"Here," said Spud to his man, handing a lump of bread and a sausage. The man grabbed it like a hungry wolf. His comrade did the same with Micky’s peace-offering. This bait reduced them to a state of friendliness and civility. Indeed, the attitude of Spud and Micky amazed them. They had been told that the British Army were murderers and barbarians. When they had finished their simple repast, Spud casually inquired—
"Back there," said one, pointing to the end of the wood.
"At that end," said the German, showing Spud a sort of earthwork at their end of the wood, about six hundred yards away.
"Step oot," said Spud, fingering his trigger in a determined way.
"Na, we’ll no’ kill ye. But mind, keep quiet as ye go," he ordered, pushing his prisoners ahead. The victors followed, carrying the rifles of the enemy. But they were not to get off scot-free. The clumsy Germans made a fearful din, rousing their compatriots some distance away. This and the rising moon told the now vigilant Teutons that something was wrong. A searchlight was flashed across the danger zone. Spud and his men were spotted.
"Double," he roared, giving the Germans a prick with his bayonet, but the crash of rifles and then the patter of feet told the daring sergeant that he was pursued.
Zip! went a bullet past his ear. Zip! went another, striking Micky in the leg and smashing a bone. He tumbled with a groan.
"Here, you German waiters—lift him," ordered Spud. The prisoners hesitated, but the stern look in the sergeant’s face, as well as the danger of death from the rifles of their own friends, made them grab the wounded man and carry him on. A five minutes’ run brought them to the spot where Spud’s reserves were handy.
"Halt!" challenged Muldoon, jumping out of a hole.
"It’s me, Pat—haud on here. Stop these scallywags that’s chasing us up. Gie them a dose o’ Rapid. They’ll think they’re up against a hunner men."
"Roight, sargint," replied Muldoon, assuming command of the reserves.
Spud with his unwilling bearers ran on, glad to be out of the danger zone. A few minutes afterwards, the German patrol, which had followed them, came panting and stumbling towards Muldoon’s little army.
Z-r-r-p! crashed a volley. Cries of amazement and shrieks of pain rent the air.