CHAPTER VIII
STARTLING INFORMATION
Conviction that Franz was in dire straits somewhere became almostcertainty with Jimmy and his three chums as the days went by. Butwhere, they did not know. A careful search had failed to reveal hisbody, and he was not among the wounded brought back to the hospitals.
But no inquiry could disclose where he was in case the Germans had hima prisoner. Jimmy told his chums that. And there was no positive proofthat he was not killed. For many bodies were in such a state as to beunrecognizable, and from some even the identification disk was missing.
"Poor Franz!" sighed Bob, as the four talked it over together in thetrenches or in some dugout, for they found several that the Germanshad been forced to abandon. "It's just his luck to be captured again."
"Well, let's hope that he has that luck," suggested Roger. "Of course,it's tough luck, all right, but being captured, even by a Hun is somebetter than being killed. There's a chance if you're a prisoner--alwaysa chance of escaping. But there's no escape from death. Of course, Iknow that to be in some of the prison camps is almost worse than death.But let's hope for the best."
"The worst of it is we can't do anything!" complained Bob. "That's whatgets me--having to sit here and let him suffer maybe."
"It is hard," agreed Jimmy. "But we aren't doing much sitting around.There's too much else to be done. I've got to go out on listening postsoon."
"I'm down for sentry go," added Roger.
"I a letter will write to mine mothar!" decided Iggy. "I from being upby de front door haf been, so I get a vacation."
"You're entitled to it," declared Jimmy. For the Polish lad had beenassigned to a trench where German snipers were active, and more thanone American had lost his life by the incautious exposure of just thetop of his head. Iggy had had the luck to spot one of these pests, andhad brought down the Hun, thereby winning the gratitude of his comrades.
But even the hardest kind of duty could not take from the fourBrothers the sorrow that was in their hearts over Franz. It was almostworse than knowing he was dead, not to know what had become of him.
But there was nothing they could do. Jimmy spoke to their captain aboutit, but the officer shook his head.
"I've made inquiries," he said, "but there isn't a trace of thesergeant. Too bad, too, for he was a fine lad. We can only hope. And,if he is gone, make the beasts pay for him!"
It was about a week after the successful advance of the American forceswhen the spear-head had been wiped out and the German lines smashedcompletely through in several places that Jimmy and Roger were detailedto go some distance to the rear with messages and information forheadquarters. They were assigned to a motorcycle and side car, Jimmy onthe machine and Roger riding beside him.
"Well, this is a whole lot better than hiking it!" said Jimmy, as theystarted off.
"I don't--know--that--it--is!" stuttered Roger, as the car swervedfrom side to side over the rough roads. "When you walk you can go slowenough not to bite your tongue, but in this outfit you seem to hit onlythe high and low spots."
"It isn't what you'd call an asphalt pavement," agreed Jimmy, as hesteered to one side to avoid a big shell hole. "But we'll get there."
Their journey was not exactly void of danger, for about halfway to thebrigade headquarters, where they were to leave their messages, severalHun aeroplanes passed over the American lines. And at once some Alliedmachines came swooping along to give them combat. The German machinesdropped several bombs, evidently searching out ammunition dumps, andone explosion took place in the road just before Roger and Jimmy passedover the spot on the motorcycle.
"Whew!" cried Jimmy, as he crouched to avoid the shower of dirt andstones. "That was a close one!"
"Too close for comfort!" agreed Roger. "Can you get around that hole?"
"Just about," murmured Jimmy. "It's some hole!"
But that was the only bomb that fell near them, and it was evident thatit was not dropped for their discomfiture. For, though the Hun airmenmight have observed the motorcycle shooting along beneath them, theywould hardly have wasted a big bomb on it, when they might use the sameweapon to set off a lot of American ammunition.
"They're getting a bit too personal," observed Roger, as they speededon. "And look, Jimmy! There are a lot of our planes going to smash upthe Huns now."
"Good enough!" returned Jimmy, not taking his eyes off the road aheadof him, for careful driving was required.
"Maybe the Twinkle Twins are up there," added Roger, gazing aloft.
"Maybe," assented Jimmy. And then, striking a fairly good stretch ofroad, he put on more speed, and they were soon at headquarters.
Most of the officers, as well as many of the men, were out watching thecombat of the air. It soon terminated in favor of the Americans, andwhen two of the hostile craft had been shot down the others turned tailand fled.
"I hope our boys got the Hun who dropped the bomb so near us!"exclaimed Roger.
They delivered their message, and were waiting for an answer to beprepared when they observed a squad of signal corps men passing ontheir way to duty. The officer in command had to stop at brigadeheadquarters for instructions, and, leaving his men standing at ease,he went inside the old farmhouse which served as an office for thecommanders.
"That's the same outfit the Bixtons are with," said Jimmy to Roger,recalling the incident of the dugout and his subsequent recognition ofthe two soldiers who had been talking to the civilians.
"Are they there now?" asked Roger.
"Don't see 'em. But maybe I can get some information. I'd like toknow if Private Bixton, the chap we exposed at Camp Sterling, is anyrelation to the two men of the same name here."
Jimmy strolled over toward the men of the signal corps who were waitingfor the reappearance of their officers. Some of the lads who formedpart of the "eyes and ears" of the army nodded in friendly fashionto the two Khaki Boys, and Jimmy, selecting a man who seemed to be aveteran in fighting and in signal work, remarked:
"Haven't you a couple of fellows named Bixton in your outfit?"
"Why, yes, the Bixton boys are with us," was the answer of the privateto whom Jimmy addressed himself. "That is, they belong to our outfit,but they're not here now. They're going to join us before we go muchfurther to the front, though. Why, do you lads know 'em?"
"Not exactly," returned Jimmy. "We've seen 'em," he added, notspecifying where. "But we knew a fellow back home--at Camp Sterling, tobe exact--whose name was Bixton, and we wondered if he was any relationto these two here."
"Oh, ho! so you knew Mike Bixton, did you?" exclaimed the signal corpsprivate, who gave his name as Anson.
"I didn't know his name was Mike," said Roger. "Guess we never heardhis first name, did we, Jimmy?"
"Not that I remember. So he's a relative of these Bixtons, is he?"
"A cousin," volunteered Anson. "Course I don't want to get personal,"he went on in a sort of free-and-easy Western style, "but what sort ofchap was this Mike Bixton?"
Jimmy and Roger hesitated. It was hardly ethics to talk about afellow soldier, and yet Private Bixton was out of that class. He wasa deserter, entitled to no consideration, and he was worse than adeserter--he was, in fact, a traitor.
"Well, to be frank, and not to spread bad information, we didn't knowvery much good about Bixton of Camp Sterling," said Jimmy.
"I thought so!" chuckled Anson. "I thought where there was so muchsmoke there must be a bit of fire."
"What do you mean?" asked Roger.
"Well, these Bixtons here," went on Anson, stepping aside to speak moreconfidentially to Roger and Jimmy, "are making quite a fuss over theircousin, Mike Bixton."
"What sort of fuss?" asked Jimmy.
"Oh, saying he didn't get fair treatment, that he was misunderstood,that everybody was down on him, and all that. I don't know all theparticulars, but I judge Mike must have been punished in some way atCamp Sterling."
"He was sent to prison as a deserter," said Jimmy.
"Cracky! As bad as that! Well, well! I suspected there was an Africangentleman in the fuel heap somewhere," chuckled Anson. "That accountsfor a lot."
"A lot of what?" asked Roger.
"A lot of talk by these Bixtons. They claim their cousin was persecutedby a couple of lads in Camp Sterling. Say these two lads--whoever theywere--did all sorts of mean things to Mike Bixton in the training camp.
"And what's more," went on the old signal-corps soldier, "these Bixtonshere say that if they ever find out who the two camp fellows were whohelped send their relative away they'll do all sorts of things to'em--treat 'em rough, and all that. I'd just like to see what theywould do if they found out who the camp lads were. I'd just like tosee. I'd give a lot to be there to see what happens when they meetthose two fellows. They say it'll go hard with, 'em. I shouldn't liketo be in their shoes. These Bixtons are tough lads and fighters! Ifthey ever discover the two who were responsible for their cousin'spredicament--whew! there'll be something doing."