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 pronounce 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
button. "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.

But one little hint may be given now, which perhaps throws some light
upon his future history. Some months after this momentous night Mrs.
Silas Archer, whose husband had a farm with a big apple orchard in the
vicinity of Temple Camp, received a small box containing a little piece
of junk and a letter in a sprawling hand. And this is what the letter
said:

Dear Old Mudgie:

"Wish I was home to get in the fall russets. They don't have any
decent apples over here at all. Stand this piece of wire on the
whatnot in the sitting room and show it to the minister when he
comes. It's part of a German barbed wire fence. I kept it for a
souvenir when I escaped from Slops prison. You won't find that name
on the map, but nobody can pronounce the real name. You don't say
it--you have to sneeze it. I had a bully time in the prison camp
and met a feller that used to go to Temple Camp. We escaped
together.

"Send your letters to the War Department for we're with Pershing's
boys now and they'll be forwarded. Can't tell you much on account
of the censor. But don't worry, I'll be home for next Christmas.
Give my love to dad. And don't use all the sour apples when you're
making cider.

"Down with the Kaiser! Lots of love.