“And now I suppose we are in for a dandy time—not,” he concluded dismally.
“You can be thankful you weren’t killed when your plane collapsed,” returned Dave; and then told something about himself.
“What do you suppose they will do with us?” questioned Oscar Davis anxiously. He was a tall, thin youth, and later on let out that he had the year before graduated from Harvard University.
“I suppose we’re booked for one of their prison camps,” answered Dave.
Then several of the Germans came up and made motions that they should keep quiet.
It must be confessed that our hero was much downcast. He had read and heard a great deal of how inhumanly the Huns were treating all of their prisoners. Only a few days before word had reached the engineers of how several prisoners had died in one of the detention camps from lack of proper food and clothing.
“I suppose I’ve got to make the best of it,” he thought philosophically. “Just the same, I’d give a good deal to be back among our crowd once more.”
About an hour later the three prisoners were told to march, and were made to travel a distance of several miles. At one point they were joined by several other Americans and about a dozen Canadians, and then the whole crowd continued on its way to the rear.
The young lieutenant was hungry. He had already eaten what was left of his emergency ration and used up the water left in his canteen. But no food was offered to him, and he had all he could do to get a drink of water, the Germans even seeming to begrudge him this comfort.
“They’re Huns, all right enough!” growled one of the Canadians, who chanced to be tramping along just behind Dave. “We ought to wipe every mother’s son of them off the face of the earth!”