Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.: A Story of the Great War
Page 28
CHAPTER XXVIII
TRACKED
AT the sight of the lean, cadaverous features of the BelgianBarcroft had to exercise a tremendous lot of restraint to controlhis desire to utter some sort of exclamation. He had no wish to harmthe fellow, who, as he knew, was acting under compulsion, with overtbribery thrown in. In fact he felt sorry for the man, whose patheticeyes and drawn features portrayed both hunger and misery.
Yet in an instant the climber turned his face aside and resolutelyhauled himself upon the branch on which Billy was lying. He was nowin full view of the other officers. Fortunately neither of themspoke nor moved, yet the mental tension was acute.
Standing upright upon the bough and carefully preserving his balancethe Belgian outstretched his arm to grasp the branch above.
"The bounder doesn't want to take unnecessary chances," thoughtBarcroft. "He wouldn't shout while he was only holding on by hisfingers. Now he's able to get a firm grip in case he thinks we'llheave him out of it."
But no. The flight-sub was totally wrong in his surmise. The man,deliberately ignoring the presence of the three fugitives, climbedstill higher, until he gained the topmost branch capable ofsupporting his weight.
Then, having leisurely scanned the surrounding tree-tops, he shoutedsomething to the Germans standing at the foot of the Britishofficers' hiding-place.
For a moment Barcroft and his companions were again plunged into thethroes of suspense. "The pig says that there are no signs of theEnglishmen," interpreted Karl.
"Donnerwetter!" grunted the corporal. "So much for the bloodhound,and Herr Major is ever boasting of what the brute can do. He's wrongfor once at least, only I dare not tell him so. Tell the Belgian tocome down. I'll soon send him up another tree a little further on."
"That's right," agreed Max. "Make the fellow work till he drops. Ifhe breaks his neck there's one of the rabble the less."
At the order the climber descended, as before paying no heed to thethree officers. Upon regaining the ground he was marched off to makeanother ascent on a useless search. An hour later, having, as theythought, thoroughly searched the wood, the patrol withdrew, cursingand grumbling at their ill-luck, since, it appeared, a reward of twohundred and fifty marks for the arrest of the fugitives had beenoffered.
"A proper sport, that Belgian," said Fuller in a whisper, realisingthe wisdom of speaking in a low tone lest the Huns had left men toguard the woods. "He could have given us away as easy as winking."
"Perhaps he'll inform the Boches now he's out of sight," hazardedthe cautious A.P.
"Great Scott! I hope not," ejaculated Fuller. "In fact I'm willingto lay long odds that he won't. I'd like to meet that chap on thequiet again. I'd make it worth his while."
"So would I," added Barcroft. "Well, this affair has done us a goodturn. The Huns have evidently satisfied themselves that we are notanywhere in this wood. The coast will be clear for to-night. How'sthat arm, old bird?"
"Feeling a bit stiff," replied Fuller. "The air's so confoundedlycold."
"It is a bit fresh," agreed Kirkwood. "And probably it will freezehard to-night. And your ankle?"
"Can't feel any sensation in it," replied the flight-lieutenant."The damage, if any, will assert itself when I place foot to ground.What an ass I was not to have brought my Thermos. Full of good oldhot tea, too. I left it on the bank, after the smash."
"You deserve a vote of censure for importing food stuffs intoGerman-occupied territory, old man," said Barcroft. "Can't youimagine a thirsty Hun mopping that stuff?"
"You speak for yourself, my festive," retorted theflight-lieutenant. "What did you do with _your_ flasks?"
"They went down with the wreckage," replied Billy.
"Yours, perhaps," said Kirkwood. "My Thermos got smashed when wecrashed. I heard the glass go, and I remember the hot liquidescaping and running over my gloves."
"Then you are all right for a feast," retorted Fuller. "Goatskinsoaked in tea, eh? Sort of cannibalistic feast."
"Don't insinuate that I'm a giddy goat," protested the A.P. "It islike a case of--oh, dash it all!"
Kirkwood's exclamation was occasioned by the binoculars slippingfrom his benumbed fingers and falling to the ground. Rolling a fewfeet they lay in clear view silent evidence to the hiding place oftheir owner.
"Then you are a goat--that proves it," said Fuller. "Hullo! What'sthe move?"
Kirkwood slipping out of his leather coat, was already about todescend to retrieve his lost property. So far the coast seemedclear, for the Belgian labourers and their guards had moved to afield beyond range of vision. Since it was safe to conjecture thatthey would return to the farm buildings for the night the danger layin the fact that they would almost assuredly spot the conspicuousbinoculars as they repassed.
The A.P. dropped after swarming down about twenty feet of trunk andalighted softly. His first care was to obliterate his footprints inthe bare earth, for the ground surrounding the tree trunk wasabsolutely devoid of grass, and although sufficiently hard towithstand the impression of a person walking it was not proofagainst the impact of a man wearing a pair of heavy boots anddropping from a height of seven or eight feet.
Then, crouching, he made his way towards his cherished binoculars.Just as he picked them up and placed them in his pocket, for he hadleft the sling case with his comrades, there was a rustling in theundergrowth. The next instant a huge dog, growling savagely, leaptupon him.
The animal was of the lurcher breed--a type encouraged in the Germanarmy for various duties, including field ambulance work, guardingand tracking prisoners and drawing machine-guns. Although smallerthan the bloodhound it possessed greater swiftness, while itsstrength and ferocity were only slightly inferior.
Luckily Kirkwood did not lose his presence of mind. Used to dogs,the experience he had had with playful canines would be turned togood account.
Clenching his leather-gloved hand the A.P. let out with his left.His fist, taking the lurcher fairly on the point of the nose, sentthe animal reeling. The respite was but momentary. Like a dart thedog flew straight for the young officer's throat.
Kirkwood met the animal as it leapt in midair. His right hand, withits protection of the undressed leather gripped the lurcher roundthe muzzle, his fingers and thumb meeting inside the brute'swide-open jaws. Instantly the A.P.'s left hand grasped the dog'slower jaw.
So far so good. The animal, unable to bite, attempted to shakehimself clear. Foiled in this direction he planted his hind legsfirmly in the ground and, giving his body a series of jerks, soughtto pull the A.P. off his balance.
"Shoot the brute!" exclaimed Barcroft from above. "Risk it! It can'tbe helped. Clap the muzzle close to the brute's hide."
But Bobby thought otherwise. Even if he could afford the risk ofletting go the dog's jaws with one hand and draw his revolver themuffled report would still be sufficiently audible to alarm theHuns.
For perhaps half a minute he stood his ground, contenting himself byprising the lurcher's jaws apart. Then, slowly at first, he began tobend the animal's head backwards. It was a horrible yet necessarytask--one that taxed the A.P.'s strength and endurance to theuttermost. Already he could feel the dog's teeth penetrating thegloves, and those saliva-streaming fangs meant trouble once theypierced the flesh.
Yet the man was winning through. Back and back he levered theanimal's head. The brute's breath was coming in short, irregularpants; its blood-flecked eyes were almost bursting from theirsockets. Still it struggled furiously, striving in vain to breakaway from the A.P.'s vice-like grip.
"By Jove! He'll never do it," thought Barcroft. "The brute's tiringhim out."
At the risk of barked shins and elbows the flight-sub descended fromhis perch. Gaining the ground he drew his revolver, wrapped hisscarf several times round the weapon to muffle the sound of theexplosion, and cautiously approached the combatants.
Extreme care was necessary, for the lurcher, driven to desperation,was turning his antagonist round and round. Kirkwood, his wholeenerg
ies devoted to twisting the animal's neck, was unable tocounteract the dog's movements, nor did the animal remainsufficiently still to enable Barcroft to plant the muzzle of hisweapon firmly against its ribs.
The end came with unexpected suddenness.
With a distinctly audible crash the lurcher's vertebra snapped. Itsbody seemed instantly to grow limp. The sudden cessation ofresistance caused Kirkwood to fall forward across the stillquivering body of his enemy.
Barcroft lifted his chum and set him on his feet. The A.P., now theduel with death was done, was as pale as a sheet and trembling inevery limb.
"I'll be all right in a minute," he gasped. "Feel as ill as aseasick cat."
"Sit down," ordered Billy, and grasping his comrade by the nape ofthe neck he bent his head until it rested on his knees.
"Keep like that a while," he continued. "I'll get rid ofincriminating evidence. My word, what a lump!" he added, as helifted the dead brute by its hind legs. "Half a hundredweight, Ishould imagine."
Keeping the carcass clear of the ground the flight-sub carried itquite fifty yards through the wood before depositing it under abush.
This necessary task performed, he retraced his steps.
"Chirpy again?" he inquired.
"Quite," replied Kirkwood.
"You look jolly warm," continued Barcroft.
"I feel it."
"Then get a move on and swarm up here," interrupted Fuller's voice."I'm as cold as charity and could do with a human warmingpan.
"All clear?" inquired Barcroft.
"By Jove, no!" was Fuller's hurried rejoinder. "Look sharp, youfellows. There are half a dozen of 'em coming this way."
Making sure that they had left behind them no evidence of theirpresence the two airmen re-ascended to their lofty perch.
"You're steaming like an overworked horse, old man," said Billyaddressing the A.P. "I'll throw your coat over you. You can't sit upor the Fritzes will spot us."
Trudging across the tilled land were eight or nine greatcoated Huns,armed with rifles. Two of their number were drawing a light cart.
"What's that for, I wonder?" whispered Kirkwood, for the Germanswere still a considerable distance off, yet making almost in astraight line for the tree in which the three chums were hidden.
"Can't say," replied Fuller. "I never saw Huns with a contraptionlike that before. Rations, possibly: they may mean to camp out herejust to keep us company."
The fugitives were not left long in doubt, for on arriving at a spottwenty yards from the edge of the wood the party halted andproceeded to don flexible metallic masks with hideous-lookingsnouts. This done, the corporal in charge inspected each man'sface-protection with deliberate thoroughness, while from a distancetwo Hun officers in the uniform of the Engineers watched theproceedings.
"By smoke!" muttered Barcroft under his breath. "They're going tohave a shot at gassing us."
At a brisk order the lid of the cart was thrown back revealing acouple of cylinders to which were attached lengths of armouredmetallic hosepipe terminating in elongated nozzles. First thecylinders were placed upon the ground and air pumped into them untilthe required pressure was obtained. Then each apparatus was strappedto a man's back, a soldier being in attendance to hold the nozzle.
It was fairly safe for the three British officers to watch theproceedings since the height of the branch enabled them to look downupon the heads of the gassing party, while the latter could not lookup owing to the straps that secured the lower portion of their masksto their shoulders.
"Reminds me of goblins at a panto," thought Bobby. "Wonder whenthey're going to start?"
As a matter of precaution he tied his handkerchief over his nose andmouth, an example that his companions hastened to copy. Theyrealised that it was but a sorry protection--useless against thefull strength of the deadly chlorine, but sufficient, perhaps, toward off the effects of a "tail-end" of the poison-cloud.
Weirdly fascinated the fugitives watched the proceedings. It seemedstrange to witness the diabolical preparations for their intendedexecution. Dimly Barcroft wondered whether he would be consciouswhen he fell from the bough, or whether the gas would overcome himinstantly.
"The first whiff and I'll shoot," he thought grimly. "I'd like toshatter the nozzles of those pretty masks and let the brutes have agood sniff at their vile mixture."
A faint hiss betokened the fact that the taps controlling thedischarge tubes had been turned on. Clouds of black vapour, eddyingand seething, issued from the nozzles and rose sullenly in the cold,damp air.