Part 36 (2/2)

”So do I, and I hear something else too! Was that the sound of hoofs?”

John turned in sudden alarm to Legare, who heard also and stiffened at once to attention. They were not alone on the road. The rapid beat of hoofs came, and around a corner galloped a ma.s.s of Uhlans, helmets and lances glittering. Picard with a shout of warning fired his rifle into the thick of them. Legare s.n.a.t.c.hed out his revolver and fired also.

But they had no chance. The little detachment was ridden down in an instant. Legare and half of the men died gallantly. The rest were taken.

Picard had been brought to his knees by a tremendous blow from the b.u.t.t of a lance, and John, who had instinctively sprung before Julie, was overpowered. Suzanne, who endeavored to reach a weapon, fought like a tigress, but two Uhlans finally subdued her.

It was so swift and sudden that it scarcely seemed real to John, but there were the dead bodies lying ghastly in the road, and there stood Julie, as pale as death, but not trembling. The leader of the Uhlans pushed his helmet back a little from his forehead, and looked down at John, who had been disarmed but who stood erect and defiant.

”It is odd, Mr. Scott,” said Captain von Boehlen, ”how often the fortunes of this war have caused us to meet.”

”It is, and sometimes fortune favors one, sometimes the other. You're in favor now.”

Von Boehlen looked steadily at his prisoner. John thought that the strength and heaviness of the jaw were even more p.r.o.nounced than when he had first seen the Prussian in Dresden. The face was tanned deeply, and face and figure alike seemed the embodiment of strength. One might dislike him, but one could not despise him. John even found it in his heart to respect him, as he returned the steady gaze of the blue eyes with a look equally as firm.

”I hope,” said John, ”that you will send back Mademoiselle Lannes and the nurses with her to her people. I take it that you're not making war upon women.”

Von Boehlen gave Julie a quick glance of curiosity and admiration. But the eyes flashed for only a moment and then were expressionless.

”I know of one Lannes,” he said, ”Philip Lannes, the aviator, a name that fame has brought to us Germans.”

”I am his sister,” said Julie.

”I can wish, Mademoiselle Lannes,” said von Boehlen, politely in French, ”that we had captured your brother instead of his sister.”

”But as I said, you will send them back to their own people? You don't make war upon women?” repeated John.

”No, we do not make war upon women. We are making war upon Frenchmen, and I do not hesitate to say in the presence of Mademoiselle Lannes that this war is made upon very brave Frenchmen. Yet we cannot send the ladies back. The presence of our cavalry here within the French lines must not be known to our enemies. Moreover, I obey the orders of another, and I am compelled to hold them as prisoners--for a while at least.”

Von Boehlen's tone was not lacking in the least in courtesy. It was more than respectful when he spoke directly to Julie Lannes, and John's feeling of repugnance to him underwent a further abatement--he was a creation of his conditions, and he believed in his teachings.

”You will at least keep us all as prisoners together?” said John.

”I know of no reason to the contrary,” replied von Boehlen briefly. Then he acted with the decision that characterized all the German officers whom John had seen. The women and the prisoners were put in the carts.

Dismounted Uhlans took the place of the drivers and the little procession with an escort of about fifty cavalry turned from the road into the woods, von Boehlen and the rest, about five hundred in number, rode on down the road.

John was in the last cart with Julie, Suzanne and Picard, and his soul was full of bitter chagrin. He had just been taking mental resolutions to protect, no matter what came, Philip Lannes' sister, and, within a half hour, both she and he were prisoners. But when he saw the face of Antoine Picard he knew that one, at least, in the cart was suffering as much as he. The gigantic peasant was the only one whose arms were bound, and perhaps it was as well. His face expressed the most ferocious anger and hate, and now and then he pulled hard upon his bonds. John could see that they were cutting into the flesh. He remembered also that Picard was not in uniform. He was in German eyes only a _franc tireur_, subject to instant execution, and he wondered why von Boehlen had delayed.

”Save your strength, Antoine,” he whispered soothingly. ”We'll need it later. I've been a prisoner before and I escaped. What's been done once can be done again. In such a huge and confused war as this there's always a good chance.”

”Ah, you're right, Monsieur,” said Antoine, and he ceased to struggle.

Julie had heard the whisper, and she looked at John confidently. She was the youngest of all the women in the carts, but she was the coolest.

”They cannot do anything with us but hold us a few days,” she said.

John was silent, turning away his somber face. He did not like this carrying away of the women as captives, and to him the women were embodied in Julie. They were following a little path through the woods, the German drivers and German guards seeming to know well the way. John, calculating the course by the sun, was sure that they were now going directly toward the German army and that they would pa.s.s un.o.bserved beyond the French outposts. The path was leading into a narrow gorge and the banks and trees would hide them from all observation. He was confirmed in his opinion by the action of their guards. The leader rode beside the carts and said in very good French that any one making the least outcry would be shot instantly. No exception would be made in the case of a woman.

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