CHAPTER X Zealous Billy

Major Little ordered the German airman turned over to an army ambulance where he would be disposed of as a wounded man and prisoner. To Don the surgeon said, after hearing the boy’s message:

“Yes, we have had the same over the wire, but could hardly get it. Hurry back, then. I’ll send two others after you. Phoned for them an hour ago. Look out for gas shells; they may be sending them over soon. Listen for the warning gongs from our trenches and the gurgling sound of the shells themselves—you’ll know it. Or you may see the fumes drifting your way in certain lights; after the explosion, sometimes, you can see them very plainly. You can generally smell the fumes in the open before they come near enough to injure you—then on with your masks! By the way,” the Major lowered his voice, “is that helper of yours on the job?”

“Yes, sir; you may be sure he is! As cool and not afraid as they make ’em.” Don was glad of this chance to praise Billy. His regard for the youth was hardly less than a strong love for his pal. The doctor seemed surprised.

“I would hardly have thought that,” he admitted,—“a gentle kind of a boy. But that kind often fools you. Even girls themselves—some of our demurest nurses are the bravest under fire. Well, I’m glad you like him. Now, you must make a quick get-away!”

Bon and Billy boarded their little car again, and just as they were turning around, two other ambulances dashed up. The first one was a light army truck, manned by members of the regular corps of the army service. The other bore the Red Cross and it looked like a higher grade of car than that commonly in use by that organization. Don was swinging into the road and just caught sight of the driver and helper in this last car. But as he glanced at the side face of the former a rush of partial recognition mixed with an undefined feeling of hostility swept over him. Where had he seen that face before? There were not many persons he remembered unpleasantly. He had been in one or two student rows with ruffians, who had fared badly as a rule and the boys at Old Brighton had it in for a disagreeable fellow who was even opposed to their speaking above a whisper when they passed his place in the town. The face he had just seen was not one of these. Well, there was more big work cut out ahead and he would think over this question later. Yet the matter kept returning to his mind in spite of the battle sounds and sights, among which they soon came at close quarters.

“I can’t understand one thing:” Billy remarked, as they sped on. “Why is the shooting so at random? Just look at the shells that have landed all around us, in the fields, in the roads, almost everywhere, doing no real damage, except to stir up the ground, hitting hardly anyone. It looks like fool business to me.”

“And when you think how much one of these shells costs and how much must be paid for a hundred rounds of cartridges fired by a machine-gun, no wonder they say that it costs a good many thousands of dollars for every man that gets hit,” Don offered.

“Well, if it costs so much I wish they’d save those that come my way. I’d just as lief treat even the Huns more economically!” declared Billy.

Don had to laugh, though at the moment they were approaching again the old farm house, now torn to pieces, where the Hun airman had dropped his bomb but an hour before. Billy also noticed it and asked Don to stop.

“Couldn’t we go in and see, Don? It will be solemn enough, but we can be sure they’re all—they’re not suffering.”

The boys alighted and rounded the house once more, stepping over broken bits of stone and mortar and twisted framing. Billy was ahead and he took but one glance and turned about.

“Beyond doubt. They had at least their wish not to suffer.” He uttered the words like a funeral benediction, and followed Don back. As they were about to emerge from the trellised gateway the other Red Cross ambulance shot by, the occupants, no doubt, supposing those in the boys’ car had stopped here for a drink. Again Don caught sight of the driver of that car. Instantly it came to the boy who the fellow must be. The recognition was quite complete—and startling.

Don stood in the road, looking after the speeding car. Billy’s thoughts were upon other matters. The ambulance ran on until almost out of sight. Then suddenly, instead of turning across toward the dressing station at the western edge of the woods, it veered to the east across fields and ran down a slope to a clump of bushes and low trees where it stopped. The boy wondered if there could a dressing station at that spot.

“Don, if you can go on just this once without me, I’d like to stay and bury that poor old couple and the little girl. It seems horrible to let them lie there, exposed, uncared for, as though they had no friends. What do you say?”

“All right, Billy you stay. I can make the trip alone. They’ll help me with the blessés at the station and at the hospital too. If anything does happen to me—should I get hit—you couldn’t help much until you got the hang of running over such roads. And say, Billy, you can do something else: when you hear a car going back take a peep and if it’s those fellows that just went by, observe them, will you? If you see them coming, go out and stop them and ask who they are, you can let on you’re making a report. I’m just curious. Tell you why later. G’bye! I’ll stop for you on the next trip down.”

Don dashed on, reached the dressing station without mishap, took on two wounded poilus and one Yank; they sped back.

Billy quickly found a garden spade an went to work with all his might so as to complete his gruesome task. The ground was soft beneath a wide-spreading apple tree just showing signs of blossoming; a sweet-voiced bird sang the while in the branches above, and this was the only requiem the old couple and the little child should know, as, wrapped carefully in sheets rescued from the destroyed house, they filled the one grave.

The tender-hearted youth’s eyes were wet while he labored for the poor souls who deserved a better burial than this. When the grave was filled he made a rude cross of boards and wrote on it a simple inscription, a tribute from his own gentle heart.

This was the best the boy could do. The little bird still sang its cheery ditty overhead. He turned away with a sigh and said, half aloud:

“I wonder what Father would think of me now. He wouldn’t believe it possible of his youngest boy he used to call ‘a silly, girl-like thing.’ I couldn’t blame him then, but now—well, he’ll change his mind about me if I go back—that is, if I get back.”

Then Billy heard a car approaching and slipped out front to take a look, as Don had requested. It was the army ambulance returning. But where was the other Red Cross ambulance?

Well, Don would not be here again for perhaps half an hour yet. There would be time to slip along the road and get a glimpse of the other car. Then he might give his pal even more information than he expected.

The clump of bushes was not more than three hundred yards from the farm road and if there was a dressing station there Billy would find it out—the information might be of value. To keep out of sight of Hun airmen, should they fly overhead, the youth followed close to the line of low evergreen trees that skirted the road and when he reached the end of these but stood still within their welcome shadow, he gazed across at the clump. In all this section of land north of the distant woods and between where the American regiment in reserve on the cross-road was stationed, there were no troops. Evidently it was not a spot where the Huns could break through because of the strongly entrenched positions of the Allies facing them. There had been some Hun raids and some Allied counter-attacks, platoons of Americans fighting beside the French—hence the wounded. But the Germans had not succeeded in pushing their line any farther than the western outskirts of the small village of Cantigney, another half mile east of this ground. Here had come to an end the German drive around Montdidier, a part of the Amiens offensive during the early spring, which is called the first great drive of 1918. The effort to take Amiens, a few miles to the north, was to meet defeat about two weeks later. And meanwhile the great armies intrenched themselves, crouching like lions at bay. They almost ceaselessly growled with their numerous artillery and every little while kept up the clawing and biting through local raids and counter-attacks, adding constantly to the wounded and the dead.

It was strange, Billy thought, if there should be a dressing station here. He had been told that the stream, the south fork of the Avre, bent here to the west and that the German positions followed the river at this point. Therefore, while the Allied reinforcement was stronger against attack, the Huns had made themselves stronger also, to match their opponents and the local fights were all the fiercer, therefore making the wide expanse of low land sloping toward the stream subject to continual bombardment from higher and overplaced shot and shell. It was across this area that the ambulances were forced to travel from the dressing stations in the shelter of the hillside woods beyond. That was dangerous enough without the further exposure of a dressing station, even in a well covered abri, or dugout, to this zone of flying shells.

But what could the men with this ambulance be about for such a length of time, when they were probably sent to the other dressing station to bring away the wounded? Surely they had met with some urgent call here. Billy pondered. Might he not go over and aid them?

He started on a swift trot and had covered more than half the distance in less than half a minute when a thing occurred that made him drop to a walk, watching, wondering. Out of a thicket a tiny puff of white smoke rose in jets, as though measured by time; two close together, then four, then two, then six, then one, then six again and 2-6-6-3-2-6-4-4-2-6-3 and so on for another half minute. By that time Billy had stopped. Was it mere instinct that made him dodge back of a wide bush and peer through its budding branches?

Again the funny little jets of white smoke. Why were they doing this—these Red Cross men? There was the ambulance itself, in plain sight, by the edge of the thicket and, moreover, a Red Cross sign had been raised on a pole above the low trees.

Billy’s eyes rapidly scanned the surroundings. A line of trees on the slope toward the south shut off the thicket from the view of the woods and the low ground here could not well be seen by the reserves back on the cross-road. It seemed a place that might be well chosen for isolation, if desired. And high in air, far over the enemy’s trenches, a Hun observation balloon could be plainly seen against the white, cumulus clouds.

Billy gazed at this object long and keenly. He could distinctly discern the basket beneath it; he could detect a certain movement of something white going up and down, up and down several times and then a pause; then several times again. While this was going on the puffs of white smoke from the thicket were not forthcoming. Then, when the white thing at the balloon ceased to move, the puffs began again.

What did all this mean? Could there be any connection between the thicket and the balloon—the little puffs of white smoke and the movements of that white thing by the basket in the sky?

Well, he was going to find out, anyway. There seemed to be nothing else he could do that would straighten out the mystery in his own mind. And so he again trotted forward direct toward the thicket, still watching the balloon. Suddenly he grasped the truth. There were two upward sweeps of white in the sky and instantly the little puffs ceased again. The two men, wheeling about, their heads above the bushes, saw Billy and began to beckon him. Fearless, probably without any misgivings regarding himself, he went on to join them. One pointed to the balloon and said something about it and Billy gazed at it again, entirely off his guard. Suddenly he ceased to see anything; he only tossed his arms feebly in air and sunk to the ground in a crumpled heap. In front of him the long, thin-faced, narrow-eyed driver of the car seized again a queer looking instrument and began quickly to shoot up more of the little smoke puffs. Back of the fallen youth stood the helper, holding a heavy iron rod in his hand. He made a quick, excited remark to the driver in German.