But the promptness with which he had appeared warned the fugitives that the town, desolate as it was, was still under guard, and they redoubled their precautions. However dangerous it might be, they must go on. The moon would rise before long, and they must make the most of the pitchy darkness that still prevailed.
Listening with all their ears and straining their eyes until they ached, they made their way through the littered streets until they realized from their frequent encounters with bush and hedge that they were getting into the open country.
Huddled close in a thicket, they consulted the radio compass that Frank drew from his pocket. That gave them the general direction in which they must go. They knew that in general their course led toward the west, but, as they could not tell what changes had taken place in the position of the armies as the result of the two days' fighting, they had no idea of how long it might take them to reach the American lines.
They got their bearings due west and set off. They were making fair progress when they were startled by hearing the clatter of hoofs a little ahead of them.
"Listen!" hissed Bart.
"It's a cavalry troop," whispered Frank, as he flattened himself behind a bush, an example that was promptly followed by the others.
"Troop!" growled Tom. "It sounds more like a brigade."
"Uhlans, probably," conjectured Billy.
They peered through the bushes at the broad road not more than twenty feet away.
At that moment the moon showed a slender rim above the horizon and threaded the darkness with a faint shimmer of light.