Part 15 (2/2)

”I know that that thing you saw just now-and that I have seen twice before-flies through this country just like that, and at night. It never makes a sound. Soldiers have shot at it, and either missed-or their bullets go right through it.”

”Oh, how absurd!”

”Isn't it?” and perhaps Charlie Bragg grinned. But he went on seriously enough: ”I don't know. I'm only telling you what they say. If it is a white or gray dog, it leaps the very trenches and barbed-wire entanglements on the front-so they say. It has been seen doing so. No one has been able to shoot it. It crosses what they call No Man's Land between the two battlefronts.”

”It carries despatches to the Germans, then!” cried Ruth.

”That is what the military authorities say,” said Charlie. ”But these peasants don't believe that. They say the werwolf was here long before the war. There is a chateau over back here-not far from the outskirts of Clair. The people say that _the woman_ lives there.”

”What do you mean-the woman?” asked Ruth, between jounces, as the car took a particularly rough piece of the road on high gear.

”The one who is the werwolf,” said Charlie, and he tried to laugh.

”Mr. Bragg!”

”Well, I'm only telling you what they say,” he explained. ”Lots of funny things are happening in this war. But _this_ began before August, nineteen-fourteen, according to their tell.”

”Whose tell? And what other 'funny' things do you believe have happened?” the girl asked, with some scorn.

”That's all right,” he declared more stoutly. ”When you've been here as long as I have you'll begin to wonder if there isn't something in all these things you hear tell of. Why, don't you know that fifty per cent, at least, of the French people-poilus and all-believe that the spirit of Joan of Arc led them to victory against the Boches in the worst battle of all?”

”I have heard something of that,” Ruth admitted quietly. ”But that does not make me believe in werwolves.”

”No. But you should hear old Gaston Pere tell about this dog, or wolf, or ghost, or whatever it is. Gaston keeps the toll-bridge just this side of Clair. You'll likely see him to-night. He told me all about the woman.”

”For pity's sake, Mr. Bragg!” gasped Ruth. ”Tell me more. You have got my feelings all harrowed up. You can't possibly believe in such things-not really?”

”I'm only saying what Gaston-and others-say. This woman is a very great lady. A countess. She is an Alsatian-but not the right kind.”

”What do you mean by that?” interrupted Ruth.

”All Alsatians are not French at heart,” said the young man. ”This French count married her years ago. She has two sons and both are in the French army. But it is said that she has had influence enough to keep them off the battle front.

”Oh, it sounds queer, and crazy, and all!” he added, with sudden vehemence. ”But you saw that white thing flas.h.i.+ng by yourself. It is never seen save at night, and always coming or going between the chateau and the battle lines, or between the lines themselves-out there in No Man's Land.

”It used to race the country roads in the same direction-only as far as the then frontier-before the war. So they say. Months before the Germans spilled over into this country. There you have it.

”The military authorities believe it is a despatch-carrying dog. The peasants say the old countess is a werwolf. She keeps herself shut in the chateau with only a few servants. The military authorities can get nothing on her, and the peasants cross themselves when they pa.s.s her gate.”

Ruth said nothing for a minute or two. The guns grew louder in her ears, and the car came down a slight hill to the edge of a river. Here was the toll-bridge, and an old man came out with a shrouded lantern to take toll-and to look at their papers, too, for he was an official.

”Good evening, Gaston,” said Charlie Bragg.

”Evening, Monsieur,” was the cheerful reply.

The American lad stooped over his wheel to whisper: ”Gaston! the werwolf just crossed the road three miles or so back, going toward--” and he nodded in the direction of the grumbling guns.

”_Ma foi!_” exclaimed the old man. ”It forecasts another bombardment or air attack. Ah-h! La-la!”

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