His advice was followed, and soon they found themselves at a spot where further retreat, owing to the softness of the soil, was impossible.
“Do you think they’ll come as far as this?” questioned Ben.
“Hardly—it would be too far to drag the logs. They’ll cut down only what is handy. But, Ben?”
“Well?”
“I am going to crawl forward and listen to what they have to say. Perhaps I’ll hear of something to our advantage.”
“Shall I go along?”
“No, you look after the horses.”
So it was arranged, and with the caution of an Indian on the war trail, Gilbert crept forward through the underbrush to a point where he could see and hear the greater part of what was going on. Several small trees had already been cut down and the artillerymen were casting branches and trunks into the stream, so that they might bring their guns and carts over in safety.
“Not much of a bridge, but safer for us than will be the bridge at Shan-gow for the Japanese,” chuckled one of the Russians while working.
“What about the bridge at Shan-gow?” asked another, who had just come up.