Air Service Boys Over The Enemy's Lines Part 2

Tom's first act before entering was to look down at the ground just before the door. Some intuition told him that if the place had been recently occupied they would possibly find some evidences of the fact in the earth.

"See there, Jack!" he suddenly exclaimed, as he pointed down close to his feet. "Fresh tracks, and made by a man's shoes in the bargain!"

"Some one has been in here for a fact, Tom, and I wouldn't be afraid to wager he saw us coming and cleared out in a hurry. He could have skirted those bushes, and got clear easy enough. Do you think it could have been the same chap who freed that pigeon?"

"No doubt about it," and Tom, stooping, picked up some small object.

"See, here's a feather that was sticking to that dead weed. It's from a bird of the same color as the pigeon, perhaps from the very one I've got in my pocket."

"That settles it," snapped the pleased Jack. "I must say you're a clever hand at finding these things out. I'd have never dreamed of looking down at my feet, but blundered right into the shack to see if----Oh! What do you think of the luck we're in this day, Tom? See what stands there on that poor old three-legged table!"

Jack's excitement was natural, as Tom readily understood when he looked; for there was a small basket or cage made from oziers or willow wands; and inside this they could see two blue gray homing pigeons, mates to the one Tom had shot only a short time before!

CHAPTER III

A SPY BAFFLED

Both young aviators stared at the wicker cage containing the two pigeons. The birds had been still up to then, but now commenced to make cooing sounds, as though pleased at having human company. Apparently they were inclined to be sociable, as Jack afterwards put it.

"So he discovered us coming along," Jack went on to say, "and skipped out in such a hurry he didn't have time to carry away the cage with him."

"He must have climbed out of this window in the side of the wall,"

observed Tom. "We could have seen him if he had used the door. Yes, there are footprints underneath the window. He ran down behind those bushes and reached the stone wall that leads to the broken country and what is left of the woods."

"The chances are he had all that mapped out beforehand," suggested Jack.

"Surely a spy has always to keep a door open for retreat."

"Yes. Why not? They take their lives in their hands every time they enter the hostile lines, and you can't blame a man for wanting to live a little longer, especially if he believes he can serve his country."

"Perhaps he hasn't got such a good start but that we could overtake him if we went after him now," suggested Jack.

"We might take a turn that way," his chum agreed. "But not too far afield. We didn't start out to search for spies, and we've only got a single gun between us. Even my automatic was left behind, because I didn't expect to have any use for it, and get tired carrying the thing, with its belt."

"But these pigeons here, Tom?"

"We can leave them until we get back. That's one reason why I don't want to get out of sight of the place. He might make a round, and carry the birds away while we were engaged in a hunt half a mile off. And it may be of much more importance that those live birds arrive in the French camp than that we should bag the spy."

"I get you, Tom; so let's commence our little man-hunt right away."

The two friends set off. Tom tried to follow the course he believed the spy must have taken on quitting the old farmhouse ruins. That his reckoning was clear he proved several times by pointing out to his companion plain evidences that some other person had pa.s.sed along the way before them.

Here the marks of shoes could be detected in the soft earth. A little further on, and at a point where the man must have crawled in order to keep from being seen, they found tracks where his toes had dragged along, as well as the indentation of his knees in the soil.

Presently they arrived at the terminus of the stone wall, about the only thing remaining intact connected with the French farm. There was not a single tree showing signs of life in that patch of sombre forest; where sh.e.l.l-fire had failed to do the work of destruction a malicious hand had girdled the trunk with a keen-edged tool, and thus encompa.s.sed the doom of the trees.

Tom came to a pause.

"I reckon we've come far enough," he said, taking a look over toward the fragment of a house on the slight elevation, which could just be seen from their present position.

"I'd have liked to catch up with that duck and march him back to camp, along with his feathered messengers," Jack grumbled disappointedly.

"Somehow I hate and despise a spy above all created things."

The youths set their faces once more in the direction of the ruins, where they soon arrived. Jack half feared that in spite of them the cage and its feathered inmates had been spirited away. He hastened inside ahead of his companion and then called out cheerily:

"It's all right, Tom, and n.o.body at home. Here's the wicker cage and the pigeons, just as we left them!"

"As the afternoon is pa.s.sing, and we have a long distance to go, we'd better be making a start," Tom remarked, when he reached the open door.

"Let me carry the pigeon cage, Tom, as you have the gun," suggested Jack, after slipping his hand through the ring at the top. "Say, perhaps the boys won't give us a laugh, to see what queer game we've brought back from our hunt!"

They left the ruins of the once peaceful farmhouse behind them, and commenced retracing their steps. Tom was too old a hand at hunting to get lost. He had kept his bearings through the whole tramp, no matter how many turns they took in examining some promising ground where rabbit burrows might be found. On this account then he would have no difficulty whatever in leading his comrade straight back to the villa in which the entire Lafayette Escadrille of American fliers was quartered.

They were pa.s.sing along about half a mile from the wrecked farmhouse kitchen, and not far from the spot where Tom made his successful shot, when without warning the report of a gun came to their ears. Jack involuntarily ducked his head.

"Say, did you hear that whining sound just over us, Tom? That was caused by a bullet skipping past!"

Tom for answer dragged his chum down behind a fringe of dead bushes that chanced to lie close by.

"It was a bullet, all right, Jack," he replied, not without a tremor in his voice, for this thing of being made a target by some murderous unseen person was a new and novel experience.

"Do you suppose it was fired by the man who owns these pigeons?" further questioned Jack, though showing no intention of loosening his grip on the wicker cage.

"It could hardly be any one else. He has dogged us this far, or else just happened to catch sight of us. That shot was fired from a distance, and if we take a notion to run he couldn't possibly hit us. But we might as well make use of this fringe of bushes to creep some way off. Then we'll get on our feet and put out for home at full speed."

This they proceeded to do without further delay. When it was no longer possible to utilize the bushes for cover, they sprang to their feet and ran. Jack fully antic.i.p.ated hearing other shots--yes, and perhaps having more leaden missiles singing their vicious songs about his head. But he was agreeably disappointed in his expectations, for not a report came.

Evidently the spy had gone away, thinking discretion the better part of valor. He may have noticed that they were in uniform, and armed in the bargain.

Later on the air service boys moderated their mad pace, and as there seemed to be no further signs of danger they finally fell into a walk.

Still neither of them lagged, but kept up a brisk pace, Jack casting numerous apprehensive glances over his shoulder, haunted by a lingering suspicion that the spy might yet give them trouble.

They came through safely at last. The villa in which the American fliers were quartered was reached, and seemed to be deserted at that hour in the afternoon. Everybody must be busy at the front, the boys concluded, for the din was more distracting than usual.

"We picked out a bad day for getting off, I'm afraid, Tom," Jack sighed.

"They told us there was nothing big in prospect; but since we started out on our hunt I guess the Huns have put up something of size. And the boys will be in the thick of it all too! We might have had a share if we'd been on duty to-day."

"Brace up, Jack," chided his chum. "For all you know, what we've done may turn out to be ten times more important than all the work of the entire escadrille to-day. These captured birds and that cipher message, represent possibilities beyond anything you or I can know. Leave all that to the general."

"When do you mean to see him, Tom?"

"As soon as I can arrange it. And you're coming with me when I get the summons to his headquarters, depend on that, Jack. Your part in this affair is just as important as mine."

Tom put the cage with its cooing inmates in their room. Then he started out to try to get into communication with the commanding general. He had met him once by mere chance, but he hardly believed General Petain would remember him in the least.

The action was about over for the day. The Crown Prince had once again thrown a heavy storming party forward in the endeavor to make a breach in the French lines, through which he could pour the veteran reserves he had in waiting. But, as had often happened before, he counted without his host; and when the sun went down all he had to show for his stroke was a greatly increased casualty list.