"He'll drop. I'll swear that he was badly hit," said Étienne, the artilleryman.
"We are not to know that," grumbled the corporal; "at least, not at present. Quick, there! We must remove all traces of the affair, and trust to luck that the fellow will be able to tell no tales."
Resting their rifles against the wall, Kenneth and his Belgian comrades ran into the road. They found Rollo little the worse for his experiences, beyond a bruised ankle caused by a kick from the struggling horse.
"Congratulations after. Work first," exclaimed the corporal. "Together, comrades!"
The corpses of the Uhlans and their horses were dragged across the highway and thrown into the broad ditch, where in the now gathering twilight they would escape observation, while dust was thrown upon the traces of the encounter.
"Now to the cellar!" exclaimed the corporal. "Nevertheless, I will remain without for a time. I am not at all satisfied. The escape of that wounded Uhlan troubles me, so I will keep watch from without."
"He received his quietus, never fear," declared Gaston. "He will tell no tales."
"If your opinion is not more true than your aim—" began the corporal meaningly. "But we must hope that it is so. All the same I will keep watch."
The rest of his comrades regained their underground retreat, leaving the trap-door open in order that the corporal could descend without delay. Rollo was this time the centre of attraction, and the rescued lad had to give a long and detailed account of his adventures in the hands of the Germans.
"Your foot is hurting you," observed Kenneth, noticing that Rollo was wincing towards the close of his narrative. "Take off your boot and let me see what is wrong."