Tom Slade with the Boys Over There Part 6

"I don't know. A signal, maybe. They're searching this place for us, I guess. Don't talk."

Archer took comfort from Tom's calmness, and for half an hour more they waited, silent and apprehensive. But nothing more happened, the solemn stillness of the countryside reigned without, and as the time pa.s.sed their fear of pursuit and capture gave way to cold terror at the thought of being locked in this black, stifling vault to die.

What had happened? What did that shot mean, and where was it? Why did Florette not come? Who had walked across the plank roof of that musty prison? The fact that they could only guess at the time increased their dread and made their dreadful predicament the harder to bear. Moreover, the air was stale and insufficient and their heads began to ache cruelly.

"We can't stand it in here much longer," Tom confessed, after what seemed a long period of waiting. "Pretty soon one of us will be all in and then it'll be harder for the other. We've got to get out, no matter what."

"Therre may be a Gerrman soldierr within ten feet of us now," Archer said. "They'rre probably around in this vineyarrd _somewherre_, anyway.

If we tried to forrce it open they'd hearr us."

"We couldn't force it, anyway," Tom said.

"My head's pounding like a hammerr," said Archer after a few minutes more of silence.

"Hold some of that damp straw to it.--How many matches did she give you?"

"'Bout a dozen or so."

"Wish I had a knife.--Have you got that piece of wire yet?"

"Surre I have," said Archer, hauling from his pocket about five inches of barbed wire--the treasured memento of his escape from the Hun prison camp. "You laughed at me for always gettin' sooveneerrs; now you see---- What you want it for?"

"Sh-h. How many barbs has it?" asked Tom in a cautious whisper.

"Three."

"Let's have it; give me a couple o' matches, too."

Holding a lighted match under the place where he thought the iron padlock band must be, he scrutinized the under side of the door for any sign of it.

"I thought maybe the ends of the screws would show through," he said.

"What's the idea?" Archer asked. "Gee, but my head's poundin'."

"If that hasp just fell over the padlock eye," Tom whispered, "and didn't fit in like it ought to, maybe if I could bore a hole right under it I could push it up. Don't get scared," he added impa.s.sively. "There's another way, too; but it's a lot of work and it would make a noise. We'd just have to settle down and take turns and dig through with the wire barbs. I wish we had more matches. Don't get rattled, now. I know we're in a d.i.c.kens of a hole----"

"You said something," observed Archer.

"I didn't mean it for a joke," said Tom soberly.

"This has got the trenches beat a mile," Archer said, somewhat encouraged by Tom's calmness and resourcefulness.

Striking another match, Tom examined more carefully the area of planking just in the middle of the side where he knew the hasp must be. He determined the exact center as nearly as he could. While doing this he dug his fingernails under a large splinter in the old planking and pulled it loose. Archer could not see what he was doing, and something deterred him from bothering his companion with questions.

For a while Tom breathed heavily on the splintered fragment. Then he tore one end of it until it was in shreds.

"Let's have another match."

Igniting the shredded end, he blew it deftly until the solid wood was aflame, and by the light of it he could see that Archer was ghastly pale and almost on the point of collapse. Their dank, unwholesome refuge seemed the more dreadful for the light.

"You got to just think about our getting out," Tom said, in his usual dull manner. "We won't suffocate near so soon if we don't think about it, and don't get rattled. We _got_ to get out and so we _will_ get out.

Let's have that wire."

All Archer's buoyancy was gone, but he tried to take heart from his comrade's stolid, frowning face and quiet demeanor.

"We can set fire to the whole business if we have to," said Tom, "so don't get rattled. We ain't going to die. Here, hold this."

Archer held the stick, blowing upon it, while Tom heated an end of the wire, holding the other end in some of the damp straw. As soon as it became red hot he poked it into the place he had selected above him. It took a long time and many heatings to burn a hole an eighth of an inch deep in the thick planking, and their task was not made the pleasanter by the thought that after all it was like taking a shot in the dark. It seemed like an hour, the piece of splintered wood was burned almost away, and what little temper there was in the malleable wire was quite gone from it, when Tom triumphantly pushed it through the hole.

"Strike anything?" Archer asked, in suspense.

"No," said Tom, disappointed. He bent the wire and, as best he could, poked it around outside. "I think I can feel it, though. Missed it by about an inch. There's no use getting discouraged. We'll just have to bore another one."

Long afterward, Archibald Archer often recalled the patience and doggedness which Tom displayed that night.

"As long's the first hole has helped us to find something out, it's worth while, anyway," he said philosophically.

Resolutely he went to work again, like the traditional spider climbing the wall, heating the almost limp wire and by little burnings of a sixteenth of an inch or so at a time he succeeded in making another hole through the heavy planking. But this time the wire encountered a metallic obstruction. Sure enough, Tom could feel the troublesome hasp, but alas, the wire was now too limber to push it up.

"I can just joggle it a little," he said, "but it's too heavy for this wire."

However, by dint of doubling and twisting the wire, he succeeded after many attempts and innumerable straightenings of the wire, in joggling the stubborn hasp free from the padlock eye on which it had barely caught.

"There it goes!" he said with a note of triumph in his usually impa.s.sive voice.

Instantly Archer's hands were against the door ready to push it up.

"Wait a minute," whispered Tom; "don't fly off the handle. How do we know who's wandering round? Sh-h! Think I want to run plunk into the Prussian soldier that walked over our heads? Take your time."

In his excitement Archer had forgotten that ominous tread above their prison, and he drew back while Tom raised the door to the merest crack and peered cautiously out. The fresh air afforded them infinite relief.

The night was still and clear, the sky thick with stars. Far away a range of black heights was outlined against the sky, and over there the moon was rising. It seemed to be stealthily creeping up out of that battle-scourged plain in France for a glimpse of Alsace. It was from beyond those mountains that had come the portentous rumblings which they had heard.

"The blue Alsatian mountains," murmured Tom. "I wish we were across them."

"We'll have to go down and around if we everr get therre," Archer said.

"Sh-h-h!" warned Tom, putting his head out and peering about while Archer held the lid up.

The moonlight, glinting down through the interstices of the trellised vine, made animated shadows in the quiet vineyard, conjuring the wooden supports and knotty ma.s.ses of vine stalk into lurking human forms. Here some grim figure waited in silence behind an upright, only to dissolve with the changing light. There an ominous helmet seemed to stir amid the thick growth.

The two fugitives, elated at their deliverance, but tremblingly apprehensive, stood hesitating at so radical a move as complete emergence from their hiding place.

"We can't crawl out of herre in daylight, that's surre," whispered Archer. "D'you think maybe she'll come even now--if we waited?"

"It must be long after midnight," Tom answered. "You wait here and hold the door up while I crawl out. Don't move and don't speak. What's that s.h.i.+ning over there? See?"

"Nothin' but an old waterring can."