All this of course took a little time in transmission. Seconds had passed into minutes, and about the time he was through Rod realized that things were getting pretty warm close by. In fact some of the raiders had discovered that the most pretentious house in the entire little village was barred against them. They had leaned from their saddles and pounded heavily on the door. When no one opened up they had given vent to their anger and even threatened to smash their way in, doubtless promising all sorts of terrible things for the inmates if forced to go to this trouble.
Still there had been no response. Josh, who was in charge below, did not mean to risk the loss of the precious motorcycles, as well as take chances of being shot as a spy, just because those lordly Uhlan cavalrymen demanded that he unbar the heavy door and let them enter.
The threatening voices, accompanied by louder blows, continued to sound as Rod hastened downstairs again. He realized that they must do everything possible to keep those rough raiders out until the French zouaves had a chance to arrive on the field.
There were several old men among those who, in the first excitement, had sought refuge in the house that temporarily sheltered the young Americans whom the simple French peasants and villagers considered real heroes. Although far from sturdy in build, and with trembling, half-palsied hands, these old chaps had proceeded to arm themselves as best they could.
One had found a big carving knife which he brandished as though it were a sword, and he a captain leading a charge; a second was swinging a cudgel, as though filled with a hope that it might yet be laid up against a German head; while the last of the trio had taken down a gun of the vintage of ’71, which, together with its glistening sabre bayonet, had hung on the wall in memory of the good man of the house, who doubtless made the right kind of use of it in other days.
Altogether they presented quite a curious collection as they gathered there by the door, and waited to see if the enemy would carry out those loud threats to break in. Rod was reminded of accounts he had read about the patchwork army gathered together by one Falstaff in early English days, which consisted of the lame, the halt and the blind. All the same, those old fellows had the right sort of spirit, and acted as though quite willing to yield up their own lives in defense of the village.
Things were going from bad to worse outside. Smoke could easily be detected now, as if to prove that those awful threats made by the Uhlans were not idle ones; and that some cottage was already in flames.
Rod was almost counting the seconds. He found himself wondering whether the oncoming zouaves could possibly reach there before the door was broken from its hinges and the wolves without rush in to use their heavy sabres against the defenders. How long could they hold the aggressors in check? Those weak old men would be swept aside as though they were pigmies; and what could he and his two chums do against half a dozen big cavalrymen, bent on pillage?
The very first thing Rod did do was to possess himself once more of that revolver. He believed he could make better and more judicious use of such a dangerous weapon than Josh might–Josh was so rash and headstrong, once he found himself up against a dangerous situation.
The door, being very heavy, was resisting the attack of the soldiers successfully, though Rod did not plume himself on this account. He feared there were many other ways by means of which the Uhlans could accomplish their purpose and enter the house did they care to bother about looking.