The Dispatch Riders Part 21

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.

"Would that it were!" said the Belgian. "Then we might see some fun.

They are artillery. Ten thousand plagues on the clumsiness of Gaston!

By missing that fellow, he allowed him to bring this hornets' nest about our ears. To the cellar! We cannot fight, we must hide and trust to luck."

Quickly the cellar-flap was shut, and in total darkness the six men waited for the opening of the German guns.

An appalling crash, followed by the rumbling of fallen bricks, announced that the first sh.e.l.l had hit the building. Mortar dropped from the arched roof of their underground retreat. The Belgians chuckled.

"Let the rascals waste their sh.e.l.ls," declared etienne. "They will want them badly before the war is over."

"Did you bring the water?" asked Rollo.

"Rather! I am not such an a.s.s as to forget about you, old man,"

replied Kenneth. "Can you limp as far as the end of the cellar?

There's a bench or something of the kind. It will be better than sitting on the cold stones."

Carefully and deliberately Kenneth bathed his chum's injured leg, while without the deafening crashes continued at rapid intervals.

"There can't be much of the house left," observed Rollo. "It wasn't much of a show when I first saw it. By the by, where is your bike?"

"Under some damp straw in an outhouse. It ought to be well out of the bursting area of those sh.e.l.ls. At any rate----"

A vivid flash of light filled the cellar. There was a terrific roar, followed by an avalanche of bricks and stones. Kenneth, who was kneeling by his chum, was thrown violently against Rollo, and the two, deafened by the concussion, found themselves gasping for breath amid the sulphurous fumes that wafted around them.

A sh.e.l.l, crashing through the cellar-flap, had burst in the underground refuge. The luckless Belgians were literally blown to atoms. Kenneth and Rollo had escaped almost by a miracle, only to be confronted by a new danger. They were buried alive, and in peril of suffocation from the noxious gases of the burst projectile.

Kenneth staggered to his feet. His head came in contact with an immense slab of stone. He stretched out his arms, to find that his hands touched a shaking ma.s.s of brickwork on both sides.

"We're trapped!" he whispered. "If those brutes fire again, the rest of the cellar will cave in on top of us I wonder how the other fellows got on."

He called the Belgians by name, at first softly, then gradually raising his voice, but no reply came through the intervening barrier of debris.

The firing had now ceased. The last sh.e.l.l--the most destructive of all--had reduced the farm-house to a heap of ruins. Above ground, hardly one brick or stone adhered to another, while beneath the mound of ruins the two British lads were entombed, and apparently doomed to a lingering death.

CHAPTER XVII

The Way Out

For nearly a quarter of an hour, though it seemed like a long-drawn night, Kenneth and Rollo remained silent. Gradually the air became purer as the fumes escaped through the crevices in the brickwork. It was the darkness they dreaded most--a darkness that could almost be felt. It seemed to have weight, to press upon their eyes.

"I wish I had a match," whispered Kenneth.

Rollo felt in his pockets. It was, as he expected, a vain quest, for when in the hands of the Germans he had been rigorously searched, and every article in his possession had been confiscated.

"This is the limit," said Kenneth dolorously. "I'd much rather be shot in action. Here we may be snuffed out and no one will be a bit the wiser. We may not be found for years, perhaps never."