“Thad, of course we’re bound to strike that river again, if we keep on heading into the northwest?” suggested Allan.
“Yes, for it runs into Holland on its way to the sea far above where we hope to cross,” admitted the other.
“This doesn’t seem to be a very important road, for we haven’t come across a single soul on it so far,” Allan suggested, significantly.
“And from the marks of wheels I’d be inclined to believe few vehicles ever come this way,” continued the patrol leader; “but what makes you say that, Allan?”
“Oh! I was only wondering if it really kept on to the river, or turned back after a bit,” the other explained.
“That is, you hardly think such a road would deserve a bridge, which must be a pretty costly proposition, the way they build them over here, to last for centuries; is that it, Allan?”
“Yes, you’ve struck it to a fraction, Thad. Now, supposing there should only be a ford for a crossing, we couldn’t take this car over.”
“Certainly not,” came the ready reply; “but the fact that so many cars travel the roads of Germany in these modern days makes me feel pretty sure there will be some kind of way for getting over the river, even without a bridge.”
“Do you mean by a ferry?” asked Giraffe.
“More than likely,” he was told, “but we’re going to know right away, for I had a little glimpse of the river through those trees back there. We ought to be there in a jiffy.”