Transcriber’s Notes:

Starting in Chapter 3, the missing brother’s first name changes from Tom to Frank.

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

“There goes one poor chap!” cried the Western boy.—Page 149.

TWO AMERICAN BOYS
WITH THE
ALLIED ARMIES

BY
MAJOR SHERMAN CROCKETT

ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES L. WRENN

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1915,
BY
HURST & COMPANY

CONTENTS

CHAPTER |  | PAGE
I. | The Story of the Old Windmill | 5
II. | A Moment of Peril | 17
III. | The Battle in the Air | 30
IV. | The Tell-Tale Chart | 42
V. | Striking a Clue | 55
VI. | Behind the Trenches | 67
VII. | The Red Lanterns in the Sky | 83
VIII. | The Awakening | 92
IX. | When the Drive Was On | 105
X. | The Check Line | 116
XI. | Watching the Battle Ebb and Flow | 127
XII. | From the Cupola Lookout | 138
XIII. | The Trapped Uhlans | 147
XIV. | Met on the Road | 156
XV. | What Came of a Good Act | 171
XVI. | Figuring It All Out | 184
XVII. | Shelter from the Storm | 194
XVIII. | Through a Crack in the Floor | 211
XIX. | Jack Demands the Truth | 221
XX. | Arousing a Coward | 231
XXI. | Bombarded by a Zeppelin | 243
XXII. | At Headquarters in Ypres | 256
XXIII. | A Ride On a Gun Caisson | 269
XXIV. | What Little Jacques Did | 281
XXV. | Nearing the Goal | 296

Two American Boys with the
Allied Armies.

CHAPTER I.
THE STORY OF THE OLD WINDMILL.

“Why not climb up into this battered old windmill, Amos, and take an observation?”

“Now, that’s a good idea, Jack, only we’d better be mighty careful about showing ourselves too recklessly, you know.”

“You mean that there might be German raiding parties skirmishing around this section of country, don’t you, Amos?”

“Well, we’ve had to hide twice today when we glimpsed suspicious squadrons galloping across the fields, or covering some far-off road. And you remember that one of them bore the stamp of Uhlans in their lances with the fluttering pennons, their dirt-colored uniforms, and the spiked helmets.”

“Oh! we’ll try and not show ourselves, Amos; but since we’re a little mixed up in our bearings this seems too good a chance to lose.”

“These Dutch-style windmills we’ve run across in this strip of Belgium do make mighty good lookouts and observation towers. I warrant you some of them have figured heavily in the ebb and flow of the war.”

“This one has for a fact, Amos,” remarked the young fellow called Jack, as he pointed at numerous jagged holes in the concrete foundation, where evidently a storm of bullets had struck. “You can see how it’s been bombarded on all sides; and that top corner on the left was torn off by a passing shell. Here inside is a pile of empty brass cartridge-cases that tells the story as plain as print.”

“Made in Germany they were as sure as you live, and used in a rapid-fire gun at that, Jack. Yes, it’s all written out before us. Here in this concrete base of the windmill tower, some daring gun squad of the Kaiser’s men took up their stand with their outfit, and held the Allies off as long as their ammunition lasted. I wonder what happened then, Jack?”

“I’ve got a hunch we’ll find out something after we get up where we can look around a bit. But come on, let’s climb this ladder to the upper part of the windmill. Have a care how you trust your whole weight on anything, because they’ve riddled the place for keeps.”

While the two boys climb upwards with the intention of taking a look around and getting their bearings, we might as well become better acquainted with them, and learn what sort of mission it was that brought two American lads over to the battle-scarred fields of Southwestern Belgium at such a perilous time.

Jack Maxfield and Amos Turner were first cousins, and the latter lived in one of the best-known suburbs of Chicago; while Jack, being an orphan, was in the habit of saying that “his home was wherever he happened to hang his hat.”

Both boys were passionately fond of outdoor life, but fortune had allowed Jack to spend several years on a Western ranch, where he accumulated a fund of knowledge through actual experience; while Amos had to be content with what he could pick up through reading, theorizing, and association with a Boy Scout troop.

Jack had been left with independent means, and chanced to be visiting at the home of Colonel Turner, his uncle, at the time a strange event took place which resulted in the dispatch of the two boys across the ocean, bent upon an errand of mercy. Just what that mission was the reader will learn by listening to the conversation between the two boys after they reached the top of the windmill tower. Day and night it bore heavily on the mind of Amos, so that he frequently found himself sighing, and seeking consolation in the reassuring words his cousin was so ready to pour out.

After some little effort they managed to pull themselves up and land on the top of the windmill base. Roughly treated under the bombardment to which, as a fortress, it had been subjected, the material was crumbling in numerous places. The boys, however, had no trouble in finding room on the top. Overhead arose one of the gaunt arms with its tattered sail; another had been shattered by the same shell that had torn the corner away, and lay in a heap close by.

Taking a hasty look all around, the two boys quickly discovered several things that held their interest.

“Amos,” said Jack, gravely, “you were wondering what had become of the Germans who defended this place against all opposition. If you will look down there where that willow tree grows alongside the brook you’ll understand.”

“Fresh-made graves, sure enough, Jack!” exclaimed the other, with a quick intake of his breath. “Like as not they held out till the last man went under. And some of their comrades passing this way stopped long enough to cover the brave fellows with two feet of earth. That’s about all a soldier can expect these days.”

“I can guess what’s in your mind when you sigh that way, Amos. You’re wondering whether your brother Tom is still alive, or has found a grave like hundreds of thousands of others in this terrible war.”

“We’ve reason to believe he changed his name and joined the British forces, not caring much whether he survived or perished,” said Amos, with a look of pain on his young face. “You know he always was a reckless fellow. He is nearly ten years older than I. Father was very strict, and couldn’t understand that high-spirited Tom was one of those who could be led, but never driven. Then came that awful accusation—oh! it makes me shiver to think of that time.”

“Your father accused Tom of taking his pocketbook from a drawer of his desk, and everything seemed to point to him as the thief. You say Tom denied being guilty but was too proud to say anything more. And so he was driven from home, and has never been seen since that time—is that it, Amos?”

“Yes, though I’ve had a few lines from him about once in six months,” replied the other boy, slowly. “First he went to California; then I heard from him in Japan; and the last time it was in England, where he said he had enlisted under another name, and meant to fight for the Allies, not caring much what happened.”

“Did your father ever know you had heard from him?” asked Jack, as he continued to use his eyes to advantage, and examine the surrounding country from the elevated lookout.

“I didn’t dare show him the postcards that came to me,” replied Amos. “He is such a stern martinet, you know, or rather was up to a month ago, when that queer thing happened. Father made a name for himself as a soldier during the Spanish war. He had told me to consider that my brother was dead, and so I was afraid to tell him about those cards. If our mother had only lived all this terrible trouble would never have happened, for she knew how to handle high-spirited Tom.”

“Tell me again about that day the discovery was made, Amos; of course I’ve heard the story, but I’d like to get it all fresh in my mind.”

“It happened in this way,” replied the other, who had come to lean on his cousin more or less since they had grown to be chums, “one of the drawers of father’s desk seemed to stick with the pile of papers in it, and he asked me to get it out. I can see him now, sitting there and watching me work at it, with that set look on his face that has been there ever since he sent poor Tom away.”

“One of the papers was missing, you told me, and you thrust your hand in where the drawer had come from so as to get hold of it?” remarked Jack, eagerly, as though in imagination he could picture the intensely thrilling scene.

“Yes, and when I hastily drew my hand out and held up what I had found there in the cavity where the drawer had been I thought my father would fall back dead in his chair, he was so stunned. His face turned as white as chalk, and he held his breath ever so long.”

“It was the lost pocketbook, of course?” continued Jack.

“Nothing less,” said Amos, tragically; “you see, it must have been lying on top of all those papers and was dragged off when the drawer was opened long ago. Every cent was in it untouched. Father swooned away with the shock, and has never been himself since. He can’t sleep nights, and keeps muttering all the while about his cruel injustice to poor Tom.”

“Of course you showed him the cards from your brother, Amos?”

“Yes, as soon as he was in a condition to understand,” replied the other. “From that hour he has had only one thing in his mind, which was that some one must find Tom and fetch him home. Father says he can’t live much longer, and that he is praying every day that he might ask his boy to forgive him before he goes.”

“And so we’ve come across to try and find Tom,” Jack went on to say, “though since he’s changed his name it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack; but we’ve managed to pick up a clue, and there’s a faint chance of our running across him before a great while.”

“Oh! I hope so, I hope so, Jack,” said the other, fervently. “Every time I shut my eyes I seem to see poor father’s face before me. The look of pain on it haunts me. I would give almost anything if only I could find Tom and take him back home with me. I believe it would give father new life. But what a small chance we’ve got to run across my brother in an army of half a million men, when we’re not even sure of the name he’s known by. He may have fallen long ago in one of those fierce drives the Germans made on the British lines.”

“Keep hoping for the best, Amos,” the Western boy told him, cheerily, for Jack was always seeing the silver lining in the cloud. “Something whispers to me that sooner or later we’re bound to succeed, and that when we start back across the Atlantic we’ll have your brother Tom in tow. But there’s one thing we’ve got to make sure of, and that is to keep clear of the Germans. Once we fall into their hands they’d send us into Germany as prisoners of war, no matter how we proved we were American boys. And that would ruin our game.”

“So far we’ve been helped in a lot of ways by the Allied officers,” remarked Amos, trying to pluck up fresh courage and hope. “My father happened to have good friends among the military people over in England, and they gave me a paper that has been worth a heap to us here. Only for that we’d never have been allowed to get as far as we have toward the firing line. But what are you staring so hard at, Jack?”

The other for answer drew his companion still further down as though he had made an unpleasant discovery that promised them fresh trouble. Accustomed to the great distances of the Western prairies, Jack’s eyes were like those of the eagle, and he could see objects that might have passed unheeded by others.

“There’s something moving over yonder where that low hill rises,” he hastened to inform Amos. “If you look close you can see a whole string of objects bobbing up and down as if on galloping horses. I think, Amos, they are the little pennons at the tip-end of Uhlan lances; and that a detachment of the rough-riding corps must be coming this way!”

“Then they’ll be pretty sure to head for this windmill as soon as they round the base of the hill,” exclaimed Amos, hurriedly, looking much concerned.

“It’s apt to draw them as the needle is attracted to the pole,” ventured the second boy. “In this country every place that affords a lookout is taken advantage of by friend and foe alike. Which means that since it’s too late now for us to skip out without being seen and chased, we’ll have to hide ourselves here and wait for the coast to clear. Come, there’s no time to lose, Amos!”

CHAPTER II.
A MOMENT OF PERIL.

Both boys seemed as active as cats; and evidently Jack must have looked around him with an eye to a possible hiding-place for he immediately led his companion to a cavity into which they could crawl and remain unseen.

They only waited long enough to make sure it was a band of horsemen turning the hill, that they were beyond doubt Uhlans, and that they were now heading in a direct line for the windmill.

“That settles it,” observed Jack, decisively. “They mean to make use of this observation post; so let’s dodge out of sight, Amos.”

A minute later and both boys were huddling under cover at a place where some of the wreckage of the arm of the sail together with other debris had been thrown.

“Let’s hope none of them think it worth while to stick a sword in here to see what’s under all this stuff,” ventured Amos.

“I hardly think they’ll go to any bother,” his companion observed. “You see, when these Uhlans are riding over hostile territory they are always in a big hurry to cover as much ground as they can. They stir up a hornets’ nest wherever they go, and the quicker they change base the better for them. I reckon a couple of the officers will climb up here with their field-glasses so as to take an observation. Then they’ll be off again, and only hit the high places as they ride away.”

“They can tell easily enough that there’ve been warm times around this windmill a short time back,” suggested Amos. “Let’s hope their powerful glasses show them a bunch of the British forces moving this way. That would help hurry them along, according to my notion.”

“’Sh! keep still now, because they’re getting close up. Use your ears all you want to, but say nothing even in a whisper.”

Thrilled by the fact that danger was hovering over them, the boys crouched there in their place of concealment and waited to ascertain what would happen. Although Amos did not claim to possess such acute hearing as his chum, he too could by now catch the thud of many horses’ hoofs beating on the earth. The sound grew in volume constantly, showing that the Uhlan party must be heading directly toward the site of the Dutch windmill, just as Jack had figured would be the case.

Suddenly the heavy beat of many hoofs ceased, and the concealed boys could hear a clanking of accoutrements, accompanied by snorts of horses brought to a standstill.

Jack nudged his comrade to signify that the crisis had arrived. Then they caught the sound of heavy voices, and the guttural nature of the utterance, so different from French or even English, told them it was German, though as yet no word came distinctly to their ears.

Some one was undoubtedly climbing the ladder that led to the top of the concrete and stone foundation of the windmill; Jack could tell this from the slight quivering sensation that he felt. As he had anticipated, the Uhlan meant to utilize the windmill as a lookout. He only hoped that a short confinement in their uncomfortable quarters might be the whole extent of the experience to which he and Amos would be subjected.

Louder came the voices. The speakers were now close at hand, and had evidently succeeded in gaining the flat top of the structure without any accident on account of the shaky ladder giving way under their weight.

It happened that both boys had a smattering of the German language. On the way over they had spent many hours on deck brushing up their knowledge from books secured with that very idea in view. Hence they could make out fairly well what was said, though at times the translation might seem a little hazy, and subject to doubt.

The party with the rasping voice seemed to be the leading officer, for he presently ordered some one else to climb further up, using the perpendicular arm of the windmill for the purpose, so as to get a better view of the surrounding country from its apex.

The hidden boys could hear the shaky arm groan under the weight of the climber, while the ragged remnant of the sail flapped in the breeze. Every second they anticipated a crash that would tell of disaster, but it did not come; and Jack realized that nothing was too venturesome for those recklessly hard riders.

Evidently the officer with the glasses must have reached the point which he had been aiming for, since presently he started making his report, the man below interrupting occasionally to ask pertinent questions.

From his lofty eyrie the one on the lookout must have been able to scan considerable territory, for he reported that only in one direction was there any sign of the enemy in force. Off toward the east he could see artillery in motion, accompanied by a regiment or two of British territorials, and evidently heading for the front to take their place in the battle line.

Further questioning revealed the fact that an aeroplane was in sight, apparently belonging to the Allies, and evidently scouting in the interests of the new field battery that was seeking a position where it could do the most damage to the trenches of the invaders.

The presence of this speedy air-craft seemed to make the commander of the Uhlans somewhat uneasy. He knew how easily the birdman could swoop down toward them and drop a few bombs with the intention of doing fell execution in their midst. If the air scout had manifested any interest in their presence there, and headed toward the spot, undoubtedly a hoarse command would have caused a hurried scattering of the rough riders, just as wild ducks separate when the eagle darts down for his dinner.

Now the observer was going down again to join his chief, who possibly would want to ask a few more questions before definitely deciding on the course they must take after leaving the windmill.

Amos was almost holding his breath because of the suspense. The Uhlan captain had seated himself on the pile of rubbish and was now within two feet of where the boys lay in concealment. It seemed to the anxious Amos that the very beating of his heart would betray them, so wildly was it pounding against his ribs.

Once again did the captain fling his queries at the other. Surrounded as they were with hostile forces it meant considerable to the Uhlans that they pick out the line of least resistance. It was also of importance to them that they appear in places where German soldiers were least expected. In this way, by the very boldness of their dash, they might help strike terror to the hearts of the villagers, wherever a collection of houses had still escaped the general destruction that had visited that sadly harassed section of country.

Amos was undoubtedly a better German scholar than his Western cousin, and could therefore understand what was passing between the two men. Jack felt him give a violent start once or twice, from which he guessed the other had caught something said which had seemed to have escaped his ears. It was no time to indulge in a whisper, however, and so he had to possess his soul in patience, and wait for a more fitting opportunity to learn what had upset his chum.

Once the Uhlan captain spoke of the fierce fight that must have taken place at the battered windmill, showing that he had read all the signs aright, even to the freshly turned earth over under the willow tree on the bank of the little brooklet near by.

There was a note of pride in his raspy voice when he spoke of the apparent fact that those who had used the buttress of the windmill for a fort must have held out until every man of them had been slain. In the eyes of a German such devotion to the dearly beloved Fatherland was only what might be expected.

When the captain rose from his hard seat, Amos for one terrible moment feared that the catastrophe he had dreaded was about to descend upon them, for he heard the second man make a remark that brought things directly home.

“Do you think our brave comrades could have found and buried all those who fell here, Captain, after first accounting for scores of the detested British?” was what he said.

Even as he spoke he bent down and tried to see under the pile of wreckage; and certainly both boys held their breath. But Fortune was kind to them, for it happened that the sun was under a cloud, and the man’s eyes could not penetrate the gloom that lay around them.

“Even if they did not, what does it matter?” remarked the commander. “A soldier needs no tomb. It is enough that he has done his duty toward his country and his emperor. If there should by chance be a body uncared for it will soon be buried just the same. Come, let us be going, Lieutenant Krueger. The horses will be all the fresher for this short halt. Twenty miles we should cover before sunset, and strike terror to thousands of French hearts with our passage through the land!”

Yes, thank fortune they were going now. The eyes of the lieutenant had been unequal to the task of seeing what lay under all that piled-up rubbish; and he did not think it worth while to thrust in with his sword. Amos was breathing freely again, though far from easy in his mind.

Now they knew the men were climbing down from the elevation. The horses had become restive, as though eager to be once more on the mad gallop to which they were so accustomed. Amos had reached out his hand and found that of his chum, to which he was clinging, squeezing Jack’s fingers convulsively as though he might be laboring under a tremendous strain.

“In luck again, you see, Amos,” whispered Jack, managing to get his lips close to the ear of his companion. “They’re going off in a hurry, and without finding us. Why, you’re quivering like a leaf, I do believe. What ails you, old chap?”

“Oh! then you didn’t hear what he said, or you wouldn’t be taking it so cool,” replied Amos, in a guarded tone, and trying at the same time to control his voice, which trembled in spite of him.

“Well, I own up I did miss some of his growl, but what of that?” confessed Jack. “Was there anything in particular he said that meant trouble for you and me?”

“Yes, yes,” answered the other, in a gasp. “He told the lieutenant they wouldn’t want to leave such a splendid lookout to be used by the enemy, and that it must be destroyed!”

“What, this windmill, do you mean?” demanded Jack, himself thrilled by the news.

“He said they ought to leave a bomb with a short fuse behind them, and the last man away would put a match to it!” Amos volunteered.

The Western boy may have been startled by what he heard, but it was Jack’s way never to show the white feather. He even whistled softly half under his breath; for the trampling of many hoofs down below served to make it impossible for ordinary sounds to be heard, so there seemed no possible danger of the chums being betrayed by their low conversation.

“That’s a nice outlook I must say,” chuckled Jack, pretending to make light of the threatening peril. “For one, I’m not hankering to climb the golden stairs in such a hurry. I tell you what we’ve got to do, Amos.”

“Wish you would, Jack, and be quick about it,” urged the other. “There, some of them are riding off right now, and the rest will follow on their heels. Then that last man is to touch a match to the fuse and hurry away. They expect to see the mill go shooting skyward in pieces before they get far off.”

“What d’ye reckon we’ll be doing along about that time, I’d like to know?” chuckled Jack. “Let’s crawl out of this in a hurry, so as to be ready to act. Then when we glimpse that last rider whooping it up in a hurry you’ll see how fast I’ll drop down the old ladder and jump on that burning fuse.”

“Then you don’t think we’d better run for it, Jack? You reckon they might see us and give chase? I guess you’re right about that, too. But listen, isn’t that the clatter of a single horse starting off with a rush?”

“Yes, there goes the man who fired the fuse; it’s time we were on the move if we want to stamp out that slow match,” and Jack as he spoke jumped for the ladder.

CHAPTER III.
THE BATTLE IN THE AIR.

“Let me go first, won’t you, Jack, please?”

There was no time for argument, so the other stepped aside and permitted his chum to pass down the ladder that led from the lower part of the structure. Since haste was a prime object with the boys just then it can be understood that they made record time, and were at the bottom almost “between breaths,” as Jack put it.

“I hear it sputtering somewhere!” exclaimed Amos, excitedly, as he turned this way and that without apparently being able to make any sort of discovery.

“And I can smell burnt powder plainly!” echoed Jack, not content to stand still and look around, but beginning a hasty search.

It was a moment of intense anxiety to both lads. They could not tell how long a fuse had been left by the trooper who was the last to ride away. He had seemed to be in something of a hurry, though this might spring from a desire to catch up with his comrades before they had gone very far on their way.

Jack used common-sense in his search. He noted first of all which way the air current was setting, and this told him the fumes of the burning powder must be coming toward him from a certain quarter.

When the other boy, actually shivering with suspense, saw Jack give a sudden leap forward and strike downward with his foot he judged that the other must have made an important discovery of some sort.

“Did you find it?” he asked, eagerly.

“Yes, come here and see,” Jack told him.

Upon looking, Amos discovered the bomb, which was only a small affair, though no doubt of tremendous power, for those Germans were master-hands at manufacturing terrible weapons of destruction, chemistry being one of their strongest holds.

“Oh! you got it just in time, seems like, Jack,” observed Amos, as he noted the short fuse remaining after his cousin had extinguished the fire.

“It might have lasted half a minute longer, I reckon,” said Jack, coolly. “Plenty of time for us to get clear, if only we hadn’t been afraid of being seen by the cavalrymen.”

“What next?” demanded Amos, who many times felt willing to put the responsibility of affairs on the broad shoulders of his chum.

“We must get out of this, that’s sure,” replied Jack. “The only thing I don’t like is that when there isn’t an explosion that trooper may think it his duty to gallop back here again so as to start things afresh.”

“But we ought to be somewhere among the bushes by that time, hadn’t we?” suggested Amos, uneasily.

“I have a better plan than that,” he was informed. “By now the man who fired the fuse is out of sight. I imagine he has drawn in his horse, and is waiting to hear the explosion. Amos, get outside where you can skip along when I come rushing out in a big hurry.”

“Are you meaning to put a match to the fuse again?” asked Amos.

“Yes, there is no danger of it’s going off before we get away; but don’t stop to argue about it, please. It’s the best thing we can do.”

Accordingly Amos bustled off, and as soon as he had left the interior of the old windmill structure, Jack scratched a match. He joined his chum a few seconds later.

“Now streak it like fun!” he exclaimed, and the pair started off as fast as they could run.

Jack had figured it all out, and made certain that they were headed in the right direction. He did not fancy running slap up against that trooper returning to see why the bomb failed to explode.

Having used up about all the time he had figured on, Jack suddenly drew his companion down to the ground.

“We’re safe enough here,” he gasped. “Now watch and see what happens!”

He had hardly spoken when there came a tremendous shock, such as both of them had felt when a violent burst of thunder followed close on the heels of a flash of lightning during an electrical storm.

“Whee!” ejaculated Amos as, looking backward, he saw the windmill being hurled skyward in many fragments.

Saw the windmill being hurled skyward in many fragments.—Page 34.

They heard the patter of the scattered parts falling back to earth. Then came a heavy thud of horse’s hoofs from a point not far distant.

“There, you see he was riding back to make sure of his work,” said Jack, meaning, of course, the trooper to whom had been assigned the task of rendering the windmill useless as a conning tower for the Allies. “When those Germans get an order they believe in carrying it out, no matter the cost.”

“I hope he’s satisfied now,” remarked the second boy. “It seems that he didn’t glimpse us running either, which I count a lucky thing.”

“Yes, because he might have chased after us, and thought it fun to jab us with the sharp tip of that lance he carries,” chuckled Jack. “These Uhlans make me think of certain Western Indians I used to meet up with when on the ranch. For the life of me I can’t understand what use they make of such an old-fashioned weapon as a lance in these days of Maxims and modern firearms. Still, they know what they’re doing.”

“Nothing to keep us from skipping out now, is there, Jack?”

“Surely not, and we’ll write down the adventure of the windmill as a stirring memory of this war business. Come on, Amos.”

“I see you’re heading toward the east, and I take it you mean to strike that bunch of British making for the front? Everywhere we go we keep on asking for information concerning one Frank Bradford; but so far we don’t seem to have met with any great good luck. Still, I’m hoping for the best. With such a chum as you at my right hand, a fellow would be silly to despair.”

“It’s a long lane that has no turning, remember,” remarked Jack, as they commenced to walk along at a smart pace.

“My brother simply told me in one of his short letters that he had taken that name because it belonged to our mother, who was a Bradford. I’m certain it was under it he must have enlisted. Just how he could get a berth in the British army, being by birth an American, puzzles me; but then he may have hoodwinked them about that; and they were in such need of likely fellows as Frank, they shut their eyes and took him on.”

So they conversed as they walked along. Half a mile was soon covered. Jack had learned to keep his eyes about him constantly. It was the education of the ranch that caused him to do this more than any suspicion of threatening peril. So it came about he again made a discovery that Amos failed to note.

“Look up, Amos!” he exclaimed, suddenly.

“Why, there’s another aeroplane!” cried the other, as he obeyed; “two of them in fact, making three in all. The air is full of the big dragon-flies, seems like; and Jack, wouldn’t you say two of them are manœuvring around the other one that’s built along different lines?”

“Unless I miss my guess,” said Jack, soberly, “that’s a German machine. They use the Taube model almost exclusively, as it seems to answer their purposes. Now, I’ve got a notion that Taube pilot must have been doing some scouting, and was trying to make his own lines when he was cut off by these aeroplanes of the Allies. Look how they block his efforts to get past, will you? He rises and falls, but every time one of the other machines is in the way.”

“There, did you see that puff of smoke from the German craft?” cried Amos. “Yes, and both of the others are shooting, too. Why, Jack, just to think of it; we’re watching a regular battle in the air between rival monoplanes! Doesn’t it make your blood tingle to see them manœuvre?”

“The Taube man is getting in hot quarters, I should say,” observed the ranch boy, as they stood and stared. “There goes a gun from over where the British force is advancing; yes, and listen to the bombardment, would you? They are firing shrapnel. You can see the white puffs of smoke where the shells burst.”

“He’s doing his best to get clear, for a fact, Jack. That pilot is daring enough, and so far seems to have held his own. Somehow I can’t help but admire him, even if our sympathies are with the Allies.”

“A brave man is worth admiring, no matter on which side he fights,” was the comment of the second boy; “but there isn’t much chance he’ll be able to slip by his enemies. They’re too swift for the Taube man, it seems like. And when he drops down, those gunners are going to fairly pelt him with shrapnel.”

“Oh! there he goes with a swoop!” gasped Amos; “but no, he seems to recover, and holds his own still. He’s a sure-enough jim-dandy pilot, let me tell you, Jack! Few bird men could have done that dip and come up smiling again.”

“Well, there’s no need of our standing here any longer,” observed the other boy. “We can watch while we walk along. I’d hate to miss connections with that troop, for somehow or other I keep hoping we may run across a clue worth while.”

This seemed to suit Amos very well, and they continued their tramp, keeping up a watch of the strange fight that was going on far up toward the fleecy clouds. If either of them stumbled occasionally on account of the deep interest they were taking in the wonderful exhibition of skill and daring being paraded before their eyes it was not to be wondered at under the circumstances.

The almost incessant roar of the guns, together with the crash of bursting shrapnel shells far above them had effectually drowned that dull, distant sound which from time to time had come to their ears, being caused by heavy ordnance battering some fortified place near the coast. Jack had even suggested that it might be the British battleships bombarding Zeebrugge, in order to damage the submarine base the Kaiser had instituted there.

Twice again did Amos have occasion to declare he believed the Taube had certainly received its finishing stroke, for it acted in an eccentric manner, and seemed to flutter like a wounded eagle of the skies. When on both occasions he saw that it recovered in time to elude the swoop of the Allies’ machines his praise grew louder than ever.

“I’m almost ready to wish that fellow gets away scot-free, Jack; he certainly deserves to win out!” he declared, enthusiastically.

“I reckon he’s got something with him he considers worth fighting for to the last gasp,” remarked the other; “but every minute this thing keeps up his chances decrease. He makes me think of a winded steer tottering along, and so exhausted that it seems a shame to rope him. There, that time he must have been badly battered when the shrapnel burst close alongside!”

“He’s winging down again, all right!” exclaimed Amos, “and this time it means he’s got to the end of his rope. His engine has been put out of commission most likely; and, Jack, see, he’s heading right at us!”

“That’s right!” echoed the other; “and p’raps we’ll be in at the death, after all!”

The Taube was falling very fast, despite every effort of the expert pilot to volplane earthward without the use of his engine. Apparently the machine must have been badly crippled by the shower of shrapnel to which it was lately exposed, and in addition the daring aviator may have received wounds that prevented him from properly fulfilling his duties.

As the two boys stood there staring, they saw the aeroplane sailing lower and lower until it seemed to be almost skimming the surface of the earth.

“There! he’s jumped out into that patch of bushes over yonder!” exclaimed Amos in renewed excitement, “and the machine has pitched down further on. He did his level best, Jack, but the game was too one-sided for him. Wonder is he living or dead?”

CHAPTER IV.
THE TELL-TALE CHART.

Jack noticed that the other two aeroplanes had withdrawn as though the pilots felt satisfied with having hurled the Taube to the ground. That particular section of country was so rough that they evidently had no intention of trying to effect a landing. Amos even suggested that possibly they had not come out of the encounter unscathed, and that the aviators were glad of a chance to retire from the battle in the air.

“We must see how badly he is hurt, Amos,” said the Western boy, as he started toward the spot where the venturesome birdman had plunged from his falling machine into the scrub bushes.

“Yes, I wouldn’t feel right unless we did that,” agreed Amos, who possessed a tender heart, and had once upon a time subscribed to the rules governing the conduct of the Boy Scouts of America.

They were quickly on the spot, and looking to the right and the left in the endeavor to locate the stricken aviator.

“There he is, Jack!” said Amos, suddenly, gripping the arm of his chum as he spoke. “Down on his hands and knees, too, as if he might be searching for something he had lost. Shall we go closer and see if he’s badly hurt? I think we ought to do what little we can for the plucky chap.”

Evidently this was what Jack had in mind, for he immediately started forward. The Taube pilot heard them coming and looked up. His face was streaked with blood and dirt, and altogether he presented a sad picture.

At sight of two boys approaching him instead of grown men garbed in the khaki of British soldiers, he seemed astonished. If he had intended to draw a weapon and sell his life dearly he changed his mind, for now he was holding up both hands. To the ranch boy that was an old and familiar sign of surrender. He had seen it used on many occasions during his experience in the West.

“Do you understand English?” was the first thing Jack asked as he and Amos drew near the wounded airman, still kneeling there.

The other nodded his head in the affirmative. He was eying them suspiciously, as though he could not understand who and what they were, for English boys were not supposed to form a part of the army sent across the Channel.

“I haf knowledge of the language if I cannot speak same much,” he told them.

“Well, first of all, we’re American boys, not English, you understand. We’re wanting to look after your wounds, if you care to let us,” Jack went on to say, at the same time smiling pleasantly.

“Is it to be a prisoner you mean?” demanded the birdman, suspiciously.

“Not as far as we’re concerned,” Jack hastened to assure him. “After we’ve fixed you up you can go your way for all of us; though you would do well to hide until night comes along, before trying to make your own lines. Now, we’re in something of a hurry, so let’s look you over.”

He went about doing so with a business-like air that was convincing. The wrecked air-pilot may have been loth at first to let mere boys try to attend to his hurts, but he soon realized his mistake, and submitted willingly.

There were numerous scratches and small contusions, but these amounted to little, and, after being washed with some water Jack carried in a canteen, could be left to time to heal. The worst thing was a fractured left arm, which must have been very painful, though the man never uttered a groan when Jack dexterously set the bones and bound it up as best he could.

“That’s all we can do for you just now,” he told the aviator, after completing the job. “As one of those other machines might sail over this way at any minute to see what has become of you, if you’re wise, you’ll hurry and hide somewhere so they won’t see you.”

“I thank you very much,” said the man, evidently impressed with the kindness shown by the two American boys.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” remarked Amos, lightly. “We’re supposed to be friends of all parties to this scrap. I’ve got a German chum at home I think heaps of, and his name is Herman Lange. Good-bye, and I want to say you put up a rattling good fight as long as it lasted.”

Perhaps the other did not wholly understand all of Amos’ remarks, but he knew the boy was saying nice things about his recent performance, so he smiled, and insisted on shaking hands with them both.

The last they saw of him he was making for a heavy growth of brush as though intending to profit by the advice given by the long-headed Western boy, by lying low until the day was spent, when it would be safe for him to be abroad.

“For one I’m not sorry I helped ease up that pain a bit,” remarked Amos, as he and Jack walked away, once more heading toward the quarter where they knew the British column would be found.

“Same here,” echoed the other. “He was a nervy chap, all right. You noticed that he never let out a single peep when I shoved those broken bones together, though I warrant you it must have hurt like fun.”

“I saw you pick up something and ram it in your pocket when we were coming away—must have been worth your trouble, Jack.”

“It was what the poor chap was hunting for, I reckon,” replied the second boy, as he thrust a hand inside his coat, and brought out a roughly folded paper.

“Why, would you believe it, he’s been making a regular chart from away up there in the clouds!” exclaimed Amos, the instant this paper was unfolded.

“And besides being a bold air-pilot that German must be a regular topographical engineer if there is such a thing. I never saw a map made hurriedly but showing everything so plainly. Here’s marks to show the positions of the British trenches around Ypres, every big gun marked with a cross, and even the supply stations and the hangars of the aeroplanes plainly located. Why, with a chart like this, distances plotted out and all that, German gunners could shell any position they chose from a distance of eight or ten miles.”

“A valuable map to fall into the hands of the Kaiser’s men, eh, Jack?”

“I should say yes, Amos; and that was why he hated to lose the same after going to all the trouble he had to make it.”

“Still, it wouldn’t have been just fair for you to have turned it over to him, because we went as far as we ought in looking after his wounds,” suggested Amos.

“Well, we’re supposed to be neutral, though favoring the Allies, because their aims correspond with what Americans believe in—as little military government as possible. I’m only wondering whether I had better tear the chart up, or keep it so as to gain favor with the commander of the forces over yonder.”

“Keep it, Jack; it may open their hearts to us; you never can tell,” was the way Amos looked at the matter. So, acting on this advice, the other boy concluded not to destroy the work of the chart-maker of the skies.

“There’s one of those other monoplanes starting up again,” said Amos, pointing.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the pilot has been given orders to drop down and take a look around where the Taube fell,” Jack continued.

“Little we care,” chuckled Amos, “so long as he lets us alone. I wouldn’t like to have a shower of bombs dropped down on me from overhead. Then didn’t we hear that the Allies were using some sort of steel arrow with a sharp point that would go through a German helmet, and do terrible work? Excuse me from making the acquaintance of any such contraption at close quarters.”

They pushed along, now and then casting a curious glance upward to note what the man in the aeroplane might be doing. He had not landed, but made several swoops downward, evidently trying to see what had happened to the Taube pilot when his machine had smashed to the ground.

Presently Amos sang out that he could hear horses neighing, and there were also other signs of their being close upon a body of troops resting while on the way to the front. Evidently there was some sort of fairly decent road near by, which the artillery and foot soldiers were utilizing in order to get closer to the trenches where the British, flanked by the little Belgian army, held their own against the furious drives of the desperate Germans.

As they came out from the undergrowth they discovered before them for a distance of half a mile or more numerous clumps of men in khaki. They had started fires and were evidently trying to heat up something so as to take away their hunger, as well as warm themselves up, for the day was a raw and chilly one.

Jack quickly picked out the officers’ mess. There was no display of swords, no gaudy trimmings as in the old days when men fought hand to hand. Bitter experience had shown the British leaders that in these days of Maxims and sharpshooters the object of the enemy was always to mark down those in command, so as to leave the brigades without officers, and render them less dangerous in a charge.

“That’s where we want to head,” he told Amos, as he changed his course slightly. “Unless I’m away off my base these must be what they call territorials over in England. They are trained all right, but have yet to smell their first burnt powder. If you find your brother at all, it’s going to be among this class of recruits.”

“They see us and are pointing this way,” remarked Amos. “I guess they wonder who and what we are. I’ve fastened that little American flag to my hat, Jack; it ought to do the business for us, I should think.”

“Yes, actions speak louder than words they say, and Old Glory generally carries the respect of all nations. But between you and me, Amos, I don’t seem to fancy that commanding officer any too well. He looks too puffed up with a sense of his own importance. Before he’s been in the trenches three days he’s apt to get a lot of that conceit knocked out of him, or perhaps be punctured by a German bullet.”

“I hope he’ll wear better than he looks,” muttered Amos, who was feeling very much the same as his companion did about the appearance of the stout commanding officer. “There are a whole lot of questions I’d like to get answered; a man of so much consequence wouldn’t condescend to accommodate me, I’m afraid.”

They soon arrived at a point where they were met by a detail of khaki-clad soldiers. To the non-commissioned officer in charge of these, Jack addressed himself.

“We want to speak with the colonel in charge of the column,” he said, simply.

“I have orders to bring you before him, so keep going right along,” the sergeant told him in reply, being apparently a brusque man, and, as Amos said, “without any frills.”

There were fully a dozen officers about the fire where a hot luncheon was being prepared. Amos secretly admitted to himself that closer inspection did not seem to impress him any more favorably with the colonel. He looked as though he suspected them from the start of being clever German spies.

“Well, who are you, and what have you been doing here so close to the trenches?” he asked in a disagreeable and harsh voice, frowning at Jack and Amos, who, however, succeeded in giving him back look for look, although trying not to show any signs of impudence, for they knew it would not profit them any to try and “twist the lion’s tail.”

“We are both American boys, Colonel,” said Jack. “If you can spare a few minutes of your valuable time we will be only too glad to explain why we are here.”

Those suspicious eyes looked them both over. Apparently the colonel was not yet convinced that they were harmless.

“Search them!” he ordered, and the sergeant who had led them to the spot immediately started to obey.

Of course, as luck would have it, almost the first article he drew forth and handed over to the waiting colonel was the wonderfully accurate chart made by the German Taube man; and loud exclamations told how the British officers appreciated the gravity of the find.

CHAPTER V.
STRIKING A CLUB.

“Whew! that’s a tough deal, I should say, Jack!” muttered Amos, evidently somewhat staggered by this new and alarming situation that had arisen in their fortunes.

“Keep still,” Jack told him. “Leave it to me. I will fix it all up in good shape when they give me half a chance to explain.”

Meanwhile the colonel and some of his officers were discovering new features in connection with the hastily made map. They could be heard expressing their wonder at its accuracy. Loudly did they declare that its possession by the enemy would be of incalculable injury to the cause of the Allies, particularly the British forces in Belgium, and along the French sea coast near Dunkirk and Calais.

The colonel turned upon the two boys. His frown had become heavier than ever, and that eagle eye of his seemed to be trying to see all the way down into their very hearts.

“You claim to be Americans,” he thundered, shaking his fat forefinger at them; “then how is it we find this map covering the disposition of our concealed batteries, supply stations, reserves, and everything else upon your person? Can you explain how it comes?”

“Certainly we can, sir,” said Jack promptly. “I was intending to hand you that chart; indeed, it was partly to do this we headed directly this way instead of trying to pass around.”

“It looks very suspicious, you must admit, boy!” continued the other, shaking the paper until it rattled. “Which one of you made it? A clever piece of work, but one that may cost you dearly.”

“That paper, sir, was dropped by the man in the Taube when his machine came to the ground, and he jumped out. We helped bind up his hurts because he was suffering. Unknown to him I picked this chart up nearby, where he had been hunting for it as we came up. I suppose he made the map while hovering over the lines of the Allies. As you say, it is a smart piece of work, so we decided that rather than destroy it we ought to place it in your hands.”

The officer looked at him keenly. He was not yet wholly convinced, though the air of candor with which Jack spoke went far toward making him feel less harshly toward the pair of lads. Besides, with his own eyes and through his field glasses he must have witnessed the abrupt descent of the German machine; and the boys had certainly come from that direction.

He turned and talked with his officers in low tones. Some of them seemed to be ready to believe Jack’s story, while others looked skeptical.

Seeing this, Jack realized that it was time to make a move on his own account in order to shift the tide his way. He quietly drew out a little pocket case of morocco leather in which he carried several papers that were of especial value. One, which was already well thumbed, he selected. The colonel was watching him curiously, and that gleam of suspicion had not vanished entirely from his heavy, florid face.

“Would you mind glancing over this paper, sir?” remarked Jack, apparently in a careless manner. “It will explain who we are to some extent. Perhaps the name at the bottom, an old friend of my chum’s father, may be of interest to you.”

That magical document had already eased them over numerous difficulties, and Jack had faith to believe its usefulness was not yet past. This is what the colonel of the territorials read:

“The two boys who bear this letter from me are under my especial charge. I hope that all officers in His Majesty’s service in Belgium, France, or elsewhere will do whatever they can to assist them to find the person for whom they are searching, and who is believed to be in the British ranks serving under the name of Frank Bradford.

(Signed) “Kitchener.”

No wonder the officer stared, and then bent closer to scan that wonderful name again. It represented the whole hope of the British nation just then. K. of K., standing for Kitchener of Khartoum, the hero of the Soudan campaign, as well as the fighter who had stood shoulder to shoulder with General Roberts—“Bobs”—in winning the fight for the country of the Boers in South Africa—to actually have the head of the army asking as a personal favor that these two American lads be treated in a friendly way was something quite out of the common.

“We win!” whispered Amos, who had been watching the red face of the consequential officer steadily as he read the contents of the paper Jack gave into his charge.

Indeed, a wonderful change had seemingly taken place in the colonel. Why, he actually smiled upon them as he handed the paper to one of his subordinates to read, and then thrust out his plump hand to Jack. If these lads were in the good graces of Lord Kitchener it might be of advantage to any soldier to do them a favor. Somehow, Amos decided that when he chose to unbend his dignity the stout colonel was rather inclined to be a genial sort of man after all.

“I am Colonel Atkins,” he said, affably. “Would you mind favoring me with your names? A hint over that signature is as good as an order to any British soldier. You must forgive my suspicions. We are in a strange country, and are compelled to look upon every one as an enemy until he proves his right to be called a friend. Those Germans are full of tricks, we have been told.”

“My name is Jack Maxfield, and that of my cousin, Amos Turner. His father was a noted military authority in his day, and somehow became very friendly with Lord Kitchener, I believe out in India, or in Egypt, long ago. When we came across the water on this errand of ours, the first thing we did was to see K. of K., who readily gave us this letter, and wished us every success.”

“As I understand it you are looking for some one; is that correct?” asked the territorial officer.

“An older brother of my chum, Frank Turner,” replied Jack. “Some years ago he had an unfortunate rupture with his father, who is a martinet in his way, and since then Frank has been traveling in many corners of the world. It has now been discovered that the boy was unjustly accused, and his father is fairly wild to see him again so as to make amends for the sad mistake of the past.”

“But what reason have you to suspect that he may be over here in Belgium where all the fighting is going on?” questioned the soldier. “There have been quite a number of Americans enlisted in a French Foreign Legion, I understand. They tell me there are scores if not hundreds of them among the Canadian recruits drilling at Salisbury Plains over on the other side of the Channel; but I do not think you will find many actually in the British army in Flanders.”

“In the first place my brother resembles my father a great deal,” spoke up Amos, with a touch of pride in his voice. “He has the soldier spirit in him; it is bred in the bone, you see. So I was not at all surprised on getting a few lines from him telling that he hoped to find a chance to enlist on the side of the Allies. He was in London at that time; and as I knew Frank’s determined ways I never doubted but what he carried his point and joined the army of Kitchener.”

“So much to his credit then,” declared the other. “If our kin beyond the water really knew what this war means for the whole English-speaking world they would give us even more of their sympathy.”

“You do not want to have us searched further then, Colonel?” asked Jack, with a gleam of amusement in his blue eyes.

The portly officer hemmed and hawed a little to hide his confusion; then he chuckled.

“Oh, I imagine there is no necessity for that,” he observed, presently. “Anyone who is carrying a paper signed like this ought to be above suspicion. You have done us all a service in securing this valuable chart. If that Taube pilot escaped, bearing such a document with him, it would be signing the death warrant for hundreds of brave boys in khaki before another day had rolled around.”

“We are heading for the front in the direction of Ypres. If you are going that way we would be very glad to accompany you, Colonel,” said Jack, as he received back the precious document from one of the officers, carefully folded it again, and replaced it in his bill book.

“Sorry to say that is not our present destination, my lad,” replied the colonel. “We are under orders to take our stand in another part of the line where stiffening is needed badly. All of us are eager to get our first taste of the real fighting. But if we can be of any assistance to you in other ways you have only to mention the same.”

He had said something aside to one of the other officers, who walked away to give some sort of order. Almost immediately a file of soldiers left the roadside camp and started off across fields, heading exactly in the direction whence the two American boys had just come.

Amos saw all this, and believed he could understand what it meant.

“They’re going to take a look in the brush for the wounded Taube man,” he told himself. “For one I hope they don’t run across him. Without his chart he isn’t so very dangerous. I reckon the colonel is afraid he may be able to draw a duplicate of the same from memory. A soldier takes as few chances as he can of letting the other side get valuable information. Yes, the colonel is right, I suppose.”

“The only favor we could ask would be in the line of making inquiries about the one we’re looking for,” Jack was saying.

“What name did you tell me he was going under?” asked the soldier. “I failed to pay much attention to that in the paper, for my eye had meanwhile caught the signature below, which almost took my breath away.”

“My friend’s mother was named Bradford, and he chances to know his brother was calling himself Frank Bradford, for reasons of his own.”

Jack had hardly spoken when he saw a look of sudden eagerness flash over the rosy face of the Englishman. It gave him a thrill, for he seemed to feel that it spelled new hope. Even Amos noticed that lighting up of the colonel’s eyes, and the uplifting of the heavy eyebrows.

“My word! now, that is a remarkable thing!” they heard him say, half to himself.

“Are we to understand from that, sir, you can give us a clue that may carry us to him whom we are so anxious to find?” demanded Jack, boldly, believing it wise to strike while the iron was hot.

“I wonder if it could be the same party?” the officer went on to say. “I was informed his name was Frank Bradford and that he owned up to being an American. My word! but this is remarkable. Tell me, did your brother ever serve his time as an air-pilot, young fellow?” turning to Amos.

“Not before he left home,” returned the boy; “but he was always intensely interested in aeronautics. If a chance ever came up, I’m sure he would have made a mighty good birdman.”

“If this is the same Frank Bradford,” muttered the soldier, shaking his head, “he has already jumped into the front rank of British aviators. They censored his name in the newspaper accounts, but I chanced to hear it from one who had met him on the field. It was after he made that wonderfully daring trip of seventy miles up the Rhine country, dropping bombs on many fortresses by the way, and striking a note of fear into countless thousands of German hearts.”

“Oh, I read that story myself, and was thrilled with it,” cried Amos, excitedly. “Little did I dream it could have been my own brother Frank who was the reckless aviator of the Allies. Wait, I have his picture here with me, taken some years ago; perhaps your friend may have described this man to you so that you could recognize him.”

With trembling hands he held up a small photograph taken with a kodak. The colonel looked closely. Then he nodded his head in a significant fashion that made the faithful heart of Amos Turner beat like a trip-hammer. It seemed as though by the greatest of good fortune he had come a step nearer success in his mission.

CHAPTER VI.
BEHIND THE TRENCHES.

Jack, too, had seen from the manner of the British officer that the kodak picture looked familiar to him.

“Would you say there was a resemblance between this face and that of the birdman who drove his aeroplane through the Rhine country?” he asked.

The soldier nodded his head again.

“It answers to the description given me,” he told them. “My informant was very particular to mention the heavy head of black hair, the strong look on the face, and the arched eyebrows. My word! but I really believe you are on the right track, young fellow. If this Frank Bradford, who threw the old city of Cologne into a panic, turns out to be your brother I heartily congratulate you.”

Further talk followed. Amos hoped to be able to pick up more or less information concerning the present whereabouts of the one he fully believed must be his brother.

In this endeavor, however, he was doomed to disappointment, for the officer could give him no further clue. Whether Frank Bradford still drove his wonderful machine in the service of the Allies, or had been brought low during some later air raid by the gunfire of the Germans he could not say.

So Jack took it upon himself to change the subject. He was not as well posted with regard to the roads of this battle-scarred section of Belgium as he would like to be.

The colonel, once he had been thawed out by the sight of that inspiring signature at the bottom of the letter Amos carried, proved very affable. It has always been the way with these icy Britishers—get behind the reserve they throw up as they would breastworks, gain their confidence, and there is nothing they will refuse in the way of accommodation.

So Jack was permitted to look at a map of the country which the soldier had in his possession. He even made notes from it which might serve to assist them on their way to Ypres, that hotbed of fighting, a salient the Germans seemed bent on recapturing.

So the two boys finally thanked the colonel, who heartily wished them all possible success in their undertaking.

“At the same time,” he told them at parting, “deep down in my heart I am hoping you may fail to induce your brother to throw up his job as one of King George’s boldest fliers. We shall need all the outside help we can get from our cousins across the sea, before this bloody business is over with, for these Germans are born fighters, every man-jack of them.”

When the two boys had proceeded some distance along the muddy road, on reaching a slight rise they stopped for a minute to look back.

Evidently the order to move had been passed along the line just after they parted from their new-found friends, for, like a great serpent, the column of khaki-clad territorials was passing along the road, a battery of field guns in the van and another bringing up the rear.

It was an inspiring spectacle. No wonder the two American boys felt their hearts beat with aroused sentiments. At the same time Jack shook his head sadly as he went on to say:

“How many of them will never go back again to the homes they have left over in old England? War may seem glorious to those who look on, but it is terrible. Already we’ve seen some of the destruction that follows in its track, and I reckon that before we cross the Atlantic again we’ll have our fill of its horrors.”

Truer words were never spoken. When Jack Maxfield said this he meant it only in a general way. He could not have possibly foreseen what a wide stretch of territory their search for Frank Turner would cover, and what amazing scenes they were fated to gaze upon before the end came.

Once more the chums trudged forward.

Amos was feeling quite “chipper” as he called it, and there was certainly good cause for this high hope. They had accidentally run across what seemed to be a strong clue, and the uncertainty of the past was being relieved. Jack, on his part, was figuring out what he might get through the hands of the censor in his next letter home. It was Jack’s avowed intention to become a newspaper man when he entered the business world, and already he had shown great aptitude along the line. The descriptions he sent over to a paper which he had arranged to represent while abroad were graphic and thrilling. His pen pictures of conditions as he saw them gave an accurate view of the situation. Although the stern military censor might blue pencil all names, he could not destroy the vivid word painting as set down by Jack.

Besides this, Jack had contrived a clever little dodge whereby he hoped to snap off some stirring pictures. His camera was the smallest ever designed, but it had an expensive lens, and that meant more than half the battle.

Jack had it concealed, and so arranged matters that he could press the bulb and snap off a minute picture without any one being the wiser; and after being developed this could be enlarged to any size required.

No doubt, eventually, that clever little contrivance would get him into what Amos called a “peck of trouble.” It would doubtless be confiscated, but Jack hoped he might be able to secure a series of views well worth working for, ere that catastrophe came about.

As they walked on, the boys were continually coming upon fresh works of recent strenuous warfare. The army of invasion had held stubbornly to this region, and an unexpected drive on the part of the reinforced British had carried the Germans back some five miles or so to where they had prepared a second line of wonderful trenches.

Here a stone wall had been used as a breastworks, as was proven by the devastation caused by bursting shells. Great holes yawned in the ground where monsters from the German siege guns had buried themselves and exploded. And the boys looked in awe at the piled-up earth, in places marked with small, rudely fashioned wooden crosses, which told where late combatants lay side by side, their battle fever forever stilled.

Hardened soldiers might have gazed upon such things unmoved, but these boys were all unaccustomed to war’s devastation, and many times their hearts beat in sympathy with the people they saw in the desolated cottages by the way.

The afternoon was now wearing away and it was only natural for the two chums to begin to wonder where they were fated to pass the night.

Jack had roughed it many times in the past, when on the cattle range. He knew what a lone camp under the stars meant, and could stand exposure about as well as the next one.

All the same Jack was ready to confess that if given a choice he much preferred a roof over his head. The air felt raw and there was even a chance that a cold rain might set in before morning, which would be pretty disagreeable all around.

“I think we’re coming to a village,” he told Amos, who had begun to lag a little as though leg weary; “or rather what is left of one, for when the Germans were thrown back they used every house as a barricade, and before they could be ejected there would often be hardly one stone left on another, or a wall standing.”

“Yes, you’re right about that, Jack, because I can see houses ahead of us. I only hope we find some sort of shelter, and a bite to eat, that’s all. Jack, don’t you think we’ve made good progress since sun-up?”

“We’ve done splendidly, for a fact,” the other readily admitted, “and there’s good reason you should feel hopeful. On my part I’ve seen and heard a lot of things today that will make up the liveliest letter I’ve been able to send across to the Times. On a dozen different accounts I’m glad I came over with you, Amos; and chief of all is the fact that I can be of assistance.”

“Why, I never could have gotten on without you, Jack. You’ve cheered me up when I felt blue; you’ve shown me how to ride rough-shod over difficulties; and if ever I do manage to find my brother Frank, nine-tenths of the credit will lie at your door. You’re the best chum a fellow could ever have, and that comes straight from my heart.”

“Well, here we are at the village,” said Jack, to change the conversation, though he would not have been human if he had not been touched by these warm-hearted sentiments on the part of his cousin.

“And I guess,” remarked Amos, “they must have pressed the Germans so closely through here that they had no chance to stop in any numbers, because you can see the houses are not badly shattered by shells.”

They found a scene of desolation around them, however, after they entered the village. Once it had undoubtedly been a pretty hamlet, but this was before the rush of hostile armies across Belgium’s borders.

Fugitives from less favored localities had sought safety among those who still had roofs over their heads. Curious eyes followed the boys as they passed along. Doubtless their coming and their well-fed appearance aroused the wonder and envy of these hapless people who all through the storms of the winter season had fought against starvation and freezing.

Soldiers, rumbling artillery trains, galloping horses, and all the brave trappings of new levies going to the front to become food for the cannon they were accustomed to see day after day. Then would come the ambulances and motor vans laden with the groaning victims who were being taken to field hospitals in the rear of the fighting line. But when two sturdy lads, one of them wearing a little American flag in his buttonhole, walked into their village, the natives became interested at once.

It was known throughout the length and breadth of Belgium that charitable America had fed their suffering millions all through the winter. On this account any one who claimed to be a citizen of the generous republic beyond the sea was welcome in their midst.

So Jack and Amos found smiles upon some of the wan faces around them as well as wonder and curiosity.

“If we can only run across some one who speaks English I’d call it lucky,” Amos was saying as they reached the center of the village.

“Here comes the man we want to see, then,” Jack told him. “The rest are pushing him along as if they knew he could talk with us. My French isn’t all it should be, and I have to depend on signs half the time so as to make myself understood. But it’s going to be all right now.”

Jack proved to be a good prophet, for the old man with the white beard addressed them in very fair English. He told them he had worked in an American arms factory for several years, and considered that he knew Yankee customs very well indeed.

“If you wish to spend the night with us,” he continued, “we will do the best we can to entertain you. In these sad times most of us are content to find a roof over our heads, and have something to satisfy our hunger. I will take you to my own poor house, though it is already crowded with relatives from other parts of our distracted country. Such accommodations as we have you are quite welcome to.”

Of course the boys thanked him, and hastened to say they would be satisfied to sleep in a shed, if there was no other place vacant. He asked them to accompany him, and with quite a procession tagging at their heels they started off.

It turned out that their host was really an important man in the village. Jack guessed he must be the mayor or burgomaster, since every one seemed to defer to his judgment.

One of the first things they noticed as they drew near the cottage for which they were headed, was a small boy parading up and down bearing a Belgian flag proudly over his shoulder. He seemed a very determined-looking youngster, and Amos openly commented on his manifest patriotism, at which the old man shrugged his shoulders, and then remarked:

“Of such material are the Belgian people composed. Like the Dutch they have never been conquered. They dared even to defy the Kaiser and his millions of fighting men. Belgium will rise again, and be a greater nation than ever.”

“And the boy?” said Jack, deeply interested.

“He is a wonderful child, whose brave father, Jean Larue, my cousin, fell fighting in defense of Antwerp. Little Jacques dreams of the day when he may strike a blow in memory of the father he loved. His mind is full of plans for trapping the hated Germans, if ever they come this way again, which Heaven forbid.”

The boy stopped in his military walk to solemnly return the salute Jack gave him. His face was unusually grave and they could see that the horrors of war by which little Jacques had been surrounded had done much to make him older than his years.

Everybody tried to be kind to the American boys, though it was little they could do after that late pinching winter. But they were given a small room with a bed in it, which apartment Jack imagined had been hastily evacuated by some of the kind old burgomaster’s relatives, now thrown upon his bounty.

“What better could we ask than this?” Amos wanted to know, as he washed his face and hands in a convenient tin basin.

“I’m not saying a word,” Jack told him. “Fact is I reckon we’re in clover, when you think of those poor ground hogs we saw yesterday wallowing in the mud of the trenches, and half frozen at that.”

It was not long before they knew cooking was going on, and, being a pretty hungry pair of boys, they exchanged pleased glances as they sniffed the appetizing odors.

The meal was limited, so far as variety went, but there seemed an abundance for all. Only the old burgomaster sat down with them, though there were a dozen women and children to be served later on under the hospitable roof.

Upon making inquiry Jack learned that there was not a single able-bodied man left in the village.

“All them are fighting alongside our beloved King Albert,” exclaimed the old man, proudly, “or else have already laid down their lives in defense of their country.”

All these things made a deep impression on the two American boys. They wondered how much of the same kind of patriotism would be found over in their country should an occasion ever arise when hostile armies occupied the cities and towns of the republic.

After sitting in their little room for an hour, where, by the dim light of a taper, Jack wrote an account of stirring things he had seen that day, Amos finally begged him to “close up shop” and go outside a while to take the air before turning in.

To this Jack offered no objection, for he was feeling very much that way himself.

The village seemed almost deserted at this hour, for the night was cloudy as well as raw, and every one had sought shelter. Even the dogs answered each other with mournful howls, as though they, too, partook of the general gloom that had fallen upon poor Belgium since that day early in August when the Teuton horde broke across her neutral territory and began the most terrible war in all history.

The boys walked out of the quiet village and along the road for a little distance. It was about this time that Amos drew the attention of his chum to something that appeared to have caught his eye and puzzled him. As usual, Amos depended on Jack to solve the mystery.

CHAPTER VII.
THE RED LANTERNS IN THE SKY.

“I was just wondering if I could be seeing double, Jack, and if there are two stars as red as Mars close together,” was what Amos remarked, after directing the attention of his chum to a certain spot in the heavens.

Jack gave a low whistle the very moment he looked.

“I can tell you offhand to begin with,” he hastily exclaimed, “that those are not what you seem to think they are, Amos.”

“Oh! is that so?” exclaimed the other. “What would you say they are?”

“Look closer, Amos, and you can see that they move.”

“That’s a fact, they do seem to swing like the pendulum of a clock. Now they’re close together, and then they separate more. Jack, it must be some sort of flying machine up there; perhaps a German Zeppelin.”

“I hardly think so,” returned Jack, slowly. “In the first place no airship would be apt to remain stationary as those two red lights seem to be doing.”

“Yes, I guess that’s right,” assented Amos.

“And then again, while the breeze is blowing softly from the direction of the sea, it’s perfectly still just now. Only once in a while you can hear the far-away growl of a big gun. So you see we’d surely catch the rattle of the propeller if that were an aeroplane or an airship.”

“Then how would you explain it, Jack?”

“I don’t know for certain, but on a guess I’d say those red lights might be a couple of small but powerful lanterns.”

“What! lanterns in the sky?” echoed Amos, quite staggered.

“Perhaps held up by some sort of big kite,” continued Jack, “because you can see for yourself there’s a bully breeze for flying such a thing.”

“But Jack, whoever bothered with sending up a kite after dark?” urged Amos.

“I’ve done the thing myself for a lark, and with a lantern fastened to it to show where it sailed. Amos, in these war times all sorts of strange dodges are made use of so as to send important information.”

This time it was Amos who whistled.

“You’ve certainly got me stirred up in great shape, Jack,” he admitted. “Who but these smart German spies would ever think of sending information through the enemy’s lines by means of red lanterns attached to a big kite?”

“A clever dodge, all right,” ventured the Western boy, as they continued to stand there on the road and watch the colored lights in the heavens above.

“I wonder what they signify?”

“Those who, far away, are looking through night glasses must know,” Jack explained. “Two lights mean a certain fact, and three would carry a different message.”

“It’s a bold man who would risk his life to do such a thing,” commented Amos, “for if caught at it he must expect to meet the usual fate of a spy—a file of men, his arms bound, his eyes bandaged, a rattle of guns, and that would wind up his career.”

“Still, thousands are taking that chance every day, in France, England and over in Russia,” said Jack. “The spy system of the German army excels by far anything ever dreamed of by other nations.”

“Of course we’ll never really know the truth about this business, Jack?”

“I was just wondering whether it might be possible to find that out, and if we ought to meddle with matters that are really no concern of ours,” was what Jack surprised him by saying.

“Do you really think we could run the thing down, and find the party at the other end of the kite string?” demanded Amos, at once interested.

“I should say there was a fair chance,” declared the ranch boy, who figured things out from force of habit on every occasion. “In the first place you know that a kite must always go up directly against the wind. There can be no compromise about that.”

“Sure thing,” agreed Amos, already intensely interested.

“Well, it’s easy to gauge the direction of the wind, and, after noticing how high the kite must be, we can figure about how far away the man would be standing who held the other end of the cord.”

Jack’s reasoning was so simple and yet so convincing that the other immediately fell into his way of thinking.

“Let’s do it, Jack!” he exclaimed enthusiastically.

“I take it you mean to try and look up the kite-flyer, eh, Amos?”

“Yes, and give him a little scare in the bargain. That old kite with its red lights has hung up there long enough.”

“It’s probably fulfilled its mission,” suggested Jack, “and conveyed the information that it was planned to send. But I’m curious enough to want to find out whether my theory was sound or not.”

“Then you say go, do you, Jack?”

“Yes, let’s make a start for it,” came the reply. “In the first place we’ll have to leave the road and cross this field, because we’ve got to advance straight into the wind.”

“That’s easy,” said Amos, copying the example set by his comrade.

“To begin with we’ve got to put a button on our lips, Amos.”

“I suppose by that you mean we mustn’t talk any more, eh, Jack?”

“Not unless it’s absolutely necessary, and then in the lowest of whispers.”

Amos, being a sensible boy, could understand why there was need of silence, and so he kept along at the heels of his cousin, using both his eyes and his ears, but putting a seal on his tongue.

It was not very difficult to cross the field. The ground proved to be hard enough to keep their feet from being mired in the mud, and no unsurmountable obstacles confronted the two boys.

Now and then Jack would pause to take an observation. At such times he first of all noted the position of the red lights, still in plain evidence aloft. After that he would make it his business to closely observe how the wind stood, and in this way get his bearings afresh.

Amos watched his actions with great interest. He had picked up a certain amount of woodcraft knowledge in his association with the scouts, but Jack, on the other hand, had acquired his through practical experience. A year or two spent on a Western cattle ranch is bound to be an education in itself, and lucky indeed is the boy who can profit by it.

Presently it became evident to Amos that Jack was proceeding more carefully. This convinced him that Jack must believe they were now drawing close to where the end of the cord that held the signal kite would be found.

Then Amos also noticed there was some sort of low elevation beyond. It could hardly be called a hill, not being high enough for that, and yet at the same time it was more than a mere knoll. Out in African Zululand it would possibly have been called a kopje.

Of course, having himself flown kites many a time, Amos readily recognized the value of such an uplift, free from trees as it was, and all other objects which were likely to become entangled with the kite string.

Yes, he saw that Jack was bending lower now, and that he headed in a bee line for that raised ground. Amos became immediately interested. Would they make the discovery they anticipated, once they drew closer?

There was no place in the immediate vicinity that offered such advantages in the way of elevation and freedom from interference. And accordingly it was with considerable faith that Amos continued to follow close at the heels of his cousin.

The suspense that ensued was of brief duration. Then Amos began to follow the dim outlines marking the rounded summit of the squatty elevation as seen against the clouded heavens.

Suddenly his eyes stopped traveling along that curve and remained riveted upon one particular point. Some object loomed up there, and broke the even contour of the “hogback.”

“I do believe that must be a man!” Amos was saying to himself under his breath, while he kept his eager eyes riveted on the spot; and after he had followed Jack a little further he was convinced beyond any possibility of doubt that his guess had been a correct one, for he plainly saw the object move.

Well, here was the man supposed to be responsible for those signals in the sky. Undoubtedly he must be an exceedingly bold and clever secret agent of the Kaiser, a spy who had managed to pick up certain information, valuable from a military point of view, and was now industriously engaged in transmitting the same to a German station miles away. So much was settled. The question Amos was anxious to have answered was what Jack meant he and his chum should do in the matter.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE AWAKENING.

“Amos!”

That was Jack whispering softly in his ear, and the one addressed squeezed his chum’s arm to let him understand that he heard.

“Do you see him up there?”

“Sure.”

“We want to creep up as close as we can.”

“Then what?”

“When you hear me begin to yell join in, and both rush toward him. Get that, do you, Amos?”

“Yes, but he’s sure to break the cord, and let the kite go.”

“All right. That answers our purpose,” Jack told him, which certainly was a fact the other had not considered—they were not trying to capture the kite that carried the twin red lights; it would be sufficient if they could induce the unknown spy to break the straining cord, and let the airy fabric bearing the signal lanterns float into space beyond, to eventually seek the ground.

Once more the boys moved forward.

The base of the low elevation lay before them, and Jack was now down on his hands and knees starting to make the ascent. It was beginning to get real exciting, and Amos felt his heart thumping heavily against his ribs as he contemplated the surprise and alarm of the spy when they started to giving tongue.

As they drew closer they could make out what he was doing much better than before. He had something in his hands, which Amos at once decided must be the stick about which the stout cord had been wound. That the kite was of fair size and pulled at times rather strenuously he judged from the way the unknown used his arms.

Jack seemed to be decidedly clever about this creeping business. Amos was afraid he could hardly be put in the same class as his cousin. He even feared that on several occasions he must have inadvertently snapped some small twig that his knees pressed heavily upon.

The sounds seemed almost like thunder notes to Amos, so keyed up were the boy’s nerves, but that must have been mostly imagination, for the man did not appear to have become alarmed by the sound.

There was no longer the slightest doubt concerning his occupation, for by now Amos could see that he certainly clutched some object that required considerable effort to hold. The kite probably was very large, Amos decided.

Perhaps the man had already quite enough of his task, for they could plainly hear him grumbling to himself, and Amos was sure he caught low spoken words in unmistakable German.

As seen outlined against the gray sky beyond, the man appeared to be turned half way around. Instead of looking toward the quarter where the kite flew, his attention seemed to be wholly taken up in the opposite direction.

Amos was puzzled to account for this at first, but he quickly grasped the meaning. Of course, the spy was looking for some sign that would tell him his message had been seen and understood by those for whom it was intended.

Jack’s hand fell on the arm of his chum. Although no arrangement had been made between them, Amos guessed that the time was at hand for the coup his companion had arranged.

Then Jack gave tongue, and his experience on the cattle ranch in company with a lively set of cow-punchers had made him a first-class hand at letting out a fierce whoop.

Amos joined in with what vim he could muster, so that, taken in all, they managed to create a pretty respectable disturbance around that region.

It turned out just as Jack had surmised would be the case. The man who was signalling over the British lines to his German confederates immediately dropped the end of the cord connected with the kite that bore the twin red lights.

Amos, still shouting at the top of his voice, saw him duck down as though meaning to dodge any bullets that might be sent in his direction. After that, the figure of the spy was seen no more between them and the gray heavens. Judging from the medley of sounds that came from the other side of the mound it might be guessed that the man, either intentionally or through sheer accident, was rolling headlong down the slope.

Jack stopped yelling, and broke out into a laugh, in which his cousin naturally joined.

“Look at the kite falling!” the Western boy called out, and Amos turned just in time to see the twin red lights before they vanished behind some trees or other obstruction to his view, dropping lower all the time.

“We’ve done what we aimed to accomplish, Jack,” he went on to say, when he could catch his voice. “After all, it was as easy as falling off a log.”

“But I’m afraid he had his message up in the sky, whatever it stood for, long enough to do its work.”

As Jack said this he clutched hold of the other and whirled him around again so that his face was toward the northwest.

“That looks like a bursting rocket, as sure as you live!” exclaimed Amos, as he discovered a shower of colored stars far away, that seemed to be floating in space.

“It is just that,” admitted his chum.

“If I was over home I’d guess the Glorious Fourth had come around, Jack, though it’s generally considerably hotter than we’ve got it here. Do you think that rocket’s got anything to do with this red-fire kite business?”

“A whole lot, I should say, Amos.”

“You mean it was sent up in answer to his signal?”

“To tell him they saw and understood,” replied Jack.

“Then our work was for nothing,” grumbled Amos.

“Oh, I expected that we’d be too late to prevent the mischief,” the ranch boy admitted. “All the same, we had the fun of giving the spy a scare. I reckon he thought a whole regiment of the hated British was on top of him, by the way he scooted out of here.”

“Could you blame him?” demanded Amos. “Why, if it had been me I think that cowboy whoop of yours would have given me a cold chill. I’m pretty sure no German ever heard the equal of it.”

“Thanks. I take that as a compliment,” returned the other laughingly. “We’d better get out of this now.”

“Is there any danger?” asked Amos.

“None that I know of,” Jack told him, “but you never can tell what these Germans will do. That fellow may have discovered a trick was played on him. If he chose to be ugly he might creep back and open fire on us with his automatic.”

“Whew! standing up here as we are we’d offer a lovely target, with the sky for a background. Let’s vamoose the ranch, Jack, as I’ve heard you say lots of times.”

“I’m agreeable,” the other remarked. “There’s always a time for ducking even as there is for an advance. Come along, Amos.”

They hurried down the hill and started over the field with the intention of striking the road, so that they might return to the Belgian village.

About half way across, while stumbling along in the semi-darkness, both boys were suddenly electrified by seeing a bright flash close at hand, accompanied by a sharp, spiteful report.

Jack, who had rare presence of mind, and seemed to know just what to do under any and all conditions, pulled Amos down to the ground. As they flattened themselves out into as small a compass as possible other shots rang out in rapid succession. The reports came like the quick pulsations of Amos’ heart under the pressure of excitement.

When the last shot had sounded Jack started to his feet, half lifting his companion at the same time.

“Make for the road full tilt!” he called out, and with that they commenced to run as fast as the nature of the ground permitted.

Perhaps Amos wondered whether the unknown would be satisfied to let them get away. He may have even anticipated hearing the footfalls of a pursuer in their rear, and this possibility kept him keyed up to the top-notch of excitement.

The road proved to be near at hand, and the running boys managed to reach it without anything out of the way happening.

In his excitement Amos might possibly have turned in the wrong direction, but Jack had his bearings well in hand, and knew what he was doing.

They did not stop running with their arrival at the road; in fact, if anything, they increased their pace. Amos felt willing to keep it up just as long as his comrade thought best.

Presently they knew the village was at hand, and accordingly Jack slowed down to a walk. Both of them were breathing heavily, but Amos felt that he ought to understand what the plan of campaign was to be.

“Will you tell the old burgomaster about this adventure, Jack?” he asked.

“What’s the use?” the other replied. “There may be other spies around, and we’d only get ourselves in a peck of trouble. Besides, it wouldn’t do us any good. We don’t hanker after publicity. Fact is, in times like these the closer you draw your head in your shell, like the wise old tortoise, the better you’re off.”

Amos agreed with him. This was nothing new, for, as a rule, the boys were of one mind, though it might be said that Jack played the part of leader most of the time.

Upon reaching the humble house at which they were quartered, the boys soon ascended to their room, being tired, and in sore need of rest. The village lay there almost in absolute darkness. Here and there a candle might be burning, but oil was too scarce a commodity to be recklessly wasted when all things that were needed to be done could be accomplished in daylight, which cost nothing.

Jack had a treasured electric light in his pocket, a small affair, but which on numberless occasions he had found very useful. He used it sparingly because there was scant chance of replenishing the battery in case it ran out. Flashing it around the small chamber so that both of them might become familiar with their surroundings, Jack presently commenced getting ready for bed.

“I’m only meaning to take my shoes and coat off,” he told his cousin, “and then pull this cover over me.”

No doubt Amos thought this sounded a little suspicious, for he immediately turned on the other with a question.

“Does that mean you’re half expecting to be routed out of bed before morning, Jack?”

“Oh, not necessarily,” came the reply, “but I like to feel that I’m prepared for whatever may happen. Old habits, you know, picked up on the range when I served as night wrangler to the saddle band of horses, and there was danger of a stampede, a thunderstorm, or visits from cattle rustlers. Do just as you think best about it, Amos.”

“What’s good enough for you ought to suit me,” was the reply Amos made.

They had little trouble in getting asleep. The day’s arduous tramp had tired Amos in particular, and though he started to think over the exciting events that had come their way since dawn, it was not long before they became a jumble in his mind, and then gave way to dreams of the dear ones left at home.

If they awoke at various times during the night it was only to turn over and go to sleep again. Young, buoyant natures can easily throw off mental burdens that might keep older persons long wakeful.

Hours passed.

It must have been getting well on toward morning when Amos felt some one tugging at him. Still half dreaming, he imagined one of his boy friends must be annoying him while camping out.

“Let up on that, Billy, and go to sleep again,” he muttered; but the shaking only increased, and now some one was calling in his ear:

“Wake up, Amos, wake up I tell you; we’ve got to get out of this!”

At that Amos threw off the sense of drowsiness, and somehow managed to understand where he was.

“What’s all that terrible racket, Jack?” he demanded, as his ears caught a confusion of direful sounds outside.

“It must be a fierce German drive,” the other told him. “They are pushing the British back toward Ypres, and will likely occupy this village on their way.”

CHAPTER IX.
WHEN THE DRIVE WAS ON.

Amos was already fumbling around for his shoes. Through the open window came a medley of sounds, constantly growing in volume. Evidently a battle was on, and the roar of cannon began to be deafening.

Outside, the villagers were greatly excited. They could be seen hurrying this way and that in the light of breaking dawn. Some were in full flight heading toward the south, while others doubtless must be making for underground retreats in the shape of cellars, the existence of which they were aware of.

“I can’t seem to find one of my shoes,” complained Amos. “Just throw that light of yours around here a second, won’t you, Jack?”

This being done the missing footgear was located, and soon placed where it belonged. Meanwhile that dreadful noise grew louder and more terrifying. It was by this time difficult to converse without shouting. There were stunning explosions in the air that caused quick flashes as of lightning. Others made the ground fairly tremble from the violence of the concussion.

“All ready, Amos?” called Jack presently.

“Give me ten seconds to get my coat on and I’ll be with you!”

Amos was very much excited, as well he might be. Never in all his life had he listened to such a dreadful combination of awful noises. It was like half a dozen thunder storms rolled into one. If those Germans believe in carrying on a campaign of “frightfulness” they were certainly hewing pretty close to the line right then.

“It’s getting worse all the while, Jack!” he called out.

“Yes, as more guns come into play,” replied the other. “This must be one of the drives we’ve heard so much about.”

“But we said we believed nothing could push those British chaps out of the trenches they’d dug themselves into,” said Amos.

“I don’t know how it is,” Jack told him, “but some way has been found by the Kaiser’s men to break through. Once that happens, you know, the whole line of defense crumples up like an egg shell.”

“Perhaps they’re using gas shells,” suggested Amos, for they had heard some talk along those lines from soldiers they had met returning wounded from the front.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” said Jack, “you know that as chemists the Germans lead the world. They firmly believe they are fighting for their existence as a nation. Are you all ready, Amos?”

Upon the other replying in the affirmative they left the little room and made their way to the lower part of the house. Here a single lamp burned and by its meagre light they discovered the old burgomaster, who looked more solemn than ever.

“The Germans must have broken through the British line of defense, which was only two miles away from here,” he told them, gravely, “and I fear it will mean the ruin of all we have left, for the fighting draws closer all the while, and they must soon be among the houses.”

“Some of the people have gone away,” Jack remarked, “and we think we ought to get out, too, while there is time.”

“Please yourselves, young messieurs, and it is wise of you, I must say, though if you choose to remain there is room in the cellar below.”

“Then you mean to stay here and take desperate chances?” the boy asked.

“It is my duty. I could not forsake my children when they need my counsel so much. It may be that cellar shall be our tomb. Nevertheless some one must remain to watch over the women and children who cannot get away.”

Amos was greatly affected on hearing the old man say this. He realized as never before that heroism is not confined to dashing deeds on the field of battle. In those days and nights that tried men’s souls numberless occasions arose wherein humble individuals, often weak women, proved their right to the claim of heroism, though history would never blazon their deeds upon its pages.

Impulsively Amos seized the honest hand of the aged burgomaster and squeezed it. He always considered that he was being honored in having the privilege of calling him a friend.

“Look, there’s that boy Jacques again, with his Belgian flag!” called out Jack, pointing to a small figure that was parading up and down just outside the window.

“He utterly refuses to join the others in the cellar,” said the old man, “and he is too nimble for my infirm limbs to overtake, so I must let him take his chances. He is wild over the opportunity to do something to avenge his father, should the hated men in the spiked helmets reach here. Alas! I fear poor little Jacques will go to join his father ere long, when that spirit fills his heart. Those Germans spare not when the lust of battle is on them.”

Jack also shook hands with the old burgomaster ere leaving.

“I surely hope it may not turn out as badly as you fear,” he said in parting, after pressing some money into the other’s unwilling palm. “The drive will be halted before it reaches your place. If a chance comes to us we will look you up again later. Good-bye!”

The old man somehow had taken quite a fancy to the boys, and it was evident that he disliked to see them go. He knew what America was like, and doubtless the peaceful land across the sea appealed more strongly to him than ever, now that his own beloved country was being overrun and ruined by a hostile army.

Once outside the house the boys looked about them.

It was no longer dark for day was at hand. Besides, the constant bursting of those countless enormous shells helped dissipate the gloom, although in places a low-hanging sea fog made objects assume a weird appearance.

A few frightened villagers could be seen hurrying past. Some of them were bearing bundles as though they had hastily gathered their scanty possessions together, and intended to cut loose from their anchorage, seeking safety in hurried flight.

Indeed, Amos could not blame them when he listened to all those dreadful noises, and mentally pictured the desperate scenes that were likely to occur when the retreating British tried to make a desperate stand amidst the houses of the already sorely stricken Belgian village. Perhaps in the end ere they were driven forth hardly one stone of those humble dwellings would remain on another.

As they passed little Jacques, still marching up and down, Amos patted the child on the shoulder. There was resolution and courage in the eyes that looked up at him. Others might be afraid and tremble and weep, but Jacques was the child of a soldier. The spirit of Jean Larue, who fell in defense of Antwerp, dwelt within that young heart. The coming of the Germans only meant to poor little Jacques a possible chance to carry out the plans for revenge that had of late taken possession of his mind to the exclusion of everything else.

In leaving the apparently doomed village both of the American boys were conscious of very heavy hearts. They had already seen enough of war’s horrors to impress them deeply. The uncertainty concerning the fate of all those innocent non-combatants grieved them exceedingly.

Still, there was absolutely nothing they could do to render assistance, and for them to linger there would simply mean unnecessary risk. In the heat of battle neither one side nor the other would pay any attention to the fact that they claimed to be Americans and neutrals. They had no business on the fighting line, and if injured could not complain.

Perhaps Jack felt a keen desire to hang around and see with his own eyes what a desperate battle looked like. The spirit of the newspaper correspondent was strong within Jack. But while reckless at times he could also show considerable caution. Besides, he was not alone now, he must remember, and the life of Amos was doubly precious just then, in the estimation of the one who had sent him abroad on that search for Frank Turner.

On this account Jack curbed his desire to linger and try to see what took place when the fighting reached the doomed village.

There was little choice in the matter of deciding upon the direction of their intended flight. The German drive was coming from the north, and hence only in the opposite quarter could there be any assurance of safety.

Fortunately the road offered them an opportunity to retreat from the village without taking to the fields.

They quickly overtook a band of villagers trudging stoically along. During the long months that had elapsed since the beginning of the cruel war these poor people had suffered so much that by now they were growing callous, and accepted every new trial uncomplainingly.

They had seen beloved kindred shot down, had watched their possessions given to the torch, and in so many ways endured the terrors that come to a subjugated country that it seemed as though they could weep no more.

Both boys felt for the poor people. They would have done something to help them, only there seemed to be no way in which they could be of any assistance, since it was folly to slow down their pace to correspond with the snail-like progress of the fugitives.

All this while the noise to the north had continued to grow in volume until it was simply frightful. Amos had never dreamed there could be as many big guns on the fighting line from Alsace to the sea as the Germans had brought to bear upon this one section of the British defense, possibly only a few miles in extent.

“They boasted that they would batter their way through to Calais,” Amos called out, as they stood and listened, “and it looks like they are doing it.”

“Wait,” said wise Jack. “The fury of the drive will exhaust itself. Those stubborn British never know when they are whipped. They will hang on like bulldogs until the enemy is tired out, and then block his way with the reinforcements that must be hurrying up, and which we’ll soon meet.”

“Then, Jack, you don’t believe the Kaiser will get to Calais as he said he would, so as to fire his big guns across the Channel on to English soil?”

“Not this time, anyway,” asserted Jack. “They may win three or four miles of muddy ground, for which they’ll pay a heavy price, but that is all. Some of those guns you hear crashing are manned by British Tommies, and Canadian troops, who are bound to give a good account of themselves. But the losses will be terrible on both sides, more the pity. Come, let’s be moving.”

CHAPTER X.
THE CHECK LINE.

They trudged along for a time in silence, though both of them kept eyes and ears open so that they might not lose any portion of the remarkable war panorama by which they were surrounded.

As they overtook and passed other fugitives from the threatened village, Amos found himself still pitying the poor souls once again cast out upon the cold world.

“I wish we could help them,” he said to his chum, “but of course that’s out of the question. We’re like the ‘babes in the woods’ ourselves. But by now we must be about the end of the string. The road looks clear ahead.”

“And I was just thinking,” added Jack, “we hadn’t left the village any too soon for our health.”

He made a suggestive movement with his hand when saying this, and Amos guessed the meaning.

“Do you really think the battle has reached there so soon?” he asked as he stood and listened to the clamor that welled up from their rear.

“Yes,” said Jack; “from the sound of spattering rifle firing I think the retreating British have taken advantage of the houses. Every stone cottage will shelter a dozen or so. And as the pursuing Germans come along with a rush they’ll be met by a murderous fire.”

“Then just as our good old friend the burgomaster said, it will spell the finish of the village,” sighed Amos; and apparently his chum caught his meaning in spite of the dreadful din, for he went on to follow up the thought.

“Yes, the Germans will turn their guns on the place if they meet with a set-back there, and make it a howling wilderness.”

“Those poor women and youngsters,” groaned Amos.

“It is tough luck,” added Jack, drawing a long breath, “but only the fortune of war. We’ll see lots more of it before we’re through, I’m afraid. But by now it strikes me we ought to be meeting the first of the British reinforcements coming forward to fill the gap and stem the retreat.”

“Jack, just as you were saying that I caught a new sound—anyhow it came from a new direction. When there was a little lull in all that roar of guns I thought I heard the trample of horses’ hoofs and the rumble of hurrying artillery.”

“You hit the bull’s-eye that time, Amos, for there they come.”

Both boys felt their hearts beat with a quickened vigor as around a bend in the Belgian road came galloping horses drawing a field piece. After it appeared a caisson with ammunition, and then other portions of the battery in quick succession.

“Let’s get out of the way, because they’ll need the whole road,” said Jack.

“But what can one battery do against all those heavy German guns?” Amos asked, as the leading horses drew near.

“Oh! this is only a beginning,” he was immediately told by his companion. “I’ve no doubt for a mile and more back the road is solid with them, all hurrying to the front. And tens of thousands of troops must be headed in the same direction, though perhaps they’ll take to the fields, and leave the roads to the artillery. Now watch, and give the boys a salute as they go past.”

They stood with their hats in their hands, and as the first field piece went rumbling by both boys gave a yell, at the same time waving their headgear.

The grim-looking gunners returned the cheer. Their bronzed faces had an eager look, as though they scented the battle smoke from afar, and were wild to get busy.

So they kept streaming past, battery after battery, the officers shouting their commands, for every one undoubtedly knew exactly where he was expected to take up a position so as to effectually check the fierce drive that the German hosts had started.

“There, across the field, you can see them coming,” called out Jack, after they had waved their hats until their arms were weary.

“The troops, as sure as anything, and on the double-quick at that!” exclaimed Amos, again thrilled by the sight of the khaki-clad legion that had suddenly burst into view on the full run, with bayonets gleaming wickedly, and every man apparently a part of a well-drilled machine.

“Look, look, Jack, there’s a regiment of Highlanders in their bare legs, tartans and kilts!” exclaimed Amos. “How fierce they look, Jack! I don’t wonder that they nearly always carry everything before them. I’d want to turn tail and run if I saw those boys heading for me. But what is the matter with them all that we don’t hear the bagpipes; and, Jack, where are those English cheers we’ve heard so much about?”

“Just give them time,” he was told; “they need all their wind right now for running. When they strike the line of the Kaiser’s men they’ll do their shouting.”

“Still they come along, thousands and thousands of them, as if there was no end to the reserves. What a splendid lot of men they are. It’s terrible to think of the homes that will never see many of them again.”

“Look closer, Amos, for I really believe those strapping fellows are Canadians!”

“Yes, I can see the maple leaf on that flag, Jack. And they look as if they could hardly be kept from whooping it up right now.”

Both boys displayed additional excitement. It almost seemed as though they might be looking upon fellow Americans, such is the bond existing between the two neighboring countries that for more than a hundred years have lived in amity, with not even a fort or blockhouse along the three thousand miles of boundary line.

“I warrant you, Amos, a lot of those fellows have come from the ranches in the Northwest Territory. Yes, some of them run as though they might be more at home on the back of a horse than afoot. Perhaps I know a number of the boys, for I spent a time on a Saskatchewan cattle ranch.”

The thought caused Jack to follow the passage of the hurrying Canadian regiment with intense interest. They were, however, too far away for him to have recognized any familiar faces. Besides, in the trappings of a soldier a man would look quite different from the cowboy in sheepskins or leather “chaps” as Jack had known him.

Finally the rear guard turned up. Long before the last of the artillery train had passed by the boys had seen that some of the batteries left the road a little further on, making for certain advantageous points where they could commence to hurl their death-dealing projectiles with profit.

“Shall we go on again?” asked Amos.

“Yes, because where we happen to be just now the land is low and flat, and we can see absolutely nothing,” replied Jack.

“I really believe you’re still hankering to glimpse the fighting,” Amos ventured to say.

“I think I know of a good chance,” the other told him, “and to begin with we’ll leave the road right here. Follow me, Amos.”

Of course Amos did, for he placed the greatest confidence in his chum’s judgment.

“Things seem to be going on hotter than ever all along the line,” he was saying as he kept alongside the other.

“It’s going to be a terrible day, and the surgeons of the Red Cross will be kept busy every minute of the time,” Jack remarked, as they hurried along.

Amos had noticed that they were not passing over the fields where the onrushing British reserves had crossed, since Jack had for some reason chosen the other side of the road.

As yet Amos had not guessed what his chum had in view, and when his curiosity had reached a certain pitch he could hold in no longer.

“What’s the idea, Jack?” he asked.

“There’s some sort of mansion close by, which has a tower on the roof, and the idea struck me we might get a bird’s-eye view of what’s going on if we chose to climb up there.”

“But perhaps the owner might seriously object, Jack.”

“Don’t let that bother you, Amos,” he was told. “The great German army stormed through here on the road to Paris. When it was pushed back by slow degrees in this section nothing worth taking was left. If it couldn’t be used up or carried away to the Rhine country ten chances to one it was destroyed, so that the enemy couldn’t have any benefit of it.”

“Then you think this estate is a ruin, do you?”

“You’ll soon see for yourself what happens when an invading army passes through a hostile country, for here we are at the place.”

As Jack said this he pointed ahead. Signs of destruction and vandalism could be seen the very first thing. The stone fence that surrounded the property had been thrown down in numerous places. Even trees had been chopped down to afford fire wood for the camp, or else because they were supposed to interfere with the efficiency of quick-firing guns that at one time had been planted on the roof or in the tower of the building.

As the boys advanced they were shocked at the picture of devastation they saw all around them. Close to the walls of the house all manner of costly furniture and valuable china ornaments had been ruthlessly smashed.

“It’s worse than a country fire over in the States,” remarked Amos. “Why do you suppose they did this thing?”

“Probably to keep the enemy from getting any benefit out of all this stuff,” explained Jack, “or perhaps just to strike terror to the hearts of all well-to-do Belgians who declined to welcome the invaders with open arms.”

“But the house is partly wrecked, too, Jack.”

“Yes, you can see it’s been bombarded,” the other admitted, “and several shells tore holes right through the walls. One knocked off that corner; another made this great gap in the ground when it burst. Limbs were torn from the trees too. And, taken in all, I’d say it must have been pretty warm in this section about that time.”

“Shall we risk climbing up to the tower?” asked Amos.

“Why not? The house doesn’t look as though it would crumble and collapse. It would stand another bombardment, I reckon,” and as he spoke Jack boldly led the way through the open doorway.

The interior was a sad wreck. Piles of plaster lay on the floors, and several rooms looked as though it might be dangerous to try and pass through them. Amos glanced this way and that with something of a shiver. It was as though he half anticipated making some sort of gruesome discovery amidst those telltale rubbish heaps.

Fortunately, nothing of the kind happened, and after climbing laboriously for a short time the two boys finally managed to reach the cupola or tower, where they immediately found themselves amply repaid for all their trouble with a wonderful panoramic view.

CHAPTER XI.
WATCHING THE BATTLE EBB AND FLOW.

“It was worth all the trouble, Jack,” admitted Amos.

They could see far away beyond where the doomed Belgian village undoubtedly lay. Billows of smoke shrouded most objects, but at times the wind swept this aside, and at such moments they could obtain glimpses of the fighting.

In one place they saw solid masses rushing forward with the resistless power of might, to be met with a blast that cut terrible lanes in their closely packed ranks.

Amos fairly held his breath as he stared. It seemed almost as though he might be indulging in a nightmare. Then the powder smoke rolled like a curtain between, and the view was shut off.

Shells were bursting everywhere, and Jack soon located the hamlet which they had so recently quitted.

“They’re at it hammer and tongs around the village, I’m afraid, Amos,” he called out to his companion.

“Have you found out where it’s located, Jack?”

“Yes, if you watch sharp when the smoke fog opens you can glimpse a few of the houses over that way,” and Jack pointed as he said this.

“Yes, I see it now. And how the shells seem to be raining down on that spot. I guess the German gunners have got the range to a fraction. How d’ye think they manage such things, Jack?”

“They have the whole country plotted out to begin with, Amos. And then, you see, they get tips by wireless right along.”

“Wireless?” echoed Amos.

“In a sense, yes. Look up and you’ll see that there are a dozen aeroplanes swooping around like hawks, now fluttering over some particular spot, and dropping a colored signal paper. That is to tell the gunners just how to fire so as to hit what they’re after. Those birdmen have a regular code they use to talk with.”

“But surely all of them are not German Taubes, Jack? I can see some that look different in build.”

“Those belong to the Allies,” Jack declared with conviction.

“But how is it they chase around, often close together, without interfering with each other?”

“I suppose that’s because they’re all too busy now sending information of great value to bother with their own little rivalry. Though it may be they take an occasional crack at each other in passing.”

Amos had conceived a sudden startling thought, and he watched the evolutions of the rising and falling aeroplanes with additional interest. It could easily be noticed, however, that the machines of the Allies monopolized his attention.

“Oh! I wonder if one of them could be my brother Frank,” Jack heard him saying presently.

“It’s one chance in ten he’s working up there right before our eyes,” the Western boy admitted.

After that Amos could hardly tear his eyes from the darting aeroplanes. When he saw little puffs of white smoke breaking close to one of them and knew that this must be shrapnel shells sent from anti-air craft German guns, his heart seemed almost in his throat with sudden anxiety.

“Oh! that would be too cruel!” he exclaimed. “If I came all the way over here to find my brother, only to see him shot down before my very eyes.”

“Don’t think of it,” Jack told him. “Chances are those are British airmen, and Frank may be far away from here.”

“Oh! he’s been struck, and is falling!” exclaimed Amos in sudden terror.

“His machine has been put out of commission, it seems, but the pilot aims to coast down so he can land back of his own lines. And as sure as you live he’s doing it, too.”

They forgot everything else, because of their intense interest in the fate of the pilot of the stricken monoplane. A short time later Amos broke out with half a cheer, such was the excitement he was laboring under.

“Jack, he’s landed, don’t you think?”

“Reckon he has,” agreed the other.

“And safe behind the British lines.”

“You’re right there, Amos, because the place where he struck is some distance this side of the village. That brave fellow is all right, even if his machine was put out of commission.”

“But the others keep at work right along, Jack.”

“They direct the gunfire of both sides, to a considerable extent, and it would be a hard thing to get along without aeroplanes nowadays. This war has shown how useful they can be. But look over yonder. I do believe those are the British reserves we saw, going into action.”

“Oh! you’re right, Jack, for I glimpsed the Highlanders deploying behind that stone wall. And I think that must be the Canadian regiment charging with their bayonets.”

“It surely is, because I heard their yells when a shift came in the wind just then. Oh! shucks! there that smoke has to settle down again and shut off our view when it was getting so thrilling.”

“To think that the same kind of fierce fighting is going on along miles of territory. Do you think there’s a chance the Germans may break through at this point, Jack?”

“They may in small detachments while all the confusion is on, but not in great force,” Jack replied. “All these things have been anticipated and prepared for. A battle is like a game of chess, with every move having a meaning of its own. The general who can best guess the plan of the enemy, and lay his own to trip him up, is the one who’s bound to win.”

It continued to be fascinating work to watch the stirring events that were transpiring. That tower on the top of the wrecked country house proved a splendid lookout for the two deeply interested boys.

Jack in particular was making it a point to impress all the features of the action upon his memory. Later on at the first available chance he meant to incorporate what he had witnessed in a stirring letter that might thrill the hearts of all those in the home land who read it, even as his own pulses were quickened just then.

When the smoke pall chose to lift again after quite an interval, Amos gave a cry of mingled surprise and chagrin.

“Why, Jack, see, they’re gone!”

“You mean the Highlanders who were behind that stone wall, don’t you, Amos?”

“Yes, not a man of them is left. And, Jack, I don’t seem to see any stretched out on the ground. Do you think they had to retreat so soon?”

“Hardly that,” the other assured him. “Those Scots are the most stubborn fellows going. They don’t like to give up anything they’ve once had possession of. Of course I couldn’t say for certain, but the chances are they’ve charged out to meet the oncoming Germans face to face.”

“And they may be bayoneting each other in that awful fog of smoke further on,” Amos continued. “Oh! it’s terrible, terrible! I never thought war was so cruel. I always pictured it as glorious, with the heroes coming home to be crowned as victors. I’ll never think of it again as I used to. General Sherman was right when he called it what he did.”

So the changes took place rapidly. It was as though they were looking through a kaleidoscope. Every puff of air raised the curtain of smoke in some new section and allowed the absorbed spectators a chance to look upon phases of the battle they had as yet failed to see.

To think, that all through that long day, while the rival armies dug new trenches confronting each other, this terrible butchery must continue, was something to chill the heart.

“Why,” burst out Amos at length, after they had been a long time in the tower, “you could almost believe the end of the world had come, with all this noise and fire. They say it won’t be a flood next time but fire that is going to destroy everything. For one, Jack, I’m beginning to get enough of this.”

“We’ll stay only a little while longer, Amos. Fact is, we’ll never run across such a splendid chance as this to watch a big battle. It is Teuton against Anglo-Saxon now, the first time they’ve been up against each other for centuries really. And this war will tell which is going to be the world leaders.”

“If the Kaiser wins we’ll all have to brush up on our German, and that’s what I don’t like much,” Amos complained.

“If that was the worst of it there’d be little reason for complaining,” Jack told him. “I suppose German is as fine a language as the next, once you get your tongue adapted to it.”

“I can see a smudge of smoke where we think the village lies, Jack, and it’s black smoke, too. Do you think the place has been set afire so as to drive the British snipers out?”

“I wouldn’t be much surprised, Amos.”

“And those poor, poor peasants, the helpless women and children, what will become of them?” exclaimed Amos.

“Don’t ask me,” said Jack, with a shiver. “Those who snatched up what they could get of their possessions and trekked out along the road leading to the south were wise, after all.”

“Yes,” continued his chum, “they may suffer from the cold, but as they get further down into France they’ll have kind friends raised up for them on every hand. I wonder will the burgomaster live through it all, brave old chap that he was to decide to stay and share the fate of those who chose to hide in the cellars.”

“And little Jacques,” added the other boy, “what will happen to him with all those shells bursting, and the British and Germans fighting hand to hand in the streets of the village? I’m afraid the poor little fellow won’t be able to trap his hated Prussian as easy as he expected.”

Jack turned to observe some feature of the wonderful panorama disclosed when rifts occurred in the eddying smoke curtain. It all seemed to have a decided fascination for him, so that he would surely regret leaving that eyrie presently, in order to please his cousin.

Even as he looked, almost holding his breath with eagerness, there came a strange whining sound in the air. Something hurtled past not fifty feet overhead. Then came a terrible crash that almost knocked both of the boys down, and caused Amos to cling desperately to the railing of the cupola lookout.

“That was a shell, Jack!” he gasped, when he could catch his breath.

“It certainly was,” declared the other. “The Germans are using this tower as a range finder, and we had a narrow escape that time.”

CHAPTER XII.
FROM THE CUPOLA LOOKOUT.

“I should say it was lucky!” assented Amos, with an intake of breath; “did you see how it shattered that tree top when it burst? Looks like a bolt of lightning had struck it. What would have happened to both of us if the time limit of explosion had been just a second less?”

Jack turned and looked away off to where those billows of white and gray and greenish-colored smoke hid most of what was taking place beyond the shifting screen.

“I wonder where it really came from?” he exclaimed, “and if it was only a random shot, or did that gunner mean to hit this cupola?”

“Well, I must say you take it mighty cool, Jack!”

“What’s the use of getting worked up over it?” demanded the ranch boy, who had learned long ago how to control his emotions even under the most trying conditions.

“But they may bombard us again?” expostulated Amos.

“I give you my word for it, Amos, I won’t wait for a third invitation to get out. If another shot comes anywhere near here we’ll go down in a hurry. But I hardly believe that was intentional.”

Amos, however, was hard to convince.

“Of course they’ve got powerful glasses—I mean the officers directing the fire of that battery?” he ventured.

“That goes without saying, Amos.”

“And if they chanced to look this way they’d see us here, though of course they couldn’t tell who or what we were. Now, Jack, wouldn’t it be natural for them to think some high British officers had climbed up into this lookout so as to make use of it as a watch tower?”

“I must say you put up a reasonable argument there,” admitted Jack.

“Well,” argued Amos, “if they got the notion in their heads that this deserted chateau was being used as headquarters by the British commander and his staff, it would be an object with the Germans to drop a shower of shells hereabouts, with the intention of putting them out of business.”

Jack seemed quite interested in the theory his chum was so earnestly putting forward. He even smiled as he turned to look at Amos.

“There’s only one weak place in that argument of yours,” he went on to say.

“Then tell me what it is, won’t you, Jack?”

“Since that shell dropped in here all of a sudden I should say two full minutes had gone by,” the Western boy told him.

“What of that, Jack?”

“Only this, Amos, we’ve seen nothing of a second shot anywhere near us. There’s been plenty of time, and to wipe out the British army staff it would pay to turn the fire of a whole battery this way; but it hasn’t been done.”

“Then you believe now that shot was only an accident?” asked Amos.

“Oh! well, some gunner was trying his range, and got it with just one shell. His next aim was in another quarter, and it may be he did terrible work. We’ll never know.”

“But you said you’d be willing to clear out of this soon, Jack. I wish you’d settle on doing so now.”

“I suppose I’ll have to keep my word,” agreed the other, “though between you and me I haven’t seen half enough of this thrilling picture. It’s ten times as interesting as looking at one of those war panoramas like Gettysburg, the Siege of Paris, and all the rest.”

“And a thousand times more terrible,” added Amos, “because we know that what we’re looking at isn’t a painting on canvas but the real thing.”

“Just give me one more chance to see through a gap in the smoke,” pleaded Jack. “I’d like to know what became of those men in the kilts, and with the bare knees.”

“The Highlanders, you mean,” said Amos. “Oh! they’ve found shelter behind some other stone wall, and are holding their own, I’m dead certain. Just as you said a while ago the canny Scot keeps a grip on what he can seize like a bulldog might.”

“Now the breeze has struck up again, Amos, and it’s blowing the smoke away, like we saw that fog at sea driven off. Use your eyes and tell me if you can pick out the men from the Scotch hills.”

Jack had hardly ceased speaking when his companion uttered a loud cry, as though he had made a discovery.

“There they are, flattened out along the ground, and against that small rise just like so many cats waiting to pounce on a robin. And, Jack, see what a distance they’ve gained, will you?”

“I’d like to predict that the terrible German drive has reached its limit in this direction,” said the Western boy, confidently.

“They’re shooting as fast as they can, too, what at I’m not able to say, for all the smoke. Somewhere beyond there the enemy lies, and I’m afraid some of those fellows we can see stretched out on the ground will never take part in another battle.”

“But there’s no sign of them retreating, you notice, Amos. They’re going to stick like leeches. I reckon in this war German stubbornness is matched evenly against Scotch persistence, and English bulldog holding on. What the end of it all will be I can’t see.”

Amos moved uneasily.

“We oughtn’t to have any great trouble getting down from here, I should think,” he mentioned, significantly.

Of course Jack understood the hint. It would be with only an effort that he could tear himself away from that wonderful spectacle of modern man, at war with his neighbors, and bringing every ingenious device known to latter-day invention into the conflict.

Left to his own devices and he might have clung to that elevated watch tower for hours, impressing on his memory the strange pictures that were changed with each passing minute. But he had to consider the wishes of his companion, and also remember that he had given his promise.

“No trouble about that, Amos,” he agreed. “Watch your step when descending.”

“Then you’re ready to come along, Jack?”

“I said I would, so lead the way,” returned the other.

Amos waited no longer. Perhaps he entertained a little fear that Jack might change his mind if he lingered, because of some new and astounding phase of the furious, long-drawn-out battle taking place.

Accordingly, he started down the ladder by means of which they had reached the cupola on top of the deserted mansion.

Jack waited only to cast one last look along that front to the north, as if desirous of impressing the picture upon his mind forever. He had always possessed a faculty for mental photography which had been cultivated to the limit, and which had served him well in times past.

“I’m coming after you, Amos!” he called out, cheerily, as he started down the ladder.

Amos had meanwhile reached the upper floor of the house. Mechanically he stepped over some of the broken furniture and fragments of shattered wall to make for the stairway leading below.

At the head of this he paused to wait for Jack, who had just then called out that he was on the way. So they came together again.

Amos pointed to what seemed to be the remains of a cradle.

“The people who lived here had children, that’s sure,” remarked Jack. “I’ve seen toys lying around, and other things besides.”

“What happened to them, do you suppose?” asked tender-hearted Amos.

“Oh! the chances are this man fled with his family when first the war broke out,” Jack declared. “He was a man of means, and kept his motor car, because there’s a fine garage in the yard outside.”

“I hadn’t noticed that, Jack. It certainly is little that escapes your sharp eyes. But I hope they got to a safe place.”

“Dunkirk and Calais are both really close at hand,” continued Jack, disregarding the praise of his cousin, “and there’s no question but this family found refuge there. Let’s hope he managed to save his people even if his fine country place is next door to ruined.”

“Listen! what’s that?” cried Amos, holding up his hand.

“Galloping horses,” answered the ranch boy, instantly, for his ears were especially trained along those lines.

“It must be more British reserves rushing to the front!” exclaimed Amos, as together he and his chum headed for the nearest window fronting the road, which they had no sooner reached than they discovered a sight that thrilled them.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE TRAPPED UHLANS.

In plain sight, and coming with a rush, though their horses reeked with sweat and showed symptoms of great fatigue, was a small detachment of mounted men.

No wonder the boys stared as though they hardly dared believe their eyes. This half dozen hard riders wore spiked helmets, a thing that seemed to stamp them as Uhlans. They were coming from the southwest, which fact in itself was enough to tell the story.

“They’re Germans, Jack!” cried Amos, instantly.

“Yes, a part of some command that broke through the British lines, and got confused amidst the smoke, I reckon,” said the Western boy.

“And, Jack, look, they’re being hotly pursued!” added Amos.

Jack had already guessed as much. He knew it first from the vigorous way the six riders were urging their tired mounts on. Then again he could see how they leaned forward in their saddles, and turned anxious looks over their shoulders.

Sure enough there burst into view a second detachment of riders, whose animals seemed in better condition for hard service than those of the fleeing Germans.

These men were garbed in the khaki of British soldiers. They carried guns which they evidently knew well how to make good use of even when riding at headlong speed.

Jack guessed the very second he saw them ride that those men had not picked up their knowledge of horsemanship from following the hounds after the fox in Old Surrey, and wearing red coats.

Every one of them had been recruited either from the wilds of South Africa, the cattle ranges of Canada, or else had served among the Northwest Mounted Police of the Dominion.

Jack felt like giving a yell of recognition, it seemed so much like meeting old friends again. He did nothing of the sort, however, but simply reached out a hand to draw Amos further back, because he knew there was no need of attracting the attention of the hard-pressed and desperate Uhlans, who might take a notion to send a few bullets their way.

“What if they stop here and try to make a fort out of the house?” demanded Amos, as though he thought he detected a veering to one side on the part of the fugitives.

“No danger of that,” his chum hurriedly assured him, “they’re too hot-pressed to halt. There, see them turn in the saddle and shoot back.”

“Nothing doing, though,” announced Amos; “every man jack of the Allies dodged the lead. And now they’re going to return the fire. Whew! that was a corking volley, Jack.”

“There goes one poor chap!” cried the Western boy; “he got his straight.”

A rider had pitched headlong from the saddle, his horse continuing to gallop alongside its mates as though nothing had happened. Both boys were thrilled by witnessing this tragic event that took place under their very eyes. Until recently Amos had never known what it meant to touch elbows with death by violence. He was very white in the face as he stood there by the ragged casement, seared by the passage of a shell, and looked out.

Jack on his part had known more or less of such events during his ranch life, for things happen in the “wild and woolly West” where men live closer to Nature than in the East. Nevertheless, he too felt the thrill of keen expectancy as he kept his eager eyes glued upon the actors in the strange moving panorama.

“There’s another German been hit, Jack; he’s wobbling in the saddle as if trying his best to hold on. Perhaps he wants to pick out a soft spot to fall on. There he goes!”

As Amos uttered these last words a second saddle was seen to be empty, the stricken man hurling himself to one side. Even in his dire extremity he evidently realized the necessity of avoiding the hoofs of the pursuing horses.

By now the remaining Uhlans had reached the front of the deserted ruined mansion. They were following the by-road as the best course to be pursued, although they could have entertained next to no hope of ultimate escape.

Bewildered in the smoke, caught in a trap, they meant to ask for no quarter, but would go to their deaths like most of their comrades, fighting to the last gasp.

Jack and Amos could not help admiring their dauntless courage, even though their hearts beat more in sympathy for the avowed aims and ambitions of the Allies.

Swiftly the four hard riders swept by the broken wall of the chateau grounds. Amos saw them glance that way. He imagined there was something like a wistful look on their faces, tanned by the exposure of a winter to the elements.

“If they only had a little better chance, Jack, they’d break in here and try to hold the enemy off,” Amos was saying, as they followed the passage of the grim determined riders in khaki along the other side of the broken wall.

Some trees cut off their further view, but their last glimpse showed them pursued and pursuers keeping up that headlong pace. So the incident came to an end. It had been very real and vivid while it lasted, and Amos, still a bit pallid, turned to give his chum a serious look, as he shook his head and remarked:

“They’ll never make it, Jack, with that bunch hitting up the pace on their heels.”

“Not one chance in ten, I should say,” returned the other, with the air of certainty that sprung from a knowledge of hard riding cowboy tactics.

All signs of the chase had vanished, though Amos believed he did hear what sounded like another salvo of shots ringing out. He may have been mistaken, however, because the air just then was filled with all manner of strange noises, from the shouts of charging brigades, the rattle of distant gunfire, to the harsher throb of heavy artillery and the incessant bursting of bombs.

“Fourth of July will seem pretty tame business to me after all this noise,” Amos remarked, as he followed his chum back to the top of the stairs leading to the lower floor of the house.

“I should say it would,” Jack agreed. “I’m wondering right now what happened to those two chaps who left their saddles in such a hurry.”

“The first acted as though he might have gotten his finish; that’s what struck me, Jack, though I’m no judge of such terrible things,” and Amos shivered as he made this admission.

“Yes, I believe he was done for, all right,” assented the ranch boy, “but it was different with the second trooper.”

“He picked his dropping-off place,” Amos suggested.

“And threw himself sidelong from his saddle, first working his feet out of the stirrups,” continued Jack, showing how his quick eye had taken note of all these things.

They issued forth from the house about this time, and headed directly for a breach in the wall that had once served to enclose the grounds belonging to the rich Belgian’s grounds.

Of course Jack had noticed about where the second trooper left his saddle. It was just to one side of the gap which he intended using in order to gain the little by-road.

“What if we find him injured. Jack—what ought we do about it?” asked Amos, about the time they arrived at the wall.

“Remember the air pilot, don’t you, Amos? Well, if we could bind up his wounds, and go our way without betraying him to his enemies, we ought to repeat, I should think.”

“You know best, Jack, and I want to say that whatever you settle on doing I’m back of you every time.”

“I expected you’d talk that way, Amos. You’d never let an injured dog suffer if you could help it. Come on, and if that Uhlan can be assisted through our limited means we’re the ones to be on the job.”

A minute later they entered among the bushes at the place where they had seen the second trooper vanish; and almost immediately discovered the object of their search.

CHAPTER XIV.
MET ON THE ROAD.

The Uhlan had evidently been trying to hide. He was crawling along as with an effort, and undoubtedly experiencing great physical pain in so doing, which went to prove that his injury was more than trifling.

He must have heard the approach of the two American lads, for just as they discovered him amidst the bushes he drew himself up and faced about. Amos would never forget that sight of the wounded rough rider. His face was scratched and bleeding, doubtless caused by his hasty and reckless plunge into the bushes at the time he left his saddle. There was a defiant look on it, like that of a man who has given up all hope of coming out of the adventure with his life, yet meant to show a grim front to the foe, and go down with colors flying.

“Tell him we’re not enemies, Jack!” exclaimed Amos, quickly, for the sight of that poor injured fellow gave him a cruel shock; he was reminded of a wretched dog at bay amidst a host of furious enemies, and the sensation was anything but pleasant to the boy.

Jack had just the same notion in his mind.

He held up both hands. This was an Indian custom which Jack had picked up during his life in the West. It meant that he did not have arms in his hands, and that his intentions were pacific. On the whole face of the earth there are few living human beings who would fail to understand the significance of the movement. The Uhlan was not devoid of ordinary intelligence, even though sadly rattled just then on account of his recent heavy fall.

Slowly the two boys advanced. The man was staring hard at them. He looked as if he feared it might be only a cunning trick on the part of these treacherous British, for he undoubtedly believed they were of that nationality.

“Point to your little American flag, Amos, while I try to get enough German words together to let him know where we belong,” said Jack.

“That’s the ticket,” affirmed the other. “Jack, be sure and tell him that we stand ready to render first aid to the injured, if so be he’ll let us take a look at his hurts.”

The Western boy grunted a little at this. He did not feel quite so kindly toward the invaders as Amos seemed to. Jack could not get out of his mind a whole lot of terrible things that he had seen with his own eyes, which marked the ruthless advance of the great German army through this part of Belgium; and which would of course be found in the wake of any invading host. The sack of the fine chateau so close at hand was only a minute example of what he had in mind.

Still, Jack knew very well that individually each German soldier had little responsibility for such acts. The system back of them must bear all the blame for the devastation of the land, and the stern methods of reprisals against such Belgians as hampered their progress through the country.

“All right, Amos,” he said, quickly, “I’ll tell him that; and I reckon we’d feel pretty cheap if we turned to one side when we might lend a helping hand. Get busy now, and show that you are carrying a small edition of Old Glory along with you over here in these shambles.”

Amos displayed his colors as prominently as he could by thrusting the lapel of his coat forward, and pointing energetically at the little flag. He saw the wondering eyes of the German take it in; and that he must have partly understood could be noticed in the expression of surprise that came upon his face.

Then Jack on his part began to have his say in the matter. Perhaps his German was pretty faulty, and at another time might have caused the man to laugh; but the situation for him was much too serious just then for anything like that.

He heard the words “friends—American boys—not your enemies—would even try to bind up your hurts after a fashion if you let us!” They certainly must have given him an intense feeling of relief, for that strained look on his scratched and set face gradually relaxed.

He nodded his head and said something in his own language which Amos believed to be his readiness to trust the two boys who had so suddenly appeared before him. Then he sank to the ground in a heap.

“Jack, he’s gone!” ejaculated Amos, feeling rather faint himself.

The other sprang forward and bent over the prostrate Uhlan. Hurriedly he looked the man over, while Amos waited to hear his decision. Certainly the poor fellow appeared as though the “silver cord” had been broken in his case, for there was no sign of life about him.

“How about it, Jack?” asked Amos, anxiously, for while he did not know the man from Adam, at the same time he felt an interest in him, probably based upon the fact that they had seen him struck down, and were now at his side.

“He’s only swooned, I think,” Jack told his chum presently. “You see he’s been pretty seriously hurt, arm broken, and I’m afraid his ribs are in bad shape, not to mention the wound he got from that bullet which has cost him a heap of blood.”

Jack started at once to try and do what he could while the man remained unconscious. In a crude but effective fashion he stanched the flow of blood. Then he managed to get the man’s jacket off, and see to his arm, Amos assisting in setting the broken bone and bandaging the injured extremity, even sacrificing a part of his own shirt so as to accomplish this, which was surely a strong evidence of his earnestness.

“That’s the best we can do,” said Jack, after they had finished, and he stepped back to look critically at the work accomplished.

“Will he live, do you think?” asked Amos.

The Western boy shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“I don’t dare say one way or the other,” he remarked. “If he could get the proper care right now he’d have a good chance to pull through; but you know he’s on the wrong side of the fighting line to expect much. The British will have thousands of their own wounded to take care of, and you could hardly expect them to leave even one of their own flesh and blood behind in order to make room in an ambulance for an enemy.”

“It’s tough on Hans then, I must say,” and Amos shook his head in turn, to immediately add: “But he’s coming to, Jack, for I saw his eyelids flutter just then.”

“Yes, he’s beginning to open his eyes,” muttered the other.

The Uhlan blinked a number of times as he stared hard at the two strange boys. Evidently he could not place them at once. Then a wince of pain made him aware of the fact that he was not arousing from sleep in his own encampment, and amidst his comrades. He looked down and saw the bandaged arm. Possibly something of the truth flashed across his mind in that instant, for they saw his face light up, and his eyes were fastened upon the little American flag in the buttonhole of Amos’ coat.

“We have done all we could for you,” Jack was trying to convey to him through means of such words as he could summon up, as well as various signs with hands, head and shoulders, such as may be made to mean volumes, “we must leave you now. Perhaps if you can crawl out to the edge of the road some Red Cross ambulance going back with a load of wounded might find room for you aboard. If you understand what I am saying nod your head to let us know.”

The man followed his instructions, and Jack felt after that the limit of their usefulness had been reached. Humanity could not expect any more of them, for they had done all that lay in their power.

“He’s trying to get up, Jack!” exclaimed Amos.

“Yes, I just told him he’d better crawl nearer the road, and some ambulance coming from the front might have room for him. Let’s get one on either side and help him walk there,” said the other.

He often wished he could have taken a picture of Amos and himself assisting the wounded Uhlan along, just as tenderly as though he were a brother. It would have always stood for proof to show that he and his cousin were trying to carry out the request of President Wilson for strict neutrality, at least as far as could be done when brought face to face with the horrors of the battlefield.

On the border of the little road they stopped. The German rough rider was propped against a convenient tree, where any one passing along could not fail to notice him. They had even seen to it that his face was turned toward the fighting line; since any chance of help must come from that direction.

So they left him there. Amos even turned once and waved his hand to him, receiving in return a like salutation; for the Uhlan by that time could not mistake the friendliness of those two boys.

“Somehow,” mused Amos as they passed along, “I’m beginning to think that a whole lot we’ve heard about the brutality of these Uhlans is humbug. In the terror and excitement of war people exaggerate ten times over. Why, that fellow didn’t look like a savage. His face was that of a young German, and when the fighting light died out of his eyes they were as blue as the skies.”

“I was thinking about the same thing,” admitted Jack. “Between you and me I’ve got an idea most of these terrible raiding Uhlans are at home only ordinary German boys, accustomed to hard riding. When the call to the colors came they dropped their ordinary vocation and hurried to quarters, to put on their uniforms and take up a new life. In other words, scratch the back of a fierce Uhlan and after all is said and done you’ve got a very ordinary citizen of the Fatherland.”

As they tramped along the road they cast an occasional glance back toward the ruined mansion where they had witnessed the terrible battle between the army of the Kaiser and that of the Allies; for they fancied that there were Belgian troops in that line somewhere or other, trying to keep this corner of their beloved country from slipping back into the clutches of the foe.

The fight was still going on. At times the pulsations came in thrilling gushes to their ears, and then again seemed to temporarily die down. It was not long before they began to meet vehicles heading for the fighting zone. These were not artillery trains now but others bent on an errand of mercy—hospital vans, ambulances perhaps with a doctor and a nurse bearing the magical Red Cross on their sleeves; English-made lorries capable of carrying a large number of groaning warriors to a place where they could be temporarily looked after, and then probably sent across to London.

They came in packs, and at times there was a constant stream in sight. Amos was visibly moved by all this. He knew that while these vans were almost empty now, when they returned they would be carrying loads of suffering humanity. The boy had had his baptism along the line of being brought in touch with war’s dreadful scenes, but he had not as yet commenced to feel callous, and this wholesale suffering affected him very much.

Of course all aboard these vehicles intended for missionary work seemed to be British, saving possibly a few chauffeurs who may have been Belgians, able and willing to work in any capacity so long as they were striking a blow for the devoted defenders of their sadly harassed land.

The boys with their cheery faces attracted considerable attention. Each ambulance carried a nurse, as well as a doctor when possible, and these returned the greetings Amos and Jack sent with their ready hands.

“I suppose it would be pretty nervy in us if we dared to stop one of them and ask that they take up our patient on the return trip,” suggested Amos, still thinking of the wounded Uhlan propped up against the tree, and with his wistful face turned down the road.

“I hardly think we ought to mention it,” replied Jack; “because there’s so much bad blood shown between the Germans and the British just now they’d only refuse. This war is getting more bitter the further it moves along, and there’s no telling what will happen yet with Turkey in it, and other nations on the verge of joining the Allies.”

“There’s an ambulance that seems to be in trouble, Jack!” exclaimed Amos, pointing down the road as they turned a sudden bend.

“Yes, something has happened, for the chauffeur is down, and the nurse also. Let’s quicken our pace a little more, Amos, and see what’s gone wrong.”

“We’ve already shown that we’re capable of helping out in the case of a wounded man,” chuckled Amos, keeping alongside his cousin as the latter started off at a faster walk that almost amounted to a jog trot. “P’raps we’ll also be Johnny-on-the-spot when it comes to patching up a bursted tire, or the crippling of some part of the motor.”

“Well, both of us happen to know a little about auto motors,” admitted the other, “so that wouldn’t be so queer, after all. But here we are.”

“Gee! the nurse is a rosy-cheeked English girl, all right,” muttered Amos. “If I had the bad luck to get hurt I guess the sight of her wholesome face would help me a heap to recover. See how she smiles and beckons to us, would you, Jack? She must think we look like we could help them out of the hole.”

Amos thrust out his chest just a trifle more as he said this. Really there is nothing that can awaken a boy’s conceit as much as confidence expressed in his ability by another, whether this takes the shape of words or looks.

Upon reaching the spot where the ambulance stood on one side of the road they quickly learned what was wrong. After all, it was only a punctured tire; but while the Belgian boy who had been at the wheel may have been able to guide the car, and carry out the duties of a chauffeur fairly well, he seemed to be something of a sad bungler when it came to making ordinary repairs.

Jack instantly realized this when he came up; and if he had failed to do so the first words of the pretty English Red Cross nurse would have convinced him.

“He is making a terrible mess of it, I’m afraid,” was what she said. “All the chauffeurs passing are in such great haste to get on I haven’t been able to secure any assistance. This boy is green at the work; he was picked up on the road when the regular driver was taken very sick and had to be left behind. Would you mind taking a look, and seeing what needs to be done?”

CHAPTER XV.
WHAT CAME OF A GOOD ACT.

“We’ll only be too glad to help, Miss,” said Amos, quickly, without giving his cousin the first chance to say anything.

This was a field where possibly he excelled Jack in proficiency, for he had had more practical experience with motors than the Western lad. If it had been anything connected with horses now, Amos would have known that he must take a back seat, for the ranch boy was quite at home along those lines.

For once, Jack was ready and willing to allow his chum to work while he looked on. He had seen the nurse staring hard at that small emblem of the country across the sea which Amos so proudly carried on his coat lapel.

“You are really and truly Americans?” she remarked, turning to Jack.

“Oh! yes, we belong over there, and have come across because we had a very important errand,” he told her. “We were in England only recently, and met your Lord Kitchener, to whom we had a letter of introduction from the father of my cousin, who used to be great friends with him long ago out in Egypt or somewhere. He gave us a paper that is turning out to be a great help in our search.”

Amos was working busily at the tire, with the Belgian youth to assist him; but he evidently heard every word they said, for he turned to nod his head at this juncture and remark:

“Your K. of K. is the finest gentleman ever, for he fixed us out, and right now we’re hoping to be able to find my brother before a great while. Jack, you explain about it, won’t you, please, while I knuckle down to this job.”

“Then you are looking for some one who has been caught over here by the war breaking out?” suggested the nurse. “There are thousands in that same trouble. I myself have met many, and we try to assist them as far as our limited means will allow. Oh! if there ever was a time when I wished for a thousand arms it is in these terrible days and nights. For many weeks each day has brought new hosts of poor wounded fellows. I sometimes think the better part of our young manhood will be cut off if this thing continues much longer. But you did not answer my question.”

“Well, we are looking for some one,” Jack admitted, “though he was not caught in Belgium by the breaking out of the war. On the contrary, this brother of my chum, who is about ten years his senior, must have offered his services to your Government as an experienced aviator, and was accepted because the supply of air pilots just then was not equal to the demand. We have reason to believe he has been serving in that capacity, and done a few pretty daring things along his line of scouting and the like.”

“I have met with dozens of aviators,” she told him. “In fact, for a time it happened that I was attached to a corps particularly assigned to cases of necessity among the pilots of aeroplanes; for you must know they frequently meet with serious accidents aside from the dangers they run while over the enemy’s lines.”

Again did Amos’ head bob up.

“Well, I declare, that’s queer,” he was saying. “I wonder now if you ever did happen to meet my brother.”

“What was his name, for you haven’t even told me yours yet?” the nurse continued, as she gave the boy one of her smiles.

“My name is Amos Turner, and his is Frank, but we’ve learned that when he enlisted he went as Frank Bradford.”

The nurse started, and looked more sharply at the speaker.

“Frank Bradford, you say?” she remarked, quickly.

“Yes, and it’s plain to be seen from the way you act you’ve heard about him,” continued Amos, his interest growing by leaps and bounds.

“I have even met him,” the Red Cross nurse announced. “Yes, more than that, it was my privilege to attend to his trifling hurts after he had returned from one of his most remarkable forays over many miles of hostile territory, doing an immense amount of damage to the German concentration camps, stores, railway stations, and Zeppelin hangars.”

Amos colored with pride, for it must be remembered that it was a Turner, and his own brother, of whom this praise was being spoken.

“We read accounts of that long flight he made that left a trail of alarm behind,” said Jack, “but there was no name mentioned. We only heard this very day through a British colonel that it was Frank Bradford.”

Amos left his work for a minute. He was so excited he felt he must find out a little more about Frank from the Red Cross attendant.

“How was he injured, Nurse?” he asked.

“The wings of his plane were fairly riddled with shrapnel,” she explained, “but he had escaped all that in a miraculous way. In fact, his only injuries consisted of a few minor hurts on one of his arms, where he had scraped it in falling, after he got back into our lines.”

“Was it his left arm?” asked Amos, quickly, and although the nurse may have possibly imagined this a foolish question, she answered it after a second’s thought.

“His left arm—yes, that’s the one he had injured, I remember.”

“My brother Frank had some tattoo work on his forearm,” explained Amos. “It was done by an old sailor he knew, and whose tales of worldwide adventure Frank was never tired of hearing. Can you remember, Nurse, whether the Frank Bradford you attended was marked with colored India inks—he had an eagle stamped there on his arm, a real screaming American eagle?”

“Yes, it was an eagle, I remember now,” she affirmed. “He laughed when I told him it was a shame to allow himself to be mutilated that way, and said he had dreamed of being a sailor some day, and visiting every quarter of the globe. He also told me he had been around pretty much during the last few years.”

Amos exchanged pleased glances with his cousin.

“How strange it seems, Jack, that we should meet two persons in one day who have known Frank. The tattoo business tells the story good enough for me; but p’raps I’d better flash that picture out, and make dead sure.”

When the Red Cross nurse had taken one look she nodded her head.

“That’s certainly the Frank Bradford I met,” she told Amos, “though of course he looks older than in this picture.”

Amos was wearing a broad smile now. It seemed to him all things must be working together for their benefit, and that before a great while he would meet this brother face to face, when he could tell him how the cloud had been magically removed from his name at home, and with what deep anxiety his father was waiting to welcome him and ask his forgiveness.

“What a lucky thing it was this old tire of yours had to go down and need fixing, Miss,” he said, with considerable feeling. “Only for that we wouldn’t have met you, or learned this bit of good news.”

“Get busy and finish your job, Amos,” said Jack. “Time is worth something to many a poor wounded Tommy Atkins lying out there on the field, where we saw them falling like ripe grain.”

“That’s a fact,” declared the other, again dropping down on hands and knees so as to continue his labors. “I was forgetting that others are concerned in this business besides myself. It’s nearly finished, and I think will hold as good as new. Jack, try and find out if you can where we’d likely run across Frank about this time.”

The nurse did not know, in fact she had not seen the air pilot since that time when she looked after his hurts, after his return from his long raid up along the fortified banks of the Rhine over Cologne and beyond.

“One thing you can depend on,” she did tell them, “wherever there is most need of a fearless aviator there you are apt to find him, whether it happens to be in Flanders, with the French along the Aisne, far over in the frozen mountain regions of the Vosges in Alsace, or even along the Dardanelles, where they have commenced to batter their way through to Constantinople.”

To hear such words said of his own brother must have thrilled Amos. He worked away, and soon arose, saying:

“It’s all done, Miss, and as good as any one might manage it. I reckon you’ll get along with that tire for some time now.”

“I wish I knew how to repay you two noble boys for doing what you have,” the grateful Red Cross nurse said, with earnestness.

“I think you have more than repaid us as it is,” declared Jack, “in giving us the news you did about my chum’s brother.”

Amos looked a little confused, as though he hardly knew how what he meant to say might be taken; still he was very set in his ways, and once he had allowed a thing to get a grip on his mind he could not be easily discouraged.

“Perhaps I’m bold to mention such a thing, Miss,” he started to say, “but after we went to all the trouble to plaster him up, somehow we seem to take a personal interest in that German.”

“I don’t seem to follow you,” she said, as she climbed upon the seat of the ambulance again, alongside the Belgian boy chauffeur who was ready to once more guide the car of mercy along its way to the field hospital, where its ghastly cargo could be taken aboard.

“From the cupola of a chateau that had been pillaged by the German army,” explained Jack, “we saw a detachment of Uhlans, that had become caught back of the British lines, being hotly pursued by some cavalrymen. Two were shot, and fell alongside the road. Afterwards we came on one of them who was badly wounded.”

“You stopped and assisted him, I am sure,” she said, quickly. “It would be just like such gallant boys. Besides, this is no affair of yours, and I can see how German interests appeal partly to you, even though you may be at heart on the side of the Allies. What do you want me to do? Tell me quickly, please.”

Jack described how they had left the poor wounded Uhlan near the mansion she was sure to notice on the way to the field hospital for a load of the wounded.

“On the way back,” said Amos, “if by any means you can crowd just one more in your ambulance, will you take him along? I ask this favor partly because he is our patient, and our professional interest has been aroused.”

The earnestness of the two boys had its influence upon the English nurse.

“I promise you to do the best I can,” she told them, as she gave Jack and then Amos her little hand in parting. “It is partly because I am more than curious to see if you are as much at home in binding up the wounds of men as you seem to be at making a punctured tire whole. Good-bye! The best of luck follow your efforts to find your brother Frank. If I see him I shall surely tell him that you have come all the way over here from your land of peace to discover him.”

The ambulance went hurrying along the road, and the two boys had no idea they would ever see the red-cheeked English nurse again. They felt that they had been repaid ten times over because of the little trouble taken to relieve those in trouble.

“It certainly beats the Dutch how things turn out,” Amos was saying as they once more started to trudge along, with their backs for the most part toward the region where the big guns growled, and the tumult of battle was borne to their ears from time to time with the rising and falling of the wind.

“We’ve got little to complain of, for a fact,” added Jack. “It all goes to prove that a good act is never thrown away. We didn’t expect to be rewarded in any way when we stopped to patch up that tire; yet see how it came out.”

“Yes,” added Amos, earnestly, “after this I’ll never doubt that old saying, for it’s been proved over and over again. But I’d give a heap to know whether Frank was one of those air pilots we saw wheeling and dodging about when the battle was going on. And Jack, the scent is getting warmer all the time. We’ll find Frank yet!”

CHAPTER XVI.
FIGURING IT ALL OUT.

If other reinforcements were hurrying up to take their places on the firing line, the boys did not happen to meet them on this road. It seemed to be given over almost entirely to vehicles of every description speeding forward to carry off the bleeding forms of those whose lives might yet be saved.

There were some queer-looking vans among the rest, for every available motorcar had been pressed into the service of removing the injured to Dunkirk and Calais, where later on they could be transported to Havre and across the Channel.

“I was just wondering,” Amos remarked after some time had elapsed, “why both Germans and the Allies seem to set so great a store on the holding of Ypres. From all the information I’ve been able to pick up, as a place it doesn’t amount to a row of beans. And yet, Brussels, Antwerp and a whole lot of other cities fell without one-quarter of the fighting that’s been taking place around here. How do you make it out, Jack?”

“The only thing I can see,” replied the other, “is that it must be a railroad center, and from Ypres there’s a good road to Dunkirk and Calais. You know how set the Kaiser has been right along on getting his big guns stationed on the French coast, where the Channel is only twenty miles across. He’ll never be happy until he can watch one of those monsters hurling shells that fall on England’s shore.”

“And the British are just as bent on keeping him from doing it, seems like,” observed Amos. “Queer how a little thing like that brings about many desperate fights. Tens of thousands of Germans have been killed, wounded or captured just because of a pet whim of the Kaiser’s; for I don’t believe anything very great would come of it even if they did take Calais. The British battleships would pour in such a smashing amount of shells that they’d wreck any gun emplacement the Germans might build.”

“It’s a queer war all around, I think,” said Jack. “It started with a match in the powder magazine, when that murder occurred in Servia; and by degrees it’s getting to be the most terrible thing that ever happened on this old earth, barring none. We’re living in wonderful times, Amos.”

“Seems so, Jack, when you stop to think of all that’s being done, in the air with dirigibles and aeroplanes, and under the sea with the submarines.”

“Our fathers laughed at Jules Verne when they read some of his books,” ventured the other boy, seriously; “but let me tell you most of what he described there has already come to pass. We may live to see his account beaten to a frazzle, as Teddy says, the way things are going on nowadays.”

“It’s a blessed good thing that America’s three thousand miles away, and that the whole big Atlantic Ocean rolls between,” remarked Amos, reflectively.

“By which you mean we’re not likely to get into this scrap, I take it,” said his cousin. “Just go a little slow there, my boy.”

Amos stopped short to look at him in wonder and uneasiness.

“Whatever do you mean, Jack?” he started to say. “From the way you speak it looks as if you wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see the United States get mixed up in this awful business, after all.”

“Which would be what I meant,” explained Jack, soberly, “much as I hate to admit it. Stop and think for a minute, no matter how much the main body of Americans may want to keep out, remember that we’ve got some six millions of Germans who are supposed to be naturalized citizens, but whose hearts still beat fondly for the Fatherland. Besides, there might be a whole lot of reasons why Germany would really want to see war declared between herself and our country.”

“Why, they must be crazy to want that, Jack! We have a hundred million people, and could do them all sorts of harm.”

“Could we?” asked Jack, shrewdly. “In what way, I want to know? As there isn’t any vessel today carrying food or anything else from America to Germany they wouldn’t feel it there. We wouldn’t send an army over, nor yet our battleships to take chances of being torpedoed. We might send forty or eighty torpedo boats and destroyers, but that is all. Can’t you see that if our country were at war it would shut off the great supply of arms and ammunition that is flowing across to Great Britain and Russia and France? We’d need it all at home for six months.”

Amos stared as well he might. He had not bothered looking below the surface when he figured that war with the United States would mean the overwhelming of the Teutonic race. It took Jack to consider what lay underneath the exterior, and see signs of a deep game wonderfully played by the Kaiser’s Strategy Board.

“If that ever happens,” reflected Amos, “it’s bound to be a world war in fact, and every nation going will be drawn into it. But after Turkey I don’t know of even one country that stands back of Germany and Austria. That alone makes it seem as if they must be in the wrong; but of course no German will admit that, even if ten thousand neutrals were against him.

“You remember the obstinate Irishman on the jury that disagreed, who claimed that there were ‘eleven pig-headed men’ locked up with him, the most stubborn lot he had ever run across?” laughed Amos.

“One thing sure,” Jack added, “if Germany is beaten in the end it’ll only be the same way our South was whipped, by sheer force of superior numbers, wearing them away until they have to hoist the white flag and surrender. Great Britain is already fighting on that policy of Grant’s, that man for man the Allies can stand equal losses better than their enemies.”

“Why, I’ve been beaten at checkers by the same dodge, Jack. The other fellow having managed to get one of my men by some accident insisted in facing others and compelling an equal exchange, till it got down to his having two to my one; which odds proved too much for me. I’ve quit playing the game on that account.”

“Well, I’m going to predict that the chances are Germany, if she ever does quit, will do it from the same reason, that as the war goes on the ratio against her will keep on increasing steadily until she is overwhelmed. Perhaps Holland will be dragged into it, and the Allied army will pass through the Netherlands to invade Germany from the west. We may live to see the end, and I want you to remember what I’m saying.”

So they talked as they went on, not as careless boys, but with the air of observers deeply impressed by what they had witnessed of the great war. Rubbing up against such impressive sights is bound to be a great educator, and those two wideawake American boys had progressed by great leaps and bounds since coming abroad a short time before.

“Is that smoke rolling overhead, or clouds, Jack?” asked Amos, a short time later, as he chanced to look up.

“Clouds, because they are coming from another quarter than the fighting line,” the experienced Western boy announced.

“Then perhaps we’ll get some rain before long, though it feels pretty cold for that, when you come to think of it,” replied Amos.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if we did,” said Jack. “They say that after a big battle it nearly always does rain, whether from the great noise, or something else I can’t tell you. If it comes it means more mud, and goodness knows we’ve had enough of that before now.”

“If only it’s heavy enough it may put a stop to the fighting for today, which would mean some lives saved,” ventured the other.

“Only to be sacrificed tomorrow, so what difference does that make?” Jack returned. “I’m getting kind of cynical about these things. There will be just so many men killed in this war, you see, and so the sooner they reach that number the better. Then perhaps America can patch up an enduring peace.”

“Jack, I really felt a big drop of rain then!”

“Yes, I’m afraid we’re in for a storm that may last the rest of this day, Amos.”

“And no shelter in sight,” groaned the second boy. “I wish we could only run across another ruined chateau like that one we visited this morning. It might seem a little hard to go hungry all night, but we could build a fire, and keep comfortable anyhow, and that’d count for a lot.”

“Let’s start out and run for it,” suggested Jack.

“What’s the use, if we have to get soaked anyway? See here, Jack, have you glimpsed any haven of refuge? Is there a cottage in sight, a friendly cave, or even a big hollow tree into which we might push?”

Jack laughed at the way his cousin said this.

“I think I sighted something like a cottage ahead of us, several of them in fact,” he admitted. “If that was a fact, why, we may be coming to the outskirts of the town of Ypres, which isn’t a very big place.”

At that Amos looked pleased.

“Hurrah! who knows but what we may get something to eat in the bargain, even if sour black bread is all they’ve got to spare. I can run faster than this, if you say the word, Jack!”

“Then whoop it up for keeps!” Jack told him, immediately setting a good example by increasing his own pace.

There were houses ahead. The drops began to come down faster, and it seemed to be an open question as to whether Jack and his cousin would reach shelter fairly dry or not until the rain had drenched them. Almost winded with their exertions, they presently arrived in the midst of the cottages, which like nearly all others in Belgium of that day showed positive signs of having been under artillery fire.

CHAPTER XVII.
SHELTER FROM THE STORM.

“We’re going to make the push, Jack!” gasped Amos, as they found themselves in close touch with the cottages.

“Yes, and I only hope we’ll find a friendly roof to shelter us,” added his chum.

The clouds hung heavy above them. One would almost imagine the day was far spent, and night about to close the curtains of darkness around them. Again did they feel drops of rain starting to fall, and this time it threatened to continue.

Looking around, Jack picked out a certain house as the most promising of all those near by. He never could exactly explain just why he selected that particular cottage, except that it was possibly a bit closer than any other, and the rain began to fall more and more heavily.

Hurrying under the shelter of the little porch that lay before the door, the boys found that they could immediately escape the increasing downpour. At the same time, as this was no mere summer shower, Jack did not intend to stay on the outside.

So he proceeded to knock with his knuckles on the closed door. There was no immediate reply, at which Amos suggested that possibly the cottage might be without a tenant.

“If you looked a little closer,” his comrade told him, “you’d never say that, for there is smoke coming from the top of the chimney. Besides, I saw a face at the window staring at us when we rushed under this little canopy that shields the door.”

“You don’t say!” ejaculated Amos.

“It was the face of an old woman, and white with fear I thought,” continued Jack, seriously. “Still, that shouldn’t surprise us, because in these terrible war-times all sorts of frightful things are constantly happening to make timid people shiver with dread.”

“But, Jack, surely two boys oughtn’t to make anybody afraid?” expostulated Amos.

“Sometimes the most innocent-looking things are the most dangerous,” his chum told him. “These poor Belgians must be seeing German secret agents everywhere about them. We have been suspected before now, and seen in this strange light even you might appear a regular ogre in her eyes.”

“But, my stars! Jack, are we going to stay out in the rain right along just because some silly person might think all strangers are German spies? Don’t you intend to knock again?”

For answer Jack once again brought his knuckles against the door with more vim than before. It might even be considered a knock of authority, for there is such a thing.

This time they plainly heard the shuffling of feet within. Then a bar seemed to be removed, which in itself was a mute evidence of the radical change that had come to this land since war stalked abroad; for in the good old days of peace it was likely that no door had ever been fastened, since thievery was next to unknown.

As the door was partly opened they saw a man of middle age, whose sight was confined to one eye. He looked plainly worried, Amos could see; but being content to leave all matters to Jack, he held his peace.

It was the usual habit of the boys when desiring to communicate with any of the people whom they chanced to meet to test them first of all with English. There were a certain number of Belgians who could speak that language, having picked it up in trade, or by reason of having been across the Channel working in English factories during dull seasons in their own country.

Jack first of all pointed to that wonderful little flag which Amos bore in his buttonhole.

“We are Americans—from the United States—can you talk English?”

He saw the man’s face give a twitch, and even fancied that his worried face took on a partially relieved expression, though his hand resting upon the edge of the door still quivered.

“Yes, I can speak and understand English,” he immediately said in a quavering tone. “Both the wife and me, we have worked over in Birmingham in the days that are gone. What is it you want, m’sieu?”

Jack waved his hand as if to call his attention to the descending rain.

“Shelter from the storm,” he said. “We will be only too glad to take whatever accommodations you can spare, so long as we keep our coats dry, and get a bite to eat; and please understand we will pay for the service. I hope you will not refuse to accommodate us for one night, my friend!”

The old man looked puzzled. He acted as though while he would like to say no, policy compelled him to think twice before committing himself.

“Please wait a minute. I will talk with the good wife.”

He closed the door in their faces as he said this, softly, however, as though not wishing to offend them.

“Well, I like that,” said Amos. “We may have to go elsewhere to get out of the rain.”

“Give them a little time,” cautioned Jack. “It shows that the woman rules here, as she usually does in every home. Don’t you remember that story about the man who started out to learn whether the man or the woman of the house was the actual boss, and found to his satisfaction that it was always the lady?”

“I don’t remember hearing it, Jack,” commented Amos. “Suppose you tell me about it while we’re waiting for them to decide this matter.”

“Oh! I thought it was a chestnut,” laughed Jack. “It’s so good that it would bear repeating anyway. This man started out to please his father, taking ten chickens in the wagon and a pair of horses, one gray and the other a roan. If he found that the woman bossed the house he was to leave a fowl; and should he ever come across a home where the man was absolutely the ruler one of the horses was to be given to the happy couple!”

“That’s interesting. Honest, Jack, I’ve never heard the story before, either.”

“From house to house the man went. In every case he learned that woman ruled the ranch, and so by degrees his supply of fowls got down to a single specimen. Then he came to a place where there was a big burly man and a small sharp-eyed wife. When he stated his case he learned that in this home the man did just as he pleased. Both declared this, and it looked as though he had at last hit on an ideal couple, which would please his father very much.

“‘Since in this house the man is the sole boss,’ he told them, ‘I am empowered by my father to make you a present of a horse. Now choose which one of these two animals you would want to have.’

“‘The gray one strikes me as just about right,’ said the man.

“‘It’s a good horse,’ admitted the woman, ‘but don’t you think the roan a little the finer, John? It seems to me if there is any choice I’d take the roan.’

“At that the man told them to step aside and settle the matter; so after some talk the husband came forward a little sheepishly and said:

“‘Mister, if it’s all the same to you I think we’ll take the roan horse!’

“‘You’ll take a hen,’ said the traveler, as he chucked the last fowl out of the wagon, and drove back to tell his father that woman was supreme in every home.”

Amos laughed heartily at hearing the conclusion. Anxieties do not wholly suppress young blood, which is capable of throwing cares aside at will.

“Here they come to the door again,” he told Amos. “I wonder what they think of hearing me laugh so loud.”

This time the door was thrown wide open by the man.

“Enter, young messieurs. We will do the best we can to entertain you. But after such a terrible winter it is little any Belgian family possesses to keep body and soul together. Lucky are those who still have a roof over their heads.”

The old woman looked at them, and nodded her head as both boys saluted her respectfully. They were given chairs, and seemed glad to sit down to rest, being more or less tired after walking.

“What a wonderful day this has been for us, taken in all,” Amos was saying as they looked out of the small window and saw how steadily the rain was coming down.

“We’ll have to mark it with a white stone in our log of this trip abroad to the battlefields of the world war,” Jack asserted.

“Do you think they mean to keep us over night?” asked Amos, in a low tone, as he noted that both man and woman seemed to be stirring around, getting the fire started afresh, as though meaning to do some cooking.

“Oh! yes, he said as much as that,” Jack replied. “There’s an upstairs to the house, and perhaps some sort of loft where we can lie down to sleep. But it’s a poor family, remember. So don’t expect too much of them.”

“I’m willing to put up with almost anything,” hastily observed Amos. “But do you notice how often they glance this way, and then if they see either of us looking, seem confused? Jack, it isn’t curiosity that makes them act so, but something more in the line of fear.”

“They may have a notion that after all we’re German spies, and meaning to get secret evidence that will bring them under the military ban later on. So, while we are here we must be careful not to say or do the least thing to add to their anxious feeling. Let our talk be wholly of America, and of how she feels for the wrongs of poor Belgium.”

Once there was a knock at the door which produced the greatest consternation on the part of both the old man and his better half. He finally answered the summons, and seemed greatly relieved when he found it was only a neighbor who may have seen the two boys go in and felt desirous of knowing who and what they were.

So the dull afternoon wore on to a close. The housewife busied herself over her fire, and the old man talked with the boys. He seemed to grow a little easier in his mind the more he heard them tell about the land beyond the ocean. It was as if some of his secret fears may have been set at rest.

While the supplies of food may have run pretty low in that humble Belgian home, as was the universal case, still the housewife knew how to get the most out of what she had. The appetizing odors that floated to the boys began to make them anxious for the summons to sit down at the table.

Presently this came, and they were not at all surprised to find that the old couple were deeply religious, and asked a grace before partaking of the meal. Even the worried look forsook the face of the good wife when the two uninvited guests chatted pleasantly, and told of many interesting things in connection with America, the wonder land to most peasants in the Old World, and of which they can never hear quite enough.

So the meal was ended, and the boys again resumed their seats by the window. It had grown dark by now, with the rain still coming down, though fitfully.

“I really believe it may let up before long, don’t you, Jack?” Amos ventured to say, as they sat there, watching the two belonging to the cottage busying themselves with various duties, and every once in a while get their heads close together to exchange confidences, as though some weighty secret lay between them.

“The signs point that way,” replied Jack, who was always watching out for a change in the wind, or anything else that might indicate possible weather conditions in the near future.

“I certainly hope we have a decent day tomorrow,” said Amos. “To think of all those poor fellows lying wounded and uncared for on the battlefield, how they will suffer tonight in this cold rain. It makes me feel sick just to remember it. No matter whether they are British, Belgians, French or Germans, they are our fellow human beings, and have been our friends.”

The old man did not come over to them for some little time. Jack fancied that he was getting nervous again, for several times he half started from his seat and looked quickly toward the door.

Sitting there for a while, the boys found that they were getting very sleepy. Jack purposely yawned several times when he thought the owner of the cottage was looking their way. If this was intended as a gentle hint it finally met with its reward, for the man came towards them.

“Young messieurs,” he said, awkwardly, “if you are tired and would lie down I will show you the best we can do for you. It is not much, but you will understand that no one can be expected to do more in these terrible times.”

“Please don’t say that again,” Amos burst out with in his impetuous fashion. “You are doing us a great favor as it is in giving us shelter from the rain, and something to eat. We feel grateful. I could sleep on a board and be thankful for the privilege.”

The man took a candle and started up the steep stairs that seemed almost like a ladder, with the two lads following after. They found themselves in what appeared to be an unfinished loft. The rain could be heard beating softly on the roof. On the bare floor was a thick feather mattress, and some bedclothes, as well as two pillows.

“That looks good to me,” remarked Amos, immediately.

“It is the best we can do,” said the peasant, as he set the candle down, and bowing humbly backed toward the stairs, letting down the trap after he had vanished.

“Why, we’ve got the whole upper part of the place to ourselves,” observed Amos, as he looked curiously about him. “Seems like our attic at home, come to think of it. Only I certainly hope there are not so many rats prowling around as we’ve had to fight there. I’d hate to have one nibble at my nose while I slumbered so sweetly on that bouncing feather bed.”

“I suppose they have a small sleeping-place downstairs,” remarked Jack, reflectively. “I wonder why they didn’t put us in there instead of up here. Not that I object to this, for it’s just fine; and that patter of the rain on the roof will lull us to sleep, I reckon. Still, I suppose they didn’t want to bother with us down there; or they may have had some other good reason.”

“For one I want to forget everything but that I’m as sleepy as they make them,” and by the way Amos yawned as he said this there could be no doubt that he meant every word of it.

They took off only their shoes and coats, for it was quite cool in the room under the roof.

“Last in bed puts out the candle!” chuckled Amos, as he crawled under the covers.

Jack performed this ceremony, and followed the other. He could not help noticing that little streamers of faint light managed to find their way up from below in certain places. This told him there were cracks in the floor of the loft, a fact that did not surprise him in the least.

Amos was as good as his boast, it seemed. He had said he would be fast asleep about as soon as his head struck the pillow. It was not long before Jack knew from his even breathing that he had fulfilled his threat.

Jack somehow seemed to lose his drowsy feeling after lying down, as often happens to some persons, so that they are inclined to take the first nap sitting in a chair. He found his mind becoming more active than he liked. It seemed as though all kinds of things began to flit through his brain, including the mystery surrounding the old couple downstairs.

Becoming annoyed after he had lain there for nearly an hour with closed eyes, and yet no nearer going to sleep than in the beginning, Jack took himself sternly to task, and determined to forget all outside happenings.

His resolution was immediately sorely tried, for had any one been gifted with the eyes of a cat, capable of seeing in the dark, he might have discovered Jack actually sitting up as though listening.

Had Amos awakened just then he might have asked his chum if he thought he heard the squeak of a foraging rat. But Jack seemed interested enough to quietly crawl out from under the covers and silently make his way along to where the largest crack in the floor was to be found.

A short time afterward he was shaking Amos gently, and whispering in his ear.

“Wake up, Amos, and don’t give a peep,” was what he said in the lowest tone possible. “There’s something queer going on downstairs. A man has come in; they opened and closed the door as softly as they could. They are talking together after dropping the bar at the door. I’m afraid these people are either not Belgians or else secretly in league with the enemy. I plainly heard a word in German!”

CHAPTER XVIII.
THROUGH A CRACK IN THE FLOOR.

Amos was no longer sleepy; indeed, the boy had never been more wideawake in all the course of his life. What his cousin had just whispered in his ear was enough to thrill him through and through.

“Can I see, too?” he asked eagerly, as though it would gratify him very much if able to satisfy his curiosity in this regard.

“Yes, but creep along softly, and be careful,” he was instructed by Jack.

Accordingly Amos began to move along after Jack, who led him directly to the spot where he had found the widest crack. Presently both boys were flat on their stomachs, and with their eyes glued to the slender aperture.

Apparently Amos had no trouble about seeing, for before long he drew back again. The murmur of low voices came up to them from below, and he had found that it was just as Jack said.

A young man had come in, and was talking very earnestly with the old people. Whatever it was engrossed their attention they glanced suspiciously about them from time to time. Amos, looking further, had seen that the bar was again across the door, and also that every little window was carefully covered with some sort of dark material that would prevent prying eyes from peering through into the room.

That some of the conversation had a connection with the two lads was evidenced from the way the man pointed upward more than once. Amos, too, believed he caught a German word spoken by one of the conspirators below.

Was this a secret spy, and if so had that apparently harmless old couple been bribed by German gold to betray the cause of their country? It was a dreadful thought, and made Amos feel as cold as ice; for like most American boys he had a perfect horror of treachery.

“Jack!” he whispered softly, touching the other with his groping hand.

“Yes, what is it?” asked his comrade in the same cautious way, though the patter of the still falling rain on the nearby roof would very likely have drowned what little noise their voices made.

“It looks bad, don’t you think?” asked Amos, as though eager to have his own view confirmed by the opinion of his partner.

“It certainly does, I’m afraid,” said Jack.

“They act like they are plotting with that stranger,” suggested Amos.

It was just what Jack had been telling himself. In fact, the actions of the old couple could be set down as mighty suspicious. All the while they talked in those low tones they were looking toward the barred door, and then up in the direction of the loft, just as guilty persons might be expected to do.

Of course, in those trying times, for a Belgian to be caught having secret connection with the enemy was equivalent to signing his own death warrant, for there would be little mercy shown, no matter how old and infirm he or she chanced to be. If, therefore, this couple were treading on this dangerous ground, their confusion and nervousness when the boys asked lodging could be readily understood; they had expected a visit from the spy, and were afraid that the so-called Americans might learn of his presence.

Jack was puzzled to know what might be the right course for them to pursue under such extraordinary conditions. He felt sorry for that old couple. Necessity might have forced them to accept a bribe and betray their own kind.

Then again the idea of treachery was so repellent that the boy could find no palliation for the dastardly crime. A spy may be a brave man, taking his life in his hand in order to gain secret information that will improve the chances of the cause he advocates; a traitor is a sneak who, for gain, turns on his best friend.

Accordingly Jack hardened his heart against that old couple. They had appealed to his sympathy on account of their age and apparent infirmity; but even that must not be used as a cloak to defend their base conduct. Many lives of brave fighting men among the Allies might be lost through the information they were even now confiding to that heavy-set young German spy.

Jack again lay flat so as to watch, and Amos copied his example. It was not easy to ask questions and hear the answers; so that perhaps he could gather up more information by using his own eyes.

Apparently those below were more than ever alarmed over the possibility of interruption from some source. Even as the two boys in the loft overhead renewed their eavesdropping tactics they saw that the old man had pressed a finger on his lips as though he would entail silence on the other two.

After that he glided over and carefully lifted the table that stood in one part of the apartment, and which was different from the larger one at which they had partaken of that evening meal some time before.

Amos, seeing what he was doing, glued his eye more eagerly than ever to the crevice, not wishing to lose a single thing. He watched the old man cast aside a piece of rag carpet that had covered this section of floor. Then to the surprise of the boys he lifted a regular trap in the floor, disclosing a dark aperture.

Why, it was just like one of those old-time stories Amos could remember reading, that pertained to haunted mansions, traps in the floor, secret chambers, and passages, and even tunnels leading out from the cellars underneath. The boy could almost believe he must be dreaming, and yet, as he put out his hand and felt Jack alongside, he knew it was the real thing.

Undoubtedly they meant that the spy should hide there, for some reason or other. The old woman had a bundle in her hand that might contain food, Amos concluded, and this she turned over to the stranger. Whoever the party was he did not seem at all averse to vanishing in those black depths; in fact, Amos considered that he acted as though only too willing.

There must have been some sort of ladder leading downward, for they could see him descending. Then the woman ran over and, snatching up the candle from the shelf, held it as though more or less solicitous that the other might not slip and lose his footing on the rounds of the ladder.

The boys saw the unknown flip his hand upwards just before he was utterly lost to sight in the gloom that lay heavy down under the trap. Then the old man lifted the section of flooring and allowed it to fall back into place again, though careful that it made no perceptible sound while so doing.

After that the strip of rag carpet was carefully replaced, and on top of that he lifted the table. All was as innocent looking as before, and no one not in the secret would ever suspect that down underneath the cottage floor lay a strange secret and which had all the earmarks of treachery to the cause of the Allies.

The old man and his wife now moved to the other end of the room. They were talking it all over in soft tones, and Amos could see that apparently the man tried to encourage his better half, for he seemed to be assuring her that what they were doing was for the best.

Amos, lying there a prey to varied thoughts, was sorry for them. He actually believed that the temptation must have been too much for their standard of loyalty to their sorely stricken country. With the gold they would receive for this work perhaps they meant to go to America, there to build a new home amidst strangers, and forget if they could the land they had betrayed.

“Oh! it’s too cruel, and I can hardly believe any one would be so mean as to do such a thing,” Amos was saying to himself, as though trying his best to find a gleam of comfort.

Jack, pulling at his arm, aroused him.

“Let’s get back to the mattress, and talk it over,” the Western boy said in his ear, and at that they both began to move softly along, Jack apparently having a thorough knowledge of the attic, as though he had made a mental map of his surroundings at the time the candle still burned.

Once again they stretched themselves out there. If a board creaked under their weight, as they moved so cautiously, it could easily have been mistaken for a gust of wind outside whining around the corners of the cottage.

Amos was eager to hear from his chum. He placed such an exaggerated value upon Jack’s opinions that in this emergency he wanted to learn what the other thought about it, what their course should be, and all other things along similar lines.

“Do you still think that he must be a spy, Jack?” he asked, to get a start made.

“I can’t see anything else so far,” replied the other. “Their fear of being interrupted seemed to say as much. Then the several words spoken in plain German make that stronger. It must be the man is afraid to go out again, which was why they’ve hidden him down in the cellar.”

“P’raps what information they mean to give him isn’t quite complete yet, and he’ll have to stay over until the next night?” suggested Amos.

“That isn’t a bad idea,” commented the ranch boy, soberly.

“But, Jack, what ought we do about it?” asked Amos. “’Course this isn’t any funeral of ours. We’re neutrals; but I hate a traitor so much I feel like setting my heel on one as I would on a viper. If these silly old people have gone and sold themselves for German gold, they ought to be punished for it. That’s what I think, Jack; now tell me if you’re of the same mind,” and Amos stopped whispering to give his chum a chance to speak.

CHAPTER XIX.
JACK DEMANDS THE TRUTH.

Jack hesitated a short time before replying. It was plain that he hardly knew just what their proper course should be, and wanted to be sure he was right before attempting to sway his companion.

What Amos had said must have had an influence upon him, because as American-born boys they nearly always felt alike in such matters. Yes, they meant to be as neutral as they could. Yet there were some crimes that must prevent them from holding out against taking sides. One of these concerned the condoning of treachery.

“Amos,” he finally said, in the other’s ear, “I reckon we’re as one about that. We can’t stand by and see the cause of the Allies suffer through the work of any renegade Belgian, no matter if he is an old man.”

“Good for you, Jack! I like to hear you say that. Now tell me the next step we must take, for talking without deeds isn’t worth a snap.”

“We must go down there, Amos!”

“Yes, and face the old folks, you mean, of course?” ventured the other lad, fervently.

“We’ll tell them what we chanced to see, and then force them to explain this mystery,” Jack continued. “Perhaps they can do it; perhaps there is something about this queer happening we don’t understand. They’ve got to tell us!”

“Yes, that’s so, Jack, we’ll put the law straight down to them; but say, what if they choose to defy us? Suppose they say it’s none of our business if we’re what we claim to be,—from across the sea,—because America isn’t in this scrap. What then, Jack, old fellow?”

There was no longer any hesitation on the part of the ranch boy. Once he had made up his mind to do a thing, he could see his whole course clear before him.

“Leave that to me, Amos,” he said, firmly. “I’ll find a way to keep the spy fast down in that cellar until we can summon help. He must not be allowed to escape unless his claws are first of all well trimmed.”

“Now by that I guess you mean we’ll see that he isn’t carrying any information in the shape of a map or news about the Allies’ reserves?” Amos ventured to say.

“Just about that,” added Jack. “Come, let’s get our shoes on, and then open the trap to go down.”

“They’ll be some surprised to see us so soon again,” suggested Amos, as he started to get a foot in a shoe.

“Perhaps fairly stunned as well, if, as we believe, they’re guilty of such a foul trick against their kind,” added Jack.

“Do you think the old couple would show fight, and try to get us in a hole when they found that we were on to their game?” asked Amos.

“They didn’t strike me as fighters, either one of them,” he was told. “All the same it will pay us to keep our eyes fixed on them pretty much all the time.”

They managed to get their shoes and coats on. To facilitate progress, Jack lighted the fragment of tallow candle which had been left in their charge at the time they were conducted to the loft.

“I’m all ready,” announced Amos, finally. Somehow, he did not take quite as much pains to moderate his voice as before; perhaps he fancied that since they meant to drop down upon the old couple it might be as well to give them a little warning to the effect that their young guests were moving about.

So Jack bent over and lifting the trap opened the path to the lower part of the Belgian domicile. It was characteristic of Jack that he should with his other arm bar the way, so that Amos could not have preceded him even though he attempted to do the same.

As the two lads came down the steep stairs from the loft they found the man and woman staring at them. Their whole demeanor expressed alarm, yes, bordering on a panic. It was as though they had suddenly realized that those above must be aware of what was going on under that supposed to be friendly roof covering a Belgian family.

When the boys advanced toward them the man arose to his feet. He held on to the table as if for support, showing that in his fright his limbs threatened to give way under him.

Amos again felt that twinge of pity for the two. He shut his teeth firmly together in order to fight against any weakness. In that moment Amos felt doubly glad it was Jack rather than himself who would engineer matters, for he had much more confidence in his chum than he could ever feel in himself.

Jack faced the two old people, for the woman had also managed to gain her feet, looking as white as chalk, and with a drawn expression about her eyes, as though she anticipated receiving a terrible blow.

“W-w-what does this mean, young messieurs; does not the bed suit you?” stammered the peasant, trying to appear natural though the attempt was a farce.

“It was better than we had any right to expect,” said Jack. “But by chance we found you had entertained a visitor down here, and we have come to ask a few questions of you. It is suspicious that he should come in the night, and also while it storms. You did not want any eye to see him, so you covered the windows and fastened the door. We may be Americans, but the cause of the Allies is more to our liking than that of the Kaiser; and we can’t stand idly by if there is any treacherous work going on.”

The man raised his arms and let them fall again, while his wife hid her face in her hands and seemed to be weeping, for her shoulders heaved convulsively.

“M’sieu, I do not understand!” muttered the peasant, helplessly.

“Then I will try to explain better,” continued the boy, firmly. “A stranger comes to your door and you let him in secretly. You hold a conversation with him. We overhear a few words spoken, and they are in German. That looks bad, Monsieur. It makes us believe you are in league with the enemy of your country, the same Germany that has made Belgium a wilderness because her sons dared oppose the passage of the Kaiser’s great army to strike a mortal blow at France. Are you following what I say?”

Amos could see that the old man, greatly moved, had to wet his lips before he was able to speak. It was as though his emotions almost overpowered him; and when he did manage to find his voice his words came as from a distance.

“Yes, but, M’sieu, I do not understand. Do you mean that I, François Bart, would inform the enemy of things that must cause the death of Belgian soldiers?”

“Do you deny it then?” demanded Jack, frowning so as to impress the other with the fact that he and his companion were serious in all they said and did.

“But, M’sieu, that would make me a traitor, you see, and surely I would sooner have my right hand burned off than lift it against my king, whom we madly worship. You cannot mean that, young M’sieu?”

“Listen,” Jack continued, “all these things which we have seen are suspicious. It is none of our business which army wins in a square stand-up fight; but it does concern us when treachery is employed to stab in the back. You deny that you mean anything that is wicked and wrong. Then convince us of your innocence, and we will be only too glad to go back again to our bed and sleep.”

The man exchanged pitiful looks with his wife. They conferred together in whispers and Amos knew they were speaking in French, as most Belgians in the lower tier of towns did, while those toward Holland and Germany were as a rule accustomed to talking in German when not in Flemish.

“Tell me what you want me to do, young M’sieu?” implored the old man, turning once again toward the chums.

“You have secreted a stranger down below. Even now I can hear him knocking with his knuckles on the floor, as though he has heard what we are saying, and wants you to move the heavy table so as to allow him to come up; but you will, of course, not think of trying anything like that.”

“But—who do you suspect him of being?” faltered the man, still wringing his hands as though greatly stirred up.

“He spoke German words,” said Jack, sternly, “and it made us believe he might be a German spy!”

At that the woman gave vent to a gasp. She threw herself forward on her knees and held up her clasped hands to Jack.

“Not that, it is not that, I say to you!” she moaned. “It is bad enough, Heaven knows, but nothing could tempt us to have communication with the hated enemies of our country. Our hearts are sore, almost breaking with the shame; but if my man was younger and had his sight he would be there in the line, with a gun in his hands. It is not as bad as that, oh! M’sieu, believe me!”

Amos had been deeply stirred by all this. He readily saw that the pair were in deadly earnest, and he awaited the summing up of the whole matter with the most intense eagerness.

“Then you must tell us just who that stranger is we saw come in here, and who is now hidden under the floor. If not a German spy what is he, François Bart?”

The peasant turned to the woman, as though he dared not take the responsibility of disclosing their great secret on his own shoulders.

“Shall I tell them?” he asked, hoarsely.

She nodded her head, and at that he burst out with a torrent of words:

“He is our only son, young M’sieu, who has been given a faint heart. Deserting from the brave army of the king, he has come secretly to us to hide. That is our shame, our grief.”

CHAPTER XX.
AROUSING A COWARD.

“Oh! what do you think of that?” Amos was heard to exclaim.

He looked as though he could hardly realize he understood the correct meaning of the poor old distracted peasant’s lament. François was standing there with his head bent; his wife still on her knees rocked to and fro with many groanings, as though her heart might be nearly broken.

Indeed, it was a strange spectacle for those two American lads, and one that gave them a thrill. They had felt wonderfully shaken when witnessing the rush of Teuton files on the British lines, and watched scores, yes even hundreds of furiously fighting men fall in heaps; but this was entirely different. Now pity filled their boyish hearts. They believed they could fully comprehend the measure of shame that must wring the hearts of this honest couple.

They had but one child, and he a young man who should be at the front standing bravely up in defense of his beloved country. Instead of that he had deserted from his regiment, and made his way secretly home, possibly sending his parents word in some way that he was coming in order to have them hide him.

Those old people had the right spirit in their hearts. The man, yes, and even the old housewife also, would have been ready and willing to risk and lose their own lives in the great cause of king and country. To discover that their only boy had a “yellow streak” in his nature filled them with shame and bitter regret. They feared that if the truth ever became known they might never again look their friends and neighbors in the face—those devoted patriots on all sides who had made the greatest possible sacrifices.

Jack was almost as much shaken with compassion for the couple as Amos gave evidence of being. He put out a hand and seized that of the man, which he insisted on squeezing in his whole-hearted boyish fashion.

“I am sorry that we forced you to tell us this, François Bart,” he said, and at the time Amos wondered why his chum spoke so loudly, until presently he remembered that the boy soldier was just beneath that floor, and could possibly overhear every word that was said, as Jack doubtless intended should be the case.

“You see, M’sieu,” explained the peasant abjectly, “Jean is our child, and we love him. We could not turn him away from our door, for if seen he might be arrested and shot at ten paces. So we are in great distress of mind. We could let everything we have in this world go, and still smile, but to know that our flesh and blood is a—coward. Oh! that is worse than death itself to both of us.”

“Then you do not stand back of him in his desertion?” asked Jack.

“M’sieu, if the news came to us that our Jean had fallen covered with glory in his place at the front we could rejoice, and be satisfied, for we must always remember that he gave his poor life for our country. But that he should turn out to be a deserter, and run from duty breaks our hearts!”

Jack felt sure he detected some sort of movement under the floor. He believed the wretched Jean must have his ear pressed against the boards, and was not losing a single word of all that they said. So when he spoke again the ranch boy kept his voice at a pitch sufficiently high to be heard.

“We are sorry for you, François,” he said. “It must be a terrible thing for a father and mother in Belgium to know that their only son is a coward, and that he has allowed his fears to force him to shirk his plain duty to his king. Have you done all you can to convince him of his mistake?”

“M’sieu, we have pleaded, and almost threatened, but he keeps on saying that although his heart seems to be brave enough, his legs refuse to carry him again into the terrible battle where his comrades are falling all around him.”

“Then he has already been under fire?” asked Jack, in a surprised tone.

“Oh! yes, and one of his friends who came back badly wounded told us Jean was showing himself almost a hero. We believed that the old failing in his blood had been conquered. Then we had word from him, and this night he came, trembling with fear, saying that he must be hidden until he could find a chance to cross over into England where he would be safe.”

“Try once more to arouse him,” said Jack. “Appeal to him by everything that he holds dear. Tell him that you would sooner see him brought home dead than that he desert in the face of danger. Perhaps the spasm of fear may have passed by then. He may have come to his senses, and realize that his true nature is not that of a coward. He has already shown that he can stand up under fire and give a good account of himself. And, François, we both hope all may come out well with you—and Jean! Now we will be glad to go up into the loft once more and get some sleep.”

The peasant looked a little more hopeful; even his wife arose from her knees, to the great relief of Amos, who disliked very much seeing her in that position.

“It is kind of you, young M’sieu!” exclaimed the man. “Then you believe what we have told you? You no longer suspect us of harboring a German spy under our poor roof?”

“We are sorry for you, that is all,” Jack told him. “You need fear nothing from us, since we would not betray your secret for worlds. All we hope is that your boy Jean will be able to shake himself together, and resolve to go back to his duty like every Belgian who is worth his salt is doing this day. Come along, Amos, let’s try for another sleep.”

When the two boys had climbed once more into the loft, to find the candle still lighted as Jack had left it, of course the first thing Amos did was to ask his chum a few questions that were burning on his tongue.

“Do you think he heard what was said, Jack; and was that the reason you spoke in such a loud tone?”

“You’ve guessed it, Amos. Somehow, I felt so sorry for that poor couple in their bitter humiliation and shame that I just wanted to see if I couldn’t arouse whatever spark of patriotism there might be in Jean’s soul. Yes, I’m sure he caught every word we said.”

“The question is, will it do him a particle of good, Jack? He must be a pretty poor specimen of a young fellow to act the way he has.”

“Well, that can only be proved by time,” Jack told him, with a shake of his head. “It would be next door to a miracle, of course, and yet such things have happened before and may again. Honestly, I don’t believe the boy’s such a terrible coward as he lets himself think.”

“He passed through more or less fighting, they said.”

“Yes, and something has happened to give him a scare,” declared Jack, who had a sagacious way of looking at all such things. “If he could get a firm grip on himself once more there’s still a chance that he might win honors enough to wipe out the disgrace he’s made his folks feel. Anyway, I hope that will happen.”

From the way Jack yawned it was evident that he did not feel like discussing the matter any further. Amos took the hint, for he, too, began to feel sleepy, now that the cause of their recent excitement had passed away.

So he also gaped, and started to crawl under the covers, after he had again removed his shoes and coat. Jack blew out the candle, and in the darkness they composed themselves to forget all their troubles. Since Amos was so deeply concerned in finding his long missing brother, whom he really believed to be in the ranks of the Allies serving as an aviator, this often proved to be a difficult task; but being unusually tired after that arduous day, he presently managed to lose himself once more.

The long night passed. If from time to time there stole in through the open window of that loft in the humble Belgian cottage the deep-throated growl of those great German howitzers such as had reduced the steel forts at Liége, Namur and since then other fortifications deemed impregnable, the sound did not seem to disturb the chums any more than distant thunder would have done. They were by this time becoming so accustomed to hearing the mutterings of fierce war that they did not pay as much attention to the same as had been the case some time back.

There was no further cause for a sudden awakening. Once, however, when Jack found himself awake he raised his head to listen, thinking the low murmur of voices had sifted to his ears. When he made sure that it came from below he might have smiled as though satisfied, but the fact could not be made manifest in the gloom of that loft.

“I wonder if the seed did take root, and will it grow?” was all Jack whispered to himself, as he calmly turned over to continue his interrupted sleep.

So the dawn found them. Daylight, sweeping in through the small windows told Jack it was time they were up. He aroused Amos, who was apparently content to linger indefinitely in his cozy bed.

“It’s morning, Amos!” he called out. “Time we were moving, if we mean to do anything today.”

“And say, Jack, seems to me I can smell cooking going on in the bargain, which is always as good as a goad to get me out of bed,” with which Amos proceeded to reach for his shoes.

Yes, they could hear the old couple moving about below stairs. Jack was not sure but it did seem to him that their footsteps had a more sprightly ring. Somehow the very suspicion of such a thing did him good, though he did not think it worth while to mention the fact to Amos.

“We must be on the border of Ypres, don’t you think?” Amos remarked, showing that he was naturally thinking of the chances they had of finding the daring aviator who answered to the name of Frank Bradford, and whom he fully believed must be his own brother.

“Everything points that way,” replied Jack. “Looking out, I’ve already seen troops hurrying past, British Tommies at that, and all looking fit for any kind of fighting if their eager faces counted for anything. But if you’re ready we’ll go down below, get a bite, and then make the old people accept all we can spare; for the chances are they’ll need every franc they can get together before the end of this nasty business comes around.”

Amos was thinking mostly of the delightful odor of cooking as he came down the ladder-like stairs that led from the loft to the lower floor of the cottage. With Jack it was somewhat different, for his first thought was to look keenly at François and his wife, who had faced about on hearing the trap raised.

When Jack saw that the careworn expression had been magically lifted from those furrowed faces he felt almost like giving a shout of real satisfaction.

Straight over to them he hurried, still keeping his eyes fastened on their telltale faces.

“What is the good word, François?” he asked, in his straight-from-the-shoulder fashion; and indeed there was hardly any necessity to even ask that much, Jack thought, since appearances speak more loudly than words.

“Oh! young M’sieu, what can we say to thank you?” burst out the old peasant, while his good wife nodded vehemently to show that in her mind she echoed all her “good man” said. “The best that ever could happen has come to us. Jean has seen a great light. He has won the great victory over himself. Yes, he signalled to me to let him come up, and then and there he swore that he would go straight back to his place in the fighting line, and die a dozen deaths before quitting again. We are so happy! Now we can look our friends and neighbors in the face without feeling a cold hand at our hearts. Jean may live to see us again; but if he should not surely the Good Father above will console us if we knew that he died for the king!”

Amos had to furtively rub his eyes as though some mote had suddenly blown in there; even Jack felt his own vision a little obscured as he pressed the hands of the relieved old people, who no longer held their heads down in shame.

“Come,” said Jack, cheerily, “let’s have a bite and then we must leave you, François.”

CHAPTER XXI.
BOMBARDED BY A ZEPPELIN.

Shortly afterwards the two boys said good-bye to their host and his wife, and started out to find headquarters in Ypres. They quickly discovered that the badly battered town was full of marching soldiers, and all the other things that go hand in hand with modern war, even to a number of armored cars which sped past them on the road, exciting the wonder of Amos greatly.

“Why, just see how they’ve managed to build up that metal shield around the men aboard, Jack! They seem to be safe from ordinary bullets fired by a machine gun. There were two Maxims aboard that last car, I noticed.”

“Yes,” added the other, deeply interested, “fighting today begins to take on some of the old-time ways. You’d almost think of Roman chariots to see those cars flying along the road, only the galloping horses have been displaced by a power a hundred times more powerful. But there must have been some pretty warm engagements around this town, if the battered walls can tell the story.”

“Huh! it doesn’t look to me worth the powder that’s been wasted,” remarked Amos. “Why should both Germans and the Allies want to get and hold possession of Ypres, I’d like to know? Thousands must have fallen here, because everywhere you look you see those mounds where the dead have been buried.”

“They consider it a place of strategic importance, which is the only explanation I can give you,” Jack observed. “Perhaps it’s what we’d call a railway center over in the States. Then the only good road leading to Dunkirk and the Channel runs out from Ypres; and you know the Kaiser is dead set on getting his army where he can throw those shells over on to the shore of England. That mania with him has cost pretty much all this terrible slaughter.”

Amos shook his head as though his feelings overpowered him. He must have been thinking that human life was held pretty cheaply when it could be thus thrown away for a freak idea, a pet object of revenge that in the end could not amount to much so far as ending the war was concerned.

Of course, the two boys aroused considerable curiosity. It was only natural that this should be so. Dozens of the soldiers, humming Tipperary as they strode past in ranks, usually heading toward the fighting zone, waved a hand toward them in friendly greeting; and the chums invariably gave an answering salute.

“I guess they think we’re English boys,” suggested Amos, when this had happened a number of times. “They know from our looks, and the fact of our being here, we can never be German anyhow.”

“Now, I’m of the opinion they glimpse that little flag in your buttonhole,” ventured Jack, quickly. “It tells them who and what we are. While the United States is trying hard to be neutral in this big war, and treat both sides alike, still, as Germany can’t get any war supplies and the Allies do, on account of their controlling the Seven Seas, these British must look on us as near-allies. Besides, if they ever read the papers printed on our side of the water they’d know that the biggest part of the American nation believes in their cause, and prays that in the end militarism will be knocked out, with a new Germany to rise on the ruins of the old.”

That might sound like pretty strong talk coming from a boy; but then Jack was wise beyond his years. Besides, he had looked upon strange sights since coming abroad. Education develops rapidly under such conditions.

“I should say Headquarters might lie over in that direction, Jack?” suggested Amos, pointing as he spoke. “I notice that in most cases the troops come from that way, which would tell the story, you know.”

“Good idea, Amos, and one that does your Boy Scout training credit. According to my mind it’s just as you say, and we’ll see if we can get an interview with the general commanding this district. He must be a mighty busy man, and only for that magical letter of introduction we’re carrying around with us I’m afraid our chances of seeing him and getting a little confab would be next to nothing. But when he looks on that signature K. of K. there’s little he can refuse us.”

“Yes,” added Amos, grinning happily, “that was a master stroke on your part, asking dad to give us a letter to his old friend and comrade, General Kitchener, after you learned how close they had once been in South Africa or Egypt long ago. When I see their eyebrows go up, and that look come on their faces, it makes me think of a talisman such as they used of old. I can imagine Ali Baba saying the magical words ‘open sesame’ before the rock wall that always swung open to the signal. We’ve got the same wonderful magnet in our well-worn letter signed by the Minister of War over in London.”

Moving steadily along they quickly found themselves getting among crowds of civilians and soldiers who filled the streets of the little old Belgian town, now a ruined place.

“What are they all staring up at, I wonder?” remarked Amos. “It must be some of those rash pilots driving German Taubes are circling around again, trying to locate hidden batteries of the Allies. Oh! Jack, look there, that’s a Zeppelin I do believe.”

Jack had already decided this for himself. Away up among the fleecy clouds of the early morning they could see what looked like a bulky cigar-shaped object that was speeding along its course. It was too high for any anti-air craft gun to hope to reach it. Possibly Allied birdmen would presently be sent aloft to try and engage the enemy, or failing that chase him off.

All at once there arose a shout that was taken up by a thousand excited voices. The entire crowd started to sway and break. Men dashed for any sort of shelter that came most convenient. Others threw themselves flat upon their faces, believing in their sudden panic they would be in far less danger if they hugged the ground closely.

Jack had himself detected some object falling from aloft. It might have been a cast-off sandbag, but in these perilous war times one must expect something more destructive than this. He too would have followed the example of those close by and dropped flat, only that he saw the falling object was bound to miss the spot where he and his chum stood by a big margin. In fact, it would drop outside the town, as the hostile airship was at too high an altitude for the marksman to aim with any reasonable certainty of success.

Instantly there came a terrific boom. Jack and Amos felt the ground tremble under them with the concussion, and they did not need to be told it had been a most destructive bomb that had been dropped from the swiftly moving Zeppelin.

Instantly there came a terrific boom.—Page 249.

Almost immediately afterwards came a second shock, with the same quiver of the racked earth following the explosion. When even a third made the atmosphere seem to be surcharged with thunder Amos sank to his knees and pulled at the legs of his companion.

“Drop down, Jack,” he called, almost frantically. “How do we know but what the very next bomb will be close by? We don’t want to be torn into fragments if we can help it, do we?”

“It’s all over, I reckon, by now,” Jack assured him. “The Zeppelin seems to have passed well over us; and besides there’s a whole flock of Allied aeroplanes rising like birds to give chase. This wreck of a town has had another close call, I take it. Those bombs were terrible ones, and must have been meant for a purpose.”

“What do you think the Germans were after? I don’t suppose now they knew for a minute Jack Maxfield and Amos Turner had come to town?”

Of course Jack understood that his chum was only saying this in a spirit of sport.

“They’re after bigger game than two American boys this time, Amos,” he said.

“Then you think they meant to catch somebody high up in authority; is that it?” demanded the other.

“It has probably become known through some of those secret channels by which the Germans learn so much that the British have their headquarters established somewhere in Ypres just now, even if it is shifted often to confuse them. And because the fighting line has been pushed so far away they can’t send shells in here they’ve resorted to another means for trying to give the British a scare.”

“The crowd’s pushing over to view what happened,” remarked Amos; “shall we go, too, and find out what a bomb dropped by a Zeppelin can do?”

“I’d like to say I’d seen the effect of such a thing,” returned Jack. “We’re not in such a rushing hurry but what we can afford the little time it’ll be likely to take; so come along, Amos.”

Together then they joined the throng that was hurrying toward the quarter where that last terrible air bomb had exploded on striking the earth.

“What great luck that it fell in an open place, and never a human being was injured, seems like!” exclaimed Amos, gaping at the tremendous hole in the ground, with the earth thrown in every direction for a distance of many yards.

“If a monster meteor, hissing hot, had fallen here it couldn’t have smashed things worse than that!” Jack declared. “From the way things are thrown around I’d say if that bomb ever struck a house the people inside would never know what had happened.”

“Then they shot it down at haphazard, or else knew in what part of the town Headquarters lay, and aimed to hit the same?” suggested Amos.

A soldier in khaki overheard them and started a conversation. Doubtless he was more or less curious to know who and what they were, and why they had the run of the British camps when so many spies were known to be prowling around. He seemed to eye them more or less suspiciously, especially when Jack made no effort to enter into explanations, not caring to take every ordinary Tommy into his confidence.

In the end this happened to bring them into new difficulties, for the soldier must have immediately gone about voicing his suspicions, because about the time Jack said they had seen enough and had better be going Amos noticed that quite a number of soldiers started to cluster around them, nor did they show any intention of opening up to let the two boys pass.

Angry looks were being bent on the lads. Amos was indignant, but Jack could easily understand what a little thing in these days of bitter warfare can cause the seeds of suspicion to be sown, making the harvest quick and unpleasant.

Just then an officer came bustling up, followed by another bunch of Tommies, and Jack understood what had happened when he saw in their midst the very same tall man in khaki who had tried to pry into their affairs.

“There they are, Captain!”

“German spies they must be!” called out another voice.

“Ten to one they signalled to that same airship where to drop the bally old bombs!” cried a third soldier, angrily.

Loud outcries attested to the ugly temper of the gathering crowd. There could be no telling to what ends that mob might go, sooner or later. Despite the fact that they were amenable to military orders they might get beyond the control of authority, and start to wreak summary vengeance upon the boys, neither of whom showed any signs of being alarmed.

“Captain,” said Jack, quietly, though he had to raise his voice so as to be heard above the rising clamor, “we are just what we say, American boys. We have made our way into Ypres in order to see your commanding officer. It is foolish for any one to connect us with that German Zeppelin, when we were in just as much danger as the rest. Please take us to Headquarters without any delay. We have something to show the general; and after he has seen it you will find that he’ll extend the honors of the camp to us.”

The captain must have known that if he held back much longer the excited men were apt to get out of bonds, and do something that would not be according to military discipline; so he evidently determined to follow the advice of the boy who seemed to be able to retain his presence of mind, regardless of the overhanging difficulties.

CHAPTER XXII.
AT HEADQUARTERS IN YPRES.

“Both of you boys come with me,” the British captain told them, evidently capable of acting on the spur of the moment. “I’ll see that you get to Headquarters all right.”

His actions told that he was a man who knew what to do in an emergency. First of all he stepped between the boys, and put an arm through theirs. Then he commanded a batch of passing soldiers under a subaltern to swing around them, so that on every side they were protected from the crowd.

After that they started off briskly. Jack looked at his chum and nodded his head as if to say that it was more than fortunate for them they chanced to come across such a level-headed officer in their time of need.

A crowd started to follow after them, and seeing this the resolute captain gave a sharp order that caused the guard to turn and make threatening gestures with the bayonets on their guns. After that, as though recognizing the fact that such an officer was not to be trifled with, the mob fell back and scattered into fractions.

The danger was evidently past, at least so far as that quarter was concerned. It remained to be seen how they would get on with the general. Having the utmost faith in the talisman they carried, neither Jack nor Amos felt much fear. In this crisis of the country’s history none but sensible men would be in command of the King’s forces in the field; and they could depend on just treatment, which was all they asked.

There was evidently no desire in those days of hovering Zeppelins and hostile aeroplanes capable of dropping dangerous bombs, to make Headquarters in any way conspicuous. No flags decorated the humble building to which the American boys were now taken. In fact, unless the steady flow of messengers and orderlies were noted one would never dream a general high in authority had taken it over for his personal quarters.

“Remain here while I see if the general is in and can give you a few minutes,” was what the captain told them, with which he vanished beyond the two grim sentries who guarded the doorway.

“Let me tell you we’ve been mighty lucky to have such a friend bob up when we needed one,” remarked Jack, as they awaited the reappearance of the officer.

“I kind of think he’s taken quite a fancy to you, Jack,” the other observed. “He must have a soft spot in his heart for Americans. Every time he looked around at one of us he’d sort of smile. I’m going to ask him if he ever lived across the water in our country. Here he comes. I think it’s all right, and the general will see us, because he looks as ‘pleased as Punch,’ as these Britishers say.”

Amos guessed rightly, for the captain nodded his head as he came up to them, still surrounded by the men in khaki.

“You are to come in with me, boys. The general has a few minutes of leisure, and will listen to what you have to say,” he told them, as he dismissed the men.

“I hope you’ll excuse me, Captain,” said Amos, bent on satisfying his curiosity on the spur of the moment. “Something seems to tell me you know America. Am I right about that, or is it a bad guess, sir?”

“I spent several years in Washington as an attaché to our Embassy there,” the officer confessed. “It happens that I married an American woman, so I can assure you I have a great many good friends over there, two of whom I happen to know are in the Foreign Legion that was organized in Paris to fight Prussian militarism. But come with me, as the general’s time is precious. Whatever your errand may be over here I wish you good luck.”

“Thanks, Captain, and the same to you!” exclaimed Amos, as he gave Jack a wink, desiring to call his attention to the fact that for once his guess had hit the bull’s-eye.

A minute later and they were ushered into the presence of the general. Amos felt immediately that they would not have any difficulty in gaining the good will of this high functionary. He had a keen eye, and surveyed the two American boys curiously, as though finding it difficult to understand why they should have been allowed to roam almost at will over these fighting zones, when other non-combatants were swept far to the rear for many reasons.

“Captain Sperry informs me you wished to have a brief talk with me,” was what the general said in quick, terse tones that denoted unusual energy. “First of all tell me who you are, why you are here, and how in the name of all that’s wonderful you have been allowed safe conduct through this war-torn region.”

As was usually the case, Jack took it upon himself to do the talking. Amos always admitted that he was not in the same class with his cousin when it came to making a good use of his vocal organs. In other words, to use the words of some of their boy friends across the water, Jack had the “gift of gab,” and had often been put in the “spell-binder” division.

So Jack introduced Amos and himself. He went right at the root of the matter, telling how Frank Turner had left home under a cloud, and then how some years later his complete innocence had been established so strangely.

Having in this fashion interested the general, who was human even though a stern soldier, perhaps a martinet in his way as well, Jack explained how they had been given a letter of introduction to Lord Kitchener, and that the father of his chum had once been a warm friend of the great soldier in the Soudan.

In somewhat of a dramatic fashion Jack told how they had been given a paper by the British War Minister, and then presented the well-worn document to the astonished general. He examined it eagerly, and then looked at the two boys. The stern expression on his strong face had changed to a friendly smile, owing to first of all the spell of Jack’s boyish oratory, and then the sight of that honored signature.

“You are fortunate indeed, my young friends,” he told them, “in having such a backing. I do not wonder any longer that you have been able to penetrate our lines, and see much that has been going on, which other eyes have not been able to observe. But I sincerely hope you may never fall into the hands of the Germans, for that wonderful paper would seal your fate. They would convict you as spies sent out by Lord Kitchener. Now tell me what I can do for you?”

This was just what Jack was waiting for. Accordingly he explained how in various ways they had come to firmly believe that the missing Frank Turner had taken up aviation, and that at the breaking out of the war had joined the British aerial corps under the name of Frank Bradford.

Jack was watching when he said this, and, just as he anticipated, the general and captain, the latter of whom had been asked to remain in the room during the interview, showed immediate signs of renewed interest, proving that they recognized the name as belonging to one of their most daring air pilots.

“If it turns out as you believe,” said the general, after Jack had gone on to explain how they seemed to be chasing after a will-o’-the-wisp, since Frank Bradford was heard of first in one part of the country and then in another more remote region—“you have every reason to be proud of that missing brother. He has been a bulwark of insurance for our cause. There is hardly another aviator who has proven such a thorn in the flesh to the enemy as Frank Bradford. I had not learned that he was really an American. How about you, Captain?”

“Oh! yes, I was told so, General, though as a rule it was not generally known. I have never met him, though other pilots have spoken of him to me, and all seem to admire his wonderful nerve and skill.”

“Do you happen to know where he could be found at present, Captain?” asked the commanding officer, bent on assisting the two brave boys as far as he could.

“I heard some one say,” the other replied, “just a few days back, that he ran across Frank Bradford at the front with your aerial squad, General.”

“Of course, I would hardly have known of it,” remarked the commanding officer, “because these men are modest, and hide their light under a bushel, being often designated only by a number. It is too bad that you boys did not know this when you were close to the front.”

“We watched a number of aviators flying and sending signals,” Jack explained; “and my cousin even suggested that one of them might be his brother; but we had no means of knowing, and thought the only way to find out would be to make direct for Headquarters, General.”

Amos looked bitterly disappointed. To think that they may have been so close to the one they were seeking and then miss him was aggravating, to say the least.

“If you are so bent on finding him,” said the general, as though he could tell from the look on Jack’s face there was no thought of letting a little thing like this discourage them, “I will do what I can to help you out.”

“It is very kind of you to say that, General!” declared Jack, his face beaming with a broad smile as he turned toward Amos and winked.

The commanding officer drew a pad of paper toward him and hurriedly wrote several lines upon a sheet, after which he signed it.

“That will allow you to continue your search, my lads,” he said, as he handed the document to Jack, who folded and carefully placed it in an inner pocket without reading what the other had written. “I deplore the necessity that will take you once more through the dangerous zone of fire, because it would grieve me to hear that any accident had befallen you. We British know how to admire valor in boys; and I rejoice to know that our American cousins across the sea possess the same manly spirit we love to see in our own kith and kin at home.”

The general actually held out his hand to them, which Jack reckoned to be an unusual thing for a commanding officer to do. But of course he could unbend his dignity when dealing with boys, and this meeting must have been a refreshing break in the monotony of strictly military doings.

“The best of luck attend your search,” he told them at parting. “While I may sympathize with the sacred object of your mission, deep down in my heart I am hoping your brother will consider it his duty to stick by his task. The Allies can ill afford to lose so brilliant a pilot at just this critical stage of the terrible game of war.”

Jack knew that the busy general had given them much more of his valuable time than common prudence would have dictated. That was because he had taken an interest in their fortunes, and also in themselves as typical representatives of Young America. So Jack bowed and backed away, in which he was imitated by Amos.

Once again they were in the open air, with the deep muttering of the battle coming from the front. The captain now held out his hand as though to say he had pressing duties to attend to, and could not spare further time to accompany them.

“We may be ordered to take our places in the line at almost any minute,” he explained, “and I should be with my men, who are chafing at the delay, being wild to get in action. So I will echo all the general said. The best of luck attend you both, my lads. I have two boys at home, and I assure you they love the country of their mother as well as that to which their father owes allegiance.”

When they found themselves free to act the first thing Jack did was to take out the paper given into his charge by the commanding officer and examine it, with Amos leaning over his shoulder.

“Brief and to the point, as a soldier’s communications always should be,” observed Jack; “but it covers the ground, and will keep any British or Belgian patrol from interfering with our movements. I hardly think such liberty has been granted to any other non-combatant in this war. On the whole, I can see where it’s going to help me out in my letters to my paper.”

“And now we’ve got to cover the same ground again, do we?” asked Amos.

“Pretty much so,” he was told by his comrade. “Only with this paper from the general we may look to have all sorts of favors granted to us. Who knows but what we may get a ride part of the way in an automobile, or on a motor truck going for the injured? I mean to make an effort, if a chance comes along.”

CHAPTER XXIII.
A RIDE ON A GUN CAISSON.

“There’s the cottage of François Bart,” observed Amos, some time later, as they passed through the village on the outskirts of Ypres.

“Yes, and some one is waving to us from the open door,” added Jack. “It must be his good wife, and she has recognized her lodgers of last night.”

“I hope they get no bad news about their boy from the front where the Belgian army is holding out so stubbornly,” said Amos, reflectively.

“So long as he stands up to the job neither of them will complain,” the other commented. “They felt the disgrace much more than they would the stab if news came that Jean had fallen while doing his duty for his country.”

“For one I’m glad we had a chance to run across a little side drama like that, Jack. It showed us of what stuff these patriotic Belgians are made. And you can find some mighty bright material for your correspondence in that happening, too.”

Chatting after this fashion they trudged along. The way seemed fairly familiar to them, since they had so recently come over it. As before, the road was at times almost clogged with the numerous vehicles passing back and forth. These consisted altogether of motor vans or lorries going after more wounded, or fetching loads of the same from the front where the battle still raged; cars containing officers hurrying to the fighting line; artillery trains of cannon; supplies; ammunition, and even more armored cars.

Then at one time the boys had to get out of the way when a squadron of hard-riding cavalry swept past. Jack again believed many of these men must have come from the Canadian Northwest, for they sat their saddles after the free and easy fashion of cowboys. He was almost tempted to give vent to a whoop just to see if some of them would answer; but discretion or second thought caused him to forego this, as it could do them no good, and might get them into trouble.

“Here comes a van heading our way,” called out Amos, about half an hour after they had left Ypres, “and it seems to be nearly empty for a change. Most of them are chock full of Tommies being rushed forward. Jack, will you make the try with that paper the general gave us?”

“Surely,” returned the other, “if we can get them to stop. Here’s a bad spot in the road, and they’ll have to go slow in passing. Now to see what luck we have.”

When Jack made motions indicating that he wanted the driver of the motor van to stop, possibly that worthy, seeing the bad spot in the road, feared he might become mired. At any rate he pulled up. Jack had his paper ready, and stepping up shoved it up at the chauffeur, who was undoubtedly a Britisher, perhaps one who had up to recently been driving some business van or motor ’bus in the congested streets of London.

“Please read this communication given to us by the general in command,” was what the boy said, without any show of bluster.

When the chauffeur glanced over the brief but pointed order that every one in authority should render assistance to the bearer and his companion, he knew instinctively what was wanted, for he at once made room on the seat.

“If you want to go along, get aboard, young fellows!” he said, and without waiting for further invitation they both clambered up alongside, after which the big van started on again, bent on taking another load of wounded to the hospitals in the rear, perhaps at Dunkirk.

Amos noticed that the bottom of the van was covered with fresh hay, and he was glad to discover no signs of previous occupancy.

The driver was curious to know why two boys were roaming around close to where tens of thousands of soldiers were engaged in the gruesome task of killing each other; it was only natural he should feel this way, for that document he had examined, signed by the general, told him Jack and Amos were no ordinary strollers bent on seeing the sights.

Jack thought it best to tell him just a little so that he might understand how they stood in with the commander-in-chief at Ypres Headquarters. It was as small a compensation as they could make in return for being given such a splendid lift on their way.

Louder grew the discordant sounds that spoke of the hot work being done along a line that must cover many miles of front. In places the Germans must be attacking furiously again, hurling masses of fresh troops forward in hopes of pressing the Allies back once more.

“But they’ve shot their blooming bolt,” said the van driver, exultantly. “Gas is wot done it, I tell you; but our men have turned and pushed the mob back a full mile or so, I hears. There we stick, and they can’t budge us, try it as they will.”

Every chance Amos got, when the road was fairly clear of trees ahead, he leaned forward and seemed to be intently examining the heavens as though fearful that it might start in and rain again.

Jack knew, however, it was something besides this that was causing the other to act as he did; and that it concerned those venturesome fliers who during the entire day would be sailing back and forth through the upper air currents, spying on the troop movements of the enemy, and sending numerous valuable messages back to those who with glasses bearing on the aeroplanes were reading to receive such news as came.

“I can see half a dozen of them sailing around away off there, Jack,” remarked Amos, with a vein of deep anxiety in his voice and manner. “I wonder if one of them can be Frank. They’re too far away right now for me to say which belong to the Allies and which are Taubes of the enemy.”

The chauffeur, while not knowing why they should have any particular interest in aeroplanes, kindly volunteered to pick out those that were connected with the cause of the Allies.

“Germans always have a queer way of flying,” he explained. “They all learn to do things the same way like they was parts of a big machine. Our men go it every one like he learned his own style. But say, boys, I have to turn off the road here and follow this trail which leads to a hospital where I gets me load. If so be you’d want to keep on that way you’re welcome to stay aboard with me.”

Jack, however, believed that their end would be best attained if they kept on in a direct line for the village where they had passed that night at the time the great German drive broke like a water dam, and pressed the Allied armies back for several miles.

They trudged along for half a mile. Then back of them came a battery of field guns, swinging to the front for service. The boys stepped out of the way, and as the artillery swept past they waved a hand to the grim men in khaki sitting on the seats of gun carriage and caisson.

“I wouldn’t mind riding on one of those, given half a chance,” Amos was saying a little enviously, for as the horses were galloping there was a promise that the fresh battery would soon be wheeled in position to take toll of the charging Prussians.

“Look there!” exclaimed Jack. “The very last caisson has pulled up right in front of us you might say. Something gone a little wrong with a part of the harness, most likely. I wonder if our pass from the general would get us a seat on that ammunition cart!”

“Try it, Jack!” advised his chum eagerly. “I’m not so struck on this walking that I’d refuse a chance to ride on any kind of vehicle. Besides, it’ll take us to the front all the sooner, you know.”

There were three men with the caisson that had stopped on the road. Two of them were hurriedly fixing the harness so that it would work easier. The third Jack saw must be a non-commissioned officer, perhaps a corporal, who could afford to sit there and order the others what to do.

Stepping quickly up, Jack held out his paper.

“This is signed by your general, sir,” he said rapidly, for fear the halt would be discontinued before he had found his chance to make good.

“It’s altogether unusual, I know, but we are anxious to get forward, and would like to be allowed to sit on the chest at the back while you push ahead.”

“Utterly impossible, boy!” exclaimed the other, but about the same time he took in what the commanding general had written, and his eyes opened wide as he hastened to add. “Why, I hardly know what my duty is. By this document I am commanded to assist you two boys in every way possible, no matter whether it is against general orders or not. Jump up and hold on, then, for we will have to move rapidly in order to overtake the rest of the battery!”

Jack hastily put the paper safely away. He would not like to lose that valuable document for a great deal, since it must stand as their sponsor in the hunt for Frank Bradford. Hardly had he and Amos secured a seat on the ammunition chest than the two gunners hustled into their places. Then the horses were started on a furious gallop.

The two boys would never forget that wild ride over the rutty roads beyond Ypres, where in places German shells had torn deep holes that had later been filled up after a certain fashion. They had more or less difficulty in holding on, for the caisson jumped frightfully when passing over these ruts and holes. The whip was not spared, and the steaming horses did their best to overtake the balance of the field battery.

The two boys would never forget that wild ride over the rutty roads beyond Ypres.—Page 278.

Amos could almost feel that he too wore a khaki uniform, and was speeding to the battle line in order to take his share in the butchery, the illusion was so complete.

It required more or less dexterity to turn part way around in order to look where they were going. Jack having a better grip than his chum volunteered to do this duty, and report progress from time to time.

“We’re overhauling the balance of the battery all right, by slow degrees,” he told Amos. “I can see signs of the village ahead there, now.”

“What’s left of it, I guess you mean, Jack,” said Amos, sadly, “because you remember how we saw the German shells bursting in the streets, and among the houses by the dozen. I’ll be more than surprised if any buildings have been spared after such a furious bombardment. Will we find our host the old burgomaster alive, or poor little Jacques still marching up and down with his Belgian flag over his shoulder?”

“When the Germans were in the place at one time he may have had his chance to spring his trap and carry out that childish vow he made,” suggested Jack. “It’s more than likely the poor little chap has been sent to join his father by a cruel German bayonet or a bursting shell.”

Several minutes later and Amos heard him utter an exclamation of disappointment.

“What’s gone wrong now, Jack?” demanded the other.

“Why, the battery has turned off the road, and is heading through a field at left angles,” replied Jack. “So we’ll have to drop off when we get there and finish our journey to the village afoot.”

“Well, we got a mighty fine lift, all right,” admitted Amos, “and shouldn’t complain. But they’re still at it hammer and tongs over there, you notice. Those Germans never know when they’re licked, do they? I reckon they’ve sent up fresh columns of troops as many as ten times against the new line of British and Canadians organized. It’s nip and tuck between them, because both sides are as stubborn as they make them.”

“By this time the Kaiser has learned that the British can fight as well as ever they could in the past,” said Jack. “He called their army contemptible in the beginning, but I believe he meant in numbers, not bravery; and it was, compared with the millions he could throw into the field inside of two weeks, every man drilled and ready to do his part. But here’s where we skip, and say good-bye to our friends the gunners! They’ve slackened up speed for us; so jump, Amos, and be careful to land on your feet, not on your nose!”

CHAPTER XXIV.
WHAT LITTLE JACQUES DID.

Amos was smart enough to take all necessary precautions when jumping. He did not meet with any accident, and was in condition to wave a jolly farewell to the gunners in khaki, who had turned in their seats to see the last of the American boys carrying that autograph letter from the British commander.

“A rough and ready lot of fine chaps, I should say, Jack,” remarked Amos, after they had watched the caisson whirl past an obstruction that shut it out from their view.

“Yes, and it’s tough to think that perhaps not a corporal’s guard of the whole squad will ever go back again to their English homes,” replied the other. “To see the way they joke and make merry I don’t believe that bothers one of them the least bit. When you stop to think of it, the worst of a war in these times is that it takes off so many hundreds of thousands of the finest young men, leaving cripples, old fellows and those who are of little use in the world.”

“Now I hadn’t thought of that before,” admitted Amos, candidly. “It’s really a fact, though, isn’t it? Every soldier nowadays has to be physically sound, of a certain height, and even his teeth are examined to make sure they’re fit. When a million or two such athletes are cut off, the old world is going to take a step backward for years to come.”

“Let’s put our best foot forward, and get to what’s left of the village, Amos.”

They trudged along for a little while in almost absolute silence, each boy being busily occupied with his own thoughts. Perhaps Amos, as would be quite natural, was planning what arguments he should use when he came upon his brother. Jack on his part may have been thinking more of the fate that had overtaken the poor Belgian village which by the fortunes of war seemed to have been in the direct line of fire between the hostile armies.

As they reached a certain little knoll they were given an opportunity to take their first good look at the place where they had passed that never-to-be-forgotten night, when the roar of approaching battle had stirred their young blood to fever heat.

Amos uttered a cry in which astonishment was mingled with pain. He even rubbed his eyes as though he almost believed they had deceived him.

“Jack, it’s gone!” he gasped. “The poor village I mean! Just see how the cottages have been smashed to smithereens by the shells the Germans hurled over here while the Allies were holding the place! Oh! it’s terrible, terrible! I don’t believe there are two stones on top of each other.”

“Well, it isn’t quite as bad as that, Amos,” said his comrade, “because I can see several houses still standing, though they’re wrecks at that. But if ever there was a peaceful village turned into a howling wilderness this one has been.”

“But, Jack, what’s become of the people?”

“A whole lot of them were wise enough to get away at the time we did,” Jack reminded him. “You remember how we found them strung out along the road. By now we hope they’ve found lodging somewhere in Northern France; for the French people have warm hearts, and owe Belgium such a heavy debt for holding back the Kaiser’s army that they will share their last crust with their neighbors.”

“Still there were some who meant to stay here, Jack?” urged Amos.

“That’s true enough,” came the answer, “and our old landlord the burgomaster was of the number, though I reckon he insisted on most of his people going away. They had a good deep cellar under that cottage, he told us; perhaps no German shell buried itself down there to find them out. Come, let’s head that way. I’ve got an idea the one house we can see standing over there is the very home where we were taken in.”

“I hope so, Jack, I surely do!” exclaimed the other boy fervently. “I’d hate to learn that such a fine old man had been done for. If that is the house, though, I’d never recognize it with the corners torn off, and the chimney fallen in ruins. Oh, Jack, see, there’s a gaping hole in the wall showing where a shell passed through. If it exploded inside we can guess the fate of all that were hiding there.”

“Look again, Amos, and you’ll see that it came out through that hole, and buried itself in the ground right here. It was a German shell, of course, as pretty much all that fell upon this place must have been; for the British were behind the houses holding the enemy off, and every effort was made to chase them out.”

“But they held their ground, it seems like,” said Amos, “and with the coming of reinforcements pushed the Germans back a mile or more. Now to find out what happened to the old burgomaster.

“Jack, tell me, isn’t that some one moving around inside the ruins of the cottage?”

“I do believe you’re right, Amos. We’ll soon know who it is,” replied the Western boy, as he made for the doorway.

The cottage could only be called a ruin, even though its four walls still stood, and part of the roof seemed to be fairly intact. A tree just outside that had given grateful shade for many years was stripped of its limbs, and the trunk stood like a gaunt skeleton, a grim reminder of the furious hail of bombs that had fallen upon that devoted village for hours.

Jack had to almost climb over the mass of debris that cumbered the open doorway. He immediately found that the wrecked cottage did have occupants. Several figures were stretched upon blankets on the floor, and others hovered over them, showing that the place was really being used as a sort of hospital.

Jack immediately saw, however, that those who were being thus attended were not soldiers of the line. One was a woman, another an old man, while the third seemed to be a small figure, presumably that of a mere lad.

A hand clutched Jack’s arm, and the voice of his chum whispered hoarsely in his ear:

“Our old friend has come through it all with his life, Jack; don’t you see him giving that boy a drink, and passing his hand over the poor little chap’s forehead? Seems to me I’ve set eyes on that boy before, and—yes, as sure as anything, Jack, I do believe it’s little Jacques. He’s been struck down, just as we feared.”

“They seem to be hovering over him in a strange way,” ventured Jack. “There’s a Belgian soldier holding his other hand, and two women doing what they can. Jacques doesn’t lack for friends, it seems. I wonder what it all means, and if he tried to carry out that foolish vow he made about getting revenge for his father’s death.”

Just then it happened that the old burgomaster, who no longer had a village under his charge, looked around. He may have heard the murmur of their voices during some lull in the dreadful chaos of sounds that came from the front, rising and falling as the wind chanced to swerve.

At sight of the two American boys his wrinkled face showed great pleasure. He immediately got up from his knees and hurried toward them, holding out his hand in warm welcome.

“I am glad to see you again, young messieurs,” he said, simply. “I wondered much what had become of you, and prayed that you had escaped the terrible shells that seemed to cover every mile of territory around this poor village.”

Amos was conscious of a feeling of amazement. He marveled greatly that the good old man could spare even one thought for them, when he himself was face to face with so overpowering a peril. It certainly spoke well for his heart. No wonder then that those who had lived in that place had made him their burgomaster. In Belgium that name stands not only for Mayor, but father to the entire community, with an eye single to the welfare of the “children” entrusted to his care.

“We are glad, too, on finding that you escaped when so many must have been killed or injured here, even while hidden in cellars,” Jack told him.

The burgomaster shook his white head dismally. There was an expression of woe on his face, but in spite of all Jack could detect the gleam of an unconquered spirit in those unflinching eyes. The Kaiser might overrun Belgium with his soldiers, and hold every foot of soil, but he would never be able to crush the independence of soul that has always been the common heritage of every Belgian.

“It has been a terrible calamity,” he said, simply. “We bow our heads before the storm, even as the trees do when the wind blows, and the thunder rolls. But after it is all over they raise their crests again. So, too, young messieurs, will Belgium rise from the ruins of her cities and towns to become greater than before.”

How proudly he said that. Amos would never forget the exalted look on the seamed face of the old burgomaster. Somehow he found it in his heart to believe every word of that prophecy must in the course of time come true.

“These wounded persons, did they get their injuries while down in the cellar? Was it a shell that exploded there to scatter death around?” Jack asked, nodding toward the group hovering around the blankets on the floor, upon which those forms were stretched.

“Heaven was merciful in that nothing like that came upon us,” the old man hastened to inform him. “They received their hurts outside, as did others who are now being cared for amidst the ruins of our poor houses, by some of those who remained with me in shelter.”

“And how about little Jacques?” asked Amos, unable to hold his curiosity in check any longer.

The burgomaster allowed his grim features to relax for a brief moment in what was almost a smile; though with so much suffering around him it sat strangely upon his face. He nodded his head several times as he went on to say:

“Ah! young M’sieu, that is the most remarkable thing I ever knew to happen. Yes, it is little Jacques you see there on the blanket. He has been injured, but we hope and believe he will recover. He surely will if our prayers are of any avail; for, wonderful to say, little Jacques is this day a hero of heroes!”

At that Amos uttered a pleased cry.

“Oh! do you really mean to tell us the little chap actually found his chance after all? What did he do—what could so small a boy do against the fighting soldiers of the Kaiser? Please tell us all about it.”

“It was in this way,” described the burgomaster, proudly. “When the Germans came into the village after that first furious bombardment they managed to hold half of the place. There was fighting in every street, desperate hand-to-hand fighting, for those British were determined they would not be chased out wholly. This kept up until the reinforcements arrived on the run, wild with the lust for blood. Then step by step the Germans were pressed back, until in the end they lost their grip on the village.”

“After that the bombardment must have started in afresh, until the whole place was leveled as flat as a plain?” interposed Jack, wishing to get all the facts clearly in his mind, for future use in his letters to the paper he represented.

“Just as you say, young M’sieu,” continued the burgomaster. “It was while the Germans held part of the town that Jacques found his great opportunity. Two of the invaders discovered him there on the street amidst all that furious firing back and forth. They seized hold of the lad, and, I believe, threatened him with death if he did not reveal the place where his people were hiding with their valuables. The boy played his part well, and after making out that he was almost frightened to death agreed to lead them to our hiding place.”

“Oh! he always claimed that he had a trap ready to spring!” exclaimed Amos, who found himself intensely interested in the story. “Did those two Germans really fall into it, Monsieur?”

“He must have acted his part wonderfully well,” said the old man proudly, for it must be remembered that the lad’s father was his own cousin. “He made them force him along; for in some manner he succeeded in lulling any suspicions they may have had in the start. And, Messieurs, in the end Jacques, a Belgian boy with a heart that beats only for his beloved country, managed to entrap those two pillagers, so that they are now prisoners in the hands of our forces.”

“But how could he do such a wonderful thing?” asked Amos, not skeptically, for he fully believed every word the burgomaster spoke, but with a keen desire to know all the particulars.

“Ah! we none of us understand as yet, for Jacques has been too weak to explain,” the old man told them. “Besides, something else has occurred to claim his attention. What we know is that after the British reclaimed the ruins of our poor village, and the Germans had been beaten back as many as six times, on coming out from my hiding place to see what could be done for those who were lying by scores and hundreds around, I found the boy badly injured by a fragment of a bursting shell.

“He seemed feverish with but one desire, and that to tell where two German soldiers could be found shut in a hole in the ground. I found a British officer who sent some of his men to the place, and it was as Jacques had said. A great rock had been toppled over so as to fill in the gap, and this he must have learned some time ago could be hurled down with even a child’s puny strength. And that, young Messieurs, was the trap Jacques always hinted to us about, but at which we only smiled.”

“Bully for little Jacques!” exclaimed Amos, carried away with boyish enthusiasm.

“When he saw the soldiers passing by with the two Germans in their charge Jacques, although in great pain, laughed in glee, for the one great hope of his life had been realized,” continued the burgomaster, “but even then he did not know what else there was waiting for him. As the story of his valor went around many of the British soldiers came here to see the Belgian boy who had captured two big Germans alone and unaided. We even had a general visit us, and tell the lad how proud he was that the sons of their allies should display such valor. But while this may have pleased Jacques there was something else coming that overwhelmed him with joy.”

Jack started at hearing this. Somehow he suddenly remembered that man in the stained uniform of a Belgian soldier who was bending over the little figure of the boy hero, and one of whose arms seemed to be swathed in bandages.

“That soldier over there, who holds his hand on the head of Jacques, and looks down at him so tenderly, is his father, supposed to have fallen at Antwerp?” he asked.

“Yes, it is as you say, young M’sieu; he lived, and has come to claim his boy!”

CHAPTER XXV.
NEARING THE GOAL.

“That’s splendid news,” Jack at once remarked. “I’m glad for the sake of little Jacques that his brave father did not die there in front of Antwerp as you all believed. If I had time I’d like to hear his story, because I reckon it’d be well worth listening to. But we have business of our own to look after, and so must once more take leave of you.”

“Do you think he will get well again?” asked Amos, who under different conditions, would only too willingly have volunteered to help take care of the wounded, since his education as a Boy Scout had taught him how to apply the principles of “first aid to the injured.”

“We have strong hopes,” replied the old burgomaster. “Joy is better than all the medicine a doctor can bring. Jacques has found his father again; and besides, his young heart is filled with happiness because he was given a chance to strike a blow against the enemies of his country. Yes, he surely must get well now, and live to see a new day dawn for Belgium.”

They both went over to nod to the boy, and the look of contentment upon his face told them his severe wounds were at the time forgotten in the thanksgiving that filled his heart. Both of them would in time to come often think of Jacques, and hope the good angel that had brought back his father would continue to guard the boy’s further fortunes.

Once again Jack and Amos found themselves outside, and wandering amidst the ruins of the village where only recently the fighting had reached its height. Here was the high-tide mark of that furious German drive; just as Gettysburg marked the apex of the Lost Cause in the war between the States in ’63. Jack wondered whether history would repeat itself, for he believed that if Germany were defeated it would only be through the force of greater numbers arrayed against her, with pretty much all the world in arms.

They wandered around seeking some means of learning where they could secure the information they required. Never would they forget the sights that greeted them on every side. The ground looked almost as though it had been ploughed, such were the number of shells that had fallen on that devoted village during the time it was under bombardment. To Amos it seemed incredible that any living thing could have remained there and lived through that holocaust of crashing shells; and yet those undaunted men in khaki must have found some sort of concealment, for every time the Teuton force charged, after a cessation in the firing, they were met by the British, and mowed down by the Maxims that were hurriedly brought to bear on the solid ranks coming forward.

Most of the wounded had been removed by now, and were being taken to the rear in the motor vans, lorries, and Red Cross ambulances. The dead for the most part lay where they had fallen, though several gangs of men stumbled among the gruesome piles, and seemed to be engaged in placing them in shallow graves, after securing the identification medals which every soldier wore about his neck, so that his fate might be made known to his sorrowing people at home.

Again and again were the boys stopped, and asked what business they had there in the midst of such harrowing scenes. On every occasion Jack showed the order from the commanding general, which was couched in no uncertain words, and invariably produced the desired effect, for all opposition was immediately removed.

They had been instructed whom they must ask for in order to learn whether Frank Bradford was still hard at work serving the Allies as a daring aviator. No one was likely to possess this information save some of his comrades, or the chief of the aerial staff, in whose charge all these operations had been placed.

For two hours did the boys walk after leaving the ruined village. Sometimes they were misinformed, for changes were being made rapidly in those stirring times, and Headquarters today might be miles away from where it had been twelve hours before.

“It’s a long run, trying to find that officer,” remarked Amos, who of course was racked constantly by his hopes and fears, and wished the crisis would hurry along, so that he might know what to expect.

“That’s so,” admitted the cheerful Jack, “but all the time we’re getting warmer and warmer on the trail. Right now I can see where that last monoplane rose from, and the chances are we’ll find the party we’re looking for at that spot.”

“It gives me the queerest sort of feeling, Jack, just to believe that any minute now I may be squeezing Frank’s hand, and looking into his eyes again. I was always mighty fond of my big brother, you know, and it nearly broke my heart, small chap that I really was at the time, when he told me he was going away forever, because our father had unjustly accused him of doing something which he denied. If only I find him safe and sound I’ll be the happiest fellow in all Europe.”

“Except one, perhaps, Amos, and that’s little Jacques, whose father came back to him from the dead.”

“Well, finding Frank and carrying him home with me will be almost like the same thing, for he’s been as dead to us for many years!” declared Amos, eagerly watching the aeroplane that was now soaring swiftly aloft, already a target for hostile fire, as the little white puffs of smoke told where the shrapnel shells were bursting all around the daring pilot. “I’m wondering again whether that can be Frank up yonder, and if he’ll come back safely. It would be a terrible thing if something happened to him just when I had run him down.”

“Oh! don’t allow yourself to give way to such an idea,” said Jack. “Look on the bright side of things all the time. Think how we’ve been carried through our troubles so splendidly. No matter how dark things seemed they always took a turn for the better in the end, and every time it proved the best thing that could have happened to us.”

With an effort the boy managed to get a better hold upon himself. This companionship with Jack was the luckiest thing that could ever have happened to Amos; for the Western lad always seemed to steady him at times when his nerves were sorely tried, so as to give him renewed strength of purpose.

“There goes another ’plane up, Jack!” he exclaimed a minute later. “That first pilot, now high over the German lines, seems to be holding his own in spite of all the shrapnel they can send after him. Yes, you must be right in saying we’re coming to where we will find the controlling force of the aviation corps. Before another half hour goes by I’m likely to know the best—or the worst!”

“You’ll be wringing Frank’s hand and telling him how proud you are to learn that the boldest of all the Allied aviators, known under the name of Frank Bradford, is your own dear brother—make up your mind to that!” said Jack, sturdily, for he saw that his chum was trembling with suspense.

When one has dreamed and thought of a certain object for days and weeks, and it comes time when he may know the truth, small wonder that he shivers with alternate hope and dread. Amos was only human. You and I most likely would feel the same nervousness under similar conditions.

Amos uttered a cry of dismay, as though he had received a sudden shock.

“Oh! Jack, they did get that second pilot, you see!” he exclaimed. “He’s volplaning down now like everything, and will fall inside the German lines perhaps!”

“No, he’s heading this way!” declared Jack. “From the fact that they’re still keeping up their fire I reckon they fear he’ll escape them. The pilot couldn’t have been badly hurt when his ’plane was struck, because I can see him sitting up and managing his machine. It was only his motor that was put out of commission, and if he keeps on as he’s going now he’ll get safely down.”

“There, he’s disappeared behind that line of trees!” cried Amos, “but the firing has nearly stopped, so they must think it’s no use wasting any more ammunition on him. Let’s hurry, Jack! I’m wild to know if that was my brother. Something just seems to tell me it must have been. Ten minutes more ought to take us over there where he came down. Just to think of it, only that short time, and I’ll see him, if I’m lucky!”

Apparently Jack was as intent upon settling the question as Amos himself could be. He put on more speed, and side by side they broke into a run, such was their eagerness to cover the intervening ground. Men in khaki looked after them in bewilderment, not knowing who these two boys were, or what object they could have in thus braving the fearful ordeals to be encountered on a battlefield.

Amos was caring little for all this. He had but one object in view, and that the settling of the question whether his long absent brother Frank, now one of the Allies’ aviators, was working on that section of the firing line, and if he was fated to meet him face to face after so arduous a search.

Whether Amos and his faithful chum Jack were to be rewarded with immediate success after their eventful hunt for the missing Frank, or meet with still further disappointment, must, however, be left to another story, which the reader will find ready for his perusal later on.

THE END.

BOY AVIATORS’ SERIES

By Captain Wilbur Lawton

Absolutely Modern Stories for Boys

Cloth Bound Price, 50c per volume

The Boy Aviators in Nicaragua
Or, Leagued With Insurgents

The launching of this Twentieth Century series marks the inauguration of a new era in boys’ books—the “wonders of modern science” epoch. Frank and Harry Chester, the Boy Aviators, are the heroes of this exciting, red-blooded tale of adventure by air and land in the turbulent Central American republic. The two brothers with their $10,000 prize aeroplane, the Golden Eagle, rescue a chum from death in the clutches of the Nicaraguans, discover a lost treasure valley of the ancient Toltec race, and in so doing almost lose their own lives in the Abyss of the White Serpents, and have many other exciting experiences, including being blown far out to sea in their air-skimmer in a tropical storm. It would be unfair to divulge the part that wireless plays in rescuing them from their predicament. In a brand new field of fiction for boys, the Chester brothers and their aeroplane seem destined to fill a top-notch place. These books are technically correct, wholesomely thrilling and geared up to third speed.

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BOY AVIATORS’ SERIES

By CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON

ABSOLUTELY MODERN STORIES FOR BOYS

Cloth Bound Price, 50c per volume

The Boy Aviators on Secret Service
Or, Working With Wireless

In this live-wire narrative of peril and adventure, laid in the Everglades of Florida, the spunky Chester Boys and their interesting chums, including Ben Stubbs, the maroon, encounter exciting experiences on Uncle Sam’s service in a novel field. One must read this vivid, enthralling story of incident, hardship and pluck to get an idea of the almost limitless possibilities of the two greatest inventions of modern times—the aeroplane and wireless telegraphy. While gripping and holding the reader’s breathless attention from the opening words to the finish, this swift-moving story is at the same time instructive and uplifting. As those readers who have already made friends with Frank and Harry Chester and their “bunch” know, there are few difficulties, no matter how insurmountable they may seem at first blush, that these up-to-date gritty youths cannot overcome with flying colors. A clean-cut, real boys’ book of high voltage.

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HURST & CO. Publishers NEW YORK

BOY AVIATORS’ SERIES

BY CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON

Absolutely Modern Stories for Boys

Cloth Bound Price, 50c per volume

The Boy Aviators in Africa
Or, An Aerial Ivory Trail

In this absorbing book we meet, on a Continent made famous by the American explorer Stanley, and ex-President Roosevelt, our old friends, the Chester Boys and their stalwart chums. In Africa—the Dark Continent—the author follows in exciting detail his young heroes, their voyage in the first aeroplane to fly above the mysterious forests and unexplored ranges of the mystic land. In this book, too, for the first time, we entertain Luther Barr, the old New York millionaire, who proved later such an implacable enemy of the boys. The story of his defeated schemes, of the astonishing things the boys discovered in the Mountains of the Moon, of the pathetic fate of George Desmond, the emulator of Stanley, the adventure of the Flying Men and the discovery of the Arabian Ivory cache,—this is not the place to speak. It would be spoiling the zest of an exciting tale to reveal the outcome of all these episodes here. It may be said, however, without “giving away” any of the thrilling chapters of this narrative, that Captain Wilbur Lawton, the author, is in it in his best vein, and from his personal experiences in Africa has been able to supply a striking background for the adventures of his young heroes. As one newspaper says of this book: “Here is adventure in good measure, pressed down and running over.”

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HURST & CO. Publishers NEW YORK

BOY AVIATORS’ SERIES

BY CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON

Absolutely Modern Stories for Boys

Cloth Bound Price, 50c per volume

The Boy Aviators’ Treasure Quest
Or, The Golden Galleon

Everybody is a boy once more when it comes to the question of hidden treasure. In this book, Captain Lawton has set forth a hunt for gold that is concealed neither under the sea nor beneath the earth, but is well hidden for all that. A garrulous old sailor, who holds the key to the mystery of the Golden Galleon, plays a large part in the development of the plot of this fascinating narrative of treasure hunting in the region of the Gulf Stream and the Sagasso Sea. An aeroplane fitted with efficient pontoons—enabling her to skim the water successfully—has long been a dream of aviators. The Chester Boys seem to have solved the problem. The Sagasso, that strange drifting ocean within an ocean, holding ships of a dozen nations and a score of ages in its relentless grip, has been the subject of many books of adventure and mystery, but in none has the secret of the ever shifting mass of treacherous currents been penetrated as it has in the BOY AVIATORS’ TREASURE QUEST. Luther Barr, whom it seemed the boys had shaken off, is still on their trail, in this absorbing book and with a dirigible balloon, essays to beat them out in their search for the Golden Galleon. Every boy, every man—and woman and girl—who has ever felt the stirring summons of adventure in their souls, had better get hold of this book. Once obtained, it will be read and re-read till it falls to rags.

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HURST & CO. Publishers NEW YORK

BOY AVIATORS’ SERIES

BY CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON

Absolutely Modern Stories for Boys

Cloth Bound Price, 50c per volume

The Boy Aviators in Record Flight
Or, The Rival Aeroplane

The Chester Boys in new field of endeavor—an attempt to capture a newspaper prize for a trans-continental flight. By the time these lines are read, exactly such an offer will have been spread, broadcast by one of the foremost newspapers of the country. In the Golden Eagle, the boys, accompanied by a trail-blazing party in an automobile, make the dash. But they are not alone in their aspirations. Their rivals for the rich prize at stake try in every way that they can to circumvent the lads and gain the valuable trophy and monetary award. In this they stop short at nothing, and it takes all the wits and resources of the Boy Aviators to defeat their devices. Among the adventures encountered in their cross-country flight, the boys fall in with a band of rollicking cowboys—who momentarily threaten serious trouble—are attacked by Indians, strike the most remarkable town of the desert—the “dry” town of “Gow Wells,” encounter a sandstorm which blows them into strange lands far to the south of their course, and meet with several amusing mishaps beside. A thoroughly readable book. The sort to take out behind the barn on the sunny side of the haystack, and, with a pocketful of juicy apples and your heels kicking the air, pass happy hours with Captain Lawton’s young heroes.

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HURST & CO. Publishers NEW YORK

BOY AVIATORS’ SERIES

BY CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON

Absolutely Modern Stories for Boys

Cloth Bound Price, 50c per volume

The Boy Aviators’ Polar Dash
Or, Facing Death in the Antarctic

If you were to hear that two boys, accompanying a South Polar expedition in charge of the aeronautic department, were to penetrate the Antarctic regions—hitherto only attained by a few daring explorers—you would feel interested, wouldn’t you? Well, in Captain Lawton’s latest book, concerning his Boy Aviators, you can not only read absorbing adventure in the regions south of the eightieth parallel, but absorb much useful information as well. Captain Lawton introduces—besides the original characters of the heroes—a new creation in the person of Professor Simeon Sandburr, a patient seeker for polar insects. The professor’s adventures in his quest are the cause of much merriment, and lead once or twice to serious predicaments. In a volume so packed with incident and peril from cover to cover—relieved with laughable mishaps to the professor—it is difficult to single out any one feature; still, a recent reader of it wrote the publishers an enthusiastic letter the other day, saying: “The episodes above the Great Barrier are thrilling, the attack of the condors in Patagonia made me hold my breath the—but what’s the use? The Polar Dash, to my mind, is an even more entrancing book than Captain Lawton’s previous efforts, and that’s saying a good deal. The aviation features and their technical correctness are by no means the least attractive features of this up-to-date creditable volume.”

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BORDER BOYS SERIES

Mexican and Canadian Frontier Series

By FREMONT B. DEERING.

Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

Border Boys on the Trail.

THE BORDER BOYS ON THE TRAIL.

What it meant to make an enemy of Black Ramon De Barios—that is the problem that Jack Merrill and his friends, including Coyote Pete, face in this exciting tale.

THE BORDER BOYS ACROSS THE FRONTIER.

Read of the Haunted Mesa and its mysteries, of the Subterranean River and its strange uses, of the value of gasolene and steam “in running the gauntlet,” and you will feel that not even the ancient splendors of the Old World can furnish a better setting for romantic action than the Border of the New.

THE BORDER BOYS WITH THE MEXICAN RANGERS.

As every day is making history—faster, it is said, than ever before—so books that keep pace with the changes are full of rapid action and accurate facts. This book deals with lively times on the Mexican border.

THE BORDER BOYS WITH THE TEXAS RANGERS.

The Border Boys have already had much excitement and adventure in their lives, but all this has served to prepare them for the experiences related in this volume. They are stronger, braver and more resourceful than ever, and the exigencies of their life in connection with the Texas Rangers demand all their trained ability.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

DREADNOUGHT BOYS SERIES

Tales of the New Navy

By CAPT. WILBUR LAWTON

Author of “BOY AVIATORS SERIES.”

Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

Dreadnought Boys on Battle Practice.

THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON BATTLE PRACTICE.

Especially interesting and timely is this book, which introduces the reader with its heroes, Ned and Herc, to the great ships of modern warfare and to the intimate life and surprising adventures of Uncle Sam’s sailors.

THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ABOARD A DESTROYER.

In this story real dangers threaten and the boys’ patriotism is tested in a peculiar international tangle. The scene is laid on the South American coast.

THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON A SUBMARINE.

To the inventive genius—trade-school boy or mechanic—this story has special charm, perhaps, but to every reader its mystery and clever action are fascinating.

THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON AERO SERVICE.

Among the volunteers accepted for Aero Service are Ned and Herc. Their perilous adventures are not confined to the air, however, although they make daring and notable flights in the name of the Government; nor are they always able to fly beyond the reach of their old “enemies,” who are also airmen.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

Transcriber’s Notes:

Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are mentioned.

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have been corrected.