Who Goes There!

"Not a shot!" said Michaud in a perfectly distinct voice, pushing up the rifle of the old garde-de-chasse. "There is nothing to do now, nom de Dieu! – for the necks of our fowls are already wrung and the dead hogs are tasting their own boudin. Our affair is with the living pigs."

After a few moments more dragoons came, trotting their superb horses along the ride, alertly scanning the woods to right and left as they passed, their carbines at a ready.

Waggons followed – hay waggons, carts loaded with potato sacks, straw, apples, bags of flour, even firewood and bundles of faggots – a dozen vehicles or more of every description.

"Ours," said Michaud in his emotionless tones. "What they could not take is burning yonder."

More grey dragoons closed the file of waggons, then a dozen Uhlans, who turned frequently in their saddles and kept looking back.

"Scoundrels!" muttered the garde-de-chasse, laying his rifle level; but Michaud turned on him and struck up the weapon.

"Thou!" he said coldly – "do thy duty when I tell thee, or I become angry."

Somebody said: "There are no more. We have not bled one single wolf!"

"Look yonder," whispered Guild.

Out into the carrefour stepped briskly eight or ten German officers, smart and elegant and trim in their sea-grey uniforms and their spiked helmets shrouded with grey so that there was not a glitter from point to spur.

A dozen non-commissioned officers followed, carrying two military rifles apiece.

The officers looked curiously at the shrine of Our Lady of Lesse, and the sad-faced Virgin looked back at them out of her carven and sightless eyes.

One by one the officers took posts at the four corners of the grassy clearing or on the steps of the shrine. They were laughing and conversing; some smoked; some inspected the rifles brought up by their non-com gun-bearers. The sun had not yet risen; the silvery smoke of the Silverwiltz marked its high waterfall below the gorge of the glen; fern fronds drooped wet to the wet dead leaves beneath, matted grasses glistened powdered with dew.

In the still grey air of morning the smoke from the German officers' pipes and cigars rose upward in straight thin bands; a jeweled bracelet on the wrist of an infantry major reflected light like a frost crystal.

The officers ceased their careless conversation; one by one they became quiet, almost motionless where they had taken their several positions. Behind them, stiff and erect, the non-coms stood with the spare guns, rifles or fowling-pieces.

An air of silent expectancy settled over the carrefour; officer and non-com were waiting for something.

Michaud had already divined; Guild knew; so did Darrel. Every woodsman in The Pulpit knew. Some of them were trembling like leashed dogs.

Then in the forest a sound became audible like a far halloo. Distant answers came through the woodland silence, from north, from south – then from west and east.

Guild whispered to Darrel: "They are driving the forest! They have a regiment out to beat it!"

The German officers at their stands no longer moved as much as a finger. Against the grey trees they were all but invisible.

Suddenly out into the carrefour stepped a superb red stag, ears alert, beautiful head half turned at gaze. Instantly a rifle spoke; and the magnificent creature was down in the ride, scuffling, scrambling, only to fall and lie panting with its long neck lifted a little.

Crack! The antlered head fell.

Then out of the wood trotted three bewildered pigs – an old boar, a yearling on which the stripes were still visible, and a huge fierce sow. A ripple of rifle shots checked them; the old boar stood swinging his great furry head right and left; the yearling was down, twitching; the sow ran, screaming horribly. Two shots followed; the old boar kneeled down very quietly like a trick-horse in a circus, still facing his enemies. He did not look as though he were dead.

The yearling had ceased its twitching; the sow was down, too, a great lump of coarse black fur in the ditch.

Then the rifles began again; a company of little roe deer whirled into the ride and went down or stumbled with delicate limbs dangling broken, or leaped to a height incredible in the agony of a death wound.

Pell-mell after them galloped a whole herd of red deer; the German rifles rattled steadily. Now and then blasts from fowling-pieces dropped running or incoming pheasants, cock and hen alike; or crumpled up some twisting rabbit or knocked a great hare head over heels.

Faster and faster came the terrified wild things, stag, roe, boar, and hare; steadily the German rifles cracked and rattled out death; thicker and swifter pelted the meteor flight of pheasants; birds of all sorts came driving headlong in their flight; big drab-tinted wood-pigeons, a wild duck or two, widgeon and mallard; now and then a woodcock fluttered past like some soft brown bat beating the air; now and then a coq-de-la-bruyere, planing on huge bowed wings above collapsed and fell heavily to the loose roar of the fowling-pieces.

Crippled, mutilated creatures were heaped along the ride; over them leaped their panic-stricken comrades only to stumble in the rifle-fire and lie struggling or inert.

A veil of smoky haze made the carrefour greyer now, through which at intervals a dying stag lifted its long neck from the shambles about him or some strong feathered thing beat its broken wings impotently upon the grass.

Once a great boar charged, and was shot to pieces, spattering the steps of the shrine with blood. Once a wounded hare dragged its tortured body to the shrine, as though for sanctuary. A non-com swung it crashing against the granite cross.

And now a more sinister thing occurred. Out from the forest, amid the stampeding game, reeled a man! His blue smock hung in ribbons; one bleeding fist grasped a rifle; the cartridges en bandoulière glittered.

For a second he stood there, swaying, panting, bewildered in the smoke haze; then three non-coms fired at him at once.

At that he straightened up, stood so for a second as though listening, then he took one uncertain step and pitched into a patch of briers on his face.

Presently some German foot-soldiers appeared in the ride, moving cautiously, scanning every ditch, every hollow, every thicket, their rifles poised for a snap-shot. A roebuck floundered up and went off before them like the wind, unnoticed. Then one of the soldiers fired, and a boy jumped out from behind a hazel bush and started to run along the edge of the woods. He was followed by two sheep dogs.

"Jean Pascal!" said Michaud calmly. "May God pardon him now."

As the little shepherd ran, the soldiers stood and fired at him, aiming carefully. They broke his leg as he passed the carrefour. The lad raised himself from the ground to a sitting position and was sobbing bitterly, when they shot him again. That time he fell over on his side, his hands still covering his dead and tear-wet face. His dogs trotted around him, nuzzling him and licking his hands. An officer shot them both.

Schultz broke cover in a few moments, his rifle at his cheek; and, dropping to one knee in the ride, he coolly opened fire on the officers by the shrine. But he had time only for a single shot which jerked a spiked helmet from a cavalry major's clipped head. Then they knocked him flat.

As the herdsman lay gasping in the roadway with a bullet in his stomach, looking with dull and glazing eyes at the rifle flashes, three men from Yslemont – blackened, haggard, ragged creatures – burst out, fighting like wildcats with the beaters behind them.

Two were bayoneted and clubbed to death in the briers; the last man ran like a crazed hare, doubling, dodging, twisting among the trees where the rifle hail filled the air with twigs and splinters and tattered leaves.

After him lumbered a dozen foot-soldiers, clumping along in their hob-nailed ammunition boots. Then, high above on The Pulpit, Guild spoke sharply to Michaud, who gave a jerk to his white head and made a little gesture to the others behind him.

"Now," added Guild in a low voice.

"Fire," said Michaud calmly.

The rocky glen roared with the volley. The foot-soldiers below halted in astonishment and looked up. One fell sideways against a tree; another dropped to his knees and remained motionless, the spike of his helmet buried deep in the soft earth.

They were shouting down by the carrefour now; clear, mellow whistle signals sounded persistently. Horses were coming, too; the ride reverberated with their galloping. And all the while The Pulpit resounded with the rifle-fire of its little garrison, and soldiers were dropping along the carrefour and the ride.

"Pigs of Prussians!" shouted the old garde-de-chasse; "does a Belgian game-drive suit you now! Ah, scoundrels, bandits, sound the Mort on your imbecile whistles. For the swine of the North are dying fast!"

"Be silent," said Michaud coldly. "You tarnish your own courage!"

Guild and Darrel had taken rifles; they stood firing down at the carrefour where the horses of the Uhlan advanced guard were plunging about in disorder under a confusion of lances and fluttering pennons.

But the confusion lasted only a few moments; horsemen whirled their mounts and cleared out at full speed; the carrefour was empty of officers now; not a German was visible in the early sunshine, only the steady clatter of their rifle-fire continued to pelt the heights where bullets cracked and smacked on the rocks.

"Enough," said Michaud quietly. "It is time to leave. André, bring thou a bar to me."

A charcoal burner ran to the hole in the rocks and drew out a crowbar. Michaud took it, shoved it under the edge of the ledge, found a fulcrum, motioned the men back.

Two other men threw their weight on the bar; the ledge lifted easily. Suddenly the entire parapet gave way, crashing like an avalanche into the glen below.

"They shall need wings who follow us," said the old man grimly. "Monsieur," turning calmly to Guild, "if we cross the Dutch border unarmed, will they interne us?"

"No, I think not."

"And from there we may be free to find our way to the colours?"

"Yes."

"By sea?"

"By land and sea to Dunkirk. I know of no easier or quicker way."

"Monsieur goes with us?"

"First I must stop at Quellenheim." He added, in a low voice: "By mistake my papers were sent there last night. Our King must see those papers."

"Bien," said Michaud. "We bivouac near Quellenheim tonight – time for a crust, Monsieur, while you go to the house and return. Is it agreeable to Monsieur?"

"Perfectly." And, to Darrel: "Take your chance while it remains and join the Courlands when they leave Quellenheim. Will you promise?"

"I'll see," said Darrel, carelessly tossing his rifle across his shoulder and stepping into the silent file of men which was already starting across the ridge.

CHAPTER XXIII

CANDLE LIGHT

It was nearly eleven o'clock at night before they bivouacked without fires in the woods behind the Lodge at Quellenheim.

The circuitous forest route had wearied the men; they threw themselves on the dead leaves and moss; some slept where they lay, others groped in sacks with toil-stiffened fingers searching for crusts, which they munched slowly, half asleep.

Guild drew Darrel and Michaud aside.

"To go by Luxembourg and Holland is too long and too uncertain," he said. "If we could cross the railway beyond Trois Fontaines before daylight we should have a clear country before us to Antwerp."

It had been days since the household at Lesse had heard any war news, but Darrel recollected that there had been rumours of a German drive toward Antwerp.

Michaud nodded. "It is possible," he said. "Brussels they may have taken; I don't know; but Antwerp, never! I know, Monsieur; I served my time with the artillery in the Scheldt forts. No German army could pass the outer ring of fortresses; the country can be flooded. Also our King is there with his Guides and Lancers and Chasseurs-à-cheval; the entire army is there. No, Monsieur, Antwerp is open to us if you desire to take us there."

"I do," said Guild. "It is the better way for all of us if the country still remains clear. It is better for us than to engage in a Chasse aux Uhlans. If I could lead a dozen sturdy recruits into Antwerp it would be worth while. And, except for the post at Trois Fontaines and the troops patrolling the railway, I can not see why the country is not open to us north of Liège."

"I know this country. It is my country," said Michaud, "and troops or no troops I can take you across the railroad before daylight." He shrugged his massive shoulders: "What is a Prussian patrol to a head forester?"

"You believe you can do it?"

"I pledge my honour, Monsieur."

Guild looked at Darrel: "I wish I knew whether there has been a drive toward Antwerp. If there has been it must have come from the sea by Ostend. But I do not believe Ostend has been taken." He turned to Michaud: "If the country is clear, why could we not pick up more men en route? Why should we not recruit in every hamlet, every village?"

"Mon Dieu, Monsieur, if there are hardy companions willing to go with the ragged men of the forest, well and good. Yet I could wish for at least one uniform among us. That represents authority and gives security."

Guild said thoughtfully: "I have an officer's uniform of the Guides among my luggage."

"Lord!" exclaimed Darrel, "you brought it with you?"

"There was to have been a regimental dinner in Brussels in September. I was asked last June, and they requested me to wear uniform. I had my uniform, so I packed it."

"Then it is there in your luggage at Quellenheim!"

"Yes."

"Well," said Darrel heartily, "I'm devilish glad of it. If they catch you in uniform they can't court-martial you with a jerk of their thumbs."

"I'm not worrying about that," said Guild carelessly, "but," looking at Michaud, "if you think a reserve officer in uniform is likely to encourage recruiting, I certainly shall use my uniform. You know your own people better than I do. I leave it to you, Michaud."

"Then, Monsieur, wear your uniform. It means everything to us all; we honour and respect it; it represents authority; better still, it reassures our people. If an officer of the Guides is seen in charge of a batch of recruits, no young man, whose class has been summoned to the colours, would entertain any misgivings. Nor dare anybody hang back! Our women would jeer and ridicule them."

"Very well," said Guild. "Now take me as far as the wood's edge where I can see the house at Quellenheim. Wait for me there and guide me back here, for I never could find this dark bivouac alone."

"Follow, Monsieur," said the old man simply.

In single file the three men moved forward through the darkness, Michaud leading without hesitation, Guild following close, and Darrel bringing up the rear.

In a few minutes the bluish lustre of the stars broke through the forest's edge. An overgrown ride ran westward; beyond, the highway from Trois Fontaines bisected it; and out of this curved the Lodge road.

It was dark and deserted; and when Guild came in sight of the Lodge, that, too, was dark.

Up the long avenue he hastened to the house; the fountain splashed monotonously in the star-light; the circle of tall trees looked down mournfully; the high planets twinkled.

He walked around the house, hoping to find a light in the kitchen. All was black, silent, and wrapped in profoundest shadow.

He picked up a few pebbles from the driveway, counted the windows until he was certain which one was Karen's. Her window was open. He tossed a pebble against it; and then another into the room itself.

Suddenly the girl appeared at the window.

"Karen!" he called. She leaned out swiftly, her braided hair falling to the sill.

"Kervyn!" she whispered.

"Dear, I've only a moment. Could you come down and let me in without waking the others?"

"The others? Kervyn, they have gone!"

"Gone!"

"Everybody's gone! A patrol of hussars galloped here from Trois Fontaines and ordered them across the Dutch frontier. I felt dreadfully; but there was nothing to do. So poor Mrs. Courland and her daughter and her servants have gone on toward Luxembourg with all their luggage. I'm here alone with the Frau Förster. Shall I let you in?"

"Did my luggage go to Luxembourg?"

"No; it is in the room you occupied."

"Then come down quickly and let me in," he said. "If there are German patrols abroad I don't care to be caught here."

The girl disappeared; Guild went to the front door and stood looking down the driveway and listening to catch any warning sound.

The next moment the door behind him opened and Karen's trembling hands were in his.

He gazed down into the pale face framed by its heavy braids. In her slim nightdress and silken chamber robe she appeared very girlish.

"What has happened, Kervyn? Your clothes are torn and muddy and you look dreadfully white and tired."

"Karen, they burned Lesse this morning."

"Oh!" she gasped.

"Everything at Lesse is in ashes. Some of the men are dead. The survivors are in the woods behind your house waiting for me."

She clung to his arm as they entered the house; Guild picked up one of the lighted candles from the oak table. She took the other and they ascended the stairs together.

"There was sniping," he said. "That always brings punishment to innocent and guilty alike. Lesse is a heap of cinders; they drove the forest and shot the driven game from the steps of the carrefour shrine. Men fell there, too, under their rifles – the herdsman, Schultz, the Yslemont men, the little shepherd lad with both his dogs. When their bearers came our way we fired on them."

"You! Oh, Kervyn! It means death if they find you!"

"I shall not be found." He took her by the hands a moment, smiled at her, then turned swiftly and entered his room holding the candle above his head.

After his door had remained closed for a few moments she knocked.

"Kervyn," she called, "I am frightened and I am going to dress."

"No need of that," came his voice; "I shall be gone in five minutes."

But she went away with her lighted candle and entered her room. The travelling gown she wore from England lay ready; boots, spats, and waist.

Swiftly she unbraided and shook out her hair and twisted it up again, her slim fingers flying. A sense of impending danger seized and possessed her; almost feverishly she flung from her the frail night garments she wore, and dressed with ever-increasing fear of something indefinitely menacing but instant. What it might be she did not even try to formulate in thought; but it frightened her, and it seemed very, very near.

She dragged on her brown velvet hat and pinned it, and at the same moment she heard a sound in the hallway which almost stopped her heart.

It was the ringing step of a spurred boot.

Terrified, she crept to her door, listened, opened a little way. Near the stair-head a candle shone, its yellow light glimmering on the wall of the passage. Then she heard Guild's guarded voice:

"Karen?"

"Y-yes," she faltered in amazement as a tall figure turned toward her clothed in the complete uniform of the Guides.

"Kervyn! Is it you? Why are you in that uniform?" She came toward him slowly, her knees still tremulous from fear, and rested one hand on his arm.

"Dearest, dearest," he said gently, "why are you trembling? There is no reason for fear. I am in uniform because I shall attempt to take a few recruits and volunteers across the railway line tonight. We are going to try to make Antwerp, which is a quicker, and I think a surer, route than through Luxembourg and Holland. Besides, they might interne us. They would without a doubt if I were in uniform and if the Lesse men came to the frontier with their guns and bandoulières."

"Kervyn, how can you get to Antwerp? You can't walk, dear!"

"We'll start on foot, anyway," he said cheerfully. "Now I must go. They're waiting. Why did you dress, Karen?"

"I don't know." She looked up at him in a dazed way. "I wanted to be with you."

"I'm going back to the forest, dear."

"Could I come?"

"No. I don't want you to be out at night. There's only a fireless camp there and a dozen ragged and dirty men. Besides, there might be some sort of trouble."

"Trouble?"

"Not likely. Still there might be patrols out from Trois Fontaines, even from Lesse. I don't know. Michaud says he can take us across the railway line before daylight. If he can do that I think we shall find the country clear beyond. Anyway, we'll know soon. Now I must say good-bye."

She laid her cold hands in his, tried to speak, but could not. Then, of a sudden, her fingers gripped his in terror; there came the rushing swish of an automobile around the gravel circle outside, a loud resonant humming, a sharp voice speaking in German, a quick reply in the same tongue.

"The – the valet's room. Quick!" she gasped, pushing him backward across the room and through the doorway. Behind him the swinging leather door closed silently again; the girl stood rigid, white as a sheet, then she walked to the oak table, picked up a book, and dropped into the depths of a leather arm-chair.

Outside the mellow whirr of the motor had ceased; the door of the car closed with a click; quick, firm steps ascended the path; there came a low jingling sound, the clash of metal, then a key was rattled in the outer lock, turned sharply, and the door creaked open.

Karen rose to her feet. Every atom of colour had fled her cheeks.

"Karen!"

"You?" she said in a ghost of her own voice.

Kurt von Reiter seemed astonished. He came forward very quickly, a tall, thin, faultless figure moulded perfectly into his tight sea-grey uniform. Bending only a very little from the waist as though too tightly buttoned in, he bowed above the icy hand she extended, paid his respects with flawless courtesy, straightened up, placed his shrouded spiked helmet on the table.

"I had scarcely expected to find you awake," he said. "It is after two o'clock in the morning."

She made a supreme effort at self-control.

"I have been a trifle nervous, Kurt. There was trouble at Lesse Forest last evening."

"Yes. Who told you?"

"I was there."

"At Lesse!"

"Yes, a guest of Mrs. Courland – an American lady."

"I know about her. She is a friend of Mr. Guild."

Karen nodded; a painful and fixed smile quivered in her colourless lips.

"Was Mr. Guild there also?" inquired von Reiter.

"Yes."

"He left with the others, I suppose."

She said: "Everybody was in a panic. I invited them to come here, but a patrol from Trois Fontaines galloped up and ordered them to go through Luxembourg – across the Dutch frontier. It seemed very harsh."

The girl had seated herself again; von Reiter drew up a chair beside the table opposite her and sat down. Candle light played over his dry, sandy-blond face and set his blue eyes glittering.

"Are you well, Karen?"

"Quite, thank you. And you?"

"God be thanked, in perfect health." He did not mention three broken ribs still bandaged and which had interfered with the perfectly ceremonious bow of a German officer.

He said: "I took this opportunity to come. It was my first chance to see you. Been travelling since noon."

"You – remain tonight?"

"I can not. I came for one reason only. You know what it is, Karen."

She did not answer.

He waited a moment, looked absently around the room, glanced up at the stag's antlers, then his gaze returned to her.

"Were you much frightened by what happened at Lesse?" he asked. "You do not look well."

"I am well."

"Did you experience any trouble in leaving England?"

"Yes, some."

"And Mr. Guild? Was he – useful?"

"Yes."

Von Reiter gazed at the girl thoughtfully. One elbow rested on the table corner, the clenched fist supporting his chin. In the other hand he continued to crumple his gloves between lean, powerful, immaculate fingers.

"Karen," he said, "did you bring with you whatever papers you happened to possess at the time?"

After a moment the girl answered in a low voice: "No."

"Did you destroy them?"