“Come!” he exclaimed to Weber.  “I know of a way to save time.”

He rushed through the snow to the rear of the cathedral and Weber, without question, followed him.  The automobile was there, well supplied, and John sprang into the front seat.  He was no skillful driver, but he had learned enough to manage a machine in some fashion, and powerful emotions were driving him on.

“Up, Weber!” he cried.

“Which way are you going?”

“To the hospital camp, of course, and we’ll just touch the top of the high-arched bridge over the river!  The snowfall is decreasing fast, and soon we’ll be able to see a long distance.”

“We can do so now, and the moon is coming out, too.  Heavens, Mr. Scott, it’s come too soon, because it shows us to the enemy!”

He pointed with a long and shaking finger.  At the far end of the street a massive German column was emerging into view.  John was startled.

“These are no raiders!” he exclaimed.  “They must have broken through a portion of our lines and are attempting to flank other positions!  But Chastel’s hospitality for us is ended.”

He put on full speed and drove the machine rapidly through the snow toward the river.

“We’ve another reason now why we should reach the camp!” he exclaimed.  “Our people must be warned of the presence of the Germans in force in Chastel!”

There was a crash of rifle fire and bullets struck all about them.  Two or three glanced off the side of the machine itself, which a moment or two later ran into a deep drift and stuck there, panting.

Weber sprang out and threw himself flat in the snow.  John instinctively did the same, and the second volley fired with better aim riddled the machine.  There was a heavy explosion, it turned on its side, its wheels revolving for a moment or two, and then it lay still, like a dying monster.

John sprang to his feet and rushed for the shelter of a building only a few yards away.  He saw Weber’s shadow flitting by his side, but when he reached cover he found that he had lost him.  Doubtless in the excitement of the moment the Alsatian had found hiding elsewhere.  He was sorry that they had become separated, but Weber had a great ability to take care of himself, and John was quite sure that he would escape.  The task that lay upon him now was to make good his own flight.

The building, the shelter of which he had reached, was a low brick structure, already much damaged by shells and shrapnel.  But the walls were thick enough to protect him for the moment from bullets, and flinging himself down in the deep snow he crouched in the shadow until he could regain sufficient breath for further flight.  He heard more shots fired, but evidently random triggers only had been pulled, as no bullet struck near him.

The fall of snow ceased almost entirely, and the moon grew brighter and brighter.  Chastel was a vast white ruin, tinted with silver, and as such it had an uncanny beauty of its own.  But John, thankful that the snow was so deep, lay buried in it, where it had drifted against the wall.  The Germans in a town so near the French lines were not likely to make a diligent search for a single man, and he felt that he was safe if he did not freeze to death.