Part 23 (2/2)

He had never dreamed that his tracking and trailing lore would one day serve him in far-off Germany and help him in so desperate a flight.

Never before had he such need of all his wit--and such an incentive.

Archer followed silently. Presently Tom paused and listened.

”Anybody comin'?”

”No, I was listenin' for--it's down there.”

He turned suddenly and grabbing Archer around the waist, lifted him off his feet and ran swiftly down a little slope and into the brook which in its meanderings crossed an end of the prison grounds. Then he let Archer down.

”They'll never track us here,” he panted, and felt for his precious b.u.t.ton to make sure that Archer's body had not pulled it off. ”They'll think only one came this way, maybe, and they won't know which way to go--Shh!”

Archer held his breath. There was no sound except that of the water rippling at their feet.

”Is that upstream?” Tom asked. ”It ought to be shallow all the way. Keep in the water.”

”Step on that sh.o.r.e and you're in Alsace,” said Archer.

”Don't step on it,” said Tom. ”Sh.o.r.es are tell-tales. Which is the hill?”

”That one with the windmill on it.”

”That black thing?”

”The road runs around that,” said Archer, ”the other side.”

”We'll follow the road,” said Tom, ”but we'll keep in the brook till we get about a couple of hundred feet from the road. Come on.”

”You heading for Dundgardt?” Archer whispered.

”Don't talk so loud. Yes--I got to find some people there named Leture--I can't p.r.o.nounce it just right. That's nothin' but a tree----”

”I thought it was a man,” said Archer.

”We ought to be there in an hour,” and again Tom felt for his precious b.u.t.ton. ”If they'll keep us till to-morrow night we can get a good start for the Swiss border; I--I got some--some good ideas.”

”For traveling?”

”Yes--at night. They'll do--anything after I tell 'em about Frenchy.

Quiet. Bend your toes over the pebbles like I do.”

But did they ever reach Dundgardt--once Leteur? Did they make their way through fair Alsace, under the shadow of the Blue Alsatian Mountains, to the Swiss border? Did Tom's ”good ideas” pan out? Was the scout of the Acorn and the Indian head, to triumph still in the solitude of the Black Forest, even as he had triumphed in the rugged Catskills roundabout his beloved Temple Camp?

Was he indeed permitted to carry out his determination to fight for two?

Ah, that is another story.

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