At last, near the first hangar, they reached a spot where two trees stood close together. Crawling to this shelter, they still remained lying down, though the tree trunks gave them greater safety against being seen.
In front of the hangars paced a sentry; at the rear another soldier walked post. At some distance from this latter sentry stood four tents, in which, Papa Prim had declared, slept the reliefs of the guard.
"I see how we could get the sentry at the rear," Dick whispered, after a few minutes' silent survey. "But it's at the front that we want to get in, and I don't see any way of creeping up on the front sentry without the rear sentry seeing us and firing. That would give the alarm."
"Then we've got to 'get' the rear sentry first?" Tom asked, his lips at his chum's ear.
"That's it."
"Nasty business, and double chance of losing the game."
"It's the only way, Tom, unless your head is working better than mine."
For some minutes Tom Reade studied.
"I guess it will have to be the rear sentry first," he conceded.
At that moment a small door at the rear of the hangar opened.
The two friends heard the noise, and judged by sound more than sight.