"We have half a mile of morass to cross after we get out of the trenches," was the reply. "I am unable to carry you over that, pickaback. You will have to wade, Mademoiselle."
CHAPTER XXII
THROUGH THE GERMAN LINES
Perhaps this was the moment most trying for Ruth Fielding in all that long-to-be-remembered night. And the Frenchmen realized it.
Having come so far and already having endured so much, however, the girl of the Red Mill was of no mind to break down. But the thought introduced into her brain by Major Marchand's last words was troubling her.
As for roughing it in such an admirable garment as this rubber suit, Ruth was not at all distressed. She had camped out in the wilderness, ridden half-broken cow ponies on a Wyoming ranch, and gone fishing in an open boat. It was not the mannish dress that fretted her.
It was the suggestion of the long and arduous passage between the American trenches and the German trenches. What lay for her in that No Man's Land of which she had heard so much?
"I am ready," she said at length, and calmly. "Am I to remove my skirts?"
"Quite unnecessary, Mademoiselle," replied the major respectfully. "See! The garment is roomy. It was made, you may be sure, for a man of some size. Your skirts will ruffle up around you and help to keep you warm. At this time in the year the swamp water is as cold as the grave."