CHAPTER XIV
THE RESCUE
Buck arrived at the ruined church just as the first pallid gray of morning light was smudging the eastern sky line. The air was cold and damp. It bit to the bone. Shivering, the reporter drew his coat more tightly around him, made sure for the eleventh time that his supply of revolvers was all loaded and in good working order, and then tramped up and down on that side of the crumbling wall which best sheltered him from the wind.
The hush of dawn pervaded the entire landscape. Not a single human being was to be seen.
Gradually the dull light on the horizon spread up into the sky and widened. It changed color from yellow to pink, and finally the sun rose through the mist of the deserted fields like a great round globe of fire.
A quarter of a mile distant the chimes of the cathedral in Muhlbruck could be faintly heard, calling the people to early mass. Somewhere far off to the right a cock crew lustily, welcoming the sunlight. Little birds began to chirp and hop through the grass.
It was the time!
Waiting in that way was unbearable to Buck. The strain on his nerves drove him nearly frantic. Once more he took out his revolvers for examination, paced restlessly up and down, up and down, and wished that they would come.
A distant rumble far down the highway warned him of other travelers. He crouched down behind the wall, fingering his weapons with heart-strings taut—waiting, watching.
Finally a vehicle hove in sight, but it was only a farmer’s cart drawn by two big black dogs, and loaded with vegetables for sale in town. The blue-smocked peasant striding alongside was whistling a little song, all unconscious of the grim-faced figure behind the old church.
The cart vanished around a bend in the road towards Muhlbruck. Then all was silence again. The sun rose higher, dissipating the mist before its warmth. It was not fully daylight. Then it was that Buck’s straining ear caught the distant rhythmic footbeats of marching men. It was the firing squad with Bob.