Part 39 (1/2)

As the horse walked along he thought of home and wondered how things were going on at Trent Park and The Forest. It was nearly two months since he had been away from headquarters, and he was not able to write.

Eve would be anxious, he must let her know he was safe as soon as possible. He was glad they were not married, it would not have been fair to her; but he vowed she should be his wife if he came safely out of the struggle.

Just before he left for Brussels he had received a letter from Fred Skane in which he said he was preparing Bandmaster for the big steeplechase to be run in Trent Park over a course of four miles. This would be a great event, a sort of Grand National on a small scale. He hoped Alan would be able to come over and ride his horse; he must not forget the date. With the owner up he thought Bandmaster had a chance second to none.

During the excitement and suspense of his journey and stay in Brussels he had forgotten all this but it came to mind now as he rode quietly on toward danger. He remembered the date and began to reckon up, he had lost count during the past few days but he knew there was very little time to spare.

His message delivered, he would have no difficulty in obtaining leave.

He hoped to be home in time to ride Bandmaster a few gallops over the course before the race took place.

He gave himself up to pleasant ruminations over his chance of winning until he was rudely roused by a bullet whistling past his ear.

”Snipers about,” was his first thought as he set his horse to a gallop.

Another bullet whizzed above his head. He looked round, but saw n.o.body. It was dark; the sniper must have heard the sound of his horse's hoofs and fired in that direction.

There were only two shots but they roused him out of his reverie and put him on the alert.

Then he wondered how it came about that the sniper was behind the German trenches. Jean told him he would have to pa.s.s them somehow.

Had he by some strange piece of luck got past the trenches? Was he between two fires? That was hardly possible, yet it might be so.

He pulled his horse up and listened. A strange, buzzing sound was heard--probably some aircraft, although it seemed too dark for aviators to see their whereabouts.

He heard voices and movements of men. A gust of wind carried them toward him. The men spoke German; he had only just stopped in time.

He had no idea where he was. To wait there until daylight would court danger but in which direction ought he to go?

Had he reached a strip of ”no man's land,” a s.p.a.ce left unborrowed and unbroken, lying between two fires? If so he was ”between the devil and the deep sea,” for he might be fired on by friend and foe alike.

It was a thrilling position, a solitary man on horseback on a dark night on unknown ground and surrounded by enemies. Alan listened with the keen ears of a sportsman, all his faculties alert. A false movement and he was lost.

A scrambling sound close on his left startled him. He fancied it was the men quitting a trench and if so it could only be with one object in view--a night attack. If this were the case it was well planned, for there was very little noise. Alan, however, being near, heard that faint peculiar sound of many men silently on the move.

He would have given much to know where he was--the exact spot. He wondered if old Jean Baptistine had made a mistake and given him wrong directions. He was glad he wore uniform and had Newport's revolver on him--it might be useful.

A faint streak in the sky, a rosy tint wearing down the pale gray, warned him day was breaking and he must be prepared.

There were others waiting for daybreak as well as himself, for the heavy boom of a huge gun sounded quite close at hand. Alan looked in the direction, and saw a cloud of smoke. This was answered by a boom and a cloud from the opposite side and he knew an artillery duel had commenced. Suddenly four men sprang out of a hole formed by a bursting sh.e.l.l. They were Germans. What they were doing there it was impossible to say. They were as surprised to see Alan as he was to see them. In the growing light as he sat on his horse he looked like a phantom emerging out of the mist.

A few minutes pa.s.sed and the situation was summed up on both sides. A dash was made at Alan, shots fired as he turned his horse to the right and headed right straight at them. His charge was the last thing they expected. He crashed into them, sending two to the ground; the others hung to the horse and saddle.

Alan drew his revolver and shot one man through the head. The horse plunged, reared, but he kept his seat. The two Germans who were knocked down were on him again, but he wrenched free and galloped away.

Over this vacant s.p.a.ce before him men seemed to spring up like mushrooms. It was impossible to get through and reach the English lines, which he could now see. He made the most of it. His horse faced the situation bravely, but he was pulled out of the saddle and made prisoner. He had narrowly escaped being killed, as sundry bullet tears in his uniform showed. He thanked Heaven he was not in mufti or it would have gone hard with him. He was dragged into the crater-hole from which the four men who had first attacked him emerged. He had killed a man, would they kill him?

A young officer ran up. He looked keenly at Alan, then, in excellent English, asked him his name and regiment. A fire of questions followed as to how he came there and what he was about, why he had left his lines? He was searched but no paper found.

The officer seemed rather a better cla.s.s man. He ordered Alan to be kept in the hole, and put three men to guard him; then he went away in the direction his men were returning to their trench.

Alan judged there must have been a night attack on the English lines and these were the remnants returning scattered all over the place; if so they must have suffered severely, been almost annihilated.