Hammersley walked around the turn in the road, which hid him from the house, and then went into the bushes where he sat on a fallen log, peeping through the leaves toward the further side of the clearing, where General von Stromberg’s men must appear. He did not know how long he would have to wait. Half an hour, perhaps longer. If he knew anything of von Stromberg, they would come in every sort of available vehicle, from a high-powered machine to a donkey cart, picking up the misguided Wentz and his men upon the way to follow this new scent. It was difficult to sit still and wait. Hammersley wanted a smoke awfully, but he chewed a twig instead, for he needed to keep his wind in good condition and had purposely left his pipe at the Thorwald. He did not want to get too far away from Doris. By the way he intended to return he was now at least six miles from the cavern and with the mile or so he must go toward Schöndorf before he turned, a good eight miles of rough going lay between himself and safety.
Under other circumstances, he would have greatly enjoyed the chance for a rest. With a cooler wind from the northeast the weather had cleared and the period of higher temperatures through which they had passed seemed to be drawing to a close. In spite of the doubts that hung about his plan, he couldn’t help saying to himself that he felt jolly fit.
Twenty minutes—twenty-five. He got up and stretched his long limbs luxuriously. The hare was ready. It was time they cast forward the hounds. A peep through the bushes showed him Frau Habermehl standing near her home watching the road to Windenberg. So he came out of his place of concealment and stood in the open again until he was sure that she saw him, when he turned and went slowly toward Schöndorf. He had planned his moment nicely for before he was out of sight of the clearing, an automobile came into view—paused a moment before Frau Habermehl and then came on rapidly.
Hammersley waited until they had “viewed” him and then cut into the woods to his left, slipping from tree to tree not fifty yards in the cover when the machine came to a stop and the men jumped down and came after him. He did not know who was in command and did not care, but just to show them that he was the man they were after, he risked a shot with his automatic and then sped along rapidly, working up the mountainside, following in a general way the direction of Schöndorf. He heard them plunging after him in full cry and the sound of their footsteps made him move at a rare pace. He knew well this piece of woods, and in a moment came to a path which curved to the right, leading straight up the mountain. When he reached it he paused to look over his shoulder. It was difficult to see the green uniforms, but there was a flash of light from a patch of fir trees and a twig just above his head fell across his path. His curiosity was satisfied. He shut his mouth and, breathing through his nostrils, went off with a burst of speed which put him around a turn in the path before any of the green uniforms had come into sight. He had them coming now, two—three men—one little one and two big ones. He caught a glimpse of them in a moment when the path came into a glade of rocks and barrens. There was his danger. A chance shot might get him when they emerged, before he found the cover again. But leaping from rock to rock he managed to reach the path upon the other side, and their shots went wild.
When he reached cover he halted a moment for a breath, firing a shot in the direction of the advancing men, who promptly dropped to cover. And when they came on again, he had gained a clear lead of a hundred yards or more.
He had foreseen his greatest danger—of being caught in thick underbrush and surrounded—so he kept to the main path, only leaving it for a smaller and more tortuous one, when the other turned down the mountain toward the road again. Since the exchange of shots his pursuers had become more cautious and when they reached the fork of the paths they stopped, sweating in their heavy coats and cursing lustily, while they debated upon the question as to which path he had taken. The hounds were at fault. From a point above, he could see them quite clearly and one of them was the Fatalist who had been his jailor last evening. Just to discover whether he was sincere in his philosophy, Hammersley sent a bullet skipping above his head. He ducked and Hammersley laughed.
“Silly ass!” he muttered. “Fatalist! Fatality if I’d aimed at him!”
And he was off again, for other men had joined the leaders and the scent was hot. He carried them fast, up to the bald top of the mountain where the going was faster, and down in the valley to the right. They had gained nothing on him and Hammersley with his second wind was breathing more easily, but it was almost time to double. Here was as good a place as another for the pack of them to spend the afternoon and he made up his mind to lose them without further ado. There was only one runner in the lot and he was the Fatalist, though how he had ever happened to learn to run in the Imperial Navy, Hammersley had not the time or inclination to decide. If his philosophy limped, his legs at least were strong and he came on rapidly leaping like a young buck toward the opening over the crest of the knob into which Hammersley had disappeared. A short way down was a spur of rock, the beginnings of a ridge which cut out into the hills, the watershed of two rills which leaped from rock to rock to the valleys below. Hammersley chose the right-hand valley for the going was better, and went down it at top speed for a quarter of a mile or more, pausing where the path led into the underbrush and pines until the Fatalist should view him when he disappeared, and then turning into the thicket circled quickly to the left, and taking advantage of every cover, slowly and carefully climbed the ridge to a place of vantage where he crouched and waited, to have the satisfaction a moment later of seeing his ex-jailor, weapon in hand, go plunging down the path past his place of concealment.
Hammersley listened a moment to the sounds of crashing feet in front of him and behind, and then, creeping slowly and making what speed he could, crossed the ridge and in a while was out of sight and hearing of them. He feared little in crossing the other valley, for his pursuers were strung out in a line, each in sight of the other, and would follow the leader like a flock of sheep. But there was little time to waste and the greatest test of Hammersley’s endurance and Doris’s was to come. For two, perhaps three hours, these men would search for him, and more would come. The Fatalist would bear the brunt of their failure, but in the meanwhile Hammersley must reach the cave in the Thorwald and take Doris to Blaufelden. The first part of the return run must be done at top speed to save time which would be needed later. So when he crossed the second valley in safety and had reached the mountaintop, Hammersley abandoned all caution, risking the chance of meeting Wentz and his men, and with a sharp lookout ahead of him went as fast as he could along the ridge, finding at last the trail by which he had come earlier in the day, down which he ran with a long stride which covered the four miles in less than half an hour. He reached the upper passage to the cave in safety and in a moment was safe behind the projecting bowlders of the amphitheater. He was breathing heavily, and the sweat was pouring from him. Doris was watching for him.
“They’re following you? They’re coming?” she asked nervously.