"Yes," agreed his companion. "Maybe it's smoke of battle or some burning village. But it means there have been men there, and that's more than can be said of this vicinity. It's deserted."
This was true enough. Though there were evidences all about that fighting had gone on in the neighborhood, there was no sign of habitation near the cave, and no inhabitants.
"Let's start for that smoke," said Jimmy. "It's an even break that we meet our lines somewhere over that way. That's the logical place for them to be, considering the fighting of yesterday. Let's hike for there, and drive the Bixtons ahead of us."
"I'm with you!" cried Roger.
There was no necessity of waiting for breakfast—there was no breakfast to be had. Jimmy and Roger donned their underwear, which had dried by this time, and then, again putting on the Bixton's uniforms, the two lads gave their orders.
"We're going to let you wear our uniforms," said Jimmy, "because they're still wet and, as it was your doing that made them so, it's up to you to stand the dampness."
The Bixtons said nothing. There was nothing they could say. Their bonds were loosed and, having seen that the Germans were still securely tied, Jimmy and Roger, taking their foes' guns, made the plotters march out of the cave.
"What are you going to do with us?" growled Aleck, as they were told to hike down the hill in the direction of the distant smoke.
"March you back to your company where you belong. They'll know what to do with you," said Jimmy.
"Look here!" begged Wilbur. "You've got us right, boys. We ain't going to crawl. But do you know what it means if we have to go back?"