"Come on," urged Hugh and scrambled up the embankment.
Bob followed close at his heels and together they made their way towards the bridge itself. They soon found themselves picking their way on the open ties above the water; as they were headed west they of course took the east-bound track. The walking was precarious and they had to pay close attention to what they were doing, for a misstep might prove fatal.
Suddenly a sharp command to halt startled the two boys. They stopped short and peered intently about them in the dark.
"Who are you?" demanded a curt voice, and Hugh and Bob saw the figure of a man in khaki outlined against the skyline. A faint flicker of light showed a keen-edged bayonet affixed to the gun he carried.
"Who are you!" repeated the voice, strangely familiar in tone to both of the boys. "Come over here, and keep your hands over your head."
"Harold!" exclaimed Bob suddenly. "Is that you?"
"That you, Bob?" queried Harold, for the guard proved to be Bob's older brother. "Who's that with you?"
"Hugh."
"Well, it seems to me you two are pretty nervy," said Harold testily.
"What are you doing down around here anyway?"
"We were going down to Brown's boathouse to see Hugh's canoe," Bob explained. "We thought we'd take the short cut over the bridge."