Half a dozen wild plans were suggested and discarded as quickly. Finally it was resourceful Ned who said:
“Let’s work it this way, boys. You, Buck, will have to go back afoot to the ruined church where the execution is to be, and wait there until the firing squad arrives with Bob at sunrise. Hide behind the wall against which they back him up to be shot, and then, when they are pacing off the firing distance, jump out, cut his bonds and run around to the other side of the wall again with him. With a couple of loaded revolvers in each of your hands and one of you at each end of the wall, you ought to be able to keep even the dozen soldiers in the guard at bay until we can arrive.
“We will have the Flyer all ready for instant flight the minute the squad shows up, and at the first shot, we’ll be on hand. At the rate of speed we can travel we oughtn’t to be more than a few moments covering the distance. A couple of hand grenades tossed down among those Germans ought to send them about their business pretty quickly.
“Of course I know that this is a pretty risky plan, but it’s the best we have been able to hit upon so far.”
“But won’t those soldiers be able to shoot Buck down before he has time to free Bob of his bonds?” Alan queried. “Buck can’t be shooting at them and cutting the rope off Bob’s hands at the same time?”
“No, I don’t think so,” answered Ned. “I believe that it is customary for only a certain number of guns in a firing squad to be actually loaded with bullets. Blank cartridges are used in the others, and no soldier knows just who carries the fatal weapons. This is to keep any self-respecting man among them from feeling that he is committing cold-blooded murder by shooting down a prisoner with his hands tied. Undoubtedly the officer in charge will be loading the guns while poor Bob is being given a last chance to think it over. That’s the time.”
“You think of every little point, Ned,” cried Buck admiringly. “Of course I’ll go and do my best to save Bob. As time is slipping away fast, I’d better set off right now, too. But remember that you are to show up the minute you hear the first shot fired.”
“Count on that, old boy,” answered both of the others.
Then, with four “six-shooters” weighting down his coat pockets, Buck Stewart again disappeared into the night.