Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in Germany; or, Winning the Iron CrossPorter, Horace
Science
Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in Germany; or, Winning the Iron Cross
Porter, Horace
World War, 1914-1918 -- Aerial operations -- Juvenile fiction
The journey on all fours ended at a heavy grating, through which faint
daylight was peeping. Through the barred opening the outlook was into a
deep ravine, with a small stream coursing at the bottom, and a dense
growth of small timber and bushes rising to the level on all sides.
Directly opposite the entrance of the drain, in a small clearing on
the high ground across the gully, the broad windows of a stone cottage
reflected the glare of the slowly rising sun.
"There is nothing else to do, my friends, but to lay low until brother
Roque completes the scouring of this section. We are well on the way
but not yet out of the woods, as the saying is."
This was the view of the chief, and his views were seldom questioned.
It was a rather gloomy prospect, this crouching wait in quarters so
confined, but the secret service men counted nothing a hardship, and
the boys had to possess themselves in patience.
The capacious pockets of the huckster's greatcoat, with which Anglin
had not parted, despite its weight, in the long crawl, contained a
supply of food, taken from the baskets before starting.
From the avenue that lay between the ravine and the grounds about the
house which they had recently quitted, the cramped company in the drain
could hear the rumble of traffic, and once they heard voices in close
proximity to their hiding place.
"Giving them something to puzzle about, eh, Gervais?"
"Rather a fuddle for them, chief," agreed the cool one, "and the best
of it all, they don't know whom they're after, unless it be these
youngsters."
"Oh, I propose that the boys shall be found in due time, but the
balance of us will keep dodging to the best of our ability."
"Some ability, too, believe me, boss," was Billy's contribution.
"Well, I believe we can hold our own," complacently observed Fred.
With the wearing of the long day, the prospect of liberation eased the
trial of the later hours. As night fell apace, the first greeting to it
was the glow of a lamp in one of the windows of the stone cottage.
Gervais moved close to the grating, and fixed intent gaze upon this
illumination. In the course of a half-hour his vigilance was rewarded
by a sight that he evidently anticipated. Somebody was repeatedly
crossing and recrossing the patch of light, now and then deliberately
standing in front of the lamp. That "somebody" was making dots and
dashes as plain as day to the trained vision of the receiving expert.
"The coast is clear," he announced.
A little pressure and the bars were down.
Out into the night crept the weary five, with the luxurious experience
of once more standing erect and having a good stretch.
Having replaced the grating in the drain entrance to a nicety, Gervais
led the way down the steep slope of the ravine to the creek, which
Billy and Henri attempted to drink dry, so great was their thirst.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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