III
Some twenty minutes later they heard the tramp of hoofs, somewhatmuffled by the snow, and guttural voices. Soon the first horsemanpassed before them--a Bulgarian officer. Immediately behind him came agroup of three, the two on the outside being German officers, thehorseman between them a middle-aged Serb in the characteristic dress ofthe peasant proprietor. The watchers noticed that he was tied round themiddle by a rope, the other end of which was held by a Bulgarian trooperriding behind. Old Marco's eyes gleamed with the light of recognition.He told Burton later that the prisoner was one Milosh Nikovich, a friendof his, a small farmer whose property lay a few miles from his ownestate.
On arriving at the junction of the tracks the officers halted. One ofthe Germans took a map from his pocket, and pored over it with hiscompanions; they were apparently consulting together. Then they putquestions to their prisoner. Their words were inaudible. The Serb'sface wore an expression of sullen defiance, and it was clear that hisreplies were unsatisfactory, for the trooper who held the rope moved uphis horse, and lifting a foot, drove his spur savagely into theprisoner's calf. The man winced, but remained motionless and silent.Burton heard old Marco mutter curses below his breath. Then one of theGermans pointed southwards questioningly; the prisoner gave whatappeared to be an affirmative answer, and the party pushed on. It soondisappeared through the windings of the track. The watchers countedfourteen in all.
When the enemy were out of sight and hearing, Burton turned to the oldman.
"A scouting party?" he said.
"Without doubt," replied the Serb. "The main body must be behind. Willyou look for them through your glasses?"
Burton left their hiding-place for a spot whence he could view thetracks and the plain beyond. No troops were in sight, but the boom ofguns came faintly on the air from the north-east. Burton knew, fromwhat he had seen during the morning's reconnaissance, that somewhereeastward from the spot where he stood the British forces were steadilyfalling back in face of overwhelming numbers of Bulgars and Germans.Was it possible that the patrol that had just passed was the advanceguard of a flanking force? Unluckily his reconnaissance had been cutshort by the Bulgarian shell almost as soon as it was begun. The perilof Captain Enderby and himself, and of his Serbian friends, wascomplicated with a possible unexpected danger to the British army inretreat. To guard against the latter seemed to be out of his power.The immediate question was, how to ensure the safety of Enderby and theSerbian family with whose lot his own was for the moment cast.
Remaining at the spot from which he could detect any signs of an enemyadvance from the north, he talked over the situation with old Marco.
"The enemy are in front and behind," he said. "It seems we have littlechance of getting through. But if we don't get through----"
"We should be safe for a time in the gully. The enemy will keep to thetracks. But that would help us little in the end, for if they advancebeyond us, they will form a wall without gates, and we must eithersurrender or starve."
"And meanwhile my friend is without proper treatment, and may have tolose his leg or be lamed for life. You have no stomach any more than Ifor being a prisoner with the Bulgars. Don't you think we had betterpush on, and try to slip past the scouting party? It is not likely theywill go far in advance of their main body. Isn't there a way over thehills without taking to the track?"
"If we were on foot we might steal through the country, but not with thecart. That holds all my worldly possessions. And your friend cannot bemoved without it. Look, monsieur; do not my eyes, old as they are, seemasses of men moving on the plain yonder?"
"You are right," said Burton, after a glance northward. "The main bodyis on the move. We must decide at once. Let us carry Captain Enderbyto the cart, push on, and trust to luck."
Hurrying back to the gully, they carried the injured man to the cart.While the Serb led this back to the track, Burton took the precaution ofremoving the carburetter and one or two other essential parts from theengine of the aeroplane. This was badly smashed, but it was just aswell not to leave anything of possible use to the enemy. Then he hauledthe machine-gun from the litter that covered it, expecting to find ithopelessly shattered. To his surprise it appeared to have suffered noinjury except superficial dents, and the ammunition belts were evidentlyperfect. Hurrying after the others with the engine parts, he laid theseon the cart, then took young Marco back with him to help him carry awaythe machine-gun and ammunition.
"We've saved something from the wreck, old man," he said to Enderby ashe came up with the gun on his back.
"Hardly worth while, is it?" asked the captain. "There's preciouslittle chance of our getting through. Hadn't you better shy it into agully in case they capture us?"
"I will at the last minute if things look hopeless; but we'll stick toit as long as we can."
All being ready they set off along the track. Old Marco sent the boyahead to scout. The woman resumed her seat on the cart, where acomfortable place had been arranged among the baggage for CaptainEnderby. The two men followed on foot, pushing at the wheels where thegradient was too steep for the wearied oxen.
So they toiled along for upwards of an hour. Young Marco ahead had notcaught sight of the horsemen; there was no sign of the enemy in therear. It was the old man's hope that there would be time, if dangerthreatened, to rush the cart into some hollow or some gap between therocks. Such a threat was more likely to arise from the scouting partythan from the larger force behind, and the boy, as instructed by hisgrandfather, kept sufficiently in advance to give timely warning.
The track was continuously up hill, broad at some points, at others sonarrow that the cart was only just able to pass between the rockyborders, sometimes as low as kerbstones, sometimes rising to a height ofmany feet. The frequent windings prevented the travellers from gettinga direct view for any considerable distance ahead. Every now and thenthey had glimpses of the watch-tower which Burton had previouslynoticed, and which they were gradually approaching. At such times hescanned it through his glasses, half expecting to find that some of thescouting party had ascended it to survey the surrounding country. Butno human figures yet showed above the summit.
At length, however, on rounding a corner, the travellers were startledby a sudden flash from the tower. They halted, Burton levelled hisglasses, and declared that he saw two heads and pairs of shouldersprojecting above the top. Other flashes followed, at intervals long orshort.
"They are heliographing to the main body behind us," he said to Enderby,repeating the information in French to the Serb.
"Can they see us?" asked Enderby.
"They might perhaps if they looked, but they are gazing far beyond us,of course. We had better back a little, though."
They had, in fact, halted before the oxen had come completely into viewfrom the tower, and by backing a few feet they were wholly concealed.
The three men held an anxious consultation. The tower was probably twomiles ahead. To go on would involve discovery by the enemy. On theother hand, parties of Bulgarians might already be marching up the trackbehind them. It seemed that they were trapped.
"We had better wait a little," Burton concluded, "and see whether theyleave the tower and go forward. In that case we might venture toproceed."
The signalling continued for some few minutes, then ceased. The mendisappeared from the summit of the tower. Burton was on the point ofsuggesting that they should move on when he caught sight of a smallfigure flitting rapidly from rock to rock down the track towards them.
"It is the boy," he said, after a look through his glasses.
In a few minutes young Marco arrived, excited and breathless.
"Three horsemen are coming down the hill," he reported.
"Tchk!" muttered the old man, repeating the news. "How far away,child?"
"A mile or more. They are riding slowly; the track is steep."
For a few moments consternation and dismay
paralysed their faculties.That the horsemen formed part of the patrol they had already seen wascertain; no others could have safely passed the tower occupied by theenemy. Discovery and capture seemed inevitable. The fugitives might,indeed, clamber among the rocks and conceal themselves for a time; butthe nature of the ground at this spot precluded the removal of the cart,and its tell-tale presence on the track unattended would put a shortlimit to their safety.
At this critical moment the old Serb's experience of half a century ofmountain warfare came to his aid.
"We must ambush the Bulgars," he said. "Look there!"
He pointed to a spot a few yards in their rear, at the end of a narrowstretch of the track which had given him an anxious moment in leadingthe oxen. On one side the bank rose rugged and steep, on the other itfell away, not precipitously, but in a jagged slope which had threatenedruin to the cart if the wheel had chanced to slip over the edge of thetrack. Burton quickly seized the possibilities of the situation.
"By Jove! It's risky, but we'll try it," he remarked to Enderby.
The captain had already taken his revolver from its case. But old Marcohad conceived a plan that would render Captain Enderby's co-operationunnecessary. He explained it rapidly to Burton, and they proceeded tocarry it out. The woman was told to conceal herself behind a thorn bushgrowing in a cleft in the bank. The cart was backed to the chosen spot,and young Marco, his eyes alight with excitement and eagerness,clambered up to the driver's seat. A rug was thrown over Enderby andthe machine-gun lying at his side, and the old man took up a positionwith Burton behind the cart, concealed by the pile of furniture from theeyes of any one approaching down the hill.
The Serb had taken a rifle from beneath the baggage.
"There are only three," he said. "I can shoot them one by one."
"No, no!" cried Burton. "The shots would alarm their friends above.Besides, they'll be more useful to us alive, as hostages, perhaps, evenif we don't get useful information out of them."
"You are right," said the old man, "but it is a pity," and hereluctantly laid the rifle aside.
They had reason to commend young Marco's scouting, for only a fewminutes after their preparations were completed, the horsemen were heardapproaching the bend. The boy, whose eyes had been fixed on hisgrandfather, at a nod from him whipped up the oxen, and the cart lurchedforward just as the horsemen came in sight. As if surprised by theirappearance, Marco pulled up so that there was barely room for a horse topass on the side where the bank shelved downwards. His grandfather andBurton were still hidden in the rear.
The three horsemen had been riding abreast, but at sight of the cartthey moved into single file. The first was a German officer; then camethe Serbian prisoner with the Bulgarian trooper holding the rope behind.
The German officer reined up, and asked Marco a question. The boy shookhis head, and the German turned impatiently to the prisoner, orderinghim to repeat the question. At this moment Burton, revolver in hand,slipped from behind the cart on the side of the declivity, while the oldman with some difficulty squeezed himself between the wheel and the highbank on the other side. A gleam in the eyes of the prisoner apprisedthe German that something was happening behind him, and he was in theact of turning when his arm was seized and he saw himself confronted bya determined-looking young airman, levelling a revolver within a fewinches of his head. One arm was held as in a vice, the other hand wasengaged with the rein; it was impossible to draw his own revolver. Hecalled to the trooper to shoot, but that warrior was otherwise engaged.
"Dismount, sir," said Burton, quietly. "You are my prisoner."
"DISMOUNT, SIR."]
And seeing that there was no help for it, the German made haste to obey.
Meanwhile on the other side old Marco had performed his allotted part.The trooper, catching sight of Burton before the German, was for amoment too much surprised to be capable of action; but then, droppingthe rope he held, he was about to spur forward to his superior'sassistance, when the old Serb, who had crept round while the man'sattention was occupied, suddenly hurled himself upon him. The old manwas beset by no scruples. A Bulgar was always a Bulgar. A shot wouldraise an alarm; cold steel was silent. All the strength of his sinewyarm, all the heat of age-long national hatred, went into theknife-thrust that hurled the trooper from his saddle, over the edge ofthe track, and down the sharp-edged rocks of the slope beyond.
Within less than a minute the ambush had succeeded without any sound orcommotion that could have been heard by the enemy in the tower nearlytwo miles away, and out of their sight.