Part 18 (2/2)
”You are not a Belgian,” he said pointedly, ”yet you are in the uniform of our dispatch-riders.”
”Quite so,” replied Kenneth, producing his identification card. ”I am a British subject in the Belgian service.”
”British?” repeated the man. ”What, then, is British? In faith, I do not know.”
”English, then.”
”Ah, English--good! Now I comprehend. But, monsieur, it is unsafe to go farther. There are Germans in force a few kilometres along the road. Their cavalry screens are thrown out over yonder. We had to retire. To me it is amazing how you came so far without falling in with the accursed Prussians.”
”I saw a few Uhlans,” announced Kenneth.
”Tete bleu! And what did they do?”
”Very little as far as I was concerned,” replied the lad. ”They murdered some civilians, so I shot them.”
The Belgian's eyes glistened.
”You are a brave youth,” he exclaimed.
”I think not in this case,” objected Kenneth. ”They were half-drunk, and had only just awoke. It seemed hardly fair play, yet----”
”Do not apologize, monsieur,” growled the lancer. ”After what these devils have done they have no right to expect any consideration. Over there, for example--but come within. It is hazardous to remain in the open. Perhaps, even now, we have been observed through some Prussian field-gla.s.ses. Your bicycle? It will be of no further use. It is better to destroy it and throw the remains into the ditch.”
Kenneth shook his head.
”No fear,” he objected resolutely. ”I'd rather take my chances on the road.”
”Impossible,” declared the Belgian. ”You would be shot before you went another three kilometres. And if the Germans see your motor-cycle they will be doubly suspicious and search the house.”
”I'll leave it for the time being in one of those sheds,” suggested the lad. ”It won't be seen from the road.”
The Belgian, beyond muttering ”imbecile” under his breath, made no further objection. He even a.s.sisted Kenneth, as well as his wound would permit, to lift the heavy mount over the rubble in the gap of the outer wall.
”This place will do,” declared the lad as he reached the furthermost shed. The roof and one angle of the brickwork had been demolished, but the rest of the building was almost intact. Having removed the sparking-plug, so as to render the cycle useless to the enemy in the event of its discovery, Kenneth placed the cycle on its side and covered it with a thick layer of damp and rotten straw. To all appearance the interior of the shed was a farm refuse-heap. No prowling German would be likely to want to use the straw for bedding or any other purpose.
”Come this way,” said the Belgian, who, during the progress of Kenneth's operations, had begun to alter his opinion as to the danger of leaving the cycle as ”incriminating evidence”. ”We will go to the house. In the cellar we can rest and perhaps have food. Have you anything to eat?”
”Two rolls and some chocolate,” replied Kenneth. ”We will share that.”
”Good!” exclaimed the lancer, his eyes glistening at the prospect of food. ”But there are others--three comrades of mine. We have not eaten anything to-day but raw turnips, and raw turnips are not very sustaining food on which to make a cavalry charge. It was in front of Cortenaeken that I got this,” and he pointed to his wounded leg.
”Yet it is nothing,” he added lightly, ”a mere scratch; but I repaid the Prussian who gave it to me. Ah! This is what I require. I will now be able to discard this rifle. My own carbine is within.”
He had stopped in the midst of his narrative, and was pointing to a hay-rake that rested in a corner of the wall.
”I will knock off the teeth and shorten the handle. Ciel! It will make an excellent crutch. As for the rifle, I may safely throw it down the well, unless you, monsieur, might care to have it. It may be useful to you.”
”I have no cartridges.”
”We have enough--about four hundred between the four of us.
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