Part 34 (2/2)

Jack saw Rickerl set his foot in the stirrup, but his horse was restive and started, dragging him.

”Hurry, Herr Hauptmann!” cried a Uhlan, pa.s.sing him at a gallop.

Rickerl cast a startled glance over his shoulder, where, from the thickets, a dozen franc-tireurs were springing towards him, shouting and shaking their cha.s.sepots. Something had given way--Jack saw that--for the horse started on at a trot, snorting with fright. He saw Rickerl run after him, seize the bridle, stumble, recover, and hang to the stirrup; but the horse tore away and left him running on behind, one hand grasping his naked sabre, one clutching a bit of the treacherous bridle.

”a mort les Uhlans!” shouted the franc-tireurs, their ferocious faces lighting up as Rickerl's horse eluded its rider and crashed away through the saplings.

Rickerl cast one swift glance at the savage faces, turned his head like a trapped wolf in a pit, hesitated, and started to run.

A chorus of howls greeted him: ”a mort!” ”a mort le voleur!” ”a la lanterne les Uhlans!”

Scarcely conscious of what he was doing, Jack sprang from his tree and ran parallel to Rickerl.

”Ricky!” he called in English--”follow me! Hurry! hurry!”

The franc-tireurs could not see Jack, but they heard his voice, and answered it with a roar. Rickerl, too, heard it, and he also heard the sound of Jack's feet cras.h.i.+ng through the willows along the river-bottom.

”Jack!” he cried.

”Quick! Take to the river-bank!” shouted Jack in English again.

In a moment they were running side by side up the river-bottom, hidden from the view of the franc-tireurs.

”Do as I do,” panted Jack. ”Throw your sabre away and follow me.

It's our last chance.” But Rickerl clung to his sabre and ran on.

And now the park wall rose right in their path, seeming to block all progress.

”We can't get over--it's ended,” gasped Rickerl.

”Yes, we can--follow,” whispered Jack, and dashed straight into the river where it washed the base of the wall.

”Do exactly as I do. Follow close,” urged Jack; and, wading to the edge of the wall, he felt along under the water for a moment, then knelt down, ducked his head, gave a wriggle, and disappeared.

Rickerl followed him, kneeling and ducking his head. At the same moment he felt a powerful current pulling him forward, and, groping around under the shallow water, his hands encountered the rim of a large iron conduit. He stuck his head into it, gave himself a push, and shot through the short pipe into a deep pool on the other side of the wall, from which Jack dragged him dripping and exhausted.

”You are my prisoner!” said Jack, between his gasps. ”Give me your sabre, Ricky--quick! Look yonder!” A loud explosion followed his words, and a column of smoke rose above the foliage of the vineyard before them.

”Artillery!” blurted out Rickerl, in amazement.

”French artillery--look out! Here come the franc-tireurs over the wall! Give me that sabre and run for the French lines--if you don't want to hang!” And, as Rickerl hesitated, with a scowl of hate at the franc-tireurs now swarming over the wall, Jack seized the sabre and jerked it violently from his hand.

”You're crazy!” he muttered. ”Run for the batteries!--here, this way!”

A franc-tireur fired at them point-blank, and the bullet whistled between them. ”Leave me. Give me my sabre,” said Rickerl, in a low voice.

”Then we'll both stay.”

”Leave me! I'll not hang, I tell you.”

”No.”

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