“I’ll say you’ve done a fine job of it,” the blacksmith approved.

“And now then.” He turned to the prisoner. “What may your name be?” He drew pencil and notebook from his pocket.

For a moment the Nazi stood sullenly silent.

“Come now,” the blacksmith insisted. “It’s part of the regulations.”

“Hans Schlitz,” came in a low, defiant voice.

“Hans Schlitz!” The words sprang unbidden from Brand’s voice. “That’s the name of the prisoner who worked on our farm during the World War!”

“I’m his son,” the prisoner snarled. “I’ve paid you a visit to square accounts. I’m sorry we missed.”

“So you meant to bomb our house!” Brand stared almost in unbelief.

“Why not? Your father treated my father, a prisoner of war, like a dog.”

“That,” said the gray-haired blacksmith, “is not the truth. I mind it well. He was housed and fed as one of the family. He worked no harder than the men of the household. He—”

“That’s a lie!” the prisoner snarled. A crimson flush o’erspread the giant blacksmith’s face. He took a step forward. Then he muttered low—“No. It won’t do. Not at all it won’t do. Not to be brawlin’ with a swine like him.”

He stood there for a moment, head bowed as if in prayer. Then his head lifted as he said:

“Here you, Bill and Hugh, take this fellow to the guard house.

“The rest of you,” he waved an arm, “spread out an’ search for the one that’s still free. There was three of them, you all mind countin’.”

There was a murmur of assent. Then they were away. “Come on,” Brand said to Dave after the first man they had captured had been turned over to the blacksmith and a companion. “All this leaves me a bit groggy. Think of their deliberately planning to blow our house off the map!”

“Terrible!” Dave agreed.

“And my father did treat that prisoner well,” Brand said. “I remember his telling of it many times. We saw where their plane cracked up.” Brand’s voice rose. “Finding that plane is important. 

 Prev. P 14/99 next