watching for us up there?" he whispered.

I nodded.

"If us could drar his 'tention away, yew could slip by, next time the
patrols is past, couldn't 'ee?"

Again I nodded.

"It'd be worse for yew than for me, supposin' yew'd be ca-art, that's
what t'other officer said, warn't it?"

And once more I nodded.

The hot whisper came again.

"I'll drar 'un off for ee, zur, nex' time the patrols pass. When I
holler, yew and the others, yew run. Thirty-one forty-three Sapper
Maggs, R.E., from Chewton Mendip ... that's me... maybe yew'll let us
have a bit o' writing to the camp."

I stretched out my hand in the darkness to stop him. He had gone.

I leant forward and whispered to Francis:

"When you hear a shout, we make a dash for it!"

I felt him look at me in surprise--it was too dark to see his face.

"Right!" he whispered back.

Now to the left we heard voices shouting and saw torches gleaming red
among the trees. To right and rear answering shouts resounded.

Again the patrols met at the plank above our heads, and again their
departing footsteps rustled in the leaves.

The murmur of voices grew nearer. We could faintly smell the burning
resin of the torches.

Then a wild yell rent the forest. The voice above us shouted "Halt!" but
the echo was lost in the deafening report of a rifle.

Francis caught Monica by the wrist and dragged her forward. We went
plunging and crashing through the tangle of the ravine. We heard a
second shot and a third, commands were shouted, the red glare deepened
in the sky....

Monica collapsed quite suddenly at my feet. She never uttered a sound,
but fell prone, her face as white as paper. Without a word we picked her
up between us and went on, stumbling, gasping, coughing, our clothes
rent and torn, the blood oozing from the deep scratches on our faces and
hands.

At length our strength gave out. We laid Monica down in the ravine and
drew the under growth over her, then we crawled in under the brambles
exhausted, beat.

Dawn was streaking the sky with lemon when a dog jumped sniffing down
into our hiding-place. Francis and Monica were asleep.

A man stood at the top of the ravine looking down on us. He carried a
gun over his shoulder.

"Have you had an accident?" he said kindly.

He spoke in Dutch.

CHAPTER XXI

RED TABS EXPLAINS

From the Argyllshire hills winter has stolen down upon us in the night.
Behind him he has left his white mantle, and it now li