"Probably they are. But how do we know? They may be more Germans."
"Oh, I never thought of that! If they are—"
"Yes, if they are, it's good-bye to Captain Hardy and his supplies. But we can't help it. We've already done all we could for him."
They watched the oncoming cavalry, but even at a little distance, what with their speed and the dust, it was impossible to tell to which army they belonged. They were either English or German; that was all that could be certain. And that could be deduced from their khaki uniforms. There were no colors to emerge, bright and vivid, from their dun mass; no points of steel, on which the rays of the sun might shine and be reflected.
"If they were French we could tell," said Henri, proudly. "We could see their red and blue uniforms and, if they were cuirassiers, their breastplates!"
"Yes. The French are far behind the times in that," said Frank, a little impatiently. "Nowadays armies don't try to act as if they were on dress parade. They wear uniforms that can't be seen any great distance away."
"The French army fights in the uniform in which its famous victories were won," said Henri.
"And it gets killed in them, too," said Frank. "Gets killed when it doesn't do any good. But that doesn't matter now. Ah, they're English! I can see that now. We needn't tell them to hurry—they're going for all they're worth now. They've heard the firing and are hastening."
The English horsemen swept by. They were riding low in the saddle, urging their horses on. Each man carried a carbine, ready to dismount at any moment and give battle as seemed best. In five minutes they had swept by.
"Two troops," said Frank. "Well, that ought to be enough, though there's no telling how many Uhlans there were. Ah, here come some more!"