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Page 48
From carefully picked-up information Stolz had just learned of
the expected arrival of the three troop-trains at the junction at
nine that evening. The tidings had interested him keenly, and he
knew of other people to whom they would be far more interesting.
Seating himself under the lee of the easternmost rock, Stolz
primly opened his sewing-bag and drew forth various torn
garments. The garments were for the most part white, but one or
two were of gaudy colors.
By way of precaution, in case of discovery, the spy threaded a
needle. Thus, if any one should chance to see him shake out a
garment, preparatory to laying it on his knee and mending it,
there could be no reasonable cause for suspicion. Herr Stolz was
nothing if not efficient.
He held up the needle and poked the thread at its eye in truly
feminine fashion.
He had just finished this feat of dexterity when he chanced to
look up from his work at sound of fast-pattering feet. Not thirty
feet away, charging head on at him, rushed the great brown-and-
white collie he supposed had been shot.
With a jump of abject terror, Herr Stolz sprang up. Mingled with
his normal fear of the dog was a tinge of superstitious dread. He
had been so certain the beast was shot! The doctor had given the
order for his killing. The doctor was a commissioned officer.
Stolz's German mind could not grasp the possibility of a soldier
disobeying an officer's imperative command.
The collie was upon him by the time the spy gained his feet.
Stolz reached frantically under his dress-folds for the deadly
little pistol that he always kept there. But he was still a
novice in the mysteries of feminine apparel. And, before his
fingers could close on the weapon, Bruce's bared fangs were
gleaming at his throat.
Stolz ceased to search for the weapon. And, as before, he threw
up both frantic hands to ward off the furious jaws.
He was barely in time. Bruce's white teeth drove deep into the
spy's forearm, and Bruce's eighty pounds of furry muscular bulk
smote Stolz full in the chest. Down went the spy, under the
terrific impact, sprawling wildly on his back, and fighting with
both bleeding hands to push back the dog.
Bruce, collie-fashion, did not stick to one grip, but bit and
slashed a dozen times in three seconds, tearing and rending his
way toward the throat-hold he craved; driving through flesh of
hands and of forearms toward his goal.
Like many another German, Stolz was far more adept at causing
pain than at enduring it. Also, from birth, he had had an
unconquerable fear of dogs. His nerves, too, were not yet
recovered from Bruce's attack earlier in the day. All this, and
the spectral suddenness of the onslaught, robbed him of every
atom of his usual stony self-control.
Sergeant Mahan was a good soldier. Yet a minute earlier he had
almost ruined his reputation as such. He had been hard put to it
to refrain from leaving the ranks of his drilling company, a
furlong from the rocks, and running at record speed toward the
boulders. For he had seen the supposed nurse pass that way. And
almost directly afterward he had seen Bruce follow her thither.
And he could guess what would happen.
Luckily for the sake of discipline, the order of "Break ranks!"
was given before Mahan could disgrace himself by such unmartial
behavior. And, on the instant, the Sergeant broke into a run in
the direction of the rocks.
Wondering at his eccentric action, several of the soldiers
followed. The company captain, at sight of a knot of his men
dashing at breakneck speed toward the boulders, started at a more
leisurely pace in the same direction.
Mahan had reached the edge of the rocks when his ears were
greeted by a yell of mortal fear. The captain and the rest,
catching the sound, went faster. Screech after screech rang from
the rocky enclosure.
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