“Maybe kill ’em lieutenant,” the Indian continued. “Anyway get ’em uniform on me. Lead ’em to American lines. You follow. No get by you. See?”
The lads did see. John Big Bear somehow was going to get into the German lieutenant’s uniform, without any of his men realizing the substitution, and lead them directly into the American lines, with their supposed prisoners bringing up the rear to prevent their escape.
“You know whistle?” John Big Bear asked, by way of indicating the signal he would give, when attired in the uniform and taking over the leadership of the German officer.
They had heard it before. It was a sound like that of some distant bird crying in a wood. No one would suspect it came from a point less than half a mile away. John Big Bear was a ventriloquist in that respect.
The march continued. Within fifteen minutes they heard the distant, dismal bird-call that signalled that now John Big Bear was leading the Germans in the guise of their lieutenant. A moment later they left the edge of the wood and struck out into the open. The lads saw one of the Germans try to approach the man he thought to be his officer. John Big Bear waved him back imperiously. The march continued.
Twenty minutes more elapsed when suddenly, in a spot which the glare of the moon made almost as light as day, and just when some of the Huns had noticed the decrease in their number, John Big Bear swung about, an automatic in either hand.
“Stick ’em up,” he cried, and his manner was so menacing that the Germans, whether they understood the order or not, after one glance behind them, which showed them their erstwhile prisoners as their actual captors, were so dumbfounded that they did not even attempt resistance.
“Take ’em guns,” the Indian ordered, and Ollie Ogden carried out the instruction with alacrity.
“A regular arsenal,” he commented, as he gathered in the last weapon and divided the burden with Tom and George.
John Big Bear marshaled the Germans into a double file line.