Part 6 (2/2)
”Well, we'll see what we can do,” decided Bob. ”We've got to look after Iggy, too--that is, if he's alive. But we can't do anything along either line to-night.”
”No, I guess not,” agreed Jimmy. ”Some of us'll have to do sentry go, I expect, or take a listening post.”
And he was right in his surmise. He and Bob were detailed to take a trick at a listening post--to be on the alert for any possible advance of the temporarily defeated Germans. Franz, because of his bruised ankle, was not put on duty. Indeed, he came near being sent to the rear for treatment when an officer discovered his hurt.
”It'll be all right in the morning,” declared the youth of German blood, who, nevertheless, was such an ardent hater of the Kaiser and his ”Potsdam gang,” as a certain preacher has called the Hun ruler's a.s.sociates. ”I'm simply not going to the hospital! Captain, there'll be fighting in the morning; won't there, sir?”
”Very likely,” was the grim answer.
”Then I'm going to stay, sir!” declared Franz, forgetting that he was speaking to his superior officer. ”I'll be able to walk in the morning, and I want to get some more of the beasts!” and he fairly snarled the word. No true-blooded American hated the Huns as did Franz Schnitzel, of German parentage.
”Very well,” a.s.sented the captain. ”You may stay until morning, at least.”
”Thank you, sir,” replied Franz, saluting. He knew in his heart that he would never give in, no matter how his ankle hurt, and the pain was not inconsiderable, either.
There came a reaction after the fierce fighting of the morning and early afternoon, and when night came, and the lads, with only a short period of rest, had to go out on sentry or other duty, there was a weariness of body, and a queer feeling of the mind, that did not make the occasion one of pleasure.
But duty was duty and it had to be done.
Jimmy and Bob had an advanced listening post, and they took their positions about ten o 'clock that night. It was dark and a drizzling rain was falling.
”I'd much rather go to bed in a dugout,” declared Jimmy, stifling a yawn.
”Same here,” agreed Bob. ”Say, what do you s'pose happened to Maxwell, anyhow!”
”Can't imagine, unless he's been killed or captured. If he was within our lines some one would have heard of it. Or perhaps they wouldn't either, in all this excitement. It may take two or three days to locate him, if he's alive.”
”And if he isn't--or is a prisoner?” suggested Bob.
”Then good-bye to our thousand dollars,” sighed Jimmy.
”I'm thinking of poor Iggy, too,” said Bob, after a pause. ”Do you think he has any chance!”
”Well, he didn't appear to be badly wounded. But if his spine is broken he'll never fight again, and may not live very long. That's a fierce state of affairs. How he escaped being killed outright is a wonder to me. You ought to have seen him after Roger and I dug him out,” and in a whisper, for loud talking was forbidden, he related the scene in the sh.e.l.l hole.
He had scarcely finished his narration when Bob peered out from their improvised shelter and seemed to be looking at something intently--that is, as intently as he could in the rainy darkness.
”What is it?” asked Jimmy cautiously.
”I don't know,” was the answer. ”But someone, or something, is crawling this way. Look right straight ahead. See it moving?”
CHAPTER VI
GOOD STEWS
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