CHAPTER IX INDIAN FASHION

NO braver deed was ever done than that undertaken by seventeen men—all that remained of a platoon—and one other, a messenger from a squad in trouble. The platoon was left without a commissioned officer and was under the command of a sergeant; he and his men dared the very jaws of death to effect a rescue, performing that which seemed well-nigh miraculous.

The squad of Yanks, like many others exceeding their orders, had advanced too far and found their return cut off. Perhaps the corporal in a measure lost his nerve, or perhaps he showed wisdom, for he was unwilling that they should all make an effort to get back. He chose but one of their number, who seemed best fitted for the task, as a messenger. An account of this fellow’s adventures in making his way through the German lines resembles chapters of the pioneer history of the western United States. For sheer daring there could hardly be a parallel.

Billy Morgan was the name of this fearless chap. He was a mere youth, in his teens; very tall and large for his age, as agile as a cat, as strong as a young mule, as soft-spoken as a girl. When urged to make haste and report the condition of the squad he had smilingly assented; then had departed at once on the errand. It was after nightfall, but it did not take the boy long to ascertain that his way was barred.

The Germans occupied the base of a low hill in front; another bunch of them had fortified themselves in a bit of dense woodland to the right, and to his left were even a greater number, a relatively large encampment that included some sort of headquarters, probably that of the field commander of that section. All this the young fellow had to find out by the most painstaking and silent scout work, during which he crawled half a mile or so, emulating a snake much of the time. Low voices, almost invisible camp fires, seldom seen moving figures and the stertorous breathing of sleeping men gave Morgan his clues.

There was no way to get through the enemy’s lines, except between the positions in front and to the right of the unfortunate messenger, and the Germans were practically in touch with each other at this place. Time was flying, the night was wearing on; the order, rather a plea, to hasten and the immediate need of his comrades, their ammunition largely spent and no water to drink, inspired the youth.

A small ravine, with exceedingly precipitous sides and a dry waterway or gully along its bottom formed the ground over which he must make his way. Probably the Germans believed this terrain would be impassable to an assaulting or scouting force and hence did not occupy it, except to station a sentry there.

An unfortunate sentry he proved to be, for Morgan, after ascertaining that the enemy occupied only the ground at the top of the hills on either side, crept down the gully, spied the light of the Hun’s pipe or cigarette, approached near enough, without being heard, to hit the fellow with a stone and when the sentry showed signs of regaining his wind and yelling Morgan banged him another that finished him for good.

Wearing the sentry’s cap, his own stuffed in his blouse, the messenger advanced then a little less carefully and presently he came to another sentry, who took him for a comrade and sleepily let him pass without question.

On the messenger went, even a little faster. The Huns seemed to be farther away on both sides of him; was he getting through and past them? He actually straightened up and was stepping along the water-worn gully in almost a trot. The woods were silent; there was hardly a sound except the everlasting boom of guns miles away to the east. A large hare, in no great haste, crossed the ravine directly in front of him, leaping up the hill and startling the boy not a little. Small birds also, from time to time, were frightened from their roosting places in thickets. With a ripping sound following a sharp blow a bit of bark on a tree not two feet ahead flew off, sending pieces that stung his face and upon the instant came the report of the gun that sent the bullet. This was intended for him, no doubt; a forward sentry had caught sight of a moving figure where he must have known a Hun soldier had no right to be.

Morgan stopped and crouched. At the brink of the gully not three feet above was a clump of grasses; up the back of this the boy dived, lying flat, at the same time pulling his automatic.

A voice, some little distance away, spoke in German; another, much nearer, made reply. Then almost beside him a third man growled out a lot of guttural stuff. He it was who had fired the shot, but with what result he could not have ascertained. The fellow was on the steep slope opposite and across the gully from where Billy Morgan lay and the least move of the latter might be seen.

Morgan could plainly discern the outline of the German against a patch of sky above and between the trees. The young fellow’s home was in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas; he had three brothers and all had enlisted together. Since quite small he had been almost as familiar with shooting irons as he was with a knife and fork, and hunting turkeys on their roosts at night had been a much followed pastime with the brothers. To get one’s sights against the sky before shooting did the trick. An automatic pistol was not the accurate weapon that a finely sighted rifle is, but the man was much nearer than one could ever get to a roosting turkey.

Morgan, quite noiselessly, turned partly over on his side and brought his right arm around with the elbow resting on the ground. He glanced along the barrel of the little weapon, holding it toward the open sky above the German’s head. Then without altering the relative line of eye and weapon he lowered his arm until the pistol barrel was blended into the dark form of the Hun and pulled the trigger.

No doubt the sentry’s ears had been troubled with at least the suggestion of some sound, perhaps the faintest rustle, and this had caused him to remain motionless, listening intently. But it is doubtful if he heard even the crack of the automatic. A man shot through the brain cannot know what hit him. Morgan’s bullet, though a line shot, went high, naturally. The sentry’s tumbling body had hardly reached the bottom of the ravine before the Yank was on his feet and going at the best rate he could down the gully, hearing a short call in German from beyond and hurrying feet in his direction. They must not see him now, he knew, and he would leave them behind, for he was making no noise on the hard earth.

But not a hundred yards from where the last tragedy occurred the gully ended, spreading out into a sort of little sand bar over level and more open ground. Ahead of the American was another hill. He could look up and get his direction by keeping a little to the left of the milky way and in line with the bright star Altair, which he knew, having studied a bit of astronomy.

Up the steep slope he went, encountering much dense undergrowth and brambly thickets, though these held him back but little. On the top a clearer space lay before him; he could again see the sky and get his bearings. And then right in his path arose three figures, men, but he could not distinguish whether they were friend or foe. The group stood there, silently confronting him. Morgan, pistol in hand, was ready for the slightest hostile move, if he could detect it. Suddenly it occurred to him that the three were similarly in doubt concerning him. There must be a show-down. If these fellows were Germans, the Yank meant to get all three of them as fast as he could pull the trigger, though at least one of them would probably get him before his triple task could be completed.

Which side would first make itself known? It seemed to be up to the strongest party to take the initiative, the risk.

A rifle was raised a little, pointing toward Morgan and aimed from the hip. There was a sort of movement in his direction. Were they satisfied that he was an enemy? The messenger was on the point of being sure that his first shot would count and was about to press the trigger of his automatic when his finger went straight instead and he dropped the muzzle toward the ground, fearing it would go off.

“Come on, Heinie; hands up!” were the words that turned a possible tragedy of some kind into a very welcome reception.

“I’m right glad you spoke,” remarked Morgan in his soft voice.

“Ho, a Yank! Where’d you come from, fellow?”

“From back yonder half a mile or so; the other side the German lines.”

“Huh? No you didn’t; ’taint possible! We been prowlin’ and the Heinies is in there thicker’n cooties. You couldn’t shoot in the air without gettin’ a few when she comes down. Nobody could come through ’em.”

“But I happened to get through and I’m going back,” Morgan protested.

“Mean it? Spy work, I reckon.”

“No; some of my comrades, my squad, are cut off in there.”

“Saint’s love! Do the Heinies know it?”

“Not when I left.”

“Did they hunt a hole and pull it in after em? Come daylight, they’ll be found. Say, pards, let’s take this fellow to the sarge and see what he has to say about it.”