Axidava

The Escape

The tent flap lifted and dropped. The prisoner could make out the dim outlines of a man’s form.

“To be shot at sunrise, eh?”

The prisoner stirred quickly. That voice was strangely familiar to him.

The figure moved nearer. A knife flashed and the prisoner’s bonds fell off.

“Follow me, and not a sound.”

They crept out of the tent, past a dozing sentry, and across a dark field.

“Now,” said the guide, as they straightened up in the shadow of a hedge, “a proposition, for cousins will be cousins, even in war.”

He paused, looked warily around, and emitted a low chuckle.

“Six months ago,” he continued, “when I was captured by your side and sentenced to be shot you rescued me, as I have you. You showed me our lines and gave me two minutes to get away. After that two minutes you were to fire, and you——”

He stopped, wheeled like a flash, but too late. A shot rang out, and another.

The two men stiffened, leaned toward each other, gasped, and dropped to the ground.

Around the corner of the hedge stepped the sentry, a smoking automatic in his hand.

“Huh!” he growled, stirring the prostrate figures with his foot. “Relatives have no business on opposite sides, anyway.”

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