The Forest of Swords | Page 7

smiled as he walked down the hill. His heart had warmed toward
the little Apache who might not be any Apache at all. Nevertheless the
name Geronimo seemed to suit him, and he meant to think of him by it
until his valor won him a better.
He saw from the slopes the same endless stream of people leaving Paris.
They knew that the Germans were near, and report brought them yet
nearer. The tale of the monster guns had traveled fast, and the shells
might be falling among them at any moment. Aeroplanes dotted the
skies, but they paid little attention to them. They still thought of war
under the old conditions, and to the great mass of the people flying
machines were mere toys.
But John knew better. Those journeys of his with Lannes through the
heavens and their battles in the air for their lives were unforgettable.
Stopping on the last slope of Montmartre he studied space with his
glasses. He was sure that he saw captive balloons on the horizon where
the German army lay, and one shape larger than the rest looked like a
Zeppelin, but he did not believe those monsters had come so far to the

south and west. They must have an available base.
His heart suddenly increased its beat. He saw a darting figure and he
recognized the shape of the German Taube. Then something black shot
downward from it, and there was a crash in the streets of Paris,
followed by terrible cries.
He knew what had happened. He caught another glimpse of the Taube
rushing away like a huge carnivorous bird that had already seized its
prey, and then he ran swiftly down the street. The bomb had burst in a
swarm of fugitives and a woman was killed. Several people were
wounded, and a panic had threatened, but the soldiers had restored
order already and ambulances soon took the wounded to hospitals.
John went on, shocked to the core. It was a new kind of war. The flying
men might rain death from the air upon a helpless city, but their victims
were more likely to be women and children than armed men. For the
first time the clean blue sky became a sinister blanket from which
dropped destruction.
The confusion created by the bomb soon disappeared. The multitude of
Parisians still poured from the city, and long lines of soldiers took their
place. John wondered what the French commanders would do. Surely
theirs was a desperate problem. Would they try to defend Paris, or
would they let it go rather than risk its destruction by bombardment?
Yet its fall was bound to be a terrible blow.
Lannes was on the steps of the Opera House at the appointed time,
coming with a brisk manner and a cheerful face.
"I want you to go with me to our house beyond the Seine," he said. "It
is a quaint old place hidden away, as so many happy homes are in this
city. You will find nobody there but my mother, my sister Julie, and a
faithful old servant, Antoine Picard, and his daughter, Suzanne."
"But I will be a trespasser?"
"Not at all. There will be a warm welcome for you. I have told them of

you, how you were my comrade in the air, and how you fought."
"Pshaw, Lannes, it was you who did most of the fighting. You've given
me a reputation that I can't carry."
"Never mind about the reputation. What have you been doing since I
left you this morning?"
"I spent a part of the time in the lantern of the Basilica on Montmartre,
and I had with me a most interesting friend."
Lannes looked at him curiously.
"You did not speak of any friend in Paris at this time," he said.
"I didn't because I never heard of him until a few hours ago. I made his
acquaintance while I was going up Montmartre, but I already consider
him, next to you, the best friend I have in France."
"Acquaintanceship seems to grow rapidly with you, Monsieur Jean the
Scott."
"It has, but you must remember that our own friendship was pretty
sudden. It developed in a few minutes of flight from soldiers at the
German border."
"That is so, but it was soon sealed by great common dangers. Who is
your new friend, John?"
"A little Apache named Pierre Louis Bougainville, whom I have
nicknamed Geronimo, after a famous Indian chief of my country. He
has already gone to fight for France, and, Philip, he made an
extraordinary impression upon me, although I don't know just why. He
is short like Napoleon, he has the same large and beautifully shaped
head, and the same penetrating eyes that seem able to look you through