"English! That's great work!" Lindbohm's interest was entirely professional and impersonal.
CHAPTER XXXI
A GRATEFUL MAJOR
Men, still running, were disappearing into the distant hills. The Swede and the American were entirely alone. The toy ships continued to launch their polyphemian missiles.
"Are they firing at us?" gasped Curtis.
"Yudging from appearances, I should say they were," replied his companion.
Four Cretans had turned back and were running toward the ruined blockhouse. One was the color bearer of Lindbohm's company, and he was carrying the Greek flag. Straight up to the house he ran, and, handing the standard to one of his companions, he climbed upon the wall. As he stood there a shell dropped so near that he was for a moment obscured in a cloud of dust. When the air became again clear he was jamming the flagpole into the soft mortar. Then he jumped down and ran away, together with his comrades. Another shell exploded thirty feet from the four Cretans, and only three ran on.
"What killed him?" asked Curtis.
"A flying piece of rock, probably," replied Lindbohm. "When it is raining six-inch shells a man must yust take his chances."
The bombardment did not last much longer. The Greek flag was also brought down by a shot which elicited unbounded admiration from the Swede, a shell striking the corner of the house where it was planted.