CHAPTER XX
GILL PERFORMS
THE young Pennsylvania mountaineer, with his eyes, followed Don untilthe boy disappeared among the dense bushes; then Gill turned again tohis grim duty--that of keeping the long gun out of action. The two Hunswho had got away evidently had recognized that to attempt to work thepiece in its present position, with enemy marksmen concealed where theycould pick off the gunners, was a much too risky business.
Gill knew that these conditions would be reported at once to thenearest officer and that very soon men would be sent to hunt themountaineer out and others to work the gun again.
Well, let them come; he would endeavor to give as good as they sent,or better, even if he were only one against many. He had about thirtycartridges left; they ought to be enough for a couple of dozen Heinies,if they didn’t crowd him too fast. And then he had his automatic; hehad hardly needed so far to fire a shot from it, but he knew how to useit. Also he had his bayonet as a last resort.
Probably in the end they would get him, but it didn’t matter very muchnow that his buddy, Jennings, was dead. To be sure, he would love againto get back to the dear old hills of his native state and again followthe plow or the hounds. Going after raccoons, foxes, deer and bear wasmilder sport than this, with no danger in it, but it didn’t inflictupon one’s mind that primitive desire to destroy an enemy; it didn’tstir the blood as did this war game.
Quite calmly, but without relaxing for an instant his keen watchfulnesson all his surroundings, Gill began cleaning his rifle, examininghis cartridge clips and pistol ammunition, looking to his generalwell-being, even to the extent of re-tying his shoe lacings. He hadlittle to wish for, except that Jennings were with him and that he hadsomething to eat and a cup of good water. This going hungry and thirstyfor so long was not calculated to put a fellow on his best edge. Butstill his eyes and nerves were good and his stanch muscles all there.If his buddy had not been killed and were to share his fortunes now,he might get into really far greater misery than the grave: longimprisonment. It wouldn’t be exactly desirable to be seriously wounded,either, and to lie for hours in these bushes. But Gill promised himselfthat if he were hit and not knocked out completely, the Huns would haveno little trouble finding him.
He remembered rather vaguely that Don had told him to come back intwenty minutes. Gill’s watch had been smashed, he had thrown it awayand how long was twenty minutes? There would be more Huns at the fieldpiece before half that time and there was no telling how long it mighttake to further impress upon them that its mere vicinity was fatalground.
Gill was right in this conjecture. He had hardly finished his task andshoved a new cartridge clip into his gun before he saw a half dozen mencome running up the hill. He recognized one of them as belonging to thegun squad and this fellow was evidently protesting to the young officerat the head of the new bunch.
They came boldly into the little space, the member of the old squadtrying almost to hold the officer back. Suddenly that smirk-facedleader turned and struck the well meaning man a blow across the face.
The sheer brutality, the nasty ingratitude of this act impressed thewatcher in the bushes much as when he had once seen a drunken coonhunter kick his dog when the beast was doing his best to make known thewhereabouts of a hunted animal.
It was well now to get busy and the rule was to get an officer, ifpossible, so as to upset the morale of a fighting force, big or little.
The Hun leader was still glaring at the man who would dare to try totell him his business or interfere with his duty; he had also a thingor two to say about it, judging from the way he flung out his chest andpounded it with his fist. Suddenly he bent forward, placed both handsupon his stomach and sank to the ground. Gill hoped that his bullet hadnot done enough damage to keep the fellow from repenting his meanness.
The other Huns had all rushed for cover; one was a little slow andthe mountaineer’s next shot did not permit him to gain shelter. Onefellow, from behind a tree, began shooting at where he must have notedthe flash of Gill’s gun and the bullets were cutting low over themountaineer’s head as the latter drew a fine bead to the left of thattree. The Hun marksman stopped shooting, but Gill knew the man had onlybeen nicked a little; hurt only enough to render him unable to keep onworrying the Yank.
But others were shooting now and the spot that Gill occupied wasgetting to be uncomfortable. A bullet struck and split a stout scruboak sapling right in front of his face, the missile going off at atangent, else the mountaineer would have been done for. Therefore, hemoved, and quickly, backing out on hands and knees, and when screenedcompletely he slipped into the friendly shelter of some other busheswhere, back of a sprout-grown tree stump he was still better hidden.The bullets continued to cut and to tear through the thicket he hadjust left, all of them wasted, of course, and Gill smiled grimly.
“No good, Heinie,” he thought, “though if I’d ’a’ stayed there you’d’a’ got me, I reckon.”
Presently he observed that only one gun was blazing away at hissupposed position and he suspected a ruse. This fellow was trying tokeep Gill’s attention, or to draw his fire; others would make a detourand try to surprise him from behind. Well, he’d be ready to give thema warm reception.
He had not long to wait. Directly back of the place that he had justoccupied he saw the bushes sway a little. He did not take his eyes fromthe spot and presently a German cap came slowly up above the mass offoliage, followed by a pair of staring eyes that spied Gill just as thelatter fired. The cap flew into the air, the eyes disappeared from themountaineer’s view and he ejaculated, half aloud:
“Sho! I done missed him. Here’s fer gettin’ him, though.” With that,not having rifle cartridges to waste, Gill drew his automatic and senta half dozen bullets into the bushes, low down. The only immediateresult, as far as he could be aware, was some Hun language and thesound of hasty retreat, evidently of at least four or five men who hadbeen advancing close together upon him. They must have either imaginedthemselves outnumbered, or else the leader or several of them had beenhit.
Gill chuckled to himself and remarked _sotto voce_:
“Guess my ol’ buddy Jen was about right in thinkin’ he could ’a’ lickedthe whole Hun army, give him a show.” Then he turned his attentionagain to the sniper down the hill and at last, locating that fellowbehind a fallen tree, he set himself to stopping him, which his thirdbullet effectually did. Having the habit of talking to himself, asprobably without exception every lone hunter has, Gill further indulgedin it now.
“Reckon my twenty minutes is up, but I got t’ wait here a bit an’ seethey don’t try fer to work that field piece some more. They will try itan’ groun’ hog shootin’ ain’t no touch t’ the sport o’ stoppin’ thesefellers. Reckon they ain’t goin’ t’ try t’ come after me again rightoff.”
The mountaineer lay there for fully fifteen minutes longer and nothingoccurred as far as he could see. The cannon was as lonesome as thoughin the middle of the Desert of Sahara; no one approached it. Gillworked himself down into a comfortable sort of nest amid dry moss andleaves in the warm sunshine and still waited.
It is hard to believe that under stress of such circumstances sleepwould come to one unawares. But the mountaineer had not closed his eyesfor more than forty-eight hours and outraged nature must assert itsnatural protest. Before the poor fellow was conscious of the danger tohimself his head dropped on his outstretched arm and he was actuallysnoring.
He awoke after a time at the sound of a gruff voice above him andglancing up he beheld the muzzle of a gun not six inches from his head.Words that he did not understand followed. His rifle was snatched away.But with the quickness of a wildcat the Yank was half on his feet,reaching for his automatic and meaning to kill or be killed.
A blow descended upon his head; he dodged it in part, but it struck thepistol from his hand. He leaped at the fellow who was striking at himwith the butt of his gun, catching the Hun a wood wrestling grip aroundthe waist. The two went down togeth
er, Gill on top, and no soonerhad he thrown his man than he tried to get away from him. But hisantagonist was a big chap, with muscles like iron and hands like hams;he held to Gill with a grip that seemed impossible to break. In doingthis, however, both hands were kept so busy for a time that a weaponcould not be used.
THE TWO WENT DOWN TOGETHER]
Gill got a hold on his antagonist’s throat and the Hun began tochoke. Not being able to break that hold and to save himself, the bigfellow tried to reach around under him for his pistol and Gill toreloose, flung himself over the ground and got his own automatic. Thetwo men fired almost at the same instant, the German’s bullet tearingthrough Gill’s blouse not six inches from his heart, but without evenscratching the skin. Gill’s shot was better placed. Without anotherglance at the dead Hun the mountaineer remarked to himself.
“They’re onto me here. Reckon I’ve got t’ move again.” He crept backinto the bushes once more and made another detour, coming out at theedge of the thicket farther away from the field piece, but an increaseof distance did not worry him much regarding his certain marksmanship.
Again he took up his vigil and pinched himself to keep awake, but theneed of sleep was even greater than before and he made the same mistakeof getting into a comfortable position. A few flies and mosquitoesaided his efforts to maintain wakefulness, but apparently nothing shortof a Hun charge upon him could have sufficed.
When he awoke again not one, but five, grinning Huns stood overand around him. Gill got to his feet and made an instant mentalreservation not to surrender. He would not go into Germany as aprisoner. Finding his weapons taken, he did the only thing he could:rush at the nearest man, get him in the stomach with his shoulders and,upsetting him, fetch another a blow on the jaw that put him down andout. There is no telling what the Yank would have succeeded in doingnext had not all light and sense been blotted out. The well directedbutt of a gun proved harder than his head.
The Brighton Boys in the Argonne Forest Page 21
