The Girl from Alsace Part 38

And suddenly he found himself face to face with the Belgian officer, blood-stained, demoniac, shouting encouragement to his men. His eyes flashed with amazement when he saw Stewart.

"Go back! Go back!" he shouted.

"My comrade is back there!" panted Stewart, and tried to pa.s.s.

But the officer caught his arm.

"Madman!" he cried. "It is death to go that way!"

"What is that to me?" retorted Stewart, and wrenched his arm away.

The officer watched him for an instant, then turned away with a shrug.

After all, he reflected, it was none of his affair; his task was to hold the Germans back, and he threw himself into it.

"Steady, men!" he shouted. "Steady! Our reserves are coming!"

And his men cheered and held a firm front, though it cost them dear--so firm and steady that Stewart found he could not get past it, but was carried back foot by foot, too exhausted to resist, entangled hopelessly in the retreat. The Germans pressed forward, filling the street from side to side, compact, irresistible.

And then the Belgians heard behind them the gallop of horses, the roll of heavy wheels, and their captain, glancing back, saw that a quick-firer had swung into position in the middle of the street.

"Steady, men!" he shouted. "We have them now! Steady till I give the word!" He glanced back again and caught the gun-captain's nod. "Now! To the side and back!" he screamed.

The men, with a savage cheer, sprang to right and left, into doorways, close against the walls, and the gun, with a purr of delight, let loose its lightnings into the advancing horde.

Stewart, who had been swept aside with the others without understanding what was happening, gasping, rubbing his eyes, staring down the street, saw the gray line suddenly stop and crumple up. Then, with a savage yell, it dashed forward and stopped again. He saw an officer raise his sword to urge them on, then fall cras.h.i.+ng to the street; he saw that instant of indecision which is fatal to any charge; and then stark terror ran through the ranks, and they turned to flee.

But the pressure from the rear cut off escape in that direction, and the human flood burst into the houses on either side, swept through them, out across the fields, and away. And steadily the little gun purred on, as though reveling in its awful work, until the street was clear.

But the Germans, though they had suffered terribly, were not yet routed.

A remnant of them held together behind the houses at the end of the street, and still others took up a position behind the barricade and swept the street with their rifles.

The little officer bit his lip in perplexity as he looked about at his company, so sadly reduced in numbers. Should he try to retake the barricade with a rush, or should he wait for reenforcements? He loved his men--surely, they had more than played their part. Then his eye was caught by a bent figure which dodged from doorway to doorway.

"That madman again!" he muttered, and watched, expecting every instant to see him fall.

For Stewart had not waited for the captain's decision. Almost before the Germans turned to flee, he was creeping low along the wall, taking advantage of such shelter as there was. The whistle of the machine-gun's bullets filled the street. One nipped him across the wrist, another grazed his arm, and then, as the Germans rallied, he saw ahead of him the vicious flashes of their rifles.

He was not afraid; indeed, he was strangely calm. He was quite certain that he would not be killed--others might fall, but not he. Others--yes, here they were; dozens, scores, piled from wall to wall. For here was where the machine-gun had caught the German advance and smote it down.

They lay piled one upon another, young men, all of them; some lying with arms flung wide, staring blindly up at the sky; a few moaning feebly, knowing only that they suffered; two or three trying to pull themselves from beneath the heap of dead; one coward burrowing deeper into it! He could hear the thud, thud of the bullets from either end of the street as they struck the ma.s.s of bodies, dead and wounded alike, until there were no longer any wounded; until even the coward lay still!

Sick and dizzy, he pushed on. Was this the house? The door stood open and he stepped inside and looked around. No, this was not it.

The next one, perhaps--all these houses looked alike from the street. As he reached the door, a swirl of acrid smoke beat into his face. He looked out quickly. The barricade was obscured by smoke; dense ma.s.ses rolled out of the houses on either side. The Germans had fired the village!

Into the next house Stewart staggered--vainly; and into the next. He could hear the crackling of the flames; the smoke grew thicker----

Into the next!

He knew it the instant he crossed the threshold; yes, this was the entry, this was the room, there was the settle----

He stopped, staring, gasping----

The settle was empty.

Slowly he stepped forward, gazing about him. Yes, there was the bucket of water on the floor, just as he had left it; there were the blood-stained rags; there was the torn sheet.

But the settle was empty.

He threw himself beside it and ran his hands over it, to be sure that his eyes were not deceiving him.

No; the settle was empty.

He ran into the next room and the next. He ran all through the house calling, "Comrade! Little comrade!"

But there was no reply. The rooms were empty, one and all.

Half-suffocated, palsied with despair, he reeled back to the room where he had left her, and stared about it. Could he be mistaken? No; there was the bucket, the bandages----

But what was that dark stain in the middle of the white, sanded floor.

He drew close and looked at it. It was blood.

Still staring, he backed away. Blood--whose blood? Not hers! Not his little comrade's!

And suddenly his strength fell from him; he staggered, dropped to his knees----

This was the end, then--this was the end. There on the settle was where she had lain; it was there she had drawn him down for that last caress; and the letters,--ah, they would never be delivered now! But at least he could die there, with his head where hers had been.

Blinded, choking, he dragged himself forward--here was the place!

"Little comrade!" he murmured. "Little comrade!"

And he fell forward across the settle, his face buried in his arms.

CHAPTER XVI

A TRUST FULFILLED

When Stewart opened his eyes again it was to find himself looking up into a good-humored face, which he did not at first recognize. It was brown and dirty, there was a three-days' growth of beard upon cheeks and chin, and a deep red scratch across the forehead, but the eyes were bright and the lips smiling, as of a man superior to every fortune--and then he recognized the little Belgian captain whose troops had defended the village.

Instantly memory surged back upon him--memory bitter and painful. He raised his head and looked about him. He was lying under a clump of trees not far from the bank of a little stream, along which a company of Belgian soldiers were busy throwing up intrenchments.

"Ah, so you are better!" said the captain, in his clipped French, his eyes beaming with satisfaction. "That is good! A little more of that smoke, and it would have been all over with you!" and he gestured toward the eastern horizon, above which hung a black and threatening cloud.

Stewart pulled himself to a sitting posture and stared for a moment at the cloud as it billowed in the wind. Then he pa.s.sed his hand before his eyes and stared again. And suddenly all his strength seemed to go from him and he lay quietly down again.