Arturus listened to what the Colonel had to say. Meanwhile he was casting covert glances toward the two boys. When he first learned that he was expected to pilot the pair up to the other camp, through numberless perils, he had frowned because he deemed it a fool’s errand. The Colonel soon disillusioned his mind on this point.
When Arturus learned that Jack and Amos had actually captured, alone and single-handed, the terrible gun-runner and his crew, as well as turned the cargo and the boat over to the Allies, his manner changed at once. He evidently knew enough of Captain Zenos to understand that anyone who could trap him so cleverly was not to be treated with scorn or derision, even though mere boys in point of years.
It was speedily arranged that Arturus would pilot the Colonel’s guests to their intended destination when night again fell upon Gallipoli. Nothing was said as to payment, but Jack felt sure this part of the matter could be easily settled. With Arturus the wish of the Colonel was as good as law; and he would have promised to do his part even without thought of any reward.
The Greek made an engagement to meet them at sundown. He would come to the Colonel’s tent at that hour ready to explain his plan of campaign. So he passed away, and Jack, looking after him, noted that the man was a born woodsman, for he planted his feet on the ground as softly as a cat, and his eyes seemed to continually rove from side to side as though nothing could escape them.
“You will have to excuse me from now on, boys, and shift for yourselves,” they were told by the commander of the Territorial force ashore on the peninsula. “Remember that you have promised not to take any unnecessary risks while observing the action today.”
They renewed their assurances, having no desire to expose themselves to the marksmanship of some German sharpshooter who might be posted up on the hillside, eager to pick off such of the invaders as he could discover.
It was not long before there were positive signs of “something doing,” as Amos called it. The khaki-clad men with their guns began to gather in squads. There was evidently no attempt going to be made to “rush” the trenches of the Turks in the conventional way, for the presence of those quick-firers above cooled all such ardor.
“It’s going to be something like the old-time Indian fighting over in our own country, you can see, Jack,” asserted Amos, as he and his chum stood and watched some of these detachments start forward.
“Well,” Jack remarked, “these Territorials, whether from South Africa, Canada or the other side of the world, all know about those sort of tactics. Many of them are hunters, or have been cowboys. Others have had experience with crafty savages, and copied some of the ways of the heathen.”
“Yes, it’s a good maxim to follow—‘when you’re in Rome do as the Romans do,’” Amos said reflectively. “They’re going to fight fire with fire. See how they drop down in that brush, and start to crawling along like snakes. I’m only afraid we won’t be able to see much of this scrap after all.”