CHAPTER VII.

CLOSE TO THE FIRING LINE.

"You're right about it, Hanky Panky!" announced Rod, after he had taken a good look aloft, and recognized some of the familiar features distinguishing the Taube aeroplanes used almost exclusively at that early stage of the war by the German military forces.

"It's snooping around getting information so's to help Von Kluck strike the Allies where they don't expect him, most likely!" the boy in the rear called out.

"Mebbe not," said Josh stoutly; "for all we know old Von may have put his fingers in the trap laid by wily General Joffre, and what he wants to do now is to find a way to draw out again."

Whether Josh really believed all he said or not was an open question, but at any rate it was in his heart to stand up staunchly for the French and English, whatever came to pass. He had seen that vast German horde overrun poor Belgium, and he was praying they might meet an obstacle when they finally ran up against the whole Allied army, standing before Paris, and determined to do or die there.

They cast many a glance upward as they continued to move along. The aeroplane did not seem to be disturbed, as far as they could make out. If there were French birdmen in the vicinity they had other work cut out for them besides chasing a hostile flier. Possibly they were over the fighting armies, finding out valuable statistics for the use of the French commanders, and which might affect the ultimate outcome of the battle.

All doubt concerning their being in the vicinity of the field of gigantic operations was by this time removed. The roar of guns had kept on growing more and more intense. Besides, it was easy for them to make sure that what Hanky Panky had suggested as a threatening summer storm cloud was in reality smoke from artillery and burning cottages along the line of Von Kluck's advance.

Once they had to stop and get on one side of the road in order to permit the passage of a convoy of motor lorries loaded with wounded men. The boys noticed that some of these wore the khaki of British soldiers, which seemed to prove that a portion of General French's little army from across the Channel must be valiantly holding a part of the thin line against the furious rushes of the disciplined German troops.

The three boys took off their hats and waved them heartily as the procession of trucks passed by. Some of the wounded answered them lustily, showing that their spirit had not been in the least quenched by their hard luck in getting in the way of hostile missiles.

Josh was burning with a feverish desire to be moving again.

"Why, judging from that," he told the others excitedly, as the last of the sad procession passed them by, heading possibly for some French town where a hospital had beds ready against their coming, "we must be almost in the riot by now. Listen to how the guns keep up that whoop, will you? I'll bet you they're not more'n five miles away from here! Rod, can't we push right along?"

Rod, however, realized that they must now begin to exercise a great deal of caution. No matter which side they happened to come upon, there was a fair chance of the three boys being held up, and not permitted to go any further.

"Keep on the lookout for some hill or other elevation, where we can get a good view of the neighborhood!" he told them, remembering former occasions when they had adopted a similar method for seeing operations.

It was late in the day by now. They had come at a tremendous pace over scores and scores of miles, since that start at six o'clock in the morning. Along about two in the afternoon Josh had declared that his cyclometer was marking the hundred-and-fifty mark since beginning the day's run, which was a pretty good spin, all things considered.

Thanks to the excellent French highways, and the fact that they had met with no accident to detain them, this record could be hung up as one of which any fellow might be proud.

It would be utterly impossible to describe all they saw while on that wonderful day's run. Each of the boys had secured a little French tri-color, and this flag they took pride in attaching to their machines. It aroused the greatest enthusiasm all along the road. In every town they passed through they were taken for some new type of native soldiers mounted on motorcycles. That they did not carry any guns may have occasioned more or less surprise; but then doubtless they had other methods for destroying the rash invaders when the time came; small but powerful bombs would take up little space in a knapsack, every one knew.

In the country sections where the neat French market gardens predominated they had found the women working amidst the crops, and few men in evidence. Of course those of a military age were already called to the colors, and at that moment might be laying their lives down cheerfully in defence of their beloved land; for their old hatred of everything German had once more leaped to the surface as soon as war was declared.

Rod was trying to figure out what his course should be under the circumstances. He knew how difficult it must prove for them to reach a place where they could observe any of the desperate fighting. The best they might expect would be to see some detached action, and possibly learn where the French regiment might be found to which Andre belonged.

As they proceeded slowly along the road, after watching the procession of motor lorries loaded with wounded wind past, all of them were using their eyes to the best advantage.

The country was hilly to the north of Paris, Rod knew, with many roads crossing in every direction. At any time they might expect to discover some movement of troops belonging to one of the armies engaged.

This came to pass shortly afterwards, and when they found that it was a British regiment that was crossing a field on the double-quick, with guns ready for business, the boys sent up a real American cheer.

"There, they've come to a halt, somehow or other!" said Josh, "and listen to the fellows send back an answering cheer, will you? Guess they must take us for some of their boys from over the Channel. Here comes an officer on horseback to interview us, Rod."

Great was the surprise of the British colonel to find that they were not English boys at all, but cousins from the great republic across the ocean. He asked many questions while his men rested before continuing their movement, which was undoubtedly meant to carry out some purpose or other.

One startling piece of information he gave the three motorcycle boys.

"The Germans have shot their bolt, and are retreating!" was what he declared in his hearty British way. "Von Kluck meant to take Paris by surprise from the northwest, but he made a terrible mistake and left his flank uncovered. It was threatened by our British troops, as well as by a new army that came out of Paris, sent by General Gallieni, the commander of the city. There was nothing to be done but swing in a half circle past Paris without coming within cannon shot of the forts. We are now about to strike with all our force, and beat him back on the Marne. Paris is saved for the time being!"

This was the amazing news that thrilled the three boys through and through. In their minds it meant that the German tide had already reached its flood stage; and that from the hour Von Kluck changed his plans with regard to attacking the forts defending Paris the campaign of invasion was fated to meet with its Waterloo.

Josh actually shouted aloud to show his glee, nor did the grim British officer consider this any discourtesy. He himself was feeling in much the same humor, for victory was already in the air for the Allies, and he knew what that would mean for the future of the whole of Europe.

After a very pleasant and interesting chat the three boys again mounted their machines, and set out. They had been warned by the accommodating officer that they might run into a nest of the enemy at almost any time now, for detachments of the Germans were raiding the country, trying to inspire a reign of terror among the inhabitants.

"If they can catch us," the confident Josh had remarked in his customary boastful fashion, "they'll be welcome to our mounts. All the same we don't mean to let ourselves be taken off our guard. To be made prisoners just now would upset all our lovely plans, you see, Colonel. But it's awful kind of you to give us the tip, and make sure we appreciate it."

Shortly afterwards Rod announced that there was something of a hill ahead, and once they had managed to reach the crown they might find a chance to take an observation that would prove profitable to them.

"Drive ahead, then," chirped Josh, always willing to do anything that came along, especially when it promised fresh excitement; possibly he was hoping that from the top of the low elevation they would be able to see many stirring dramas connected with the great battle that was now opening, and which must seal the fate of the French capital, one way or the other.

"I'm going to slow up first," observed the cautious leader; "because we don't know what we may run on at the top of that hill. It'd be rough on us to suddenly come face to face with a whole battalion of Germans, advancing up the other side, and reaching the crown just at the same time we did."

"Rod, you're right there!" Josh was heard to call out almost instantly; "look up where we're heading, and you'll see the Germans have got there even before we did!"

All of them came to a sudden halt, and dropped off their motorcycles in a desperate hurry.