CHAPTER XII BUCK TAKES HIS LIFE IN HIS HANDS

Black night had already fallen, blotting out sight of all lower landmarks, and the Airship Boys had only their maps and instruments by which to guide their path. But, as had been before proved, those were ample for the purpose.

The young aeronauts were unable to tell just when they passed over the long zig-zagging double line of trenches, which marked where the hostile armies crouched, menacing each other, because all camp fires were blanketed there. Experience in the early days of the war had taught both Germans and Allies that a shining camp fire is an excellent mark for bombs from any prowling aviator overhead.

Several villages sparsely lighted, and several cities with all lights extinguished, were passed over before the _Flyer_ reached a point where the boys knew that Muhlbruck must lie very nearly below them. They planed down gently, found no place adequate for a safe landing, and finally were forced to circle uncertainly there in mid-air, straining their eyes down into the gloom below. They did not dare to investigate the lie of the land with their searchlights, as that would instantly have betrayed their presence to everyone within miles of the spot.

At last Alan observed a comparatively open and flat stretch of ground, and they decided to take a chance on it. Fortunately it proved to afford a better landing area than had been apparent from above, and the _Ocean Flyer_ was once more brought to rest on firm ground.

The boys instantly discovered that they were in a large farmyard, with a broad, dusty highway on the one side and a small unlighted cottage near by. They were afraid at first that the inhabitants, if there were any, had observed their approach and had slipped away to give warning.

Further examination of the premises showed this dread to be groundless, however. As they stealthily tiptoed around the cottage, the boys could plainly see that war had long since passed that way and driven off its occupants. The walls were charred with fire, half of the straw-thatched roof had fallen in and the door swung crazily askew on one hinge.

Investigation on the inside made clear that whoever the owners were, they had left in great haste. Furniture was broken and overturned; linen, bed-clothes and wearing apparel lay scattered all over the floor. One wall was riddled with bullets.

Stooping, Buck gave vent to a pleased exclamation. He had found enough old clothes out of which to disguise himself completely as a Belgian peasant. Even the clumsy wooden shoes were unearthed from one corner of the room.

“This simplifies everything,” he cried to Alan. “I’ll put these things on right now and be off into town to see how things are. Unless I’m much mistaken, this road beside us is the main highway into Muhlbruck, which itself can’t be much more than a mile away if those maps of ours are correct.

“In the meantime, you and Ned can wait here for me. If I’m still alive and at liberty, I’ll be back here by sun-up sure. If I don’t show up by then, you can rest assured that something unforeseen has happened to detain me. In case anyone comes snooping around here while I am gone, you boys had better go aloft in the _Flyer_ and return here again for me to-morrow night. But be sure and wait here until daylight for me, unless you are discovered.”

This plan was about the best that any of the boys could suggest, so Buck donned the old clothes he had found, dirtied his face with dust from the roadway and bade his chums good-bye cheerfully. They stared regretfully after his retreating figure in the gloom.

“If anything happens to him, I never shall forgive myself,” said Ned.

Alan laughed in a brave attempt to seem lighter-hearted than he was.

“If anybody can come through this stunt safely, it’s Buck Stewart,” he said. “Mark my words, he’ll be back here chipper as a sparrow by sunrise, with a full plan of how and when we are to rescue Bob.”

“I certainly hope so,” muttered Ned, doubtfully.

Meanwhile, Buck was striding rapidly along the road into town, with his cap pulled low over his eyes and his right hand nursing the handle of a big revolver in his hip pocket. He skulked mostly along the side of the way, where the black shadows from the hedges tended to conceal him. His eyes kept shifting warily from left to right and his ears were strained to catch any sound that might warn him of other prowlers on the road.

Frequently he passed wayside graves--sometimes a single mound of earth; at other times a number of them side by side. Every somber mound of earth was marked by a wooden cross, on the apex of many of which the fallen soldier’s hat was hung. Buck noticed that in many cases, the rough cap of a French infantryman hung side by side with battered German helmets. The German army does everything neatly, thoroughly. Whenever there is time it buries the fallen enemy as well as its own dead.

By and by little gloomy houses began to appear straggling along the wayside and Buck knew then that he was in the outskirts of the town. No lights were shown in any of the windows. Not a cow lowed, nor dog barked. The hush of either dread or desertion seemed heavy in the dark night air.

Buck had not gone much farther when he was startled by a sharp:

“_Wer geht da?_” (Who goes there?) as a stalwart, gray-cloaked sentry stepped out from the shadows of the roadside, with leveled and bayoneted musket.

“_Ein Freund, ein armer Landsmann, Excellenz_,” (a friend, a poor farmer, your excellency) answered Buck, gripping his revolver firmly.

“Stand out in the middle of the road where I can see you more plainly in the moonlight,” gruffly ordered the sentinel, poking at the seeming peasant with his sharp bayonet.

Buck obeyed him, feigning great humility. There was nothing suspicious to the German in his appearance, but--

“What are you doing out so late and alone on the highroad here?” demanded the sentry.

“Excellency, three weeks ago I had a home--such a nice cozy little place!--down the road a mile or so. I ran away into Muhlbruck when your army marched past on the road to Paris, and to-day I went back to see if there was anything left for me.”

“And did you find anything, _Landsmann_?”

“No, excellency. The place was swept clean; even the nice little cottage was half torn down.”

The burly German guffawed, as if at a huge joke.

“Now I know that you are telling me the truth, fellow,” he said. “I know your place well. Why, I myself helped burst in the door you locked so carefully on leaving. But you don’t bear me any ill-will for that, do you, now?”

“No, excellency.”

“You had better not,” growled the sentry. “Pass on and don’t let me catch you prowling around here any more of nights. I have orders to shoot anybody whose looks I don’t like.”

“Yes, excellency, I will remember,” said the seeming peasant, and slunk away in the direction of the town.