CHAPTER XIII “TO BE SHOT AT SUNRISE!

The streets of the town were unlighted, but several houses on the public square showed illumination through lowered window shades. There were no citizens to be seen, and very few soldiers about. In front of the Hotel de Ville (townhall) a sentry paced restlessly to and fro on duty, with a musket laid across his arm. He took no notice of the dirty peasant stalking past.

Buck made it his first business to locate the civic prison where he knew that Bob would be confined. This he found not far from the main thoroughfare of the town, a massive, square, gray-stone building, with iron doors and many little grated windows high up on the walls. A sentry-box beside the door was occupied, so Buck spent no time loitering around there. He made his way back to the public square in search of an inn where he might sit down, and while eating inquire casually about news in general and the trials of war prisoners in particular. He felt pretty sure that the down-trodden Belgians present were sullen and discontented under the iron German rule, and would be willing to discuss almost any topic relative to the oppressions.

The first tavern to which Buck came was large and pretentious; evidently the main hostelry of the city. Even at this late hour people were passing in and out of the big entrance. The disguised boy noted, however, that many of these guests were German officers, and rightly guessed that this being the chief inn of the city, it would be most largely patronized by the conquerors, so he passed on in search of some less popular place.

A little farther on down the street he came upon a smaller, more dingy-looking public house, with apparently less revelry going on inside. Buck determined to take a chance here, and, pulling his disreputable cap lower over his eyes, pulled open the door and slouched in.

He found himself in a small, low-ceilinged room, the walls and oaken rafters of which were dirty and smoked black by the huge open fireplace at one end. Rickety little wooden tables stood here and there, none too clean nor inviting. A doorway at the far end of the room led out into the kitchens, from which a vile odor of cabbage and onions penetrated.

There were only a few people present, and they appeared to be merely scared townsfolk. Buck dropped into a chair at one of the greasy tables, and a slatternly servant-maid took his order for something to eat.

While she was serving him a little later on, she said:

“I do not recognize you as one of our regular customers, goodman. Are you a stranger in Muhlbruck?”

“Yes,” replied Buck, “I was a farmer near Dinant before this war broke out, but since then--well, you know how it is!”

“We here in Muhlbruck should know if anybody does,” grumbled the girl. “The Germans have overrun the town, taken all the best for themselves, half of the time without paying for it, and treat us honest people as if we were born their servants. Now, old General Haberkampf, who is in command of the division stationed here, is throwing all of our best citizens into prison on trumped-up charges of one kind or another.”

“Ah!” said Buck. “Is he doing such an outrageous thing as that? But then, maybe he thinks that they are playing him double--are spies, in other words.”

“Bah! Spies nothing!” exclaimed the girl indignantly. “That is an old yarn! There is that young American newspaper correspondent now! The Germans have thrown him into prison too and claim that papers were found upon him. And now they are going to shoot him at sunrise to-morrow.”

“_To shoot him at sunrise?_” ejaculated Buck, with difficulty restraining himself from showing his agitation. “Surely you cannot mean that!”

“Oh, but I do,” replied the girl. “They tried him before a military tribunal in the Hotel de Ville this afternoon. No outsiders were admitted, and that beast of a General Haberkampf wastes no time in carrying out his decisions. The poor young man will be taken out and shot at sunrise in the fields just west of the town. That is where all these ‘acts of justice’ have been taking place since the terrible Germans came to Muhlbruck.

“They back the condemned man up against the remaining wall of the old church there; the firing squad stands off at a distance of thirty paces; ‘Ready! Aim! Fire!’ says the corporal in charge, and pouff! another life is snuffed out.”

Buck was horror-stricken at the terrible fate that threatened his old friend within less than three or four hours. Almost the Airship Boys had come too late, and even now it was a question whether or not he could get back to the airship and make plans for a rescue in time to save him.

Buck easily recalled the place set for the execution. He had passed it not a hundred yards from the highroad, about a quarter of a mile from town.

His brain was in a whirl. He was unable to formulate any practicable scheme of effecting the rescue. The sun at that time of year rose about five o’clock, or five-thirty at the latest. All preparations must be made before then.

Paying his bill at the inn, Buck hurried out into the damp night air again and set out for the place where he had left his comrades. Once clear of the town, he broke into a run. Approaching the vicinity of the sentinel who had challenged him on his way in about an hour before, the reporter made a wide detour through the dew-wet fields to the left of the road. He got by that danger point in safety, struck the highway again and resumed his breathless race against time.

Finally, panting with his exertions and bathed in perspiration, he arrived at the peasant’s ruined hut and saw the vast black shape of the _Ocean Flyer_ looming up behind it. Then something icy cold and round was suddenly pressed against the back of his neck, strong arms pinioned his arms to his sides, and a voice said sternly in English:

“Not so fast there! One outcry and you are a dead man. Where do you think you are going?”

“Alan!” breathed Buck in relief. “Don’t shoot! It is I--Buck Stewart--with news of Bob.”

“Hurrah!” cried Alan. “Come along over to the _Flyer_ where Ned is anxiously waiting. You are back sooner than we expected.”

It did not take Buck long to tell his story.

“Now,” said he, “what’s to be done? We have less than three hours left to do it if ever we want to see Bob alive again.”

Half a dozen wild plans were suggested and discarded as quickly. Finally it was resourceful Ned who said:

“Let’s work it this way, boys. You, Buck, will have to go back afoot to the ruined church where the execution is to be, and wait there until the firing squad arrives with Bob at sunrise. Hide behind the wall against which they back him up to be shot, and then, when they are pacing off the firing distance, jump out, cut his bonds and run around to the other side of the wall again with him. With a couple of loaded revolvers in each of your hands and one of you at each end of the wall, you ought to be able to keep even the dozen soldiers in the guard at bay until we can arrive.

“We will have the _Flyer_ all ready for instant flight the minute the squad shows up, and at the first shot, we’ll be on hand. At the rate of speed we can travel we oughtn’t to be more than a few moments covering the distance. A couple of hand grenades tossed down among those Germans ought to send them about their business pretty quickly.

“Of course I know that this is a pretty risky plan, but it’s the best we have been able to hit upon so far.”

“But won’t those soldiers be able to shoot Buck down before he has time to free Bob of his bonds?” Alan queried. “Buck can’t be shooting at them and cutting the rope off Bob’s hands at the same time?”

“No, I don’t think so,” answered Ned. “I believe that it is customary for only a certain number of guns in a firing squad to be actually loaded with bullets. Blank cartridges are used in the others, and no soldier knows just who carries the fatal weapons. This is to keep any self-respecting man among them from feeling that he is committing cold-blooded murder by shooting down a prisoner with his hands tied. Undoubtedly the officer in charge will be loading the guns while poor Bob is being given a last chance to think it over. That’s the time.”

“You think of every little point, Ned,” cried Buck admiringly. “Of course I’ll go and do my best to save Bob. As time is slipping away fast, I’d better set off right now, too. But remember that you are to show up the minute you hear the first shot fired.”

“Count on that, old boy,” answered both of the others.

Then, with four “six-shooters” weighting down his coat pockets, Buck Stewart again disappeared into the night.