"Ah, good! I wish to enquire after your English comrade."
"He is here, sir."
"Ah, again good! I thought he would be unfit to move."
"He's not very much up to the mark, sir."
The captain flashed an electric torch upon the motor-cyclists.
"Ciel! you are indeed right, Monsieur Everest. I will see to matters. Private Roulaix," he added, addressing a Belgian who was walking his "push-bike", "place your bicycle in the first wagon that passes. Say that I, Captain Planchenoît, orders it. Then relieve your English comrade of his motor-cycle. Monsieur Barrington, as soon as Private Roulaix returns I will take you to one of the wagons. You are not, at present, fit to walk, still less to push that motor-cycle."
For the rest of that night Kenneth was without the company of his chum. As the grey dawn began to break, he too felt that he was nearly done up, but still the steady retreat continued.
It was not until six o'clock in the morning that the 9th Regiment of the Line was ordered to bivouac outside the village of Omal. Here trenches were dug, barbed-wire entanglements set up, barns and cottages loopholed and placed in a state of defence in order to keep in check the German hordes until the expected aid was forthcoming.
For the next twenty-four hours the 9th Regiment was inactive, as far as actual fighting was concerned. With the rest of the mobile Belgian forces, the men were enjoying a well-earned respite and improving their position.
Although Rollo still remained off duty, Kenneth, with the rest of the motor dispatch-riders, had plenty to do. Frequently the lad had to ride off at full speed to carry orders to bands of armed civilians to cease firing upon Belgian airmen; for these plucky air-scouts were so harried by the fire of their undisciplined fellow-countrymen that it is not to be wondered at that after a time they declined to fly at all.