"I think we'll do most of the shooting, if there is any to be done," said Frank dryly.
There was silence in the ranks after this, for it was now growing dark and it was possible that the Germans might appear at any moment. Every man strained his eyes as he peered through the trees.
Inside the cabin a faint light glowed. Young Cutlip was in there, playing a braver part than could his father, doing his best for his country as enemies threatened her existence. Frank smiled to himself.
"A nervy kid," he muttered; "yet, I wish I didn't have to use him. I shall take especial care that no harm comes to him."
He grew silent.
In the distance came the sound of tramping feet—many of them. Gradually they drew nearer and directly Frank could hear voices. Heavy, guttural voices they were and the tongue they spoke was German.
Up to that moment Frank had not been at all sure in his own mind that the Germans would return to the cabin, as they had told the Cutlips. Nevertheless, here they were, and the lad's heart leaped high.
"They must be pretty close to starvation to take such chances," the lad muttered to himself. "Wonder why they don't try a raid on one of the nearby towns? Guess they don't want to stir up any more trouble than possible, though. Well, we'll get 'em."
Frank peered from his hiding place. The Germans were in sight now, and approaching the house four abreast.
"Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty-four," Frank counted.