailors. + +And of all the sights save one which Tom Slade ever beheld, the one +which most gladdened his heart was a neat new sign outside a stone +building, + + Office of United States Quartermaster. + +Several American army wagons were backed up against the building and +half a dozen khaki-clad boys lounged about. There was much coming and +going, but it is a part of the dispatch-rider's prestige to have +immediate admittance anywhere, and Tom stopped before this building and +was immediately surrounded by a flattering representation of military +and civilian life, both French and American. + +To these he paid not the slightest heed, but carefully lowered _Uncle +Sam's_ rest so that his weary companion might stand alone. + +"You old tramp," he said in an undertone; "stay here and take it easy. +Keep away," he added curtly to a curious private who was venturing a too +close inspection of _Uncle Sam's_ honorable wounds. + +"What's the matter--run into something?" he asked. + +"No, I didn't," said Tom, starting toward the building. + +Suddenly he stopped short, staring. + +A man in civilian clothes sat tilted back in one of several chairs +beside the door. He wore a little black moustache and because his head +was pressed against the brick wall behind him, his hat was pushed +forward giving him a rakish look which was rather heightened by an +unlighted cigar sticking up out of the corner of his mouth like a piece +of field artillery. + +He might have been a travelling salesman waiting for his samples on the +veranda of a country hotel and he had about him a kind of sophisticated +look as if he took a sort of blase pleasure in watching the world go +round. His feet rested upon the rung of his tilted chair, forming his +knees into a sort of desk upon which lay a French newspaper. The tilting +of his knees, the tilting of his chair, the tilting of his hat and the +rakish tilt of his cigar, gave him the appearance of great +self-sufficiency, as if, away down in his soul, he knew what he was +there for, and cared not a whit whether anyone else did or not. + +Tom Slade paused on the lower step and stared. Then with a slowly +dawning smile supplanting his look of astonishment, he ejaculated, + +"M-i-s-t-e-r _C-o-n-n-e_!" + +The man made not the slightest change in his attitude except to smile +the while he worked his cigar over to the other corner of his mouth. +Then he cocked his head slightly sideways. + +"H'lo, Tommy," said he. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN + +SMOKE AND FIRE + + +Mr. Carleton Conne, of the United States Secret Service, had come over +from Liverpool _via_ Dover on a blind quest after an elusive spy. There +had been a sort of undercurrent of rumor, with many extravagant +trappings, that a mysterious agent of the Kaiser was on his way to +Europe with secrets of a most important character. Some stories had it +that he was intimately related to Bloody Bill himself; others that he +gloried in a kinship with Ludendorf, while still other versions +represented him as holding Mexico in the palm of his hand. Dark stories +floated about and no one knew just where they originated. + +One sprightly form this story took, which had been whispered in New York +and then in Liverpool, was that a certain young lady (identity unknown) +had talked with a soldier (identity unknown) in the Grand Central +Station in New York, and that the soldier had told her that at his +cantonment (cantonment not identified) there was a man in a special +branch of the service (branch not mentioned) who was a cousin or a +brother or a nephew or a son or something or other to a German general +or statesman or something or other, and that he had got into the +American army by a pretty narrow squeak. There seemed to be a unanimity +of opinion in the lower strata of Uncle Sam's official family in +Liverpool that the soldier who had talked with the young lady was coming +over on the transport _Manchester_ and it was assumed (no one seemed to +know exactly why) that the mysterious and sinister personage would be +upon the same ship. + +But no soldier had been found upon the _Manchester_ who showed by his +appearance that he had chatted with a young lady. Perhaps several of +them had done that. It is a way soldiers have. + +As for the arch spy or propagandist, he did not come forward and +introduce himself as such, and though a few selected suspects of German +antecedents were searched and catechised by Mr. Conne and others, no one +was held. + +And there you are. + +Rumors of this kind are always in circulation and the Secret Service +people run them down as a matter of precaution. But though you can run a +rumor down and stab it through and through you cannot kill it. It now +appeared that this German agent had sailed from Mexico and would land at +Brest--with a message to some French statesman. Also it appeared that he +had stolen a secret from Edison and would land at Dieppe. It had also +been reported that someone had attempted to blow up the loaded transport +_Texas Pioneer_ on her way over. + +And so Mr. Carleton Conne, of the American Secret Service, quiet, +observant, uncommunicative, never too sanguine and never too skeptical, +had strolled on to the _Channel Queen_, lighted his cigar, and was now +tilted back in his chair outside the Quartermaster's office in Dieppe, +not at all excited and waiting for the _Texas Pioneer_ to dock. + +He had done this because he believed that where there is a great deal of +smoke there is apt to be a little fire. He was never ruffled, never +disappointed. + +Tom's acquaintance with Mr. Conne had begun on the transport on which he +had worked as a steward's boy, and where his observant qualities and +stolid soberness had attracted and amused the detective. + +"I never thought I'd see you here," said Tom, his face lighting up to an +unusual degree. "I'm a dispatch-rider now. I just rode from Cantigny. I +got a letter for the Quartermaster, but anyway he's got to turn me over +to the Secret Service (Mr. Conne regarded him with whimsical attention +as he stumbled on), because there's a plot and somebody--a spy--kind +of----" + +"A spy, kind of, eh?" + +"And I hope the _Texas Pioneer_ didn't land yet, that's one sure thing." + +"It's one sure thing that she'll dock in about fifteen minutes, Tommy," +said Mr. Conne rising. "Come inside and deliver your message. What's the +matter with your machine? Been trying to wipe out the Germans alone and +unaided, like the hero in a story book?" + +Tom followed him in, clumsily telling the story of his exciting journey; +"talking in chunks," as he usually did and leaving many gaps to be +filled in by the listener. + +"I'm glad I found you here, anyway," he finished, as if that were the +only part that really counted; "'cause now I feel as if I can tell +about an idea I've got. I'd of been scared to tell it to anybody else. I +ain't exactly got it yet," he added, "but maybe I can help even better +than they thought, 'cause as I was ridin' along I had a kind of an +idea----" + +"Yes?" + +"Kind of. Did you ever notice how you get fool ideas when there's a +steady noise going on?" + +"So?" said Mr. Conne, as he led the way along a hall. + +"It was the noise of my machine." + +"How about the smell, Tommy?" Mr. Conne asked, glancing around with that +pleasant, funny look which Tom had known so well. + +"You don't get ideas from smells," he answered soberly. + +In the Quartermaster's office he waited on a bench while Mr. Conne and +several other men, two in uniform and two that he thought might be +Secret Service men, talked in undertones. If he had been a hero in a +book, to use Mr. Conne's phrase, these officials would doubtless have +been assembled about him listening to his tale, but as it was he was +left quite out of the conference until, near its end, he was summoned to +tell of his capture of Major von Piffinhoeffer and asked if he thought +he could identify a close relation of that high and mighty personage +simply by seeing him pass as a total stranger. + +Tom thought he might "by a special way," and explained his knowledge of +breed marks and specie marks. He added, in his stolid way, that he had +another idea, too. But they did not ask him what that was. One of the +party, a naval officer, expressed surprise that he had ridden all the +way from Cantigny and asked him if it were not true that part of the +road was made impassible by floods. Tom answered that there were floods +but that they were not impassible "if you knew how." The officer said he +supposed Tom knew how, and Tom regarded this as a compliment. + +Soon, to his relief, Mr. Conne took all the papers in the case and left +the room, beckoning Tom to follow him. Another man in civilian clothes +hurried away and Tom thought he might be going to the dock. It seemed to +him that his rather doubtful ability to find a needle in a haystack had +not made much of an impression upon these officials, and he wondered +ruefully what Mr. Conne thought. He saw that his arrival with the +papers had produced an enlivening effect among the officials, but it +seemed that he himself was not taken very seriously. Well, in any event, +he had made the trip, he had beaten the ship, delivered the message to +Garcia. + +"I got to go down and turn my grease cup before I forget it," he said, +as they came out on the little stone portico again. + +Several soldiers who were soon to see more harrowing sights than a +bunged-up motorcycle, were gathered about _Uncle Sam_, gaping at him and +commenting upon his disfigurements. Big U. S. A. auto trucks were +passing by. A squad of German prisoners, of lowering and sullen aspect, +marched by with wheelbarrows full of gray blankets. They were keeping +perfect step, through sheer force of habit. Another dispatch-rider (a +"local") passed by, casting a curious eye at _Uncle Sam_. A French child +who sat upon the step had one of his wooden shoes full of smoky, used +bullets, which he seemed greatly to prize. Several "flivver" ambulances +stood across the way, new and roughly made, destined for the front. +American naval and military officers were all about. + +"We haven't got much time to spare, Tommy," said Mr. Conne, resuming +his former seat and glancing at his watch. + +"It's only a second. I just got to turn the grease cup." + +He hurried down past the child, who called him "M'sieu Yankee," and +elbowed his way through the group of soldiers who were standing about +_Uncle Sam_. + +"Your timer bar's bent," one of them volunteered. + +Tom did not answer, but knelt and turned the grease cup, then wiped the +nickel surfaces, bent and dented though they were, with a piece of +cotton waste. Then he felt of his tires. Then he adjusted the position +of the handle-bar more to his liking and as he did so the poor, dented, +glassless searchlight bobbed over sideways as if to look at the middle +of the street. Tom said something which was not audible to the curious +onlookers. Perhaps _Uncle Sam_ heard. + +The local rider came jogging around the corner on his way back. His +machine was American-made and a medley of nickel and polished brass. As +he made the turn his polished searchlight, with a tiny flag perched +jauntily upon it, seemed to be looking straight at _Uncle Sam_. And +_Uncle Sam's_ green-besprinkled,[3] glassless eye seemed to be leering +with a kind of sophisticated look at the passing machine. It was the +kind of look which the Chicago Limited might give to the five-thirty +suburban starting with its load of New York commuters for East Orange, +New Jersey. + +[3] The effect of water on brass is to produce a greenish, superficial +erosion. + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT + +"MADE IN GERMANY" + + +"Now, Tommy, let's hear your idea," said Mr. Conne, indulgently, as he +worked his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "I find +there's generally a little fire where there's a good deal of smoke. +There's somebody or other, as you say, but the trouble is we don't know +who he is. We think maybe he looks like someone you've seen. We think he +may have a patent ear." He looked at Tom sideways and Tom could not help +laughing. Then he looked at the mysterious letter with a funny, +ruminating look. + +"What can we--you--do?" Tom ventured to ask, feeling somewhat squelched. + +Mr. Conne screwed up his mouth with a dubious look. "Search everybody on +board, two or three thousand, quiz a few, that's about all. It'll take a +long time and probably reveal nothing. Family resemblances are all right +when you know both members, Tommy, but out in the big world--Well, +let's look this over again," he added, taking up the letter. + +Tom knew that he was not being consulted. He had a feeling that his +suggestion about breed marks and personal resemblances was not being +taken seriously. He was glad that he had not put his foot too far in by +telling of his other precious idea. But he was proud of Mr. Conne's +companionable attitude toward him. He was proud to be the friend of such +a man. He was delighted at the thought of participation in this matter. +He knew Mr. Conne liked him and had at least a good enough opinion of +him to adopt the appearance of conferring with him. Mr. Conne's rather +whimsical attitude toward this conference did not lessen his pride. + +"Let's see now," said the detective. "This thing evidently went through +Holland in code. It's a rendering." + +It was easy for Tom to believe that Mr. Conne was re-reading the letter +just to himself--or to himself and Tom. + +"Let's see now--_but, as you say, everything for the Fatherland. If you +receive this, let them know that I'll have my arms crossed and to be +careful before they shoot_. I wish he'd cross his arms when he comes +ashore. He's evidently planning to get himself captured. _If you don't +get this I'll just have to take my chance. The other way isn't worth +trying._ Hmm! Probably thought of deserting at the wharf and getting +into Holland or Belgium. No, that wouldn't be worth trying. _As for the +code key, that'll be safe enough--they'll never find it._ Hmm! _If it +wasn't for the_--what's all this--_the English swine_. Humph! They fight +pretty good for swine, don't they, Tommy? _As far as I can ascertain, +we'll go on the T. P._ We know that much, anyway, thanks to you, Tommy." +(Tom felt highly elated.) "_There was some inquiry about my close +relationship to you, but nothing serious. All you have to do is to cheer +when they play the S. S. B. over here_. Humph! That's worth knowing. _It +isn't known if Schmitter had the key to this when they caught him_---- + +"He didn't," said Mr. Conne dryly; "I was the one who caught +him.--_because he died on Ellis Island. But it's being abandoned to be +on the safe side_. Safety first, hey? _I have notice from H. not to use +it after sending this letter. If we can get the new one in your hands +before_--Seems to be blotted out--_in time so it can be used through +Mexico. I'll have much information to communicate verbally in T. and A. +matters, but will bring nothing in ---- ---- form but key and +credentials_. He means actual, concealed or disguised form, I s'pose. +_The idea is L.'s._ I suppose he means the manner of concealing the key +and credentials." + +"Yes," said Tom rather excitedly. + +Mr. Conne glanced at him, joggled his cigar, and went on, + +"_You remember him at Heidelberg, I dare say. I brought him back once +for holiday. Met him through Handel, who was troubled with cataract. V. +has furnished funds. So don't fall to have them watch out._" + +"Hmm!" concluded Mr. Conne ruminatively. "You see what they're up to. We +caught Schmitter in Philadelphia. They think maybe Schmitter had the key +of a code with him. So they're changing the code and sending the key to +it across with this somebody or other. That's about the size of it. He's +got a lot of information, too, in his head, where we can't get at it." + +"But his credentials will have to be something that can be seen, won't +they?" Tom ventured to ask. + +"Prob'ly. You see, he means to desert or get captured. It's a long way +round, but about the best one--for him. Think of that snake wearing +Uncle Sam's uniform!" + +"It makes me mad, too--kind of," said Tom. + +"So he's probably got some secret means of identification about him, and +probably the new code key in actual form--somewhere else than just in +his head. Then there'd be a chance of getting it across even if he fell. +We'll give him an acid bath and look in his shoes if we can find him. +The whole thing hangs on a pretty thin thread. They used to have +invisible writing on their backs till we started the acid bath." + +He whistled reflectively for a few moments, while Tom struggled to +muster the courage to say something that he wished to say. + +"Could I tell you about that other idea of mine?" he blurted finally. + +"You sure can, Tommy. That's about all we're likely to get--ideas." And +he glanced at Tom again with that funny, sideways look. "Shoot, my boy." + +"It's only this," said Tom, still not without some trepidation, "and +maybe you'll say it's no good. You told me once not to be thinking of +things that's none of my business." + +"Uncle Sam's business is our business now, Tommy boy." + +"Well, then, it's just this, and I was thinking about it while I was +riding just after I started away from Cantigny. Mostly I was thinking +about it after I took that last special look at old Piff----" + +Mr. Conne chuckled. "I see," he said encouragingly. + +"Whoever that feller is," said Tom, "there's one thing sure. If he's +comin' as a soldier he won't get to the front very soon, 'cause they're +mostly the drafted fellers that are comin' now and they have to go in +training over here. I know, 'cause I've seen lots of 'em in billets." + +"Hmm," said Mr. Conne. + +"So if the feller expects to go to the front and get captured pretty +soon, prob'ly he's in a special unit. Maybe I might be all wrong about +it--some fellers used to call me Bullhead," he added by way of shaving +his boldness down a little. + +But Mr. Conne, with hat tilted far down over his forehead and cigar at +an outrageously rakish angle, was looking straight ahead of him, at a +French flag across the way. + +"Go on," he said crisply. + +"Anyway, I'm sure the feller wouldn't be an engineer, 'cause mostly +they're behind the lines. So I thought maybe he'd be a surgeon----" + +Mr. Conne was whistling, almost inaudibly, his eyes fixed upon the +flagpole opposite. "He was educated at Heidelberg," said he. + +"I didn't think of that," said Tom. + +"It's where he met L." + +Tom said nothing. His line of reasoning seemed to be lifted quietly away +from him. Mr. Conne was turning the kaleidoscope and showing him new +designs. "He took L. home for the holidays," he quietly observed. "Old +Piff and the boys." + +"I--I didn't think of that," said Tom, rather crestfallen. + +"You didn't ride fast enough and make enough noise," Mr. Conne said. His +eyes were still fixed on the fluttering tricolor and he whistled very +low. Then he rubbed his lip with his tongue and aimed his cigar in +another direction. + +"They were studying medicine there, I guess," he mused. + +"That's just what my idea's about," said Tom. "It ain't an idea exactly, +either," he added, "but it's kind of come to me sudden-like. You know +what a _hunch_ is, don't you? There's something there about somebody +having a cataract, and that's something the matter with your eyes; Mr. +Temple had one. So maybe that feller L. that he met again is an eye +doctor. Long before the war started they told Mr. Temple maybe he ought +to go to Berlin to see the eye specialists there--'cause they're so +fine. So maybe the spy is a surgeon and L. is an eye doctor. It says how +he met him again on account of somebody having a cataract. And he said +the way of bringing the code key was L.'s idea. I read about a dentist +that had a piece of paper with writing on it rolled up in his tooth. He +was a spy. So that made me think maybe L.'s idea had something to do +with eyes or glasses, as you might say." + +"Hmm! Go on. Anything else?" + +"But, anyway, that ain't the idea I had. In Temple Camp there was a +scout that had a little pocket looking-glass and you couldn't see +anything on it but your own reflection. But all you had to do was to +breathe on it and there was a picture--all mountains and a castle, like. +Then it would fade away again right away. Roy Blakeley wanted to swap +his scout knife for it, but the feller wouldn't do it. On the back of it +it said _Made in Germany_. It just came to me sudden-like that maybe +that was L.'s idea and they'd have it on a pair of spectacles. Maybe +it's a kind of crazy idea, but----" + +He looked doubtfully at Mr. Conne, who still sat tilted back, hat almost +hiding his face, cigar sticking out from under it like a camouflaged +field-piece. He was whistling very quietly, "_Oh, boy, where do we go +from here?_" He had whistled that same tune more than a year before when +he was waiting for a glimpse of "Dr. Curry," spy and bomb plotter, +aboard the vessel on which Tom was working at that time. He had whistled +it as he escorted the "doctor" down the companionway. How well Tom +remembered! + +"Come on, Tommy," he said, jumping suddenly to his feet. + +Tom followed. But Mr. Conne did not speak; he was still busy with the +tune. Only now he was singing the words. There was something portentous +in the careless way he sang them. It took Tom back to the days when it +was the battle hymn of the transport: + + "And when we meet a pretty girl, we whisper in her ear, + Oh, Boy! Oh, Joy! Where do we go from here?" + + + + +CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE + +"NOW YOU SEE IT, NOW YOU DON'T" + + +The big transport _Texas Pioneer_ came slowly about in obedience to her +straining ropes and rubbed her mammoth side against the long wharf. Up +and down, this way and that, slanting-wise and curved, drab and gray and +white and red, the grotesque design upon her towering freeboard shone +like a distorted rainbow in the sunlight. Out of the night she had come, +stealing silently through the haunts where murder lurks, and the same +dancing rays which had run ahead of the dispatch-rider and turned to +mock him, had gilded her mighty prow as if to say, "Behold, I have +reached you first." + +At her rail crowded hundreds of boys in khaki, demanding in English and +atrocious French to know where they were. + +"Are we in France?" one called. + +"Where's the Boiderberlong, anyway?" another shouted, the famous +Parisian boulevard evidently being his only means of identifying +France. + +"Is that Napoleon's tomb?" another demanded, pointing to a little round +building. + +"Look at the pile of hams," shouted another gazing over the rail at a +stack of that delectable. "Maybe we're in _Hamburg_!" + +"This is Dippy," his neighbor corrected him. + +"You mean Deppy," another said. + +And so on and so on. There seemed to be hundreds of them, thousands of +them, and all on a gigantic picnic. + +"Which is the quickest way to Berlin?" one called, addressing the throng +impartially. + +"Second turn to your left." + +Some of these boys would settle down in France and make it their long, +final home, under little wooden crosses. But they did not seem to think +of that. + +At the foot of the gangplank stood the dispatch-rider and the man with +the cigar. Several other men, evidently of their party, stood near by. +Mr. Conne's head was cocked sideways and he scanned the gangway with a +leisurely, self-assured look. Tom was shaking all over--the victim of +suppressed excitement. He had been less excited on that memorable +morning when he had "done his bit" at Cantigny. + +It seemed to be in the air that something unusual was likely to happen. +Workers, passing with their wheelbarrows and hand trucks, slackened +their pace and dallied as long as they dared, near the gangplank. They +were quickly moved along. Tom shifted from one foot to the other, +waiting. Mr. Conne worked his cigar over to the opposite corner of his +mouth and observed to an American officer that the day was going to be +warm. Then he glanced up and smiled pleasantly at the boys crowding at +the rail. He might have been waiting on a street corner for a car. + +"Not nervous, are you?" he smiled at Tom. + +"Not exactly," said Tom, with his usual candor; "but it seems as if +nothing can happen at all, now that we're here. It seems different, +thinking up things when you're riding along the road--kind of." + +"Uh huh." + +Presently the soldiers began coming down the gangplank. + +"You watch for resemblances and I'll do the rest," said Mr. Conne in a +low tone. "Give yourself the benefit of every doubt. Know what I mean?" + +"Yes--I do." + +"I can't help you there." + +Tom felt a certain compunction at scrutinizing these fine, American +fellows as they came down with their kits--hearty, boisterous, +open-hearted. He felt that it was unworthy of him to suspect any of this +laughing, bantering army, of crime--and such a crime! Treason! In the +hope of catching one he must scrutinize them all, and in his generous +heart it seemed to put a stigma on them all. He hoped he wouldn't see +anyone who looked like Major von Piffinhoeffer. Then he hoped he would. +Then he wondered if he would dare to look at him after---- And suppose +he should be mistaken. He did not like this sort of work at all now that +he was face to face with it. He would rather be off with _Uncle Sam_, +riding along the French roads, with the French children calling to him. +For the first time in his life he was nervous and afraid--not of being +caught but of catching someone; of the danger of suspecting and being +mistaken. + +Mr. Conne, who never missed anything, noticed his perturbation and +patted him on the shoulder saying, + +"All kinds of work have to be done, Tommy." + +Tom tried to smile back at him. + +Down the long gangplank they came, one after another, pushing each +other, tripping each other--joking, laughing. Among them came a young +private, wearing glasses, who was singing, + +"Good-bye, Broadway. Hello, France!" + +He was startled out of his careless merriment by a tap on the shoulder +from Mr. Conne, and almost before Tom realized what had happened, he was +standing blinking at one of the other Secret Service men who was handing +him back his glasses. + +"All right, my boy," said Mr. Conne pleasantly, which seemed to wipe out +any indignity the young man might have felt. + +Tom looked up the gangplank as they surged down, holding the rail to +steady them on the steep incline. Nobody seemed to have noticed what had +happened. + +"Keep your mind on _your_ part, Tommy," said Mr. Conne warningly. + +Tom saw that of all those in sight only one wore glasses--a black-haired +youth who kept his hands on the shoulders of the man before him. Tom +made up his mind that he, in any event, would not detain this fellow on +the ground of anything in his appearance, nor any of the others now in +sight. He was drawn aside by Mr. Conne, however, and became the object +of attention of the other Secret Service men. + +Tom kept his eyes riveted upon the gangplank. One, two, more, wearing +glasses, came in view, were stopped, examined, and passed on. After that +perhaps a hundred passed down and away, none of them with glasses, and +all of them he scrutinized carefully. Now another, with neatly adjusted +rimless glasses, came down. He had a clean-cut, professional look. Tom +did not take his eyes off the descending column for a second, but he +heard Mr. Conne say pleasantly, + +"Just a minute." + +He was glad when he was conscious of this fine-looking young American +passing on. + +So it went. + +There were some whom poor Tom might have been inclined to stop by way of +precaution for no better reason than that they had a rough-and-ready +look--hard fellows. He was glad--_half_ glad--when Mr. Conne, for +reasons of his own, detained one, then another, of these, though they +wore no glasses. And he felt like apologizing to them for his momentary +suspicion, as he saw them pause surprised, answer frankly and honestly +and pass on. + +Then came a young officer, immaculately attired, his leather leggings +shining, his uniform fitting him as if he had been moulded into it. He +wore little rimless eye-glasses. He might lead a raiding party for all +that; but he was a bit pompous and very self-conscious. Tom was rather +gratified to see him hailed aside. + +Nothing. + +Down they came, holding both rails and lifting their feet to swing, like +school boys--hundreds of them, thousands of them, it seemed. Tom watched +them all keenly as they passed out like an endless ribbon from a +magician's hat. There seemed to be no end of them. + +There came now a fellow whom he watched closely. He had blond hair and +blue eyes, but no glasses. He looked something like--something like--oh, +who? Fritzie Schmitt, whom he used to know in Bridgeboro. No, he +didn't--not so much. + +But his blond hair and blue eyes did not escape Mr. Conne. + +Nothing. + +"Watching, Tommy?" + +"Yes, sir." + +A hundred more, two hundred, and then a young sergeant with glasses. + +While this young man was undergoing his ordeal (whatever it was, for Tom +kept his eyes riveted on the gangway), there appeared the tall figure of +a lieutenant. Tom thought he was of the medical corps, but he was not +certain. He seemed to be looking down at Mr. Conne's little group, with +a fierce, piercing stare. He wore horned spectacles of goodly +circumference and as Tom's eyes followed the thick, left wing of these, +he saw that it embraced an ear which stood out prominently. Both the ear +and the piercing eagle gaze set him all agog. + +Should he speak? The lieutenant was gazing steadfastly down at Mr. Conne +and coming nearer with every step. Of course, Mr. Conne would stop him +anyway, but---- To mention that piercing stare and that ear after the +man had been stopped for the more tangible reason--there would be no +triumph in that. + +Tom's hand trembled like a leaf and his voice was unsteady as he turned +to Mr. Conne, and said. + +"This one coming down--the one that's looking at you--he looks like--and +I notice----" + +"Put your hands down, my man," called Mr. Conne peremptorily, at the +same time leaping with the agility of a panther up past the descending +throng. "I'll take those." + +But Tom Slade had spoken first. He did not know whether Mr. Conne's +sudden dash had been prompted by his words or not. He saw him lift the +heavy spectacles off the man's ears and with beating heart watched him +as he came down alongside the lieutenant. + +"Going to throw them away, eh?" he heard Mr. Conne say. + +Evidently the man, seeing another's glasses examined, had tried to +remove his own before he reached the place of inspection. Mr. Conne, who +saw everything, had seen this. But Tom had spoken before Mr. Conne moved +and he was satisfied. + +"All right, Tommy," said Mr. Conne in his easy way. "You beat me to it." + +Tom hardly knew what took place in the next few moments. He saw Mr. +Conne breathe upon the glasses, was conscious of soldiers slackening +their pace to see and hear what was going on, and of their being +ordered forward. He saw the two men who were with Mr. Conne standing +beside the tall lieutenant, who seemed bewildered. He noticed (it is +funny how one notices these little things amid such great things) the +little ring of red upon the lieutenant's nose where the glasses had sat. + +"There you are, see?" he heard Mr. Conne say quietly, breathing heavily +upon the glasses and holding them up to the light, for the benefit of +his colleagues. "B L--two dots--X--see--Plain as day. See there, Tommy!" + +He breathed upon them again and held them quickly up so that Tom could +see. + +"Yes, sir," Tom stammered, somewhat perturbed at such official +attention. + +"Look in the other one, too, Tommy--now--quick!" + +"Oh, yes," said Tom as the strange figures die away. He felt very proud, +and not a little uncomfortable at being drawn into the centre of things. +And he did not feel slighted as he saw Mr. Conne and the captive +lieutenant, and the other officials whom he did not know, start away +thoughtless of anything else in the stress of the extraordinary affair. +He followed because he did not know what else to do, and he supposed +they wished him to follow. Outside the wharf he got _Uncle Sam_ and +wheeled him along at a respectful distance behind these high officials. +So he had one companion. Several times Mr. Conne looked back at him and +smiled. And once he said in that funny way of his, + +"All right, Tommy?" + +"Yes, sir," Tom answered, trudging along. He had been greatly agitated, +but his wonted stolidness was returning now. Probably he felt more +comfortable and at home coming along behind with _Uncle Sam_ than he +would have felt in the midst of this group where the vilest treason +walked baffled, but unashamed, in the uniform of Uncle Sam. + +Once Mr. Conne turned to see if Tom were following. His cigar was stuck +up in the corner; of his mouth as usual and he gave Tom a whimsical +look. + +"You hit the Piff family at both ends, didn't you, Tommy." + +"Y-yes, sir," said Tom. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTY + +HE DISAPPEARS + + +Swiftly and silently along the quiet, winding road sped the +dispatch-rider. Away from the ocean he was hurrying, where the great +ships were coming in, each a fulfilment and a challenge; away from +scenes of debarkation where Uncle Sam was pouring his endless wealth of +courage and determination into bleeding, suffering, gallant France. + +Past the big hotel he went, past the pleasant villa, through village and +hamlet, and farther and farther into the East, bound for the little +corner of the big salient whence he had come. + +He bore with him a packet and some letters. One was to be left at +Neufchatel; others at Breteuil. There was one in particular for +Cantigny. His name was mentioned in it, but he did not know that. He +never concerned himself with the contents of his papers. + +So he sped along, thinking how he would get a new headlight for _Uncle +Sam_ and a new mud-guard. He thought the people back at Cantigny would +wonder what had happened to his machine. He had no thought of telling +them. There was nothing to tell. + +Swiftly and silently along the road he sped, the dispatch-rider who had +come from the blue hills of Alsace, all the way across poor, devastated +France. The rays of the dying sun fell upon the handle-bar of _Uncle +Sam_, which the rider held in the steady, fraternal handshake that they +knew so well. Back from the coast they sped, those two, along the +winding road which lay on hill and in valley, bathed in the mellow glow +of the first twilight. Swiftly and silently they sped. Hills rose and +fell, the fair panorama of the lowlands with its quaint old houses here +and there opened before them. And so they journeyed on into the din and +fire and stenching suffocation and red-running streams of Picardy and +Flanders--for service as required. + + +(END) + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY +BOY SCOUT EDITION +SIMILAR TO THIS VOLUME + +The Boy Scouts of America in making up this Library, selected only such +books as had been proven by a nation-wide canvass to be most universally +in demand among the boys themselves. Originally published in more +expensive editions only, they are now, under the direction of the +Scout's National Council, re-issued at a lower price so that all boys +may have the advantage of reading and owning them. It is the only series +of books published under the control of this great organization, whose +sole object is the welfare and happiness of the boy himself. 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