s clanging and chinking in
unison with his martial stride.

And Tom Slade of Temple Camp, Scout of the Circle and the Five Points,
winner of the Acorn and the Indianhead, glanced up from time to time at
the quiet, trustful stars.

If he thought of any human being then, it was not of Roscoe Bent (not
_this_ Roscoe Bent, in any event), but of a certain young friend far
away, he did not know where. And he thanked Archibald Archer, vandal
though he was, for, one idle, foolish thing that he had done.

[1] The woods near Bridgeboro, in America, where Tom and the Scouts had
hiked and camped.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE BIG COUP

No one knew, no one ever would know, of the anxiety and suspense which
Tom Slade experienced in that fateful march through the country above
Cantigny. Every uncertain pause of that huge officer, and every half
inquiring turn of his head sent a shock of chill misgiving through poor
Tom and he trudged along under the weight of his burden, hearing the
flippant and bitter jibes of Roscoe as if in a trance.

At last, having crossed a large field, they fell into a well-worn path,
and here Tom experienced his moment of keenest anxiety, for the officer
paused as if in momentary recognition of the spot. For a second he
seemed a bit perplexed, then strode on. Still again he paused within a
few yards of the little house where the light had appeared.

But it was too late. About this house a dozen or more figures moved in
the darkness. Their style of dress was not distinguishable, but Tom
Slade called aloud to them, "Here's some prisoners we brought you
back."

In an instant they were surrounded by Americans and Tom thought that his
native tongue had never sounded so good before.

"Hello, Snipy," some one said.

But Roscoe Bent was too astonished to answer. In a kind of trance he saw
the big Prussian officer start back, heard him utter some terrific
German expletive, beheld the others of the party herded together, and
was aware of the young American captain giving orders. In a daze he
looked at Tom's stolid face, then at the Prussian officer, who seemed
too stunned to say anything after his first startled outburst. He saw
two boys in khaki approaching with lanterns and in the dim light of
these he could distinguish a dozen or so khaki-clad figures perched
along a fence.

"Where are we at, anyway?" he finally managed to ask.

"Just inside the village," one of the Americans answered.

"What vill