s afforded, indeed, an ideal spot for secreting a machine gun,
whence a clear range might be had both north and south.

If Tom had not been a little afraid of Roscoe he would have acted on the
good scout warning of the broken branches and made a detour in time to
escape this dreadful plight. And the vain regret that he had not done so
rankled in his breast now. The pit was completely surrounded and almost
covered with branches, so that no part of the guns and their tripods
which rose out of it was discoverable, at least to Roscoe.

"Vell, you go home, huh?" the officer demanded, with a grim touch of
humor.

Roscoe was about to answer, but Tom took the words out of his mouth.

"We got lost and we got rattled," he said, with a frank confession which
surprised Roscoe; "we thought we were headed south."

The sniper bestowed another angrily contemptuous look upon him, but Tom
appeared not to notice it.

"Vell, we rattle you some more--vat?" the officer said, without very
much meaning. His voice was enough to rattle any captive, but Tom was
not easily disconcerted, and instead of cowering under this martial
ferocity and the scorning looks of his friend, he glanced about him in
his frowning, lowering way as if the surroundings interested him more
than his captors. But he said nothing.

"You English--no?" the officer demanded.

"We're Americans," said Roscoe, regaining his self-possession.

"Ach! Diss iss good for you. If you are English, ve kill you! You have
kamerads--vere?"

"There's only the two of us," said Roscoe. Tom seemed willing enough to
let his companion do the talking, and indeed Roscoe, now that he had
recovered his poise, seemed altogether the fitter of the two to be the
spokesman. "We got rattled, as this kid says." "If we'd followed that
light we wouldn't have happened in on you. We hope we don't intrude," he
added sarcastically.

The officer glanced at the tiny light in the distance, then at one of
the soldiers, then at another, then poured forth a gutteral torrent at
them all. Then he peered suspiciously into the darkness.

"For treachery, ve kill," he said.

"I told you there are only two of us," said Roscoe simply.

"Ach, two! Two millions, you mean! Vat? Ach!" he added, with a
deprecating wave of his hands. "Vy not _billions_, huh?"

Roscoe gathered that he was sneering skeptically about the number of
Americans reported to be in France.

"Ve know just how many," the officer added; "vell,