The action, whatever the result might be, was no longer in this part of the field of operations. Ahead were the bivouacs of the Germans holding the line of front. The air was thick with the smoke of their campfires. Right and left, as far as the eye could see, were masses of grey-coated men, without a sign of a gap through which the British lads could make a dash for freedom.
Two hundred yards to the left of the road was a battery, the guns of which were admirably concealed from view from the front by a bank of earth on which were stuck branches of trees. The muzzles of the artillery were pointing at an angle of thirty degrees, so that they must have been shelling a Belgian position at a range of about five miles. Since the guns were now silent, Kenneth could only reiterate his belief that the heroic Belgians had had to retire in the face of overwhelming numbers, and that a distance of at least seven miles lay between the two lads and their friends.
After passing numerous detachments of troops without alarming incident, the confidence of Kenneth and his companion grew stronger; but they had a nasty shock when they were peremptorily challenged by a picket and ordered to halt. The sight of half a dozen levelled bayonets left no doubt as to the demands of the sergeant in charge of the party.
Kenneth brought the motor-cycle to a dead-stop, keeping his saddle and supporting the machine by placing his feet on the ground. Rollo, too, made no attempt to dismount, but, clinging to his companion, drooped his head with well-feigned exhaustion.
Pointing to the bandage over his jaw, Kenneth produced the official document. The sergeant took it, read the inscription, and pointed to a turning on the right. That, the lads knew, ran parallel to the German front.
Meanwhile one of the soldiers stooped and peered into Rollo's face. Then he said something to the sergeant, who signified assent. The private began to lift Rollo from his perch—not with any degree of violence, but carefully, as if actuated by feelings of compassion, addressing him as kamerade.
Rollo hung on tightly. Kenneth turned his head and expostulated in dumb show. The private again appealed to his sergeant, at the same time pointing to a Red Cross motor-wagon that was standing at some distance off.
With a jerk of his head the sergeant bade the man desist. After all, it was not his business. If the wounded Uhlan preferred to be jolted about on a motorcycle rather than be properly attended to in an ambulance cart, it was his affair.
Not to be outdone, the private gave Rollo a drink from his water-bottle. Then, having returned the envelope to Kenneth and given him elaborate directions, made fairly clear by many movements of his hand, the sergeant allowed the two lads to proceed.
To continue along the road would arouse immediate suspicion. Accordingly Kenneth turned off and followed the route indicated by the German. Here, although there were plenty of troops moving up and down, most of the traffic was across the road between the bivouacs of the advance lines and the supports. Men were hurrying, each with a set purpose, and the two supposed wounded lads attracted but little notice.