They turned directly up the hill, and in two minutes were over the ridge. Instead of the smooth pasture land they had just crossed this side of the hill was of barren soil and covered with boulders. To follow a trail here was scarcely possible, but the two American boys soon found traces of the Hun, where he had broken through the bushes on the summit.
“We don’t know this country,” Whistler said cautiously. “There may be lots of hide-outs around here.”
“He doesn’t know it, either,” Belding declared.
“We don’t know that,” the other boy said sharply. “They say every square foot of England was mapped by German spies before the war. Somehow, that Heinie slipping away the way he did, looks fishy.”
“How so?”
“They always give up—these Zep crews. They know the worst will happen to them is internment. Running away like this will put him in dead wrong, if he’s caught,” added Whistler.
“I suppose that’s so, Morgan,” agreed Belding. “But maybe the poor fish was scared out of his five senses.”
“Let Frenchy tell it, these Heinies don’t own five senses,” Whistler chuckled. “He says they haven’t got more than two.”
“Uh-huh. That might be. Maybe this fellow ran for quite another reason.”
“What’s that?”