Blind instinct sent them both running, though a moment of reflection would have told them that to run was the worst thing they could have done. Ridder had been asleep and he did not arouse himself fully at first. And perhaps that saved them. He did fire after them once but his aim was bad, and before he could fire again they had leaped a hedge and dropped out of his sight into a sunken road that crossed the fields parallel to the course they were taking toward the river road to Huy. They had a good start and Ridder was fifty yards behind them when they reached the shelter of the road. Here Paul pulled himself together.
"Stop!" he said to Arthur, seizing his chum by the arm. "Here, get right into the shadow of the hedge here, at the side of the road—there's almost a ditch, too. If he follows us, he may go straight on, and he won't know which direction we took. It's the best chance we have to escape."
"Do you think he recognized us?" asked Arthur.
"I don't know. But our running away like that made him suspicious—we can be sure of that much, anyhow. Look out! I hear him coming!"
Down they crouched, just in time. Ridder came tumbling through the hedge, growling fiercely.
"If I were sure!" he said fiercely and under his breath, so that they could scarcely hear him. "Those verflutchen boys! If I knew that they were the ones who stole my papers!"
In the middle of the road he paused and rubbed his eyes. He reeled a little as he stood; it was plain that the man was in the last stages of exhaustion. The two scouts, even without knowing in detail what the duties of a spy in wartime might be, could understand Ridder's exhaustion. They could guess how much he must have done since they had last seen him.
As they crouched, watching him, he dropped his head, like a dog looking for a scent suddenly vanished, and seemed to hesitate, wondering which way to go. He circled around, apparently looking for something to guide him. The road was hard, and baked dry. There had been no rain for a good many days, and so their footprints did not show. Ridder tossed his head at last in decision. The two scouts began to breathe again in a more normal fashion when he turned down the road and went along, still muttering. He swayed from side to side as he walked.
"Poor chap!" said Paul, finally. "I feel sorry for him! And I'm certainly glad he was so tired! I wouldn't give much for our chances if he had caught us. He knows by this time, you can be sure, what we did with those plans."
"I don't feel sorry for him—he's a spy!" said Arthur.