CHAPTER X

The Uhlan Patrol

Rollo was standing by his chum's motor-cycle when Kenneth left the Colonel's quarters--a cottage standing well apart from the rest of the village.

"Thought you'd be off somewhere when the Colonel sent for you, old man," he said. "Well, I could go with you, but I feel absolutely rotten. Look here," and Barrington opened his coat and displayed the tops of two soda-water bottles, "I managed to get hold of these. Take one."

"No, thanks," replied Kenneth. "You want them a jolly sight more than I do."

"But you must," persisted Rollo. "It's fearfully hot to-day. Besides, I think I can get hold of some more."

"All right," agreed his chum reluctantly, and taking one of the bottles he placed it in the outside breast-pocket of his coat, resolving to restore it intact upon his return.

The request of the Colonel of the 9th Regiment was most essential. To the north of Omal was a gap of nearly two miles in the Belgian line, as a portion of one of the brigades had failed to take up its allotted position. Omal was a salient angle in the defenders' formation, and should the village be carried by the Germans the Belgian army would be split asunder by the wedge-like advance of their far more numerous foes.

Although the country was fairly open Kenneth rode cautiously. It was a nerve-racking ordeal, since every bush or tree might be affording concealment to the Uhlans, who were known to have already penetrated far into the country. Almost as dangerous were the Belgian guerrillas, who often fired indiscriminately upon any man in a uniform that they failed to recognize.

But beyond being twice stopped by Belgian patrols and made to produce his military pass, Kenneth reached his destination without being molested. He delivered his message, receiving a reply that a machine-gun detachment would be sent off as quickly as possible, and set off on his return journey.

Perhaps the fact that he had but recently passed along the same road without difficulty made him slightly reckless. He increased his speed till the motor-cycle was travelling at nearly forty miles an hour.

Soon he came to a straight, narrow road lined with gaunt trees--one of the avenues that are a common feature in the eastern part of Belgium. Suddenly he gave a gasp of surprise. A horseman had just appeared at the farthermost end of the avenue. At first the lad took him to be one of the Belgian lancers, whose similarity to the German Uhlans was somewhat pronounced, but a rapidly nearing view assured him that the man was one of the enemy.

Another Uhlan joined the first. They both lowered their lances and waited.

Kenneth slipped out his clutch and applied both brakes. The motor-cycle came quickly to a stop, the engine running furiously, while the open "cut-out" emitted a rapid succession of sharp reports like the detonations of a Maxim-gun.

There was yet time to turn his cycle, remount, and escape by the way he had come, he reasoned; but, even as he was in the act of facing about, he made the additionally disconcerting discovery that his retreat was cut off. Five or six Uhlans had evidently been in ambush, and, having allowed the solitary dispatch-rider to pass them, were waiting to assist in his capture. The ditch and the trees formed an impassable barrier for the heavy motor-cycle; while without it flight was almost out of the question, when it was the case of a man on foot pursued by the fleet Uhlan horses.

For one brief instant the thought of surrendering tamely flashed through the lad's mind. He bore no written dispatch; his capture would result in no important information being gained by the enemy. It seemed the easiest solution to the problem.

"I'm dashed if I do," ejaculated Kenneth, banishing the temptation almost as soon as it suggested itself. "Here goes; it's neck or nothing."

He was back in the saddle in double-quick time. With the clutch in and the engine barking furiously he tore towards the two Uhlans, who were sitting on their horses at a distance of about fifty yards from each other.

Kenneth drew his revolver. With his right hand thus occupied, throttle and air lever had to take care of themselves. At thirty miles an hour he tore towards the nearmost of his antagonists.

The Uhlan lowered his lance-point. He was trembling to such an extent that the glittering point was describing erratic curves in the sunlight. His resolution had vanished at the sight of the rapidly-approaching motor-cycle. His horse began to rear, alarmed by the loud and rapid pulsations of the engine.

Kenneth's hopes rose. He saw the possibility of being able to slip past the plunging, terrified animal, and in order to improve his chances he let fly a couple of shots, both of which missed their mark.

No longer was the long lance a menace. The Uhlan's whole efforts were centred in trying to keep his seat, while the now maddened animal snorted and plunged in a most frantic manner.

Still grasping his revolver, although he made no further attempt to use it, the young dispatch-rider placed his wrist upon the right handle-grip in order to steady the steering. He shut his jaw tightly. The critical moment was nigh.

Suddenly the horse backed, barring the narrow path to safety. Kenneth saw in the fraction of a second that a collision was inevitable. He had a momentary glimpse of the Uhlan's panic-stricken face, his staring eyes and wide-open mouth--then crash!

Hardly knowing whether he was injured or not, Kenneth scrambled to his feet. His motor-cycle was on its side within a yard of the prostrate and still kicking horse. His revolver had vanished. In his fall it had flown from his grasp into the ditch. The Uhlan lay upon the ground motionless--whether killed or merely stunned the lad knew not; nor had he an opportunity to ascertain, for in front of him was another German, and four hundred yards behind him the five or six who had cut off his retreat.

The man in front had succeeded in regaining control over his less startled horse and, lance in rest, bore down upon the defenceless motor-cyclist.

Hardly knowing how he did it, Kenneth cleared the ditch and sought a temporary refuge behind a tree. He realized that the respite would be but a brief one, for on the approach of the rest of the patrol his "number would be up". Infuriated by the mishap to their comrade, the savage Uhlans, whose chief mission it was to strike terror into the inhabitants of a conquered district, would not be likely to give quarter.

Suddenly Kenneth's hand came in contact with the soda-water bottle that Rollo had pressed upon him. He drew it from his pocket, and as the Uhlan rode up to the edge of the ditch he dashed it to the ground at the feet of the restless horse.

The result exceeded the lad's wildest expectations, for the bottle broke with a report almost equal to that of a small shell. Fragments of glass flew in all directions. The horse reared, maddened by the slight wounds caused by the sharp pieces of the broken bottle. Its rider, quite as terrified, formed but one conclusion, that the desperate Belgian (as he took Kenneth to be) was armed with bombs. Spurring his horse he rode for dear life towards his comrades, who, rendered cautious at the sight of two of their number being worsted, hesitated to advance.

Kenneth, too, was on the horns of a dilemma. To all appearances his cycle was hopelessly damaged, and although the road was clear he stood little chance of escaping from the rest of the Uhlans. To remain where he was was equally hazardous. With his revolver in his possession he would readily have made a brave stand, but the weapon was lying in five feet of mud and water.

Suddenly came the tap, tap, tap of a machine-gun. The rest of the Uhlan patrol broke and fled across the fields, leaving two of their number writhing on the ground. Another had his horse shot under him, but, quite callous to their comrades' fate, the three remaining fugitives never slackened rein, their sole thoughts being for their own safety.

Kenneth recrossed the ditch--far less agilely than he had a few moments before, for his thigh was aching dully. He could see no signs of his rescuers. The fire had evidently been a long-range one.

He made his way to his motor-cycle. With considerable effort he raised it and placed it on its stand. Upon examination he found that the damage done was not so great as he fully expected. The actual collision had smashed the lamp and bent the stem of the handle-bars, but, thanks to the powerful springs, the front forks had stood the severe strain of the impact. The controls were intact, while the only other damage was that the left foot-rest was bent. In falling sideways the weight of the cycle had been thrown upon this exposed part, which had, to a great extent, saved the machine.

At the second attempt the motor fired. The hind wheel revolved without showing any signs of wobbling. The lad gave a whoop of delight; his precious mount was still serviceable.

He next directed his attention towards the Uhlan whom, in naval parlance, he had "rammed". The fellow had been stunned by the fall from his horse, but was on the point of regaining consciousness.

"You look a tough customer, my friend," soliloquized the lad as he looked upon the coarse, brutal features of his vanquished assailant. "I think you will be quite capable of looking after yourself, without requiring any attention from me. I'll take your helmet as a souvenir, though; and, while I am about it, I think I'll stop you from doing further mischief."

With this Kenneth removed the Uhlan's sword, lance, and carbine. The lance, being made of light steel, he broke into three pieces; the other weapons and the German's ammunition he threw into the ditch to keep company with his own revolver.

While thus engaged the motor-cyclist perceived the approach of a body of men accompanied by dogs. They were the Belgian machine-gun battery whose fire had effectually routed the Uhlan patrol.

"They'll be at Omal before me," thought Kenneth. "I suppose it would be best to stop and explain matters; for if I made off they might take it into their heads to pot me."

"So you have settled with one of this scum," exclaimed the Belgian major in charge of the detachment as he returned Kenneth's salute. "Ma foi! I am of a mind to shoot him."

"But he is a prisoner of war," expostulated the lad.

The Belgian shrugged his shoulders.

"You have but to go to that burning cottage"--he pointed to a building about a mile and a half away--"to see what these wretches have been doing. A whole family of inoffensive peasants shot--men, women, and children. Yes, children," he added, noting the incredulous look on the British lad's face.

"However, we Belgians must set an example to those savages," continued the officer. "We will at least take him with us, and put him on a fair trial. But you are unarmed: how did you vanquish this fellow?"

Kenneth told him. The Belgian major and those of his men who were within ear-shot simply roared with laughter.

"Charged his horse with your motor-cycle, and frightened away another Uhlan with a soda-water bottle!" exclaimed the officer when he recovered himself. "Excellent! It shows that these Germans are not a quarter as formidable as they would have us believe. Were you hurt?"

"Only bruised a little, sir. But, with your permission, I will go, or your men will be with my regiment before I am."

The lad ran his cycle and vaulted into the saddle. The motor ran as well as before, and, beyond a slight difficulty in the steering, it was none the worse for its rough handling. The damage to the lamp mattered but little, as, by night, riding lights were forbidden, since they might betray the rider to the enemy.

Having reported the success of his mission and the approach of the dog-drawn machine-gun detachment, Kenneth went to find his chum.

Rollo was sitting, in company with others of the dispatch-rider section, in a shelter made of branches of trees and rough thatch.

"Hullo, old man!" he exclaimed. "What have you there--a Uhlan helmet? And what's the matter with your bike?"

Kenneth explained, and afterwards had to repeat his story in French for the benefit of the others.

"I will help you to straighten the handle-bars," volunteered one of the Belgian cyclists, who was a motor-repairer by trade. "Meanwhile, if you are desirous of sending that helmet to your friends in England, you will do well to pack it up at once. There is a dispatch leaving for Brussels within half an hour."

"I wonder what the governor will say to this," observed Kenneth as he directed the bulky package. "My first trophy! Goodness only knows when we shall hear from home."

The lads had already written to their respective parents informing them of the drastic step they had taken, but, owing to the dislocation of the postal service, no reply had been forthcoming, and they had hardly expected one.

It took two hours' hard work in the blazing sunshine for Kenneth and his Belgian friend to set the motorcycle to rights.

"If I hadn't been so inconsiderate as to throw that bottle of soda-water away we might have had a decent drink," observed Kenneth as he fanned his perspiring brow.

"Never mind," rejoined Rollo. "You might have drunk it as soon as I gave you the bottle; in which case I don't suppose you would have felt the benefit of it now."

"I don't suppose I would," agreed Kenneth grimly.