Then they went on. And just after they had passed the post, they saw what the crippled veteran had meant when he had said that some of the Uhlans had stayed. They lay beside the road, in their greenish gray uniforms. They were the first German soldiers either of the boys had seen. And, in the field, two old peasants were digging a grave.
CHAPTER VIII
THE HANDS OF A CLOCK
The sight was a sobering one. There had been only half a dozen of the Uhlans, and they knew from what they had heard and read that thousands, scores of thousands probably, had already died in the war. But they hadn't seen the others, and these men had lain by the roadside within a few feet of them. For a time neither of the two scouts had much to say.
"There's some real war for you, Henri," Frank said, finally.
"Don't!" said the French scout with a shudder. "It must be, but it is terrible. And only a few hours ago, I suppose, they were riding along as well as you and I!"
Then for a mile or more they rode along in silence. They made good time for the roads were level. There were no interruptions to their progress now. In the fields, as before, they could see the women and a few old men about the work of the harvest, but in spite of that, there was an air of desolation. Everything seemed to have stopped. And there was a curious something that made itself felt. For a long time, though each of them felt this, they made no comment on it. Finally Frank called a halt.
"Listen, Harry," he said. "There's something curious. It's a noise, and yet it isn't, exactly. It sounds a little like thunder or like the surf when you are quite a little way inland—"
They stopped together, listening.