<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br/> <span class="cheaderfont">THE RESCUE</span></h2>
<p>Buck arrived at the ruined church just as the
first pallid gray of morning light was smudging
the eastern sky line. The air was cold and damp.
It bit to the bone. Shivering, the reporter drew
his coat more tightly around him, made sure
for the eleventh time that his supply of revolvers
was all loaded and in good working order, and
then tramped up and down on that side of the
crumbling wall which best sheltered him from
the wind.</p>
<p>The hush of dawn pervaded the entire landscape.
Not a single human being was to be seen.</p>
<p>Gradually the dull light on the horizon spread
up into the sky and widened. It changed color
from yellow to pink, and finally the sun rose
through the mist of the deserted fields like a
great round globe of fire.</p>
<p>A quarter of a mile distant the chimes of the
cathedral in Muhlbruck could be faintly heard,
calling the people to early mass. Somewhere
far off to the right a cock crew lustily, welcoming<span class="pagenum">[116]</span>
the sunlight. Little birds began to chirp and
hop through the grass.</p>
<p>It was the time!</p>
<p>Waiting in that way was unbearable to Buck.
The strain on his nerves drove him nearly
frantic. Once more he took out his revolvers
for examination, paced restlessly up and down,
up and down, and wished that they would come.</p>
<p>A distant rumble far down the highway warned
him of other travelers. He crouched down
behind the wall, fingering his weapons with
heart-strings taut—waiting, watching.</p>
<p>Finally a vehicle hove in sight, but it was
only a farmer’s cart drawn by two big black
dogs, and loaded with vegetables for sale in
town. The blue-smocked peasant striding alongside
was whistling a little song, all unconscious
of the grim-faced figure behind the old church.</p>
<p>The cart vanished around a bend in the road
towards Muhlbruck. Then all was silence again.
The sun rose higher, dissipating the mist before
its warmth. It was not fully daylight. Then
it was that Buck’s straining ear caught the
distant rhythmic footbeats of marching men. It
was the firing squad with Bob.</p>
<p>Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp!</p>
<p>Around the bend in the road they came, a<span class="pagenum">[117]</span>
dozen soldiers whose uniforms and spiked helmets
were a dull gray, like the dust they stirred up
underfoot. They marched in a little column of
twos, with a corporal in command at one side.
In their midst was the condemned prisoner.</p>
<p>The watching Buck was moved to great pity
at his old friend’s haggard and unkempt appearance.
There were great bluish hollows under
his eyes, his cheeks were unnaturally pale, and
the growth of a two-weeks’ beard made his face
almost unrecognizable. But, although he knew
that they were taking him to his death, Bob
marched with shoulders squared and his head
thrown back. It would never do for an American
to show fear before foreigners.</p>
<p>“<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Zum Recht! Halt!</i>” (Wheel to the right!
Halt!) snapped the corporal.</p>
<p>The firing squad was now on the other side
of the wall from Buck, standing like so many
statues, with their rifles stiffly presented.</p>
<p>The corporal grasped Bob roughly by the arm
and backed him up against the wall.</p>
<p>“If you wish to pray, do so now,” he said
in German. “Make it brief.”</p>
<p>Bob closed his eyes for a few moments, while
he thought of his old friends away back in New
York, wondering what had become of him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[118]</span></p>
<p>“I am ready, corporal,” said he, shortly.</p>
<p>His hands were bound tightly together behind
his back and a bandage tied over his eyes.</p>
<p>“Pace your distance,” the officer ordered his
men.</p>
<p>They retreated for about thirty paces, the
corporal counting gruffly: “Hup! hup! hup!”
as they marched.</p>
<p>It was at that instant that Buck Stewart
darted around the corner of the old wall with
a sharp knife in his hands. He was at Bob’s
side and in a trice had slashed the rope free of
his hands. The blindfold followed in less time
than it takes to tell it.</p>
<p>Just then the firing squad reached their
appointed position and wheeled machine-like
about. They saw in a flash their prisoner about
to escape.</p>
<p>“Donnerwetter!” roared the corporal, brandishing
his sword. “Fire, men! Shoot them
down!”</p>
<p>The roar of a dozen German muskets crashed
out just as the boys turned the corner of the
wall. The bullets shattered the masonry in a
cloud of flying debris. Buck shoved two big
revolvers into Bob’s hands as they dashed behind
the wall.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[119]</span></p>
<p>“Stand guard there at the other end of the
wall, Bob,” he shouted. “I’ll take care of this
end.”</p>
<div id="Ref_118" class="figcenter">
<ANTIMG src="images/i123.jpg" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="center"><em>The Rescue of Bob Russell.</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Then, before the Germans had scarcely recovered
from their surprise, each boy was
peppering away at them in deadly fashion from
opposite ends of the protecting masonry. Their
first fusillade brought down three groaning
soldiers, one of them the corporal. The rest
made for cover, the nearest shelter—the tumbled
masonry of the church itself.</p>
<p>“Spread out on each side of the young
devils!” yelled the raging German corporal from
where he lay. “Scatter and surround them!
Work up on them from behind!”</p>
<p>His commands were quickly obeyed, and even
such a rapid fire as the boys were able to pour
into the enemy could not prevent three or four
of them from running far around on either side,
where, lying flat in the long weeds, they opened
a dangerous flank-fire that immediately made
the wall of no further protection to its gallant
defenders.</p>
<p>“It’s all up with us now,” called Bob, as he
took another ineffective shot at one of the
sharp-shooters.</p>
<p>“If only the <em>Ocean Flyer</em> would come!”<span class="pagenum">[120]</span>
groaned Buck. “I can’t understand why it
hasn’t arrived before this!”</p>
<p>At that moment, as if in answer to his desperate
cry, there came the ominous roar of a
powerful motor, high up in the air, and there
came the great airship, swooping down with its
seventy-two feet of planes magnificently outspread,
and Alan Hope standing out on the
lower runway, swinging deadly bombs in his
hand.</p>
<p>The Germans saw the approach of the strange
aircraft at the same instant, and startled cries
of: “<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Ein Flieger! Ein Flieger!</i>” (an airship)
broke from them as they diverted part of their
fire upon it.</p>
<p>The <em>Flyer</em> swept on down in gradually narrowing
circles and lessened speed until it hung
almost directly over the hard-pressed boys by
the wall. Then a hundred-foot rope ladder, one
end of which was attached to an opened port, was
tossed down to them and Alan, making a megaphone
of his hands, shouted:</p>
<p>“Climb up! Quick! There is a whole division
of cavalry dashing down the road!”</p>
<p>Buck caught the loose end of the ladder first,
and ran up the tough spruce rungs like a monkey,
despite the sway of the rope supports. Bob did<span class="pagenum">[121]</span>
his best to weight down the end of the ladder
with one hand, while with the other he emptied
his remaining pistol at the Germans who now
came at him in a body and on the run. Chips
of masonry from the wall were flying all around
his head as the bullets struck it.</p>
<p>Buck reached the top of the ladder and was
dragged safely inside through the porthole,
while Bob made a flying leap, caught the fifth
rung and began to climb as fast as he could.
German bullets whizzed past his ears, but fortunately
none hit him. As he climbed, he
yelled:</p>
<p>“Tell Ned to shoot her on up into the sky!
Full speed! I’ll be up there with you in a
minute or two!”</p>
<p>Buck rushed to the engine room, while Alan
hurried to tell Ned. The porthole was left open
so that Bob could crawl in. Ned was excited;
with his right hand he jammed the long starting-lever
down as far as it would go; with his
left he tugged at the lever of the lateral control
rudder. It stuck. With both hands he gave
one desperate pull. The sudden give, and
the quick swerve upward of the <em>Flyer</em> threw him
off his balance. He lunged heavily against the
rod. It broke off short in his hands.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[122]</span></p>
<p>The sudden burst of power shot the big airship
suddenly skyward on an angle of almost eighty
degrees and with a suddenness which nearly
threw both Ned and Alan off their feet. The
huge propeller began to whirl with dizzying
velocity, and the wind screeched and whined
through the propellers like an animal in pain.</p>
<p>With blanched cheeks both boys bent low over
the broken lever, but though they broke their
finger-nails trying to loosen it, they were unable
to pry it up even with such tools as they could
lay their hands on.</p>
<p>Horror showed in each face. With a ghastly
attempt at composure Ned turned to Alan.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ve certainly done it now!” he
groaned. “There seems to be no hope of being
able to pry that broken lever up. And I don’t
dare to shut off the speed; no telling what would
happen going at this angle. At present it is
driving the <em>Flyer</em> at maximum speed almost
straight upwards into the sky!”</p>
<p>Alan was speechless, and could only gulp; his
eyes were bulging in mortal terror.</p>
<p>At that moment a frantic call came up through
the tube from Buck.</p>
<p>“Great heavens, boys!” he screamed, “look
down below! There is Bob clinging sixty feet<span class="pagenum">[123]</span>
down the ladder, beaten nearly insensible by the
terrible wind, and unable to climb further because
the current is sweeping that light rope ladder
straight out behind us like a ribbon. If we
don’t stop in a minute or so, he is as good as
dead!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[124]</span></p>
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