I eliminated
myself for the moment.
Now with dramatic suddenness death touches Vitry with her chill fingers.
In the distance, right away beyond the bridge behind a bend in the road,
there is a clatter of hoofs. It stops. Again it goes on and stops for
about a couple of minutes, and then quite distinctly can be heard the
sound of a body of horsemen proceeding at a walk.
The cavalry scouts have vanished into big barns on either side of the
road, and around the corner of the bridge comes a small body of German
cavalry. They have passed the spot where the French scouts are hidden
and I have retreated to my bedroom window, from where I can count twelve
of the Death's Head riders.
They are riding to their fate. Right slap up in front of the cars they
come. A rifle shot rings out from where the French scouts are hidden,
then another, and that is the signal for the inferno to be loosed.
C-r-r-r-r-r-ack, and the mitrailleuse spits out a regular hail of death,
vicious, whiplike, never-ceasing cracks. Two horses are down and three
men lie prone in the road.
The Germans have not fired a shot, all their energies being concentrated
in wildly turning their horses to get back again round the bend.
It is too late.
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