“Into the bushes with you, Ben!” he cried, and turned into a thicket backed up by some trees. His chum followed, and they lost no time in reaching a spot where they were well screened.
They had scarcely done this when they heard a tramping on the road and a battery belonging to the Russians hove into view. Each gun and each ammunition cart was drawn by four horses, the drivers whipping the animals unmercifully to make them keep on the move.
“A stream, and no bridge!” the young Americans heard somebody roar in deep anger. “How in the name of the Czar are we to get across here?”
“Are there no rocks?” asked another voice.
“No, ’tis mud and it will be hub-deep if we try to get over.”
“Then that staff officer told us to take the wrong road. Maledictions upon his empty head! What is to be done? We must reach Nan-shen-go Hill by to-night. Those dirty sons of Nippon are hot after us!”
There was confusing murmur of voices, which ceased as a much louder voice was heard.
“Why are you standing here, wasting your time and breath? Out with your axes and cut down some of yonder trees and throw them in the stream. Must we waste all day here?” And a volley of curses followed, in the midst of which several artillerymen got out the axes referred to, and started for the nearest of the trees.
It was the very thicket in which Gilbert and Ben were in hiding, and for the moment both thought they would be discovered. Then Gilbert slipped to the ground.
“Come, lead your horse farther back,” he whispered to Ben. “Make as little noise as possible.”