19. Tom Leads The Way
"See anything yet, Jack?" asked Tom, after the air service boys had been moving along for a brief time, often so close to the top of the ridge that they could make out the character of the trees growing there.
"Not a thing, Tom. I hope now we haven't made a wrong play, and all this while kept running away from the place."
"No danger of that," and Tom's confident way of saying this gave Jack considerable peace of mind. "There's the river, and we can easily see which way it runs, and this is the left bank all right. We ought to strike that break any minute now. The Lorrainer told me it lay just on the other side of the gap."
"And it seems that some small stream comes through the ridge by way of that valley and joins the Meuse there, you said. But if we don't make a rise pretty soon I'm afraid our goose will be cooked. That little amount of petrol left isn't going to last much longer."
"Hold your horses, and don't cross a bridge before you come to it. Right now I believe I can see something ahead that looks like a dip in the ridge. The chances are it's going to be that gap the man told about."
On hearing this news Jack strained his eyesight more than ever, and soon gave tongue again. No need of using his novel little wireless outfit when the engine was purring so softly and the propellers were revolving just fast enough to keep the plane moving slowly.
"As usual, you're right about that dip. It's there sure enough; and already I more than half believe I can make out something perched on the ridge beyond that's likely to be our chateau."
"Then we've got to be on the lookout for a landing-place," announced the pilot. "It would hardly do to run smack up close to the place. Some of them might happen to be awake, and the sound of our machine would bring them out to investigate. We're taking enough chances as it is, without that."
So he went still lower, just creeping along as it were, and both of them eagerly watched for an open spot.
Tom even circled so as to come down near the low ground at the foot of the ridge. No doubt they would have a far better chance to run across a landing-place there than where the ground was rocky and more precipitous. They had also to bear in mind that it would be necessary to make an ascent later on, if all went well; which must require a certain amount of ground level enough to make the preliminary run.
After all it was Jack who made the discovery, Tom's attention being in part taken up with the requirements necessary to his function as pilot.
"There, I saw what looked like a decent spot, Tom—we just passed it by on the right. Try to turn around, and we'll look it over again as we go. Seemed plenty big enough, I thought, though I'd like to have a second peep before we decide to try to land."
This time Tom, too, used his eyes to good advantage, and hardly had they swung past before Jack was asking, in rather subdued tones now:
"How about it, Tom? Think we can make the riffle all right, in this poor light?"
Tom did not hesitate to answer this important question.
"I'm willing to try, Jack. If we're carrying our usual luck we'll land so easy we could hardly break an egg between us. Be ready for your part of the game now."
Jack waited, with his nerves all a-tremble. He knew that everything must depend on Tom's success in effecting a safe landing. Any breakage might upset all their plans, and possibly result in their ultimate capture by the Huns; for when morning came they would have to expose themselves in seeking food, and once they were identified as Americans they would soon be run down.
If ever Tom had reason to exert himself to the utmost in order to make a safe landing, it was then. He came up in the face of what little breeze was stirring, just as a bird invariably alights against the wind, and not with it. Jack held his breath. Nearer and still nearer they dropped. Now he felt the rubber-tired wheels under the plane strike the ground lightly. They were actually rolling along, jolting more or less, it was true, but nothing so very unusual after all.
With a slight jar the plane came to a sudden stop. Jack, who had freed himself from his safety belt in preparation for this moment, was over like a flash; but although there was a slight slant to the ground the plane displayed no inclination to run backwards.
"Beautifully done," Jack hastened to say.
"Not so loud!" cautioned the other. "We don't know where we are yet, you see. Here's green grass around us, and trees close by. It may be some back dooryard to a house, for all we can tell."
"You just grazed the top of that last tree, Tom—the weeping willowy kind of one over there—but it had to be done to make the landing. Where do we go from here?"
Perhaps that phrase fell naturally from Jack's lips, for he had been singing a song with those identical words earlier on that very evening, with some of his rollicking companions at the Y. M. C. A. hut.
"As soon as we can get our bearings we want to find a road," his chum explained.
"Sure thing. And there ought to be one around, else how would folks get up to that chateau?" Jack demanded. "I suppose we'll have to see after the supply of gas the first thing."
"That was settled beforehand," came the reply. "Now we ought to get our bearings down pat before leaving the old bus here."
"It would be a bad joke on us for a fact, Tom, if we wandered off, and then after picking up a few gallons of petrol—even one, if it came down to that quantity, would serve—and then couldn't for the life of us find where we left the plane. Yes, let's skirmish around, and locate things in our minds."
Accordingly they started to move to the right, gradually widening the circle they made around the plane resting on the open grassy stretch of ground.
"Now we've got to the trees, you notice," said Tom. "Once we pass them by, I think we'll come out on a road which will lead away from here."
Jack clutched his companion by the arm just then, and in an agitated whisper hurriedly said:
"What can those queer white things be over there, Tom? I can see many of them. They're squatting close down to the ground mostly; but there's one or two that stand up higher. Ugh! they look like ghosts to me in this half darkness. Can you make out whether or not they move?"
The other chuckled almost immediately.
"This is certainly a queer stunt for us, Jack," he said. "I've managed to make a landing in a good many outlandish places in times gone by, but this is the first time I ever dropped plump down in a graveyard!"
"What's that? And, say! are those white things gravestones? Well, I believe you're right. I can see now they're perfectly motionless. The joke's on me, I reckon. But I'm glad they are harmless old stones, and not anything to make the creeps go over a fellow."
Tom could hear Jack draw a long breath as he said this, from which he judged that his chum had had something of a shock. Closer inspection proved the truth of Tom's assertion. They were gravestones, mostly of a very modest type, and resting close to the ground. Here and there, however, one more pretentious raised its head some five or six feet high.
Better still, they came upon what seemed to be a road running through the country cemetery that, if followed, would undoubtedly take them to the one leading up to the chateau perched on the ridge above.
"Must be some sort of old French village around this neighborhood," observed Jack. "Many of these stones are partly covered with moss, as if they were terribly old. But then this may be a private burial place for the family that once lived for years and years in that big castle."
"That's nothing to us just now," Tom reminded him. "What we're interested in is whether this road will lead us up there, and if we can make sure of finding our plane again when we come back. Remember that everything will be just the opposite; what's right to us now will be on the left then."
"Oh, I learned that dodge long ago when I took up the study of woodcraft," Jack announced confidently. "Can't fool me on a little wrinkle like that, if I know it."
"Come along, and we'll make a start," Tom urged.
"Feels to me just as if we were two of those old-time crusaders, starting out to rescue a Christian maiden from the Saracens. Only in our case the girl is a mite of six, with a twin sister just breaking her baby heart over her loss."
"Stop firing," said Tom, with a vein of authority in his voice; causing the talkative Jack to remember that there were times when silence could be called "golden."
"I'm dumb as a clam, Tom," he announced; and probably really meant it, so far as a limited time went. But if anything at all out of the ordinary happened Jack could no more help whispering than he could give up eating and expect to live.
But even Tom felt that there was considerable truth in that assertion made by his chum. They were engaged in a most peculiar errand, though actuated by motives that did them both credit. And as they stole carefully along the country road heading toward the foot of the ridge upon which the old partly wrecked French chateau stood, both boys realized more than ever what chances they were accepting in making this bold move.