"He isn't a German—that's sure," declared Franz. "No German would be so decent as to rescue five imprisoned Americans. He'd let us roast to death first."
"Maybe he knows not dat we American be," suggested the Polish lad.
"Well, he wouldn't have to be much of a guesser to tell that we weren't Germans, after he heard us talk," said Jimmy. "We might be of either nationality, as far as our being here is concerned. But no matter what he thinks we are, he seems to be willing to help. What's he looking for, I wonder?"
The strange rescuer appeared to be looking about in front of the mill for some object. His eyes eagerly sought the ground, and he hurried to and fro, seeming to realize the need of haste.
"I'll be there in just a moment, boys!" he called. "I'm looking for something to use in prying apart those beams. They're pretty heavy, and I've got to work all alone. I'll get you out in time!"
"Wonder how he knows we're boys!" asked Bob.
"Oh, that's a general term—he'd call us that if we were forty years old," declared Jimmy. "And no matter how old a man is, if he's in the army, he's a boy. But I wish he'd hurry. It's getting hot here!"
It certainly was! The fire was gaining rapidly, and, every now and then, with a shift in the wind, the hot, choking gases from the flames, together with rolling clouds of smoke, would be blown into the rude chamber where the boys were imprisoned.
When the smoke-clouds blew away the Khaki Boys could look out and see their rescuer, still hunting frantically about for some object to use as a lever. In spite of the danger of their situation they could not help observing the man. He was tall, and well formed, and unmistakably a military character. He appeared to be above the general type of captain or lieutenant.
"If he's any less than a general I'll eat my gas mask!" Roger declared afterward.