“Oh! the chances are this man fled with his family when first the war broke out,” Jack declared. “He was a man of means, and kept his motor car, because there’s a fine garage in the yard outside.” “I hadn’t noticed that, Jack. It certainly is little that escapes your sharp eyes. But I hope they got to a safe place.” “Dunkirk and Calais are both really close at hand,” continued Jack, disregarding the praise of his cousin, “and there’s no question but this family found refuge there. Let’s hope he managed to save his people even if his fine country place is next door to ruined.” “Listen! what’s that?” cried Amos, holding up his hand. “Galloping horses,” answered the ranch boy, instantly, for his ears were especially trained along those lines. “It must be more British reserves rushing to the front!” exclaimed Amos, as together he and his chum headed for the nearest window fronting the road, which they had no sooner reached than they discovered a sight that thrilled them. CHAPTER XIII. THE TRAPPED UHLANS. In plain sight, and coming with a rush, though their horses reeked with sweat and showed symptoms of great fatigue, was a small detachment of mounted men. No wonder the boys stared as though they hardly dared believe their eyes. This half dozen hard riders wore spiked helmets, a thing that seemed to stamp them as Uhlans. They were coming from the southwest, which fact in itself was enough to tell the story. “They’re Germans, Jack!” cried Amos, instantly. “Yes, a part of some command that broke through the British lines, and got confused amidst the smoke, I reckon,” said the Western boy. “And, Jack, look, they’re being hotly pursued!” added Amos. Jack had already guessed as much. He knew it first from the vigorous way the six riders were urging their tired mounts on. Then again he could see how they leaned forward in their saddles, and turned anxious looks over their shoulders. Sure enough there burst into view a second detachment of riders, whose animals seemed in better condition for hard service than those of the fleeing Germans. These men were garbed in the khaki of British soldiers. They carried guns which they evidently knew well how to make good use of even when riding at headlong speed. Jack guessed the very second he saw them ride that those men had not picked up their knowledge of horsemanship from following the hounds after the fox in Old Surrey, and wearing red coats. Every one of them had been recruited either from the wilds of South Africa, the cattle ranges of Canada, or else had served among the Northwest Mounted Police of the Dominion. Jack felt like giving a yell of recognition, it seemed so much like meeting old friends again. He did nothing of the sort, however, but simply reached out a hand to draw Amos further back, because he knew there was no need of attracting the attention of the hard-pressed and desperate Uhlans, who might take a notion to send a few bullets their way.