“Behold! Zat ess eet, in ze booshes zere, over ze field! Puff, puff, puff; behold! We have heem, m’sieu’! An we capture heem now purty queek; right off, eh?”
The Yank was about to send the car forward again when his companion stopped him with another exclamation which made it worth while pausing a moment longer for a better view.
“Ha, look! Zee balloon, eet seegnal ze enemy, m’sieu’! Ha, he come! He come queek; he go fast! Ha! Somesing doing now!” The Frenchman had caught this last expression from his American friend. “An eet ees ze Croix Rouge car, ze other wan. He but young boy. An’ he fire; ha, he too has—what you say? catched on to ze seegnalers. But, m’sieu’, will not they reseest heem?”
The two were on their feet now, gazing with all eyes, excited. So they remained for some time—the Yank with clenched fists, the poilu rubbing his hands together. Then, as if at a signal, they both dropped into their seats and the ambulance rushed again along the by-way. Halt an hour later, with but one wounded man and a Red Cross driver, unhurt, sitting beside him, the army ambulance drew up to the evacuation hospital tent. In answer to the curt query of the Major, the driver excused himself for bringing in only one man.
“You see, sir, we thought it was no more than fair, after what they had both done—discovered those Heinies inside our lines signaling to the boche balloon and it signaling back to them. This fellow inside that got his must have landed on ’em first, afoot, and they did him up. Then the young chap, he went ’em one better and I never seen a prettier fight. We seen it from the little hill.”
“Did the German spies get away?” asked the surgeon.
“Only one did, and I think he’ll get stopped. They must have seen it from the woods. He made a run fer his car and jumped into it; it’s the speediest thing ever, I reckon. He was out of sight quicker’n a scared cootie, going for the woods. But the kid he got the other one; the one, he says, that hit the pink-cheeked lad.”
“How did he get him?”
“Shot him. Let him have it like Pete the Plugger would ’a’ done. Yes, sir! The kid’s car run right along to about fifty yards of the bushes where they was hid and the kid jumped out; right off they began shootin’ at him and he pulls a gun out of his Red Cross car as calm and as deliberate as if he was after prairie chicken and knowed he was goin’ to get ’em, and commenced shootin’. They skinned for their car and one of ’em gets in and gets her goin’, but the other one he turns round to take another shot at the kid who was kneelin’ down and lettin’ ’em have it proper and the feller keels over and the one in the car he skids off. I reckon the kid he jest about filled that there car full of lead, but the feller he got away, though if he wasn’t hurt it’s a wonder!”