"Did you leave any?"
"Two good ricks. Are you short?"
"Yes, our supplies haven't come up. Plenty of beer on the farm?"
"Not so much as there was," replied the man with a laugh. "But enough to get properly drunk on if they give you time."
"That's the place for us. How do you get there?"
"Up the road about five miles, turn down a by-road on the right; there's a row of poplars on one side; you can't miss it. We must move on. I hope you'll catch the spies. Good luck!"
The wagon jogged on.
"Whip up your horses," cried the soldier to the driver. "We have been too long on the road."
The fugitives, on tenterhooks all this time, breathed more freely when they had passed the spot where the Uhlans were grouped on the grass, guarding the horses and the ruins of the aeroplane. But they realised that they were escaping one danger only to fall into another. The destination of the wagon was Spa, no doubt filled with Germans. They must leave the wagon before it reached that town.
They were thinking of slipping out at a quiet stretch of the road, and taking their chance of bolting across the fields, when the wagon was met by another Uhlan patrol, who after questioning the trooper, wheeled their horses and rode alongside.