CHAPTER XIV
THE SENTRY
"Now, boys," said Sergeant Jimmy, when they had dipped down into a hollow among the many hills in the big valley, "we've got to have some plan of action, and some system to this. We've got to have a leader, too. Military rule must prevail, even among friends."
"You act as leader!" suggested Bob Dalton.
"That's right!" chimed in all the others.
"We'll make you captain, for the time being," added Roger.
"Thank you for the honor," said Jimmy with a smile. "I'll wait, I guess, until my promotion comes regularly. But if you really want me to take the lead and—"
"Of course we want you!" exclaimed Franz, while Iggy added:
"Besser as we should have him for to leader us dan a Germans."
"Well, I'm glad you think that much of me!" laughed Jimmy. "Now then, if I'm to lead I'll have to give orders. And do you all agree to obey them—at least if they don't seem against your better judgment?"
"We'll obey 'em anyhow," said Roger, and the others nodded assent.
"All right," went on Jimmy. "The first thing to do is to calculate how long our rations will last. There's enough for one day if we each took about all we wanted. Or there's enough for two days, or more, if we stint ourselves."
"Then we'll go on a diet!" declared Bob. "There's no telling how long we may be in getting back to our lines, and while we might be able to find something to eat along the way, it won't do to take chances."
"I thought you'd look at it that way," said Jimmy. "As for water, it rains so infernally often in this country that I imagine we shan't be thirsty. But we'll always carry the canteen full. Now, then, I'll appoint Roger as Secretary of the Interior—that is, I'll make him the cook and give him charge of the rations," and Jimmy handed the canvas bag of food over to his chum.
"There isn't anything to cook," said Roger, as he looked in the bag.
"It's all emergency ration stuff."
"So much the easier for you," declared Jimmy. "Now that's settled, the next thing to decide is how to get to our lines."
"Keep right on going the way Captain Dickerson told us," suggested
Bob.
"That's what I want to consider," Jimmy went on. "Do you all think that is the wisest course to follow?"
"Why in the world not?" asked Franz, in some amazement. "Didn't he tell us to go south, and don't we pretty well know that in that direction would be the most logical place for our troops to be?"
"I grant that," replied Jimmy. "But if our lines are to the south, why did Captain Dickerson, who appears to be an American officer, go to the north! Why didn't he come with us?"
"That's starting the whole question over again," declared Bob. "I say let's take a chance and go south. The captain wouldn't send us wrong after he went to all that trouble to save us alive."
"Perhaps you're right," admitted Jimmy. "Well, though I'm leader I'm willing to abide by the majority rule. Since you all want to go to the south, the south it shall be."
"Don't you think that's the best way?" asked Roger.
"Well, it's as good, perhaps, as any other," was the reply. "I think we're pretty well surrounded by Germans, and it doesn't really make much difference which way we go. So the south is as good as any."
"Then lead on!" exclaimed Bob.
"Yes—hike!" added Roger.
And once more they started off.
Their way lay through what had once been a beautiful farming country. In places, still, there were fields under cultivation—that is, they had been cultivated up to within a few weeks. But the tide of battle had swept over the region and the French farmers had either been killed or had left their homesteads. Still, where the fields had not been torn up by shell fire, grains were growing, and there were even orchards here and there.
But, as far as the soldier boys could see, there was no sign of life. Even the birds seemed to have flown away. There were no chickens, no dogs, no cattle nor horses—in fact none of the usual farm scenes. Here and there were farmhouses, some in ruins, others scarcely touched by the devastating wave of war. But in these latter, which were still habitable, there were no men or women, and no laughing children. In fact, throughout France it is probable that there were no laughing children at this stage of the war. Or if they laughed, it was because they were too young to appreciate the menace of the Boche invasion.
"We may not be so badly off for food, even if we eat up all our Secretary of the Interior has," remarked Bob, as they trudged along a deserted road. They had, some time since, left behind them the burning mill. It was out of sight, though they could catch occasional glimpses of the smoke from it.
"What do you mean!" asked Jimmy.
"Well, there may be a lot of good things to eat in some of these farmhouses," suggested the young corporal. "I vote we take a look."
"It can't do any harm," decided Jimmy. "But I doubt if we find anything worth taking."
And he was right—at least in the first few houses the boys entered. The cupboards had been cleaned out, if not by the unfortunate owners, then by the Germans who had devastated the region.
"We'll have to live on what we have," said Jimmy. "And we may not be so badly off for all that Lots of the boys have been without food for three days. If they stood it we can. And we may get to our lines sooner than we expect."
"I don't see why we shouldn't get there by night," observed Roger. "We didn't hike very far when we were fighting, and our boys can't have retreated far enough in the time that has elapsed since the fighting changed, to get entirely beyond our reach. I believe we'll be with our own division by night."
"Well, it doesn't do any harm to hope," said Jimmy. "But we've got to be cautious just the same."
They kept on, ever on the alert for a sight of the Germans, ever hoping for a sight of their own khaki-clad comrades. They appeared to be marching away from the scene of the battle, or battles. The firing became fainter. The country was now quite open, consisting of little hills and valleys. Each time they came to a height which afforded a place for observation, they looked all around. But all they saw, besides an occasional deserted farmhouse, or patch of woods, were rolling clouds of mist or smoke.
There had been considerable rain, and the ground was damp. The sun, shining on this, caused the moisture to condense into fog that swirled about here and there. The day had begun wonderfully clear, but now it looked like rain again.
They halted in a little grove of trees and ate some of their none-too-plentiful rations. Then, after a rest, they started on again. It was late afternoon when, as they were hiking down a lonely road, the rain suddenly began to fall.
"Whew! Now we're in for it!" exclaimed Roger, as he did his best to protect the bag of food. "We might better have stayed back in the woods."
"Let's double-quick it!" suggested Bob. "Maybe there's a house around the bend in the road."
They hastened on, and the surmise of Bob proved correct. There was a lonely little house—more of a cabin, or shack—set in the midst of what had been a garden, but now overgrown with weeds.
"Shelter, at any rate!" cried Jimmy. "Come on, fellows!"
Roger was the first to enter the humble little cottage. But he had no sooner crossed the threshold than he started back.
"What's the matter?" asked Bob, who was directly behind his chum. "Any
Germans here?"
"No, but I fancy the owner is," said Roger. "Look!"
He pointed to the figure of an old man, with white hair, seated at a table in what was evidently the kitchen. The man's head was bowed on his arms which were resting on the table.
"Oh!" exclaimed Jimmy, as he looked in.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Bob, "but we're Americans. May we stay here out of the rain, and perhaps for the night?"
There was no answer. The figure did not move.
"He doesn't understand anything but French, very likely," said Franz.
"Can't you take a hand, Blazes?"
"Yes," assented Jimmy. "But it's funny he didn't wake up when Bob spoke, even if he didn't understand. I'll go ahead. But let's get in out of the wet."
They entered the room. The white-haired occupant of it did not stir from his position of bowed-down grief.
"He sleeps very soundly," remarked Jimmy in a low voice.
Stepping forward he touched the old man on the shoulder, and then
Jimmy knew what had happened.
"He's dead!" he whispered.
"Dead?" echoed the others.
"Come on—let's go into the other room," suggested Jimmy.
There was another room opening out from the kitchen. Into this the
Khaki Boys filed silently.
"Do you suppose the Germans killed him?" asked Roger.
"Very likely. Or he may have died from old age, fright or shock. We'll leave him where he is."
"And stay here?" asked Bob.
"Sure! Why not? We're out of the rain. The poor dead man can not harm us, and we have seen enough of death, in worse forms than this, to be afraid now."
"Oh, it isn't that I'm afraid!" exclaimed Bob. "But if the Germans did that to—him—they may come back and—"
"I fancy not," said Jimmy. "I believe they think they have cleaned out this place. It's the safest spot for us with the old man as a silent sentry. Come, fellows, well spend the night here with the dead to guard us."
It was said reverently—piously—and there was a strange feeling in the hearts of all the boys as they closed the door on the silent, pathetic figure and stood together in the other room, while the rain beat down on the roof, and dashed against the windows.
And so they began their bivouac of the with death as a sentry on guard.