"Say, don't get sarcastic!" begged Jimmy.
They walked up the river bank and saw a lonely bit of country stretching before them. There did not appear to be a house on it, but that war had passed that way was made evident by many signs, few of them pleasant.
"Let's see where this road leads to," suggested Jimmy, pointing to one that did not appear to have been used recently.
"Might as well take it as any," agreed Roger. "I wish it led to a can of beans and a ham sandwich."
"Don't rub it in," groaned Jimmy.
They were tired, wet, and hungry. They were exhausted from the battle in which they had taken part, they were sore from the treatment accorded them by the Bixtons, and they had hardly recovered from the strenuous battle on the raft. Still they did not give up, but tramped on.
They passed a field in which a few miserable turnips were growing, and, digging out some, they ate them. Poor as this food was, it served to put a little more life into them.
It was getting dusk when, as they were going down the road, they heard voices ahead of them, around a turn. Jimmy and Roger looked at one another. The same thought was in the minds of both.
Were these friends or foes?
"Let's hide until we take a look," suggested Jimmy.