Part 21 (1/2)

A word of command was on his lips, when he tumbled from the saddle with a bullet through his brain. Two more Germans shared the fate of their non-commissioned officer; but the fellow at whom Gaston had aimed came off lightly, with a neatly-drilled hole through his bridle-arm.

Two more, dismounting and taking cover behind their horses, attempted to use their carbines; while the seventh, seized with a panic, wheeled, and galloped as hard as he could from the scene.

Again the Belgian rifles rang out. The fugitive horse stumbled and fell, throwing its rider with a sickening thud upon the hard road.

From the semi-underground retreat the Belgian corporal's rifle flashed, and one of the dismounted Uhlans dropped, while his horse, wounded in the neck by the same bullet that had killed his master, reared, and plunged upon Rollo as he lay upon the ground.

The other dismounted German, seeing the fate of his comrades, attempted to remount, but he too fell, shot through the heart.

In the midst of the confusion the wounded Uhlan set spurs to his steed and, bending over the animal's neck, tore down the road.

”Drop him: if he gets away we are as good as done for!” shouted the Belgian corporal.

Shot after shot whistled after the fugitive. Once he was seen to give a spasmodic movement and then again to drop over the horse's neck.

Still the terrified animal tore onwards, and at length was out of sight.

”Quel dommage!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the corporal. ”The rascal has got away.”

”He'll drop. I'll swear that he was badly hit,” said etienne, the artilleryman.

”We are not to know that,” grumbled the corporal; ”at least, not at present. Quick, there! We must remove all traces of the affair, and trust to luck that the fellow will be able to tell no tales.”

Resting their rifles against the wall, Kenneth and his Belgian comrades ran into the road. They found Rollo little the worse for his experiences, beyond a bruised ankle caused by a kick from the struggling horse.

”Congratulations after. Work first,” exclaimed the corporal.

”Together, comrades!”

The corpses of the Uhlans and their horses were dragged across the highway and thrown into the broad ditch, where in the now gathering twilight they would escape observation, while dust was thrown upon the traces of the encounter.

”Now to the cellar!” exclaimed the corporal. ”Nevertheless, I will remain without for a time. I am not at all satisfied. The escape of that wounded Uhlan troubles me, so I will keep watch from without.”

”He received his quietus, never fear,” declared Gaston. ”He will tell no tales.”

”If your opinion is not more true than your aim--” began the corporal meaningly. ”But we must hope that it is so. All the same I will keep watch.”

The rest of his comrades regained their underground retreat, leaving the trap-door open in order that the corporal could descend without delay. Rollo was this time the centre of attraction, and the rescued lad had to give a long and detailed account of his adventures in the hands of the Germans.

”Your foot is hurting you,” observed Kenneth, noticing that Rollo was wincing towards the close of his narrative. ”Take off your boot and let me see what is wrong.”

Examination showed that Rollo's leg was badly bruised from the ankle to the knee; in addition there were slight abrasions.

”It's lucky you didn't get a direct kick from that horse,” continued Kenneth. ”I'll bring some water and bathe it. I'm sorry we haven't any first-aid stuff with us.”

With that Kenneth reascended the ladder, and made his way to a well that was situated about ten paces from where the back door of the house used to be. It was now nearly dark. The Belgian keeping his solitary vigil was hardly visible in the gloom.

The lad raised the heavy iron bucket, emptied about half the contents away, and was about to return to the cellar when the corporal gripped him by the shoulders.

”Regardez bien!” he whispered, pointing along the road that led to Cortenaeken.

”German cavalry!” exclaimed Kenneth.