“Intentional?”
“Sure!”
“Thought so.”
A canal, seemingly in course of construction, was crossed on a large tree-trunk, which bridged it. Kent and I did it astride. Tynsdale walked. Two hundred yards farther we stood on the banks of another full-grown canal.
“We must be in Holland,” I remarked.
“I wouldn’t like to say so,” replied Kent. “You know there’s a canal parallel and close to the frontier on the German side, forty or fifty miles farther south.”
“Yes, and it’s marked on our map, and this isn’t.”
“A river, not a canal, was to show us we were in Holland!”
“True, but they may have turned the river into a canal. Man, the frontier runs across the swamp. We’re off the swamp. We’re in Holland, I bet you what you like.”