Chapter 7 A SUSPECTED SPY

For a time Jimmie forgot the drudgery to which he had been sentenced as a result of his fight with Otto for possession of the tiny packet concealed in the Cossack uniform. Forgotten were the multiplicity of duties incident to his service as a member of the "kitchen police"-the work to which all offenders in the army were subjected, and which corresponded to the tasks of a garbage collector.

Apparently the lad was devoting himself wholly to the strenuous labor of calisthenics. There seemed to be no idea in his mind of making any certain motion a given number of times for the purpose of developing different muscles. Instead he merely placed his arms in various positions and held them there a moment before assuming a different attitude. Seldom did he repeat any motion.

We know, of course, that he had seen the boys as they emerged from the underground cavern that nearly proved their tomb. He had taken a chance on their being his comrades and had made signals to attract their attention. When he received an answering wave of the arm from Ned he delightedly began sending a message by means of the well-known semaphore code. Although the lad possessed no flags or other means of carrying out fully the code as prescribed, he did the best he could with only his arms for signals. We know that Ned and his chums were able correctly to interpret the message Jimmie was sending.

"Great frozen hot boxes!" mused the boy half aloud. "They are down there among the ruins. I wonder how they got free of the searching party. Things have been coming pretty fast for me lately, and I declare I clean forgot the others. Wonder what they'll do."

He had not long to wait. Directly he saw Ned and the others consulting beside the aeroplane. The next moment Ned had stepped clear of the machine and began waving his arms after the same fashion adopted by Jimmie when he spelled out his own name.

"There he goes!" declared Jimmie to himself. "There he is making the letter 'C.' There comes 'A,' and next is 'N.' That is 'Can.' Now here comes 'U;' 'Can You.' Here is 'G,' 'E,' 'T.' 'Can You Get-.' Now he says 'A,' 'W,' 'A,' 'Y.' That's 'Away.' Can I get away? Not very handy with all these Germans about. Guess I'll have to tell him something myself. Here goes."

Accordingly Jimmie began a reply in the same code. He briefly informed Ned that he understood the regiment was to go west, probably to Verdun, where Jimmie had heard that heavy fighting was taking place. He also stated that he was unable to escape in daylight, but that he would try to do so after nightfall.

In response to this wig-wagging Ned began to give directions for their co-operation in an attempt at escape by Jimmie, when suddenly he discerned a soldier creeping up behind his red-headed friend.

Instantly he gave the well-known danger signal and tried to tell Jimmie that someone was near. For some strange reason the lad failed to comprehend the information given, and not until it was too late did he realize that it was himself who was in danger.

Intently watching Ned and trying to interpret the signals being made by the older boy, Jimmie did not observe the footsteps of the approaching soldier. Suddenly he felt an arm thrown about his neck. He was drawn irresistably backward by the strong arm that shut off his wind nearly to the choking point.

With all the energy in his lithe young body the lad tried to kick and strike at his unseen antagonist, but his efforts were unavailing.

For what seemed to the lad countless years the vise-like grasp was maintained upon his windpipe. He began to understand that his struggles were useless, and spent his entire energy in an effort to stiffen the cords of his neck, hoping to assist his breathing by so doing. Presently, as he ceased his struggles, the soldier who had so skillfully captured him set the lad upon his feet.

"So," began the soldier, "think you that we understand not the fact that you are but a spy and that information you are giving to your friends in the city? Yes. It is indeed so."

Jimmie's only reply was a wrinkling of his freckled nose in a grimace of extreme disgust and contempt. Even had he been so minded, the condition of his wrenched neck and strained muscles prevented sprightly conversation. He winked rapidly to clear his tear-filled eyes, and indulged in another wrinkling of the nose.

"So," continued the other, paying no heed to Jimmie's motions of contempt. "And this is why we have not had better success in our campaign. We must fight not only the enemy in their trenches, but we must also contend with traitors in our own camps!"

"Who's a traitor?" demanded Jimmie in a belligerent tone.

"Your name I know not," answered the soldier, "but the red hair and the active nose, with its habit of turning up toward the sky, would be identification enough without a name. I need no name."

"Well, you haven't any name so far as I know," was the lad's impertinent response. "And I don't want to get acquainted with you."

"The subject we will not change," was the cool rejoinder of the German. "We just now are discussing your giving information to the other Russian spies down there in the city. You will not need a name after to-morrow, or possibly after this evening, if Herr Captain von Liebknecht is as zealous in the service of the Kaiser as he has been. If I were giving orders, you would be shot now."

"Well," began Jimmie, pursuing the subject, "I'm not shot yet and you're not shot, but in the language of the little old United States you certainly act like a fellow just about half-shot."

"Half-shot?" inquired the German in a puzzled manner. "How can a man be half-shot? He would then be only kerwundete."

"You and I are getting on famously, Old Man," Jimmie observed, half laughing. "From all appearances you'd like to stand me up against a wall at sunrise and I'd like to see you in Halifax."

"Halifax?" queried the soldier. "You speak of strange places."

"Well, all right," Jimmie replied. "I guess we'd better be going now, so I'll get my bucket from the place where I dumped its contents into the ditch and we will go back to camp. I hold no resentment against you for your harsh treatment of me, especially since you weigh just about three times as much as I do."

"The bucket will do well enough where it is," came the answer in a low tone, cold as ice. "Just now you will appear before the Captain. Do you not know you are under arrest?"

"Under arrest?" puzzled Jimmie. "Who's pinching me?"

"Ach! Ach!" protested the soldier, raising his hands in a gesture of despair. "What a strange person! What a strange language!"

"You're quite right there," Jimmie said, "and if I had my way we'd be stranger still. Yes," he added, "I think we'd be still strangers. That would just about suit me to perfection."

"Come on, now," the German ordered, with a trace of impatience tinging his phlegmatic manner. "Long enough we have waited."

"I'm willing," said Jimmie, turning upon his heel. "We might as well get the trouble off our minds. If I'm to be shot for keeps I hope they'll do it soon and do a good job while they're at it."

Although the boy's manner was light and buoyant enough to deceive even the experienced and hardened Uhlan who had constituted himself captor, his heart was heavy, for he well understood the danger of his position. He could hope for little nursing from the peculiar German minds with which he had to cope. Appearances certainly were against him, and he knew that the evidence would be taken only at face value.

Resolved, however, to make the most of a bad bargain, the boy resolutely forced a smile to his freckled face and bore himself erect and with apparent fearlessness as the two neared camp.

No time was lost by the soldier who had Jimmie in charge. He went directly to the spot where Captain von Liebknecht's tent was pitched. A sentry paced up and down the narrow limits of his beat, carrying his rifle in the prescribed position. In accordance with regulations, he was equipped with his full outfit, including a vicious looking sword bayonet and bandoliers of cartridges that gave forth a silent message which to Jimmie's troubled mind spelled a most gloomy and forbidding prospect for the immediate future.

A challenge from the sentry halted the pair until the necessary questions and answers could be exchanged. Upon being convinced that Jimmie's conductor had an urgent message for the Captain, the sentry ordered them to remain where they were while he hailed the guard stationed inside the tent. To this individual the sentry explained the reason for the visit and the request for an interview.

Jimmie was not left long in doubt. Almost instantly, it seemed, the guard returned and, after exchanging a few words in a low tone with the sentry, beckoned for the soldier and the lad to follow.

He led the way into the tent, raising the flap for Jimmie and his captor to pass. More than ever the lad felt his appellation of The Wolf was well deserved. It seemed to him that circumstances were conspiring to make him seem to the Germans a predatory animal, and while he would have been willing and was even anxious to dispel this notion from their minds, he well understood that nothing he could do or say would be of effect in this direction. Feeling keenly the need of most careful handling of the situation, Jimmie glanced quickly and furtively about the tent. He was somewhat surprised to observe there a number of officers of the regiment apparently in conference.

A number of papers, amongst them maps, was spread upon the little table in the center of the tent. Captain von Liebknecht had patently been directing certain movements of troops, using the maps to further explain his instructions. Jimmie's entrance had interrupted the Captain's action of tracing with his finger the line of railroad leading from Peremysl, or Przemysl, as it must henceforth be known.

As the Captain raised his eyes to observe who his visitors might be, Jimmie let his glance fall to the map, where he saw the finger pointing at the town designated as Cracow.

In a flash the boy realized that von Liebknecht had been giving instructions for the transportation of troops by rail, and that Cracow would be the next stopping point, where he guessed that the horses would be detrained for water and rest if possible.

Mentally making a note of this fact, Jimmie raised his glance fearlessly to meet the cold blue eyes of the German officer. In that glance Jimmie comprehended the fact that he could expect little mercy from a man whose whole ambition in life seemed to be unquestioning and unwavering devotion to his Emperor. He read also in the blue eyes craft and skill in diplomacy and a keen intelligence withal.

"Captain," began the soldier who had brought Jimmie to the tent, "this Cossack has been giving information to his Russian friends."

Jimmie detected without any difficulty the implied sneer in the term "Cossack," but forebore making any reply on the instant.

"So?" observed von Liebknecht. "Again? Must we always be troubled at critical times with this wonderful recruit?"

As none of the group seemed able to reply, silence was the only response. The Captain let his glance wander about from one to another of his aides. His eyes rested for a moment upon the countenance of a member of the group apparently older than the others.

An almost imperceptible shake of the head answered the questioning glance. For some reason The Wolf felt a sense of relief.

"What have you to say for yourself, young man?" asked the Captain.

"I guess I said enough before I enlisted," answered Jimmie.

"Yet you have now some secret information," demanded the other.

"No, sir," protested the lad in wide-eyed amazement.

"No?" queried von Liebknecht in his accustomed level tones. "Then what is it you have in that little packet you took from the Cossack uniform at so great a cost as a burned hand?" he added.

Involuntarily Jimmie's hand clutched at his breast.