Part 23 (1/2)

”Don't you see, if I try to break the wires before they're ready, we'll be worse off than ever?” he said. ”Leave it to me.”

At last there came a dark night when Tom announced in a whisper that he had used the last of the sal ammoniac.

”The wires are all white,” he said, ”and you can sc.r.a.pe into them with your finger-nails. It's good and dark to-night. If you want to back out you can. I won't be sore about it. Only tell me again about the road to Dundgardt.”

”Didn't I tell you I was with you strong as mustarrd? I don't want to back out.”

A while after dark Tom went down to the bushes. It was understood that Archer should follow him, timing his coming according to the sentry's rounds. Meanwhile Tom, not without some misgivings, bent the thick wire in one of the weakened spots and it broke. He paused and listened. Then he broke another strand, trembling lest even the breaking might cause a slight sound. The life had been eaten out of the wires and they parted easily.

By the time Archer arrived he had opened a way through the thick entanglement large enough to crawl through. His nerves were on edge as he wriggled far enough through to peer about in the dark outside.

”Anyway, your head has escaped,” said Archer.

”Shh,” whispered Tom.

Far down the side of the long fence he could see a little glint bobbing in the darkness.

”Shh,” he whispered. ”I don't know which way he's going. Keep your feet still.”

For a few seconds more he waited, his heart in his mouth and every nerve tense.

The tiny bobbing glint disappeared.

”Is he there?” Archer whispered.

”Shh! No, he's gone around the end.”

”He won't go all the way round; he'll turn back when he gets to the gate. Go on, make a break----”

”Shh!” said Tom, straining his eyes in all directions.

For one moment of awful suspense he waited, his thumping heart almost choking him. Then he moved silently out into the night, and paused again, holding a deterring hand up to keep his companion back until he knew the way was clear.

Then he moved his hand.

”Come on,” he whispered, his whole frame trembling with suspense. ”Let's get away from the fence. Don't speak.”

There was something of the old stalking and trailing stealth about his movements now as he hurried across the field adjacent to the camp.

”Follow me,” he whispered, ”and do just what I do. What's that you've got in your hand?”

”Nothin'. Where you goin'? The road ain't over there.”

”Shhh!”

Silently Tom stole across the field.

”You're goin' out of your way,” whispered Archer again.

”I don't want the road, I only want to know where it is,” Tom answered; ”I know what I'm doing.”