The Dispatch Riders Part 11

During one of these short, unavoidable, halts a voice came through the darkness.

"Monsieur Everest--is Monsieur Everest there?"

"Here I am, sir," replied Kenneth, recognizing the voice as that of Captain Planchenoit.

"Ah, good! I wish to enquire after your English comrade."

"He is here, sir."

"Ah, again good! I thought he would be unfit to move."

"He's not very much up to the mark, sir."

The captain flashed an electric torch upon the motor-cyclists.

"Ciel! you are indeed right, Monsieur Everest. I will see to matters.

Private Roulaix," he added, addressing a Belgian who was walking his "push-bike", "place your bicycle in the first wagon that pa.s.ses. Say that I, Captain Planchenoit, orders it. Then relieve your English comrade of his motor-cycle. Monsieur Barrington, as soon as Private Roulaix returns I will take you to one of the wagons. You are not, at present, fit to walk, still less to push that motor-cycle."

For the rest of that night Kenneth was without the company of his chum.

As the grey dawn began to break, he too felt that he was nearly done up, but still the steady retreat continued.

It was not until six o'clock in the morning that the 9th Regiment of the Line was ordered to bivouac outside the village of Omal. Here trenches were dug, barbed-wire entanglements set up, barns and cottages loopholed and placed in a state of defence in order to keep in check the German hordes until the expected aid was forthcoming.

For the next twenty-four hours the 9th Regiment was inactive, as far as actual fighting was concerned. With the rest of the mobile Belgian forces, the men were enjoying a well-earned respite and improving their position.

Although Rollo still remained off duty, Kenneth, with the rest of the motor dispatch-riders, had plenty to do. Frequently the lad had to ride off at full speed to carry orders to bands of armed civilians to cease firing upon Belgian airmen; for these plucky air-scouts were so harried by the fire of their undisciplined fellow-countrymen that it is not to be wondered at that after a time they declined to fly at all.

Kenneth had just returned from one of these errands when the Colonel of the regiment sent for him.

"You know the way to Tongres?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied the lad promptly, for although he had never been there, a close study of the map had enabled him to fix its position in his mind.

"Then bear a verbal message to General Fechard. Say that in view of an impending strong attack upon our position reinforcements are urgently requested to hold the village of Omal. Mitrailleuses are particularly desirable. Is that clear? Then repeat the message."

Kenneth did so satisfactorily. The Colonel nodded approval.

"Now go," said he. "As quickly as you can, for the situation is critical."

CHAPTER X

The Uhlan Patrol

Rollo was standing by his chum's motor-cycle when Kenneth left the Colonel's quarters--a cottage standing well apart from the rest of the village.

"Thought you'd be off somewhere when the Colonel sent for you, old man," he said. "Well, I could go with you, but I feel absolutely rotten. Look here," and Barrington opened his coat and displayed the tops of two soda-water bottles, "I managed to get hold of these. Take one."

"No, thanks," replied Kenneth. "You want them a jolly sight more than I do."

"But you must," persisted Rollo. "It's fearfully hot to-day. Besides, I think I can get hold of some more."

"All right," agreed his chum reluctantly, and taking one of the bottles he placed it in the outside breast-pocket of his coat, resolving to restore it intact upon his return.

The request of the Colonel of the 9th Regiment was most essential. To the north of Omal was a gap of nearly two miles in the Belgian line, as a portion of one of the brigades had failed to take up its allotted position. Omal was a salient angle in the defenders' formation, and should the village be carried by the Germans the Belgian army would be split asunder by the wedge-like advance of their far more numerous foes.

Although the country was fairly open Kenneth rode cautiously. It was a nerve-racking ordeal, since every bush or tree might be affording concealment to the Uhlans, who were known to have already penetrated far into the country. Almost as dangerous were the Belgian guerrillas, who often fired indiscriminately upon any man in a uniform that they failed to recognize.

But beyond being twice stopped by Belgian patrols and made to produce his military pa.s.s, Kenneth reached his destination without being molested. He delivered his message, receiving a reply that a machine-gun detachment would be sent off as quickly as possible, and set off on his return journey.

Perhaps the fact that he had but recently pa.s.sed along the same road without difficulty made him slightly reckless. He increased his speed till the motor-cycle was travelling at nearly forty miles an hour.

Soon he came to a straight, narrow road lined with gaunt trees--one of the avenues that are a common feature in the eastern part of Belgium.

Suddenly he gave a gasp of surprise. A horseman had just appeared at the farthermost end of the avenue. At first the lad took him to be one of the Belgian lancers, whose similarity to the German Uhlans was somewhat p.r.o.nounced, but a rapidly nearing view a.s.sured him that the man was one of the enemy.

Another Uhlan joined the first. They both lowered their lances and waited.

Kenneth slipped out his clutch and applied both brakes. The motor-cycle came quickly to a stop, the engine running furiously, while the open "cut-out" emitted a rapid succession of sharp reports like the detonations of a Maxim-gun.

There was yet time to turn his cycle, remount, and escape by the way he had come, he reasoned; but, even as he was in the act of facing about, he made the additionally disconcerting discovery that his retreat was cut off. Five or six Uhlans had evidently been in ambush, and, having allowed the solitary dispatch-rider to pa.s.s them, were waiting to a.s.sist in his capture. The ditch and the trees formed an impa.s.sable barrier for the heavy motor-cycle; while without it flight was almost out of the question, when it was the case of a man on foot pursued by the fleet Uhlan horses.

For one brief instant the thought of surrendering tamely flashed through the lad's mind. He bore no written dispatch; his capture would result in no important information being gained by the enemy. It seemed the easiest solution to the problem.

"I'm dashed if I do," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Kenneth, banis.h.i.+ng the temptation almost as soon as it suggested itself. "Here goes; it's neck or nothing."

He was back in the saddle in double-quick time. With the clutch in and the engine barking furiously he tore towards the two Uhlans, who were sitting on their horses at a distance of about fifty yards from each other.

Kenneth drew his revolver. With his right hand thus occupied, throttle and air lever had to take care of themselves. At thirty miles an hour he tore towards the nearmost of his antagonists.

The Uhlan lowered his lance-point. He was trembling to such an extent that the glittering point was describing erratic curves in the sunlight. His resolution had vanished at the sight of the rapidly-approaching motor-cycle. His horse began to rear, alarmed by the loud and rapid pulsations of the engine.

Kenneth's hopes rose. He saw the possibility of being able to slip past the plunging, terrified animal, and in order to improve his chances he let fly a couple of shots, both of which missed their mark.

No longer was the long lance a menace. The Uhlan's whole efforts were centred in trying to keep his seat, while the now maddened animal snorted and plunged in a most frantic manner.

Still grasping his revolver, although he made no further attempt to use it, the young dispatch-rider placed his wrist upon the right handle-grip in order to steady the steering. He shut his jaw tightly.

The critical moment was nigh.

Suddenly the horse backed, barring the narrow path to safety. Kenneth saw in the fraction of a second that a collision was inevitable. He had a momentary glimpse of the Uhlan's panic-stricken face, his staring eyes and wide-open mouth--then cras.h.!.+

[Ill.u.s.tration: KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ... THEN CRAs.h.!.+]

Hardly knowing whether he was injured or not, Kenneth scrambled to his feet. His motor-cycle was on its side within a yard of the prostrate and still kicking horse. His revolver had vanished. In his fall it had flown from his grasp into the ditch. The Uhlan lay upon the ground motionless--whether killed or merely stunned the lad knew not; nor had he an opportunity to ascertain, for in front of him was another German, and four hundred yards behind him the five or six who had cut off his retreat.

The man in front had succeeded in regaining control over his less startled horse and, lance in rest, bore down upon the defenceless motor-cyclist.