Part 9

"Oh, that's all right. I can stick it out. I rather fancy our German friend feels worse. It must be horribly galling to his nobility. What's his name'?"

The German was sitting apart, moodily gnawing his moustache. Burton went over to him, loosed his hands, and offered him a sandwich and his flask. The former he accepted with a sort of unwilling graciousness; the latter he declined.

"Your visky I drink not; I haf in my own flask goot German vine. You permit me?" he asked, ironically.

"Of course. It isn't whisky, by the way. May I ask your name?"

"It is Captain von Hildenheim. I am not pleased. Zis is not ze handling zat is vorth a German officer. Vunce more--

"Sorry. We can't have it all over again. You must make the best of it. It won't be for long."

"No, zat is true; it vill not be for long," returned the German with a slight smile.

"He evidently thinks we shall be collared to-night or to-morrow," said Burton, when, having bound his prisoner again, he returned to Enderby. "Have you got a cigarette in your case? Mine's empty."

He sat by his friend, smoking in silence, meditating as he watched the wreaths mingling with the mist in the growing darkness. Presently he got up, and went to the spot where the Serbs were grouped. Young Marco, wrapped in a rug, was already asleep on the cart.

"What about this tower?" he asked the grandfather. "How is it placed? What is its strength and its state of repair? I don't ask idly; an idea occurred to me just now."

"I know it well," answered the old man. "Twenty years ago I held it during a Bulgar comitadji raid. It stands on a spur on the hill-top. The track passes not far beneath it. On two sides the ground forms a sort of glacis. The tower is solidly built of stone; it has two storeys. What is its condition, Milosh Nikovich? It is twenty years since I was there."

"It is strong and sound, Marco Kralevich, except inside. They took me only into the lower room. The woodwork was rotted away, or perhaps some of it has been removed."

"Yes, it may be so. In the last war the Greeks held it for a time against the Turks. The place is well chosen for a watch-tower. From the top you see for many miles, most freely towards the north-east, whence we have come; less freely, but still a great way, towards the south-west, in which direction the British Army is retreating, monsieur. Tchk! Why did not your country and France allow us to fall on the Bulgars before they were ready? Serbia pays a heavy price."

Burton felt he had nothing to say to this, and after a few condoling words returned to his place by Enderby's side. The information he had gathered had caused his half-formed idea to crystallise.

"I say!" he began, seating himself on the edge of the cart.

"Say on," returned Enderby, smiling at his friend's solemn face.

"Well, there are only ten or eleven in the tower above there."

"What is the precise force of your adverb?"

"What adverb? Oh, 'only.' Well, ten or eleven's not a great crowd. There are four of us, without counting you and the woman----"

"Three men and a boy! We'll assume for the moment that one Englishman is worth four of any other nation; but are your two and a half Serbs equal to the other six or seven? Of course I see what you are driving at."

"Well, isn't it worth trying? There's no doubt that a Bulgarian column intends to cut off our men's retreat, and if we could seize the tower, and hold them up even for an hour or two, it might make all the difference."

"But they're in possession; and remember, the attack needs more men than the defence. The odds are dead against you, Ted."

"Not altogether. You must allow for the darkness, surprise, and the cocksureness of the enemy. Didn't a corporal carry off twelve prisoners single-handed at Loos the other day? With a little luck----"

"We've a way of assuming that the luck is going to be on our side! Well, see what the old Serb says. I must be out of it, unfortunately; but you needn't consider me."

"That's very good of you, but, of course, I do consider you. If it wasn't for you I'd not hesitate a moment."

"Don't let that trouble you. At the worst they'll only collar me. The risks will be wholly yours."

Burton returned to the Serbs, sat down beside them, and talked to them until the dusk had deepened into night.

The upshot of their conversation was presently disclosed. While young Marco was thoroughly greasing the axle-trees, Burton inflicted a still deeper wound on the dignity of Captain von Hildenheim by gagging him. Milosh was already in possession of his revolver.

Then the little party started quietly on the upward track.

A cold wind had set in from the north-east, dispersing the mist, and carrying with it an occasional shower of powdery snow. Except during these brief showers the sky was clear and brilliant with starlight. A glance behind showed the red camp-fires of the enemy far in the plain below. Ahead, the tower, when they caught sight of it, loomed black like a sentinel against the indigo background. A faint glow shone from one of its shutterless windows, half-way up the wall.

The track was so well shadowed by its rocky banks that there was little risk of the party being seen. Yet, when they were still some distance from the tower, Burton deemed it prudent to call a halt. There was a whispered consultation, then Milosh went forward alone to reconnoitre.

Creeping up with every precaution, eyes and ears alert, he came within sight of a low wall some forty or fifty paces from the tower, pierced by a single aperture where at one time had been a gate. This wall shut off the tower and the crag on which it stood from the narrow bridle-path that mounted the hill to the north, and fell away to the south towards the valley.

In the gap in the wall a sentry stood, finding such shelter from the biting wind as the thickness of the stonework afforded. He blew upon his hands, stamped his feet, murmured his discomfort. At one moment he took out a watch, and seemed to caress it with his fingers. He did not lift it towards his eyes; he could not have seen the time in the starlight; and the shiver which visibly shook him as he returned it to his pocket was the shudder of physical cold; he had forgotten the ruthless butchery of the Serb who had, not long before, been the owner of the watch.

All was quiet around. Only the feeble ray high up in the tower showed that the place was occupied. The sentry's faculties were numbed by the cold, or he might have noticed that the even contour of the wall, some few paces from him to the north, was broken by a dark protuberance which had not been there in daylight. It might have been a buttress, except that there were no buttresses on the outside of the wall. Astonished as he must have been if he had observed it, he would have been still more amazed had he been tramping his beat before the gate instead of cowering from the icy blast. For the dark shape moved, imperceptibly, like the hour hand of a clock, yet surely, and always towards him.

Within two paces of the gateway it suddenly stopped. The line of the wall was no longer broken. There was nothing now for the sentry to see.

A few minutes passed. The sentry muttered, growled, stamped on the ground. After all, he could not keep warm. He had sheltered his nose and ears at the expense of his feet. Only movement could restore the circulation of those chilled members. He picked up his rifle, came out through the gateway, swung round to the right, and tramped along close to the wall.

No sooner was his back turned than the dark shape that had remained motionless at the foot of the wall glided swiftly up to and into the gateway. The sentry turned at the end of his beat, and butted with quick step against the bitter wind, approaching the gateway--and his doom. He had just passed the opening when a few inches of steel glinted in the starlight. There was a stifled groan, a sigh. The rightful owner of the watch was avenged.

Three minutes later Milosh rejoined the little group that was waiting a couple of hundred yards below.

"Well?" old Marco inquired in a whisper.

"It is well, old friend. The way is clear."

V

During the scout's absence, Burton had become acutely conscious of the bruises which he had almost forgotten. He dreaded lest his aching body should not be equal to the strain of a fight against odds. But he resolutely turned his mind from his own condition, and set himself to concert a plan of action with old Marco and Captain Enderby.

They decided that while the attack was proceeding Nuta should remain with the cart. If it succeeded, she would be brought up to the tower; if it failed, and the enemy made their appearance, the possession of Captain von Hildenheim should serve as security for the safety of herself and Enderby. A threat to shoot him would no doubt induce his party to come to terms. The expression on the woman's face as she took Enderby's revolver was sufficient guarantee that she would not fail in the part assigned to her.

Five minutes after the return of Milosh the little party set off on their adventurous enterprise.

"Good luck, old man!" said Enderby, as Burton took his leave. "Sorry I can't be with you, but we'll meet again before long."

They stole up the road in single file, Milosh leading, followed by old Marco, Burton, and the boy in succession. Reaching the wall, they crept along its shadow to the gateway, noiselessly entered the enclosure, and, after a swift glance around, sped towards the tower. The clank of bridles and the pawing of hoofs did not alarm them; Milosh had already explained that the horses had been placed in the large chamber that formed the ground floor. To this there was no longer a door, but through the vacant doorway came a faint glint of light.

At the entrance they halted, and peered in. Ranged along the wall to the right stood the horses, which, scenting strangers, moved restlessly. In the left corner the rays of a lamp fell through an open trap-door above, lighting a rough wooden staircase. From the upper room came the sound of voices mingled with snores. At the uneasy movements of the horses the conversation ceased for a moment. A head appeared at the edge of the trap-door, and a rough voice ordered the animals to be quiet, as one might tell a dog to "lie down." Another voice from behind sleepily asked a question. The first man replied, and withdrew from the opening. Then the low-toned conversation was resumed.

There being but one entrance to the tower, and but one gateway in the wall, the single sentry whom Milosh had disposed of had no doubt been considered a sufficient guard; but old Marco had decided, leaving nothing to chance, to post his grandson at the doorway, to keep watch outside and give the alarm if any sudden interference should threaten. The boy grasped manfully the revolver given him, and stood against the wall out of the ray of light.

The others slipped silently across the room to the staircase. At its foot they halted a moment, looking up towards the trap-door. The staircase was clearly a rickety affair. Some of the treads were missing; the handrail and balusters which had formerly edged it on the outer side were now wholly removed. Signing to his companions to move carefully, Milosh began to ascend.

At his first step there was an ominous creak, masked, however, by a renewed stir among the horses. The old Serb and Burton followed in turn, treading as lightly as they could. Milosh was half-way up when, stepping over a gap, his foot came down heavily on the stair above, and the timber emitted a loud groan. The voices above ceased; then a gruff voice in the Bulgarian tongue muttered: "What was that?" Milosh hurried his ascent. A shadow fell on the men below him; something had moved at the edge of the trap-door. A cry of alarm ended in an inarticulate gasp; for the second time that night a Serbian knife had taken toll of the national enemy.

There was a loud shout from behind the fallen man, followed by confused cries from the awakened sleepers. Regardless now of any noise they might make the three men sprang up the remaining stairs. A shot rang out as Milosh flung himself into the room, with Marco close behind him, and when Burton stood upon the floor, he found himself in the thick of a furious _melee_ that gave him no time to take in the scene.

Of the men in that upper room, only two had been awake--the Bulgarian officer and one of the troopers. When their conversation was interrupted by the sounds from below, the trooper had leant over to see what was happening. It was he that had fallen to Milosh's knife. The shot had been fired by the officer, and the other men, aroused by the noise, had disengaged themselves from the horse rugs beneath which they had been sleeping, and were now crowding in confusion to repel the unexpected attack. Only half awake, some of them had not even seized their arms. Behind them towered the bulky form of the second German officer who had led them earlier in the day. He alone had his wits about him. Shouting orders and curses, he threw a swift glance at the three intruders, then sprang to the lamp hanging from a bracket on the wall, and dashed it to the floor.

But this move, upon which he had calculated to assist the defence, giving the men time to collect their sleep-dulled senses and regain the advantage of numbers, turned in fact to their undoing. The darkness lasted only an instant. Then Burton whipped out his electric torch. The lamp had illuminated both parties alike; but now the electric beam dazzled the eyes of the Bulgarians while leaving their assailants dim and indistinct.

Burton could never afterwards clearly recall the incidents of the fight. The hollow tower rang with shots, fierce shouts, and even more significant cries. His one abiding impression was the Berserker fury of old Marco. With knife in one hand and revolver in the other, the Serb flung himself upon the foes, his stalwart form seeming to be everywhere at once. Even his heroic ancestor could never have disposed of more of the traditional enemy in equal time. Milosh fought with the fury generated by his recent wrongs, accompanying every knife-thrust with a yell of triumph. Some of the Bulgars threw themselves down, and tried to crawl towards the trap-door. But Burton, holding his ground there, cut off their escape, and while his torch lit up the scene for his friends, he assisted them with his revolver whenever he could do so without risk to them.

Long as it appeared to those engaged in it, the struggle was in reality a short one. Taken unawares, the Bulgars were no match for their assailants, nerved by desperate necessity. At the last, when the din had somewhat diminished, Burton staggered under the impact of a large form, and saved himself from being hurled down the staircase only by a stiffening of the muscles and a dexterous back-throw over his thrust-out knee. He stooped and grappled his fallen assailant.

"I surrender!" gurgled a panting voice in German.

The officer's revolver had slipped from his grasp at the moment when, tripping over one of the Bulgars, he lurched against Burton. The latter kicked it down the staircase. There was silence now in the upper room. Burton flashed his torch around it. Marco and Milosh stood panting above their prostrate foes. It seemed that of all the party only the German officer was left alive. But the electric beam fell on one shivering wretch cowering behind a trestle table in the far corner. Milosh instantly dashed towards him, and Burton had much ado to persuade the infuriated Serb that, the officer having surrendered, the fight was now at an end. Old Marco had sunk to the floor, exhausted by his efforts and his wounds, unheeded in the heat of the strife. The silence was broken only by the champing and pawing of the frightened horses below.

Burton was tying up the prisoners, Milosh was collecting the arms of the slain, when old Marco suddenly exclaimed--

"Monsieur, there are only eight!"

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a shot rang out below, and the boy's voice shouted an alarm. Leaving the others to complete his work, Burton dashed down the staircase to the doorway, just in time to see two men sprinting along beyond the wall in the direction of the waiting cart. Young Marco babbled an explanation of their presence excitedly in his own tongue, but Burton could not wait for explanations; it was enough that two of the enemy's party had been outside the tower, probably _en vedette_ to the south, and were now speeding towards the north and their main body. No doubt they had heard the uproar, guessed what had happened, and run off to carry the news.

Burton at once dashed after them, anxious about the safety of his friends at the cart, even more than about the peril of the whole party if the enemy's march should be hastened. Young Marco flew along at his heels. But the fugitives had had too long a start. Even the beam of the torch failed to discover them. Immediately after the torch flashed there was the report of a revolver, and Burton ran at break-neck pace down the rugged track. He came to the cart.

"Gone away!" cried Enderby.

"You're not hurt?"

"It was Nuta's revolver. We heard some one coming, but didn't know whether friend or foe until you flashed your torch. Then I guessed. But two men were just on us then; they swerved to avoid the cart, and dashed away beyond us there. The woman was quick, but it was too dark to aim, and I'm afraid they've both got clear."

"That's a pity. They'll report that we've got the tower, and the Bulgars may swarm up in an hour or two. We must get you out of harm's way."

He made signs to Marco that he wished the cart to be driven up at once. The boy whipped up the oxen, and the vehicle lumbered away with Hildenheim trudging disconsolately behind. At the gate in the wall they met old Marco.

"Let the woman and the boy go on with your wounded friend," he said to Burton. "They cannot help us; why should we endanger them? Moreover, they would then save the goods in my cart."

"As you please," said Burton. "But you yourself will hold to your agreement, and help us to check the enemy as long as we can?"

"Assuredly, and Milosh Nikovich will remain with me."

But when the matter was put to Nuta, she resolutely refused to leave the old man.

"It is well, my daughter," he said, laying his hand on her shoulder. "We will live or die together."

This being decided, they resolved to utilise the cart in the defence of the position. The more valuable parts of its load were removed, together with the British machine-gun, and carried into the tower. The cart was then drawn across the gateway to block it up, and the oxen were taken some distance away to the south, and tethered in a bush-covered dell. Meanwhile Milosh had cleared the upper room, and made some effort to obliterate the traces of the fray. There the party took up their quarters. They were all utterly weary. It was perhaps unlikely that the enemy would arrive before the morning, but Burton and the two Serbs arranged to take turns at watching through the night. What preparations could be made to meet an attack must be left until at least a partial rest had restored their exhausted energies.

VI

There was little conversation during the night. Every member of the party was so fatigued that, when not on watch, he slept heavily. Enderby alone was wakeful, from the pain of his wounds, and he addressed Burton only in occasional whispers, lest Hildenheim should overhear him. The two German officers conversed in their own tongue, pitching their voices low; but neither of the Englishmen understood German. At intervals the distant boom of heavy guns indicated that a night attack was in progress somewhere to the east.

Before daybreak Burton roused his companions. It was necessary to lay their plans in readiness for the expected advance of the Bulgarian troops. In company with old Marco, Burton took stock of their resources. They had the weapons of their enemies--ten rifles with about two thousand rounds of ammunition, three revolvers with thirty rounds apiece, their own machine-gun with three ammunition belts. There was a plentiful supply of provisions, but little fodder for the horses. Burton was tempted to make good their escape while there was yet time; but after a few moments' reflection he reverted to his purpose of delaying the enemy's advance to the last minute of endurance. The tower, commanding the narrow track, offered great advantages to the defence; and guessing that the Bulgars' advance guard would consist of cavalry unprovided with artillery, he hoped to be able to hold his own until help arrived.

The first necessity was to inform the British general of the anticipated flank attack.

"Your grandson can ride a horse?" he asked old Marco.

"Tchk! The boy sat a horse as soon as he could walk," replied the old man, with a laugh.

"Then I want to send him with a note to our men. Will you instruct him?"

He wrote in his pocket-book a note explaining that Captain Enderby, wounded, with himself and two Serbians, both slightly wounded, were holding a tower in the hills some ten miles south of Strumitza. They expected to be attacked by a Bulgarian column moving south-west across the hills to cut the British line of retreat, and would hold out as long as possible. Their greatest need, if attacked in force, would be ammunition; and he pointed out that the position would be hopeless against artillery. Tearing the leaf out, he folded it, addressed it to "Any British Officer," and gave it to Marco, who tucked it inside his tunic. As soon as dawn glimmered the boy mounted one of the horses and set off, disappearing into the mist.

"We had better take the horses out," Burton suggested. "They will only hamper us here; besides, we may as well keep them alive if we can."

On old Marco agreeing, Milosh led the horses to the dell where the oxen had been tethered overnight, tied them together, and hobbled them to heavy fragments of rock. Meanwhile the others strengthened the cart barricade, blocked up the entrance to the tower with stones, broken timber, and other rubbish, and placed the machine-gun at a narrow window commanding the track. Then Burton climbed the ladder leading to the top of the tower, to examine the country through his glasses; but the heavy white mist hid everything from view. Guns boomed incessantly; the sounds were little louder than they had been in the night. It was clear that the British retirement was being conducted without hurry.

When he came down he found that Nuta had got ready a meal for his party and the three prisoners. With these latter, since his arrival at the tower, he had had no conversation. Now, however, Captain von Hildenheim addressed him.

"Major Schwartzkopf demands to know vat you do," he said. "Ze major shpeak no English."

Burton glanced at the elder German, who stared at him with mingled insolence and sullenness.

"Tell him that I hope before the day is out to hand him over to the British provost-marshal," he said.

Hildenheim translated. The major gurgled out a rapid sentence.

"You mistake," Hildenheim went on. "Major Schwartzkopf vish to know vat you do here."

"That is my business. If the major has patience he will see."

The Germans talked together, and Burton gathered from their smiles that they supposed him ignorant of the Bulgarian advance, and flattered themselves that the tables would soon be turned on him.

When breakfast was finished, Marco asked Burton to accompany him to the chamber below.

"Twenty years ago," he said, "when I was here, we kept a few prisoners in a cellar below the floor. Shall we not place our prisoners there now, for safety's sake?"

"Let us have a look at it," Burton returned.