“One road runs southwest to the city of Duren, where the railroad from Cologne goes, and where all the soldiers are pouring through on the way to Belgium. Then another runs almost north, and lands you at Grevenbroich; while the third keeps on until it strikes the border at the Holland town of Sittard.”
“Gravenbroich is the place for us!” said Thad, meaning to ring the changes on that particular name until it had become impressed on the mind of the listening soldier who must naturally believe they were headed thither.
They believed they had deceived him when the landing was made, for after paying the ferryman he sprang on his horse and galloped away, never once looking back over his shoulder.
Thad willingly handed the man the sum agreed on, and the old fellow was very polite, making sure that everything was secure before allowing them to get the car off the float.
“That was what I call luck,” said Giraffe, as they lost sight of the river and the queer ferry.
“Soon we ought to come to the three forks of the road,” announced Allan; “when we must decide whether we want to go to Duren, Grevenbroich or the Dutch border.”
“As if there could be any doubt which we’d choose,” observed Bumpus.
A short time later and they found themselves drawing near the split in the road. Just why there should be so many feeders for so ordinary a road none of them could understand; they simply found it so, and acted accordingly.
“Of course we strike out over the middle one, Thad?” Giraffe remarked; “but I say, what’s going to happen, now that you’ve pulled up here at the forks?”
“Wait for me a minute, while I take a look and see which way our friend with the horse went,” the other told him.