CHAPTER XVIII
A STRANGE MEETING
Bob Dalton slowly opened his eyes. The reason he did it slowly wasbecause it seemed less painful that way. And the truth of the matterwas that he ached all over. Later he said he felt as though some onehad taken a club and pounded him from head to foot.
"I wonder what happened," mused Bob, and his brain seemed to work asslowly as did his eyes. Then came remembrance of the great blast, ofthe farmhouse blown into the air, and he himself being hurled alongwith at least part of it. Then came the fall and darkness. And itwas from this darkness of unconsciousness that Bob was now graduallyemerging.
He turned his head from side to side, and was glad to find that it wasstill attached to his body and that he could still move it.
Bob saw that he was lying in a field. Dirt was all about him, somescattered in such a way as to show that shells had landed there notvery long before. Over his head Bob could see the sky and note thatclouds were slowly floating along.
"Well, I'm out in the open, that's one sure thing," mused the KhakiBoy. "Now to see if I've got my legs and arms left. My head's as soreas a boil, though."
The best way to discover this was to use his hands, and he found, tohis delight, that they were both attached to his arms, and that hisfingers were intact. They were a little numb, but he managed to movethem, convincing himself that at least the upper part of his body wasstill intact.
"Hum! Lump about as big as a hen's egg," murmured Bob, as he discovereda protuberence on his head. It was the blow which caused this that hadrendered him senseless.
"Now if I can wiggle my legs maybe I'll be able to get up and see whathappened and what's going on," thought Bob. He lay still for a momentlonger, however, moving his feet only slightly, and he was glad to findthat his legs seemed to be normal.
There was borne to his ears the distant sounds of war-the rattle ofrifles and machine guns, and the boom of artillery. But it was sodistant that he decided the tide of battle had passed beyond him,wherever he was.
"And that's the thing to find out--where I am," murmured Bob. "I canget up, I guess."
He was about to do this when he heard voices talking, and it neededbut a hearing of the first few words to tell Bob that the talk was inGerman.
Bob lay still and listened. He wanted to make sure of his positionbefore he arose. The next few words apprised him of the plight intowhich he had fallen, or rather, been blown. Bob understood enoughGerman to enable him to know what was being said. And the firstexpression was, when translated:
"There is another dead American pig over there."
"You're right," came in rejoinder. "The mine hidden in the house workedto perfection. If they killed our machine gunners, we killed twice asmany of them."
"It was a beautiful explosion," went on the first speaker. "How theswine-hounds did sail up."
"Blown to bits!" laughed the other.
"All but this one. He doesn't seem to have been hurt at all."
"Maybe he was too far outside. But he is dead, there is no need tobayonet him."
"Say, can they be talking about me?" was the thought that flashedthrough Bob's mind.
There seemed to be no doubt of it a little later, for he heard one ofthe Germans say:
"Well, we may as well search him. The pigs sometimes have gold money.And, anyhow, his shoes are better than mine. I'll take them off. Deadmen need no shoes!" and he laughed.
"He takes a whole lot for granted," thought Bob grimly. And then, as hesensed the import of this talk, his real situation became apparent.
"They had that farmhouse mined," mused Bob. "After we wiped out themachine gunners some one of the Boches must have sprung the mine. Thatdid for our fellows and sent me sailing through the air. I got the bumpon the head that put me to sleep, and now, as soon as I wake up, theythink I'm dead. But I'll show 'em----"
He brought his musings to a sudden end, for at that instant he felt aviolent pull on one leg. His foot was wrenched to one side. But Bob didnot mind the pain much, for it told him his feet and legs were in goodshape.
"Here! Quit that!" he yelled, as he raised his head and saw a burlyGerman soldier trying to unlace the shoes that were on Bob's feet.
If a bomb had dropped between the two Huns they could not have beenmore greatly disturbed. They leaped back and stared with wide-open eyesat Bob, who sat up. The man who had had hold of his foot dropped it.
"He--he is not dead!" this fellow cried, in German.
"No. But let's finish him!" said the other.
For a moment Bob gave up hope. He was unarmed. His rifle had blown outof his hands and his revolver was missing. And he saw, not far off, anumber of Germans. It was evident there had been a shift in the linesduring the time Bob was unconscious, and the Boches again occupied theposition around the demolished farmhouse.
The Hun who had proposed to bayonet Bob raised his weapon, but theother interposed.
"We were told to take prisoners if we could get them," he said inGerman. "And this is one of their under-officers. He may tell ussomething."
"You've got another guess coming, Fritzie!" said Bob, aloud.
"The pig-dog says something," remarked the soldier with the rifle. "Doyou know what it is, comrade?"
"_Nein!_ How should I speak the rotten talk? Well, we'll search him andtake him along with us. The lieutenant will be glad of the prisoner."
Poor Bob was in dire straits, but, still, being taken prisoner wasinfinitely better than being bayoneted on the spot; and Bob realizedthis even though he had heard many stories of the German prison camps.
For one wild moment he had an idea of leaping up and giving the bestbattle possible to his two captors. There were only two immediatelynear him, and Bob had a sort of patriotic notion that one American wasbetter than half a dozen Germans. But cold facts stared him in the faceas he slowly rose to his feet. Among these facts was the realizationthat he was weak and trembling from the effects of his being so nearlyblown to death in the explosion. Another fact was, that though therewere only two of the Huns close at hand, there were many others withinsignaling distance.
"Well, I guess I'll have to give up," thought poor Bob.
And then the Germans closed in on him. Bob could not resist. Hispockets were turned inside out, and they took everything he had. Theyeven took his shoes, and tossed him a pair of old, half-rotten oneswhich the tallest German discarded.
"Go ahead!" ordered the man who had expressed the wish to bayonet Bob,and the prisoner had no choice but to obey. They marched behind himwith rifles held in readiness for instant use, and soon Bob was inthe midst of a company of Germans, the officer of which showed greatdelight at the sight of the American.
"I wonder how many of our poor fellows they have," mused Bob. "Gee, butthis is tough luck!"
He felt like giving way to despair, but his pride and grit kept himfrom doing so before the leering, exultant Germans. So Bob shut histeeth tight and marched on. It was not until late that evening thathe was allowed to rest in a German camp, and then he found what theofficer had meant by "others." There were a number of Americans whohad been captured and were being herded together to be sent into theinterior of Germany or to some of the conquered parts of France, wheremany of the German prison camps were located.
The days that followed Bob's capture were full of misery. He was packedinto a filthy railroad car with wounded and distressed men, and then,by slow and jerky stages, he was taken away.
On this terrible journey to the German prison camp the poor captiveshad scarcely anything to eat and almost no water to drink. Many wereill, and several wounded, but no attention was given them, and theirwounds were not dressed.
At times Bob thought he would go mad at the sights he saw. His ownpersonal sufferings, once the pain in his head ceased, were not great;but, in common with the others, he lacked food and water.
And finally, after many weary days they were taken from the train andmarched amid jeering lines of Germans to a wired stockade.
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p; Bob dragged his unwilling feet into the stockade. He saw gatheredin the enclosure many sad-eyed and sorrowful American and Alliedprisoners. And then, to the great astonishment of Bob, he heard his ownname shouted.
Some one was running toward him--a ragged figure--and at first he didnot recognize who it was. Then the voice spoke again:
"Bob! Bob Dalton! And so they got you, too! Oh, but I'm glad to seeyou----No, I'm not either--not here!"
Bob rubbed his eyes. For a moment he thought it was all a dream andthat this was but a phase of the explosion. Then as the face beforehim became more plain through a mist that seemed to fill his eyes, Bobgasped:
"Schnitz! If it isn't Franz Schnitzel!"
The long-sought, missing Brother had been found, and now the two KhakiBoys had strangely met to be companions in misery.