Part 12 (1/2)

Hardly knowing how he did it, Kenneth cleared the ditch and sought a temporary refuge behind a tree. He realized that the respite would be but a brief one, for on the approach of the rest of the patrol his ”number would be up”. Infuriated by the mishap to their comrade, the savage Uhlans, whose chief mission it was to strike terror into the inhabitants of a conquered district, would not be likely to give quarter.

Suddenly Kenneth's hand came in contact with the soda-water bottle that Rollo had pressed upon him. He drew it from his pocket, and as the Uhlan rode up to the edge of the ditch he dashed it to the ground at the feet of the restless horse.

The result exceeded the lad's wildest expectations, for the bottle broke with a report almost equal to that of a small sh.e.l.l. Fragments of gla.s.s flew in all directions. The horse reared, maddened by the slight wounds caused by the sharp pieces of the broken bottle. Its rider, quite as terrified, formed but one conclusion, that the desperate Belgian (as he took Kenneth to be) was armed with bombs.

Spurring his horse he rode for dear life towards his comrades, who, rendered cautious at the sight of two of their number being worsted, hesitated to advance.

Kenneth, too, was on the horns of a dilemma. To all appearances his cycle was hopelessly damaged, and although the road was clear he stood little chance of escaping from the rest of the Uhlans. To remain where he was was equally hazardous. With his revolver in his possession he would readily have made a brave stand, but the weapon was lying in five feet of mud and water.

Suddenly came the tap, tap, tap of a machine-gun. The rest of the Uhlan patrol broke and fled across the fields, leaving two of their number writhing on the ground. Another had his horse shot under him, but, quite callous to their comrades' fate, the three remaining fugitives never slackened rein, their sole thoughts being for their own safety.

Kenneth recrossed the ditch--far less agilely than he had a few moments before, for his thigh was aching dully. He could see no signs of his rescuers. The fire had evidently been a long-range one.

He made his way to his motor-cycle. With considerable effort he raised it and placed it on its stand. Upon examination he found that the damage done was not so great as he fully expected. The actual collision had smashed the lamp and bent the stem of the handle-bars, but, thanks to the powerful springs, the front forks had stood the severe strain of the impact. The controls were intact, while the only other damage was that the left foot-rest was bent. In falling sideways the weight of the cycle had been thrown upon this exposed part, which had, to a great extent, saved the machine.

At the second attempt the motor fired. The hind wheel revolved without showing any signs of wobbling. The lad gave a whoop of delight; his precious mount was still serviceable.

He next directed his attention towards the Uhlan whom, in naval parlance, he had ”rammed”. The fellow had been stunned by the fall from his horse, but was on the point of regaining consciousness.

”You look a tough customer, my friend,” soliloquized the lad as he looked upon the coa.r.s.e, brutal features of his vanquished a.s.sailant.

”I think you will be quite capable of looking after yourself, without requiring any attention from me. I'll take your helmet as a souvenir, though; and, while I am about it, I think I'll stop you from doing further mischief.”

With this Kenneth removed the Uhlan's sword, lance, and carbine. The lance, being made of light steel, he broke into three pieces; the other weapons and the German's ammunition he threw into the ditch to keep company with his own revolver.

While thus engaged the motor-cyclist perceived the approach of a body of men accompanied by dogs. They were the Belgian machine-gun battery whose fire had effectually routed the Uhlan patrol.

”They'll be at Omal before me,” thought Kenneth. ”I suppose it would be best to stop and explain matters; for if I made off they might take it into their heads to pot me.”

”So you have settled with one of this sc.u.m,” exclaimed the Belgian major in charge of the detachment as he returned Kenneth's salute. ”Ma foi! I am of a mind to shoot him.”

”But he is a prisoner of war,” expostulated the lad.

The Belgian shrugged his shoulders.

”You have but to go to that burning cottage”--he pointed to a building about a mile and a half away--”to see what these wretches have been doing. A whole family of inoffensive peasants shot--men, women, and children. Yes, children,” he added, noting the incredulous look on the British lad's face.

”However, we Belgians must set an example to those savages,” continued the officer. ”We will at least take him with us, and put him on a fair trial. But you are unarmed: how did you vanquish this fellow?”

Kenneth told him. The Belgian major and those of his men who were within ear-shot simply roared with laughter.

”Charged his horse with your motor-cycle, and frightened away another Uhlan with a soda-water bottle!” exclaimed the officer when he recovered himself. ”Excellent! It shows that these Germans are not a quarter as formidable as they would have us believe. Were you hurt?”

”Only bruised a little, sir. But, with your permission, I will go, or your men will be with my regiment before I am.”

The lad ran his cycle and vaulted into the saddle. The motor ran as well as before, and, beyond a slight difficulty in the steering, it was none the worse for its rough handling. The damage to the lamp mattered but little, as, by night, riding lights were forbidden, since they might betray the rider to the enemy.

Having reported the success of his mission and the approach of the dog-drawn machine-gun detachment, Kenneth went to find his chum.

Rollo was sitting, in company with others of the dispatch-rider section, in a shelter made of branches of trees and rough thatch.