"Why? Do you see that?" said one on a bicycle, wheeling around and pointing down the road behind us. "Do you see that? That's the Uhlans. The ones that got Ballandreau a half-hour ago, the ones that got my horse and the ones that will get us all if we stop here much longer." "The Uhlans!" I cried to Tommy, showing him the advancing forms of a half-dozen cavalrymen, whose black leather helmets shone in the sun a mile up the road. "There are seven of them--on patrol--seven hundred following! Come, old fellow, it's now or never!" "And I--where shall I go?" I said, jumping into the cart, George following. "To the devil if you like, but quick!" The warning came none too soon. We had been seen, and sharp, whizzing noises in the grass, and over our beads told us that our German pursuers had no intention of letting us get away. "Down on your knees, man!" I yelled, pulling the old fellow with me as we ducked to the level of the dashboard. And unfastening a breastpin, I jabbed it mercilessly into the flanks of our nag, who bounded forward, nearly, throwing us out. Whizz! Whizz! Whizz! It was as if a cloud of locusts were bumming about us. Then when I lifted my eyes, on top of the steep incline we were ascending, I could see several uniformed horsemen and back of them a huge column of smoke. "Heavens!" I gasped, "we're caught this time--but it's too late now to turn about. We're prisoners for sure!" Two cavalrymen then appeared and calmly started down the road in our direction. A second later I recognized the British uniform and breathed again. "Go back!" I yelled. "Go back! The Germans are on our heels!" Astonished at bearing their native tongue, the men approached. "Thank heaven, here's someone to direct us," they said as they came alongside and saluted. I replied with a nod. "We're lost," they said, "cut off from our brigade." "That's nothing. How many of you are there? Enough to fight? The Germans are coming on hard and fast." "We're only two and our horses are done for. We were driven out of Coulommiers this morning." My driver threw up his hands and sobbed. "Our friend John's horse went lame and we left him at the bottom of the hill while we came up to reconnoiter. We can't leave him down there all alone." "He's gone--gone--I swear it. Followed the French chasseurs on my bicycle, leading his mount!" "Thank God!" "Now then, how far the Germans will come is a question. They'll probably go in and occupy the town, and there's just one thing for us to do--bolt." Whizz! Whizz! Whizz--the lead fairly splashed around us! Leon and Emile rode back to say that the road ahead was clear. "Les Boches," I said, pointing down the hill. "Come on, you cowards!" yelled my boys defiantly, George brandishing the rifle of my wounded man.