“Listen! what’s that?” cried Amos, holding up his hand.
“Galloping horses,” answered the ranch boy, instantly, for his ears were especially trained along those lines.
“It must be more British reserves rushing to the front!” exclaimed Amos, as together he and his chum headed for the nearest window fronting the road, which they had no sooner reached than they discovered a sight that thrilled them.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE TRAPPED UHLANS.
In plain sight, and coming with a rush, though their horses reeked with sweat and showed symptoms of great fatigue, was a small detachment of mounted men.
No wonder the boys stared as though they hardly dared believe their eyes. This half dozen hard riders wore spiked helmets, a thing that seemed to stamp them as Uhlans. They were coming from the southwest, which fact in itself was enough to tell the story.
“They’re Germans, Jack!” cried Amos, instantly.
“Yes, a part of some command that broke through the British lines, and got confused amidst the smoke, I reckon,” said the Western boy.
“And, Jack, look, they’re being hotly pursued!” added Amos.