“What if they stop here and try to make a fort out of the house?” demanded Amos, as though he thought he detected a veering to one side on the part of the fugitives. “No danger of that,” his chum hurriedly assured him, “they’re too hot-pressed to halt. There, see them turn in the saddle and shoot back.” “Nothing doing, though,” announced Amos; “every man jack of the Allies dodged the lead. And now they’re going to return the fire. Whew! that was a corking volley, Jack.” “There goes one poor chap!” cried the Western boy; “he got his straight.” A rider had pitched headlong from the saddle, his horse continuing to gallop alongside its mates as though nothing had happened. Both boys were thrilled by witnessing this tragic event that took place under their very eyes. Until recently Amos had never known what it meant to touch elbows with death by violence. He was very white in the face as he stood there by the ragged casement, seared by the passage of a shell, and looked out. Jack on his part had known more or less of such events during his ranch life, for things happen in the “wild and woolly West” where men live closer to Nature than in the East. Nevertheless, he too felt the thrill of keen expectancy as he kept his eager eyes glued upon the actors in the strange moving panorama. “There’s another German been hit, Jack; he’s wobbling in the saddle as if trying his best to hold on. Perhaps he wants to pick out a soft spot to fall on. There he goes!” As Amos uttered these last words a second saddle was seen to be empty, the stricken man hurling himself to one side. Even in his dire extremity he evidently realized the necessity of avoiding the hoofs of the pursuing horses. By now the remaining Uhlans had reached the front of the deserted ruined mansion. They were following the by-road as the best course to be pursued, although they could have entertained next to no hope of ultimate escape. Bewildered in the smoke, caught in a trap, they meant to ask for no quarter, but would go to their deaths like most of their comrades, fighting to the last gasp. Jack and Amos could not help admiring their dauntless courage, even though their hearts beat more in sympathy for the avowed aims and ambitions of the Allies. Swiftly the four hard riders swept by the broken wall of the chateau grounds. Amos saw them glance that way. He imagined there was something like a wistful look on their faces, tanned by the exposure of a winter to the elements. “If they only had a little better chance, Jack, they’d break in here and try to hold the enemy off,” Amos was saying, as they followed the passage of the grim determined riders in khaki along the other side of the broken wall.