Tom Slade with the Boys Over There Part 8

"'Tain't on account of them," said Tom, his voice breaking a little, "it's on account of her----"

And he kneeled again to arrange the corner of the cloth more neatly over the wrinkled, wounded face....

CHAPTER IX

FLIGHT

"Anyway, we've got to get away from here quick," said Tom, pulling himself together; "never mind about clothes or anything. One thing sure, they'll be back here soon. See if he has a watch," he added, indicating the dead soldier.

"No, but he's got a little compa.s.s around his neck; shall I take it?"

"Sure, we got a right to capture anything from the enemy."

"He's got some papers, too."

"All right, take 'em. Come on out through the kitchen way--hurry up.

Don't make any noise. You look for some food--I'll be with you right away."

Tom crept cautiously out to the road and, kneeling, placed his ear to the ground. There was no sound, and he hurried back to the stone kitchen where Archer was stuffing his pockets with such dry edibles as he could gather.

"All right, come on," he whispered hurriedly. "What have you got?"

"Some hard bread and a couple of salt fish----"

"Give me one of those," Tom interrupted: "and hand me that tablecloth.

Come on. Got some matches?"

"Yes, and a candle, too."

"Good. Don't strike a light. You go ahead, along the plank walk."

Leaving the scene of the tragedy, they hurried along the board walk under the trellis, Tom dragging the tablecloth so that it swept both of the narrow planks and obliterated any suggestion of footprints. When they had gone about fifty yards he stooped and flung the salt fish from him so that it barely skimmed the earth and rested at some distance from the path.

"If they should have any dogs with 'em, that'll take 'em off the trail,"

he said.

"I'm sorry I didn't get you a souveneerr too," said Archer, as they hurried along.

This was the first intimation Tom had that Archer regarded the little compa.s.s merely as a souvenir.

"You can give me those papers you took," he said, half in joke.

"It's only an envelope," Archer said. "Have you got your b.u.t.ton all right?"

"Sure."

When they reached the wine vat, Tom threw the old tablecloth into it, and pulled the vine more carefully so as to conceal the door. They were tempted to rest here, but realized that if they spent the balance of the night in their former refuge it would mean another long day in the dank hole.

The vineyard ended a few yards from the wine vat and beyond was an area of open lowlands across which the boys could see a range of low wooded hills.

"We've got about four hours till daylight," said Tom; "let's make for those woods."

"That's east," said Archer. "_We_ want to go south."

"We want to see where we're going before we go anywhere," Tom answered.

"If we can get into the woods on those hills, we can climb a tree tomorrow and see where we're at. What I want is a bird's-eye squint to start off with, 'cause we can't ask questions of anybody."

"No, and believe me, we don't want to run into any cities," said Archer.

"We got through one night anyway, hey?"

Notwithstanding that they were without shelter, and facing the innumerable perils of a hostile country about which they knew nothing, they still found action preferable to inaction and their spirits rose as they journeyed on with the star-studded sky overhead.

They found the meadows low and marshy, which gratified Tom who was always fearful of leaving footprints. The hills beyond were low and thickly wooded, the face of the nearest being broken by slides and forming almost a precipice surmounted by a jumble of rocks and underbrush. The country seemed wild and isolated enough.

"I suppose it's the beginning of the Alps, maybe," Tom panted as they scrambled up.

"There's n.o.body up here, that's surre," Archer answered.

"We'll just lie low till daylight and see if we can get a squint at the country. Then tomorrow night we'll hike it south. If we go straight south we've _got_ to come to Switzerland."

"It's lucky we've got the compa.s.s," said Archer.

"Maybe this is a ridge we're on," Tom said. "If it is, we're in luck. We may be able to go thirty or forty miles along it. One thing sure, it'll be more hilly the farther south we get 'cause we'll be getting into the beginning of the Alps. There ought to be water up here."

"I wish there were some apples," said Archer.

"You're always thinking about apples and souvenirs. Let's crawl in under here."

They had scrambled to the top of the precipitous ascent and found themselves upon the broken edge of the forest amid a black chaos of piled up rock and underbrush. Evidently, the land here was giving way, little by little, for here and there they could see a tree canting tipsily over the edge, its network of half-exposed roots making a last gallant stand against the erosive process and helping to hold the weight of the great boulders which ere long would crash down into the marshy lowlands.

They crept into a sort of leafy cave formed by a fallen tree and stretched their weary bodies and relaxed their tense nerves after what had seemed a nightmare.

"As long as we're going to join the army," said Tom, "we might as well make a rule now. We won't both sleep at the same time till we're out of Germany. We got to live up to that rule no matter how tired we get."

"I'm game," said Archer. "You go to sleep now and when I get good and sleepy I'll wake you up."

"In about two hours," said Tom. "Then you can sleep till it's light.

Then we'll see if it's safe to stay here. Keep looking in that direction--the way we came. And if you see any lights, wake me up."

Archer did not obey these directions at all, for he sat with his hands clasped over his knees, gazing down across the dark marshland below. Two hours, three hours, four hours, he sat there and scarcely stirred. And as the time dragged on and there were no lights and no sounds he took fresh courage and hope. He was beginning to realize the value of the stolid determination, the resourcefulness, the keen eye and stealthy foot and clear brain of the comrade who lay sleeping at his side. He had wanted to tell Tom Slade what he thought of him and how he trusted him, but he did not know how. So he just sat there, hour in and hour out, and let the weary pathfinder of Temple Camp sleep until he awoke of his own accord.

"All right," said Archer then, blinking. "Nothing happened."