It was Vincent Newport's uniform. Alan did not hesitate to use it, he felt he would be safer, as nobody would imagine him to be the man who escaped through the line from Bruges.

Jean raised no objections and Alan gave him the clothes he wore. He offered to guide him to a spot where he might get through the enemy and reach his friends. It would be difficult but there was risk everywhere. Alan protested, if Jean were caught he would be shot, he was sure he could find the way from directions.

"I care little whether they shoot me," said Jean, "my life is ruined."

"It will all come right again after the war," said Alan.

Jean held up his hands, shaking his head despairingly.

"After the war—God knows when that will be," he said sadly.

They started at night. Alan was for leaving the horse behind but Jean said a good steed might save his life.

"It is not fair that you should walk," said Alan. "How far is it?"

"Some thirty miles," said Jean. "That is nothing to me."

They took flasks of brandy and a parcel of eatables. Alan walked with him, leading the horse.

It was a lonely, desolate country, treeless, a barren waste; but Jean loved it. He said the land was better than it looked.

They walked all night. In the early morning they came to an old barn and walked inside with the horse. They were hungry and ate well, a few drops of brandy revived them, some loose hay was given to the horse. A low booming sound was heard, an artillery duel, it continued the greater part of the day. At nightfall Alan mounted his horse and bade good-bye to Jean Baptistine.

"I will hunt you out when we have beaten the Huns," said Alan cheerfully.

"You will beat them," said Jean, "but they are strong, their sins will hang heavy on them when the judgment comes, they are murderers." He cursed them and Alan shivered as he heard what deadly hate there was in the old man's breast. Was it to be wondered at?

Alan rode in the direction of the booming. Jean told him to bear to the right and that would give him more chance of passing the German trenches. He carried his life in his hands but he was cheerful, the sense of danger roused him, the true sporting spirit manifested itself, he was against great odds and meant to succeed. As he went on at a slow pace the heavy firing ceased for a time, then broke out in the occasional boom of a gun. Alan thought they were knocking off for the night; he might have a chance to get through.

As the horse walked along he thought of home and wondered how things were going on at Trent Park and The Forest. It was nearly two months since he had been away from headquarters, and he was not able to write. Eve would be anxious, he must let her know he was safe as soon as possible. He was glad they were not married, it would not have been fair to her; but he vowed she should be his wife if he came safely out of the struggle.

Just before he left for Brussels he had received a letter from Fred Skane in which he said he was preparing Bandmaster for the big steeplechase to be run in Trent Park over a course of four miles. This would be a great event, a sort of Grand National on a small scale. He hoped Alan would be able to come over and ride his horse; he must not forget the date. With the owner up he thought Bandmaster had a chance second to none.

During the excitement and suspense of his journey and stay in Brussels he had forgotten all this but it came to mind now as he rode quietly on toward danger. He remembered the date and began to reckon up, he had lost count during the past few days but he knew there was very little time to spare.

His message delivered, he would have no difficulty in obtaining leave. He hoped to be home in time to ride Bandmaster a few gallops over the course before the race took place.

He gave himself up to pleasant ruminations over his chance of winning until he was rudely roused by a bullet whistling past his ear.

"Snipers about," was his first thought as he set his horse to a gallop.

Another bullet whizzed above his head. He looked round, but saw nobody. It was dark; the sniper must have heard the sound of his horse's hoofs and fired in that direction.

There were only two shots but they roused him out of his reverie and put him on the alert.

Then he wondered how it came about that the sniper was behind the
German trenches. Jean told him he would have to pass them somehow.
Had he by some strange piece of luck got past the trenches? Was he
between two fires? That was hardly possible, yet it might be so.

He pulled his horse up and listened. A strange, buzzing sound was heard—probably some aircraft, although it seemed too dark for aviators to see their whereabouts.

He heard voices and movements of men. A gust of wind carried them toward him. The men spoke German; he had only just stopped in time.

He had no idea where he was. To wait there until daylight would court danger but in which direction ought he to go?

Had he reached a strip of "no man's land," a space left unborrowed and unbroken, lying between two fires? If so he was "between the devil and the deep sea," for he might be fired on by friend and foe alike.

It was a thrilling position, a solitary man on horseback on a dark night on unknown ground and surrounded by enemies. Alan listened with the keen ears of a sportsman, all his faculties alert. A false movement and he was lost.

A scrambling sound close on his left startled him. He fancied it was the men quitting a trench and if so it could only be with one object in view—a night attack. If this were the case it was well planned, for there was very little noise. Alan, however, being near, heard that faint peculiar sound of many men silently on the move.

He would have given much to know where he was—the exact spot. He wondered if old Jean Baptistine had made a mistake and given him wrong directions. He was glad he wore uniform and had Newport's revolver on him—it might be useful.

A faint streak in the sky, a rosy tint wearing down the pale gray, warned him day was breaking and he must be prepared.

There were others waiting for daybreak as well as himself, for the heavy boom of a huge gun sounded quite close at hand. Alan looked in the direction, and saw a cloud of smoke. This was answered by a boom and a cloud from the opposite side and he knew an artillery duel had commenced. Suddenly four men sprang out of a hole formed by a bursting shell. They were Germans. What they were doing there it was impossible to say. They were as surprised to see Alan as he was to see them. In the growing light as he sat on his horse he looked like a phantom emerging out of the mist.

A few minutes passed and the situation was summed up on both sides. A dash was made at Alan, shots fired as he turned his horse to the right and headed right straight at them. His charge was the last thing they expected. He crashed into them, sending two to the ground; the others hung to the horse and saddle.

Alan drew his revolver and shot one man through the head. The horse plunged, reared, but he kept his seat. The two Germans who were knocked down were on him again, but he wrenched free and galloped away. Over this vacant space before him men seemed to spring up like mushrooms. It was impossible to get through and reach the English lines, which he could now see. He made the most of it. His horse faced the situation bravely, but he was pulled out of the saddle and made prisoner. He had narrowly escaped being killed, as sundry bullet tears in his uniform showed. He thanked Heaven he was not in mufti or it would have gone hard with him. He was dragged into the crater-hole from which the four men who had first attacked him emerged. He had killed a man, would they kill him?

A young officer ran up. He looked keenly at Alan, then, in excellent English, asked him his name and regiment. A fire of questions followed as to how he came there and what he was about, why he had left his lines? He was searched but no paper found.

The officer seemed rather a better class man. He ordered Alan to be kept in the hole, and put three men to guard him; then he went away in the direction his men were returning to their trench.

Alan judged there must have been a night attack on the English lines and these were the remnants returning scattered all over the place; if so they must have suffered severely, been almost annihilated.

His guards took very little notice of him. They knew he could not escape; moreover, they had orders to shoot if he attempted it.

It was a dull day and there was very little firing. He judged they were resting after the night attack. It was an awkward fix he was in but nothing daunted he puzzled his brains as to how to get out of it; they had tethered his horse close by—that was in his favor.

The officer did not return, and Alan had nothing to eat or drink—the soldiers did not offer him anything.

Night came on. He wondered whether he would be kept there or removed. At last the young officer came, and with him a soldier carrying a bag which contained food. Alan was handed some, also given a drink, and the officer said he must remain there until next day. If he tried to escape he would be shot. Alan wondered why they did not take him to a more secure spot; something must have happened to prevent this.

He settled himself down, after taking good stock of his position and where the horse was. He pretended to sleep. The three soldiers were left on guard.

They seemed tired, they must have been many hours without sleep. They spoke together in low voices. Presently one of them lay down—it was evident they were to keep guard in turns.

Alan was wide awake and alert now. If he could only make a dash for his horse and spring into the saddle there would be a chance of escaping.

The two men on guard seemed drowsy. The man on the ground breathed heavily. Alan moved and loosened some stones. The men were alert in a moment and growled at him savagely. Alan waited about an hour—it seemed much longer. He knew exactly where the men were: one on either side, the other still on the ground.

Without a moment's warning he sprang to his feet, let out right and left, and by sheer good luck hit his men hard. He scrambled out of the hole, reached his horse, broke the rope by which it was tied to a stake, cutting his hands as he did so, sprang into the saddle and was galloping away at a great pace before his guard recovered from the shock. They dare not fire for fear of being discovered in the act of letting the prisoner go. The two roused their sleeping comrade, explained the situation, then marched off toward the enemy's lines. They preferred surrender to the death awaiting them if they remained.