hed
away through the saplings.

Rickerl cast one swift glance at the savage faces, turned his
head like a trapped wolf in a pit, hesitated, and started to run.
A chorus of howls greeted him: "A mort!" "A mort le voleur!" "A
la lanterne les Uhlans!"

Scarcely conscious of what he was doing, Jack sprang from his
tree and ran parallel to Rickerl.

"Ricky!" he called in English--"follow me! Hurry! hurry!"

The franc-tireurs could not see Jack, but they heard his voice,
and answered it with a roar. Rickerl, too, heard it, and he also
heard the sound of Jack's feet crashing through the willows along
the river-bottom.

"Jack!" he cried.

"Quick! Take to the river-bank!" shouted Jack in English again.
In a moment they were running side by side up the river-bottom,
hidden from the view of the franc-tireurs.

"Do as I do," panted Jack. "Throw your sabre away and follow me.
It's our last chance." But Rickerl clung to his sabre and ran on.
And now the park wall rose right in their path, seeming to block
all progress.

"We can't get over--it's ended," gasped Rickerl.

"Yes, we can--follow," whispered Jack, and dashed straight into
the river where it washed the base of the wall.

"Do exactly as I do. Follow close," urged Jack; and, wading to the
edge of the wall, he felt along under the water for a moment, then
knelt down, ducked his head, gave a wriggle, and disappeared.
Rickerl followed him, kneeling and ducking his head. At the same
moment he felt a powerful current pulling him forward, and, groping
around under the shallow water, his hands encountered the rim of a
large iron conduit. He stuck his head into it, gave himself a push,
and shot through the short pipe into a deep pool on the other side
of the wall, from which Jack dragged him dripping and exhausted.

"You are my prisoner!" said Jack, between his gasps. "Give me
your sabre, Ricky--quick! Look yonder!" A loud explosion followed
his words, and a column of smoke rose above the foliage of the
vineyard before them.

"Artillery!" blurted out Rickerl, in amazement.

"French artillery--look out! Here come the franc-tireurs over the
wall! Give me that sabre and run for the French lines--if you
don't want to hang!" And, as Rickerl hesitated, with a scowl of
hate at the franc-tireurs now swarming over the wall, Jack seized
the sabre and jerked it violently from his hand.

"You're crazy!" he muttered. "Run for the batteries!--here, this
way!"

A franc-tireur