CHAPTER VII

  WHERE IS TOM CAMERON?

  That the peasants of the surrounding territory should believe in thatold and wicked legend of the werwolf was not to be considered strange.There is not a country in Europe where the tale of the human being whocan change his form at will to that of a wolf, is not repeated.

  Ruth Fielding had come across the superstition--and for the first timein the company of Charlie Bragg--as she had approached the town ofClair to begin her work in that hospital some months before.

  This same white figure which they had both now glimpsed had crossed theroad, flying as it was now toward the trenches. The werwolf, as thesuperstitious French peasants declared it to be, crossed both to andfrom the battle line; for it was frequently seen.

  It was of this mystery Henriette Dupay had spoken in the library of thechateau that very afternoon. The Dupays believed absolutely in thereality of the werwolf.

  Only, they were not of those who connected the "Thing" with the lady ofthe chateau. Although Ruth Fielding had reason to believe that thepolice authorities trusted the Countess Marchand and were sure of herloyalty, many of the peasants about the chateau believed that thewerwolf was the unfortunate countess herself in diabolical form.

  And even Ruth could not help feeling a qualm, as she saw thefast-disappearing creature--ghost or what-not--that fled into thedarkness.

  "Gosh!" murmured the slangy Charlie Bragg. "Enough to give a fellowheart-disease. I thought I was going to run it down."

  "I wonder," said Ruth slowly, as he again started the car, "if it wouldnot have been a good thing if you had run it down."

  "Can't bust up a ghost that way, Miss Ruth," he returned, beginning tochuckle again.

  "Talk sense, Charlie," she urged, forgetting for the moment the subjectof the suspicion resting upon Tom Cameron and giving her mind to thisother mystery. "You know, I've an idea this foolishness about a whitewolf can be easily explained."

  "Go ahead and explain," he returned. "I'm free to confess it's got meguessing."

  "I believe it is the big greyhound, Bubu, that belongs to the ChateauMarchand. It is sent on errands to and from the frontier."

  "Canine spy?" chuckled Charlie.

  "I don't know just what he does. But I did think that the old servingwoman, Bessie, that the countess brought with her from Mexico so manyyears ago, knew all about Bubu's escapades. But Bessie is not at thechateau now."

  "Oh," said Charlie, "she was the woman who went off with those twocrooks who helped your friend, Mrs. Rose Mantel, rob the Red Crosssupply department."

  "Not _my_ friend, I should hope!" Ruth said sharply, for the matterCharlie touched upon was still a tender subject with the girl.

  Her mind dwelt for a moment upon the presence of Major Henri Marchandat the chateau. He was there, and the greyhound, Bubu, was running atlarge again at night. Was there not something significant in the twofacts? But she said nothing regarding this suspicion to the ambulancedriver.

  Instead, she came back to the subject which had occupied their mindsprevious to the appearance of the white object that had crossed theroad.

  "Of course, it is quite ridiculous," she said, "to think of TommyCameron doing anything at all treacherous. I can imagine his doingalmost anything reckless, but always on the right side."

  "Some little hero, is he?" chuckled Charlie Bragg.

  "I think he is the stuff of which heroes are made--just like yourself,Charlie Bragg."

  "Oh! I say!" he objected. "Now you are getting personal."

  "Then don't try to be funny with me," declared Ruth earnestly. "I havetoo good an opinion of all our well-brought-up American boys--to whichclass both Tom and you belong--to believe that any of them could bemade under any conditions to betray their fellows."

  "Oh, as to that!" he admitted. "Nor any of our roughnecks, either.We've got a mighty fine army over here, rank and file. Deliberately, Idoubt if any of them would give information to the Heinies. But theydo say that when the Huns capture a man, if they want information, theydon't care what they do to him to get it. The old police third degreeisn't a patch on what these Boches do."

  "I am not afraid that even torture would make Tom do anything mean,"she said, with a little sob. "But these officers back there at thatcottage must actually believe that he has gone over to the enemy."

  "If Cameron is the fellow I heard about this morning," Charlie saidgloomily enough, "it is generally believed that he has been two daysbeyond the lines--and he didn't _have_ to go."

  "Oh! Impossible!"

  "I'm repeating what I heard. This flurry during the afternoon is anoutcome of his disappearance. The German guns caught a train ofammunition camions and smashed things up pretty badly. Many trickslike that pulled off will make us mighty short of ammunition in thissector. Then Heinie can come over the top and do with us just as hepleases. Naturally, if the boys believe Cameron is at fault, they aregoing to be as sore on him as a boil."

  "It would be utterly impossible for Tom to do such a thing!" the girldeclared with finality.

  Her assurance made the matter no less terrible. Ruth had no belief atall in Tom's willingly giving himself up to the enemy. Had there beena hundred witnesses to see him go, she would have denied thepossibility of his being a traitor.

  But she was very silent during the rest of that wild ride. Now andthen they were stopped by sentinels and had to show their papers. Atleast, the Red Cross girl had to show hers. Charlie was pretty wellknown by everybody in this part of the war zone.

  They would come to a dugout in the hillside, or a half-hidden hut, andbe challenged by a sentinel, or by one of the military police. Apocket lamp would play upon Ruth's face, then upon her passport, andthe sentinel would grunt, salute, and the car would plunge on again.It seemed to Ruth as though this went on for hours.

  All the time her brain was active with the possibilities surroundingTom Cameron's disappearance. What could really have happened to him?Should she write to Helen in Paris, or to his father in America, of themystery? Indeed, would the censor let such news pass?

  Once she had believed Tom seriously wounded, and for several days hadhunted for him, expecting to find him mutilated. Fortunately herexpectations at that time had been unfounded.

  It seemed now, however, as though there could be no doubt but somethingvery dreadful had happened to her friend. Added to his peril, too, wasthis awful suspicion that others seemed to hold regarding Tom'sfaithfulness.

  It was going to be very hard, indeed, for Ruth Fielding to keep hermind on her work in the Red Cross while this uncertainty regardingLieutenant Cameron remained.

 
Alice B. Emerson's Novels
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