The Khaki Boys over the Top Part 14

"Do you think you hear the German guns, or ours!" cried Bob.

"Neither one," said Jimmy, and there was a curious note in his voice.

"What I hear--and what you'll all hear, soon--is the crackling of flames. The old mill--or what's left of it, boys--is on fire!"

"Then let's get out!" yelled Roger.

Jimmy looked about him, without moving. Above them there seemed to be a solid ma.s.s of torn beams and jumbled masonry. On either side there were stone walls--cracked walls, it is true, but, nevertheless, too solid to admit the pa.s.sage of the Khaki Boys. And only on one side was there an opening, but this was so choked with debris as to make it seemingly impossible to make egress that way. And, as the young soldiers stood there, trapped under the collapsed mill, the sound of the crackling flames became more plain. They could smell, now, the smoke of burning wood.

"We've got to get out! We've got to get out!" yelled Bob.

He rushed to a place where, through a crisscross of beams and planks, he could see daylight. Yet, though there were openings, none of them was large enough to permit the pa.s.sage of the smallest of the five Brothers. And the wooden beams and planks were all of extraordinary thickness.

"We're trapped! Trapped! And the fire coming nearer!" half sobbed Bob.

And then he saw through the crisscross of beams, coming toward the burning mill, a man who seemed to be an American officer. And yet he wore no such uniform as Bob had ever seen before.

"Steady, boys!" cried this strange rescuer, as he glimpsed them. "I'll soon have you out! Wait! Don't bring the ruins down on top of you!"

CHAPTER XII

MUCH WONDERING

Through the splintered and tangled crisscross of beams, planks and boards which barred their way to freedom, as some iron grill or lattice work might have kept in some ancient prisoner, the Khaki Boys looked at the man who had shouted to them; the man who had said he would rescue them. And he spoke with a calmness and confidence that was in strange contrast to the scene of terror, noise and confusion which was behind the boys--a danger that was ever coming nearer as the fire, started by the exploding sh.e.l.l, ate its way into the dry timber of the old mill, and menaced the five imprisoned Brothers.

"Who is he?" murmured Bob.

"And where did he come from!" inquired Roger.

"Is he an American or German?" was the question Jimmy asked, and he peered out through a s.p.a.ce between two big beams that had fallen and crossed when the mill collapsed.

"He isn't a German--that's sure," declared Franz. "No German would be so decent as to rescue five imprisoned Americans. He'd let us roast to death first."

"Maybe he knows not dat we American be," suggested the Polish lad.

"Well, he wouldn't have to be much of a guesser to tell that we weren't Germans, after he heard us talk," said Jimmy. "We might be of either nationality, as far as our being here is concerned. But no matter what he thinks we are, he seems to be willing to help. What's he looking for, I wonder?"

The strange rescuer appeared to be looking about in front of the mill for some object. His eyes eagerly sought the ground, and he hurried to and fro, seeming to realize the need of haste.

"I'll be there in just a moment, boys!" he called. "I'm looking for something to use in prying apart those beams. They're pretty heavy, and I've got to work all alone. I'll get you out in time!"

"Wonder how he knows we're boys!" asked Bob.

"Oh, that's a general term--he'd call us that if we were forty years old," declared Jimmy. "And no matter how old a man is, if he's in the army, he's a boy. But I wish he'd hurry. It's getting hot here!"

It certainly was! The fire was gaining rapidly, and, every now and then, with a shift in the wind, the hot, choking gases from the flames, together with rolling clouds of smoke, would be blown into the rude chamber where the boys were imprisoned.

When the smoke-clouds blew away the Khaki Boys could look out and see their rescuer, still hunting frantically about for some object to use as a lever. In spite of the danger of their situation they could not help observing the man. He was tall, and well formed, and unmistakably a military character. He appeared to be above the general type of captain or lieutenant.

"If he's any less than a general I'll eat my gas mask!" Roger declared afterward.

Clearly the man was born to command, or he had acquired that right in some manner. There was an indefinable air of authority about him, even though now he was hurrying about almost frantically, looking for some weapon with which to attack the barrier that held the boys prisoners.

"That sure is a queer uniform he has on," remarked Jimmy, as he tried in vain to move some of the beams from his side of the ma.s.s of timber that had fallen when the mill was blown up. "It's mostly American, but it has a British air about it."

"And his leather puttees look like some the Germans wear," added Bob.

"Maybe he's a war correspondent, and had to pick up bits of uniform from all over."

"He isn't a war correspondent," declared Jimmy.

"What makes you so sure?" Roger wanted to know.

"Because, if he was, he'd have a bra.s.sard with a large letter 'C'

on it, around his arm," went on Jimmy. "And he wouldn't have a big automatic revolver strapped to his hip, either. The correspondents are cla.s.sed as non-combatants, and aren't allowed to go armed."

"That's right," chimed in Franz. "But who is he!"

It seemed useless to speculate then, and, indeed, the boys were in little mood for it. The precariousness of their position was alarming.

And while I have detailed the conversation among them, you are to understand that it all took place very quickly. In fact from the time they first observed the strange rescuer, until they had talked about his odd uniform, was only about half a minute.

Suddenly the man--officer let us call him--who was scurrying about just beyond the jagged barrier, uttered a cry of satisfaction. He hurried out of the boys' vision for a moment, but lest they have any fear that he had deserted them and left them to their fates, he called:

"I've found what I've been looking for--an axe! I'll soon have you out now!"

He came running back, carrying an axe of curious make. It was a large, keen one, however, and later it developed that it was one the French miller had used to chop his firewood. Throwing off his coat, and revealing beneath it a dark blue shirt, the officer began fiercely to chop at the beams.

And the boys remembered afterward, though at the time they were too excited to mark it, that the officer picked out what might be called the "key" beam. That is one which held all the other pieces of jigged and splintered timber in place, making a prison of that part of the cellar.

With vigorous blows of the keen implement, the unknown chopped away at a great hand-hewn beam. And he swung the axe as though he knew how to use it, and not as a tyro.

"He's been in a lumber camp at one time of his life," decided Jimmy, and the others were inclined to agree with him.

The fire was now gaining so rapidly that the heat of it, penetrating to the prison of the boys, was almost unbearable. The smoke, too, made their eyes smart and burn, and it choked them, causing them to gasp and cough.

"Steady, boys! Steady!" panted the officer, between his vigorous blows. "A few more strokes and I'll have this beam cut. Then I think you can get out."

Again and again he swung the keen axe. Between the blows the boys could hear the sounds of distant firing, and the reverberation told them that heavy guns were being used.

"Hope they don't send any more sh.e.l.ls over this way," murmured Bob.

"They seem satisfied, now that they have brought down the old mill on top of us," commented Franz. "Can any of you see the German lines!"

None of them could, it developed. In fact, their vision was obstructed by a small hill directly in front of the grill work of their prison, and, even if this had been removed, the smoke was now swirling around them so thickly that, at times, even the officer chopping them out was obscured.

Once or twice the chopper had to stoop down, in order to breathe the purer and cooler air near the ground, and the boys were put to the same expedient.