Phil started up the hill again while his friend stole away in the opposite direction, taken generally by the other escaping Marines.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE FIGHT IN THE CELLAR
Phil returned at once to the prison from which he and his companions had just escaped. He had one purpose in this move. The excitement of their departure had caused him to forget one very important thing that he had planned to do before leaving the place. That was to transfer the guard’s pistol cartridges to his own person. While engaged in his good-by conversation with Tim, he placed his hand on the pocket containing the weapon he had taken from the captured guard, and this reminded him of his neglect to take possession of the available supply of ammunition.
The candles had been snuffed out just before the prisoners stole away through the tunnel and down the path by the sandpit. Phil was not exactly certain whether he was pleased or displeased with this fact. If the bound and gagged boche guard still lay in the south-east corner of the cellar where he had been left, the returning Marine would have no trouble finding him; but if he had rolled away in his efforts to liberate himself, undoubtedly a light would be a very desirable aid in locating him.
Phil crept back through the tunnel cautiously; not that he anticipated trouble from any source just now, but his every act under present circumstances must of necessity be stealthy and careful. And so, in spite of his caution, he was totally unprepared for what took place as he reentered the cellar.
He scarcely realized what happened, too, for the blow that fell on him half stunned him. It was a vicious blow, and if it had not glanced from the side of his head, it must surely have knocked him out. As it was, the spade, or shovel, which was the weapon in the hands of his assailant, bounded from his head to his shoulder and thence with a dull metallic clang on the clayey floor.
Phil staggered, but struggled desperately to keep from falling, and then made a dive for the dark form whose outlines he could faintly distinguish by the starlight that came in through the window from which several of the prisoners had removed their coats before departing. But the fellow undoubtedly expected this move and, having, under the circumstances, better control of his wits, got a better hold on the returning Marine and quickly threw him on his back.
The latter, meanwhile was rapidly recovering from the effects of the blow on his head, and realizing that his enemy would fasten his fingers on the throat of his victim as soon as possible, pressed his chin hard against his chest, threw his left arm over his face for protection and passed his right hand down to his right hip pocket.
He was thankful now that it was dark for there was no possibility of the boche’s seeing what he was doing. Meanwhile, Phil affected to be trying to throw off his assailant, while in fact he was merely elevating his right hip in order that he might draw the pistol that he had taken from the captured guard less than an hour before.
The ruse was successful. In a few moments the muzzle of the weapon was pressed against the side of the boche, who was struggling hard to get his fingers around Phil’s throat. The boy sergeant set his teeth as he had never set them before and pulled the trigger.