CHAPTER XXIII
THE AMERICAN BROOM
VAULTING over the stone breastwork Don ducked beneath branches andreached the doorway of the first shelter, desiring to enter cautiously.Upon the instant he grasped the situation within the small space beforehim, though its precise explanation did not appear until later.
In a corner poor Judson was crouched, staring, shuddering, jabbering.On the floor Wilson lay sprawled out, as one having fallen heavily;inert, unconscious. Beside the fallen man and facing Judson the short,heavy, khaki-clad figure of another stood, pistol in hand, menacing thecrazed soldier.
Don had approached quite silently; above the not very distant noise offiring and the jabbering man he had not been heard. But the man on hisfeet turned his head, his face aflame with hate. The boy, off his guardfor the moment, yet with instant presence of mind, saw that he couldnot draw his automatic and use it, however skillfully, as quickly asthe other, with his pistol, could swing and fire. But to dodge wasquite another matter, and with a leap to one side Don had the wallbetween himself and the spy.
Even then the boy was not safe. There had been no cement to puttogether the stones of the shelter walls, the crevices were largeenough to see through and for a bullet to pass through in somedirections, if aimed with accuracy.
At the first shot from within the shelter, Don felt something strikehis hip; another and another shot and he knew the spy was trying toshoot through a hole in the wall before which the boy stood. He hadbecome the target of this would-be assassin, as he had once made thefellow his target from this same spot. Don could not retreat; a shotfrom the doorway, or from a crack, with the muzzle of the other’spistol placed in it might easily get him. And Don dared not play thegame for fear of hitting Judson.
Chance then favored him a little, even if against him with the crevicedwall. Below where he stood a large rock on edge at the base of the wallextended a yard or more upward and from the corner of the doorway.Another shot came from the spy and, uttering an exclamation not unlikea groan, Don dropped to the ground. This bullet had been better aimed;it had dislodged a bit of stone through the crack and this had hit thelad a blow over his stomach that felt like the kick of a mule. Fair onthe solar plexus the blow landed and there is no surer place where onemay be hit to score a knock-out.
For an instant almost insensible with pain, then sickened and nearlyhelpless, his nervous energy at a standstill, but his mind struggling,groping, demanding swift self-consciousness and muscular action, theboy got upon his hands and knees.
Within the spy must have known that Don was hit; perhaps wounded orkilled. A gasp of pain, then a sound as of falling and a struggleprobably convinced him that his last shot had won the fight. But hemust be sure.
The big rock prevented the fellow’s seeing what had happened to Don;therefore he crept stealthily forward to the wall, sought a crevice andtried to peep through it. All he could see at the downward angle was afigure apparently lying there. Inert? It did not move as the spy gazed.There could be little doubt of the outcome now.
It was compatible with the German’s usual methods to shoot all threeof these Americans through the head before he made for over the hillto rejoin his friends. The wounded man inside had opposed his entranceand had been flung unconscious upon the floor; the shell-shocked youthmight be better dead, but first he would make sure of the fellowoutside--the spy-catcher. Faugh! One shot around the corner of thedoorway, the pistol held low, would complete the business.
“I must think; I must get on my feet; I must fight him, fight him!”These thoughts crowded into Don’s still befuddled brain; he wanted tosink down and rest, to ease the torture in his body, but violent deathwas hovering near again. He could not give up; he must fight.
His eyes were open; his hand still clutched the pistol; he was stillkneeling. And then, as he half sank down again, an object round,tubular, shining, came slowly from the doorway, past the end of the bigstone. For a moment Don gazed at it with a sort of dumb fascination;then his senses, with another struggle for mastery, became a littlemore acute.
The other’s weapon was thrust farther forward; the fingers of the handthat grasped it appeared. Lifting his own gun and at the distance ofhardly a yard, the boy, with a mighty effort at steadiness, firedpoint blank at the weapon and the hand. The thing that had been histarget seemed to dissolve; the struck pistol went bounding along on thestones; the hand was withdrawn. A cry from the shell-shocked man wasthe only sound then heard within.
The result of his shot proved a partial tonic to Donald. He got to hisfeet, his mind still a little cloudy, and staggering forward, enteredthe shelter. His antagonist, with another weapon, might have killedhim then, for the boy was still far from alert. But the spy stood withhis back against the stone wall, a hand thereon to steady himself, andthe other hand, a mass of torn flesh, hanging and dripping big redsplotches on the floor.
“I guess,” said the boy, thickly, “I’ll just finish you now. I know whoyou are. I’ll just----” and then the sunlight seemed to be blotted outand without a further effort Don dropped.
For one moment the spy gazed at him; then he leaped toward theautomatic lying on the floor. His good left hand was about to clutchit; he would yet wreak vengeance and get away.
“Drop that and stick up your paws! Hello, Don! What’s this? Have youkilled him? Then, I’ll kill----”
“I GUESS,” SAID THE BOY THICKLY, “I’LL JUST FINISH YOUNOW”]
“No, no! He’s all right. He shot me here in the hand--you can seefor yourself. I--he mistook me for a German. I came in here to helpthese----”
Herbert motioned the fellow to silence. “You’ll tell that atHeadquarters. Stand where you are! My men will be here in a minute andattend to you. I think, too, we’ll have enough on you.”
Hours later, toward sundown, Lieutenants Whitcomb and Richards walkedfrom the army kitchen to the captain’s tent, but paused without for achat. Whitcomb, now first officer of the company under Captain Lowden,was talking:
“I know just how it felt, Don; been hit there boxing. Hurts for alittle while; you did mighty well to keep up under it as you did.Well, news for you: The captain wants another lieutenant and with yourcommission you fit in without more red tape. So he sent a messenger toColonel Walton asking for your transfer, and now that you’ve landedthat spy, they’ve granted it. So tomorrow, old scout, we go on againtogether.”
“Nothing could tickle me more, Herb! I guess I know enough of thismilitary business now to carry on.”
The Brighton Boys in the Argonne Forest Page 24
