"Didn't you see?"

"I saw nothing."

"I did--bayonets, just below yonder. Soldiers marching."

"Soldiers?" whispered Pen joyfully. "They may be some of our men."

"That they are not. They are French."

French they undoubtedly were; for as the lads peered cautiously from their hiding-place, and listened to the rustling and tramp of many feet, an order rang out which betrayed the nationality of what seemed to be a large body of men coming in their direction.

"Keep snug," whispered Punch, "and they won't see us. It's too close here."

Pen gripped his companion's arm, and lay trying to catch sight of the marching men for some minutes with a satisfied feeling that the troops were bearing away from them. But his heart sank directly after; a bugle-call rang out, the men again changed their direction, the line extended, and it became plain that they would pa.s.s right over the ground where the two lads lay.

"I am afraid they will see us, Punch," whispered Pen. "What's to be done?"

"Run for it. Look here, make straight for that wood up the slope,"

whispered Punch. "You go first, and I will follow."

"But that's uphill," whispered Pen.

"Bad for them as for us," replied the boy. "Up with you; right for the wood. Once there, we are safe."

Punch had said he hated to argue, and it was no time for argument then as to the best course.

Pen gazed in the direction of the approaching party, but they were invisible; and, turning to his comrade, "Now then," he said, "off!"

Springing up, he started at a quick run in and out amongst the bushes and rocks in the direction of the forest indicated by his companion, conscious the next minute, as he glanced back in turning a block of stone, that Punch was imitating his tactics, carrying his musket at the trail and bending low as he ran.

"Keep your head down, Punch," he said softly, as the boy raced up alongside. "We can't see them, so they can't see us."

"Don't talk--run," whispered Punch. "That's right--round to your left.

Don't mind me if I hang back a bit. I am short-winded yet. I shall follow you."

For answer, Pen slackened pace, and let Punch pa.s.s him.

"Whatcher doing?" whispered the boy.

"You go first," replied Pen, "just as fast as you can. I will keep close behind you."

Punch uttered a low growl, but he did not stop to argue, and they ran on and on, getting out of breath but lighter hearted, as they both felt that every minute carried them nearer to safety, for the risky part where the slope was all stone and low bush was nearly pa.s.sed, the dense patch of forest nearer at hand offering to them shelter so thick that, once there, their enemies would have hard work to judge which direction had been taken; and then all at once, when all danger seemed to be past, there came a shout from behind, and then a shot.

"Stoop! Stoop, Punch! More to the left!"

"All right. Come on," was whispered back; and, as Punch bore in the direction indicated by his comrade, there came shout after shout, shot after shot, and the next minute, as the fugitives tore on heedless of everything but their effort to reach the shelter in advance, it was perfectly evident to them that the bullets fired were whizzing in their direction.

Twigs were cut and fell; there was the loud _spat, spat_ of the bullets striking the rocks; and then, when they were almost within touch of the dark shadows spread by the trees, there came a scattered volley, and both lads went down heavily, disappearing from the sight of their pursuers, who sent up a yell of triumph.

"Punch," panted Pen, "not hurt?"

The answer was a hoa.r.s.e utterance, as the boy struggled to his feet and then dropped again on all-fours.

"No, no," he gasped. "Come on! come on! We are close there."

Pen was breathing hard as he too followed his comrade's movements just as if forced thereto by the natural instinct that prompted imitation; but the moment he reached his feet he dropped down again heavily, and then began to crawl awkwardly forward so that he might from time to time catch a glimpse of Punch's retiring form.

"Come on, come on!" kept reaching his ears; and then he felt dizzy and sick at heart.

It seemed to be growing dark all at once, but he set it down to the closing-in of the overshadowing trees. And then minutes pa.s.sed of confusion, exertion, and a feeling as of suffocation consequent upon the difficulty of catching his breath.

Then at last--he could not tell how long after--Punch was whispering in his ear as they lay side by side so close together that the boy's breath came hot upon his cheek.

"Oh, how slow you have been! But this 'ere will do--must do, for we can get no farther. Why, you were worse than me. Hurt yourself when you went down?"

Pen was about to reply, when a French voice shouted, "Forward! Right through the forest!"

There was the trampling of feet, the crackling of dead twigs, and Punch's hand gripped his companion's arm with painful force, as the two lads lay breathless, with their faces buried in the thick covering of past years' dead leaves, till the trampling died away and the fugitives dared to raise their faces a little in the fight for breath.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

HIDE-AND-SEEK.

"Oh, I say," whispered Punch, in a half-suffocated tone, "my word! Talk about near as a toucher! It's all right, comrade; but if I had held my breath half a jiffy longer I should have gone off pop. Don't you call this a game? Hide-and-seek and whoop is nothing to it! Garn with you, you thick-headed old frog-soup eaters! Wait till I get my breath. I want to laugh.--Can't hear 'em now; can you?"

"No," said Pen faintly. "Will they come back?"

"Not they," replied Punch chuckling. "Couldn't find the way again if they tried. But we shall have to stay here now till it's dark. It don't matter. I want to cool down and get my wind. I say, though, catch your foot on a stone?"

"No," replied Pen, breathing hard.

"Thought you did. You did go down--quelch! What you breathing like that for? You did get out of breath! Turn over on your back. There's n.o.body to see us now. I say, isn't it nice and shady! Talk about a hiding-place! Look at the beautiful great, long green leaves. Hooray!

Chestnuts. We have dropped just into the right place for foraging.

Wait a bit and we will creep right into the forest and make a little fire, and have a roast. What? Oh, it's all right. They have gone straight on and can't hear me. Here! I say: why, comrade, you did hurt yourself when you went down. Here, what is it? Oh, I am sorry! Ain't broke anything, have you?"

"My leg, Punch--my leg," said Pen faintly.

"Broke your leg, comrade?" cried the boy.

"No, no," said Pen faintly; "not so bad as that. One of the bullets, I think, sc.r.a.ped my leg when they fired."

"Shot!" cried Punch in an excited voice full of agony. "Oh, comrade, not you! Don't say that!"

The lad talked fast, but he was acting all the time. Leaving his musket amongst the leaves, he had crept to Pen's side, and was eagerly examining his comrade's now helpless leg.

"Can't help it," he whispered, as he searched for and drew out his knife. "I will rip it down the seam, and we will sew it up again some time." And then muttering to himself, "Sc.r.a.ped! It's a bad wound! We must get the bullet out. No--no bullet here." And then, making use of the little knowledge he had picked up, Punch tore off strips of cotton from his own and his companion's garments, and tightly bandaged the bleeding wound.