CHAPTER VII

A DARING RUSE

It would be hard to say which was more surprised—­Fred or the soldier.  For just a moment they stood, both of them, perfectly still, staring at one another with fallen jaws.  And then Fred acted by pure instinct, and without the semblance of a plan in his mind.  He had played football in school and on the team of his scout troop in America.  And now he dived for the astonished German’s legs and brought him down with a flying tackle.  The heavy gun flew out of the soldier’s hands, and, fortunately for Fred, he fell so that his head struck the ground heavily.  He was stunned and, for the moment at least, safe and out of commission.

There was time, therefore, for Fred to see how the ground lay.  He found that he was in a slight hollow, sandy in the bottom, where he stood and the soldier lay.  He imagined that at certain times this hollow might be filled with water, for the sand had that appearance, and, moreover, there was a gully, evidently washed out by water, leading down into the pit.

“Wonder how long he’s good for?” speculated Fred, looking at the soldier.  “A few minutes, anyhow.  He got quite a bump!”

He satisfied himself in a moment that the soldier was not badly hurt.  He was a ridiculous figure as he lay there sprawled out.  His breathing was heavy; it sounded almost like heavy snoring.  He was very young, scarcely more than a boy himself.  His uniform was entirely new, as was his equipment.  He was very slight too, and his face was typical of a certain sort of German.  He looked, Fred thought, like a bird.  It was a queer idea, and he laughed as it came to him, but it did describe this German absolutely.

“I’ll risk it,” Fred decided.  He hesitated about the door.  Perhaps he ought to close it.  But if he did, he couldn’t open it again from this side for that was a secret he hadn’t learned.  And, after all, the only danger was that the soldier might come to his senses and go in—­and if he did that, Fred could follow him.  So taking the rifle, he crawled along the gully the rain had washed out, moving very cautiously.  As he neared the top, he lifted his head and saw, not more than fifty yards away, a grey stone house, simple and unassuming.  A flag pole had been put up in front of this house, and a German flag drooped from it.  Soldiers were all about the place, and two automobiles stood before the door.  Motorcycles were lying on the ground.  While Fred watched, two men rode up on the snorting, crackling little machines and hurried into the house.

This was undoubtedly the parsonage, now being used as the headquarters of Colonel Goldapp.  Fred’s heart sank as he surveyed the place.  It seemed to him that there wasn’t much chance that he could rescue Boris.  There were too many Germans about.  Even though there was no reason for the staff to anticipate an attack, he could guess that the place would be well guarded.  And yet he was here because he hoped that he would be able, after seeing the parsonage, to devise some plan of getting Boris away.