Suiting the action to the words he seized one of the Huns under the shoulders. It was as much as he could do, strong as he was, to drag the sixteen stone of listless humanity even a few yards.
Suddenly he became aware that men were hurrying through the wood. For the first time the realisation that there was a possibility of escape flashed across his mind. Pausing only to recover his revolver and ammunition he withdrew, intent upon putting a safe distance between him and the approaching Huns before coming to any definite plan of a bid for safety.
"Jolly near shave," he soliloquised. "I reckon Desmond Blake didn't know how close that last bomb came to blowing me sky-high."
He had yet to learn that Sergeant O'Rafferty's awkwardness had been instrumental in freeing him, temporarily at least, from the clutches of the Huns.
CHAPTER XIII
THE FRONTIER
Night had fallen when Athol emerged from the dense wood. Overhead the stars were shining brightly, although occasionally obscured by drifts of pungent smoke from the still burning Zeppelin sheds. In front lay an expanse of open fields, dotted here and there by isolated farm buildings, while in the distance, and thrown into strong relief by the flames, were the spires and roofs of a fairly large town.
"The Dutch frontier: that's my objective," decided Athol. "It's not more than ten miles away. North-west is the bearing, and I have about seven hours of darkness before me. None too much time, if I have to go cautiously."
Fixing his direction by means of the North Star the lad set out, treading softly and straining his ears to catch the faintest suspicious sound. As he proceeded other problems confronted him. He knew from report that the frontier was guarded and that a barbed wire fence formed a formidable barrier. More, the fence had a live wire of high voltage running through it, contact with which meant death to the human being or animal that incautiously attempted to pass from one frontier to another.