The Dispatch Riders Part 12

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.

"Hullo, old man!" he exclaimed. "What have you there--a Uhlan helmet?

And what's the matter with your bike?"

Kenneth explained, and afterwards had to repeat his story in French for the benefit of the others.

"I will help you to straighten the handle-bars," volunteered one of the Belgian cyclists, who was a motor-repairer by trade. "Meanwhile, if you are desirous of sending that helmet to your friends in England, you will do well to pack it up at once. There is a dispatch leaving for Brussels within half an hour."

"I wonder what the governor will say to this," observed Kenneth as he directed the bulky package. "My first trophy! Goodness only knows when we shall hear from home."

The lads had already written to their respective parents informing them of the drastic step they had taken, but, owing to the dislocation of the postal service, no reply had been forthcoming, and they had hardly expected one.

It took two hours' hard work in the blazing sunshine for Kenneth and his Belgian friend to set the motorcycle to rights.

"If I hadn't been so inconsiderate as to throw that bottle of soda-water away we might have had a decent drink," observed Kenneth as he fanned his perspiring brow.

"Never mind," rejoined Rollo. "You might have drunk it as soon as I gave you the bottle; in which case I don't suppose you would have felt the benefit of it now."

"I don't suppose I would," agreed Kenneth grimly.

CHAPTER XI

The Raid on Tongres

During the next few days events moved rapidly, the Belgians having to retire before vastly superior forces in point of numbers.

It so happened that on the Sunday, the 9th of August, Kenneth and Rollo were sent to Tongres with a message to the burgomaster, giving him instructions as to the removal of the town treasury to a place of greater safety.

The place had little appearance of being in the war area when the two lads rode into it. The Belgian troops had evacuated it on the previous day, and since there were no signs of the invaders, the remaining inhabitants were almost at their ease. Many of them, dressed in their best, were on their way to church.

Alighting outside the town hall, the two dispatch-riders enquired for the chief magistrate, only to be informed that he was in another part of the town on official business, but was expected back within an hour.

"Is there no way of sending for him?" asked Rollo of the member of the Civil Guard who had answered their summons.

The man shook his head doubtfully.

"It is just possible," he replied. "I will see my sergeant, and he will doubtless give the necessary orders. Meanwhile messieurs might like to rest at the inn? Immediately upon the burgomaster's return I will see that you are informed."

"Not a bad idea that," was Kenneth's comment. "We'll put up the bikes and order a decent meal. Roughing it on active service is all very fine, but there are times when one likes to have a slightly more civilized table than that of mother earth. I wonder if we could get a bath?"

Everest's hopes were not to be realized, for, with many apologies, the landlord informed the British lads that he had nothing in the way of _dejeuner_. Bacon and eggs? No; he was without either. He might see if his friend, Monsieur Jambonne, could oblige; but, in the meanwhile, would messieurs care to sit in the _salle a manger_? _Cafe au lait_?

Yes; that would be ready in a few minutes.

Selecting two comfortable chairs in front of the wide-open window, the chums awaited the return of the burgomaster. There was plenty to be seen, for the townsfolk were still streaming along the broad thoroughfare, discoursing mainly upon the all-absorbing topic of the war.

All at once the people stopped. Some of them turned and fled; others backed against the walls of the houses, or else took refuge in the hastily-opened doors.

"What's up now, I wonder?" asked Rollo, leaning out of the window only to retire hastily.