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.
[148]
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[149] 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.
“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[150] 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[151] 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 ha............