If he thought of any human being then, it was not of Roscoe Bent (not this Roscoe Bent, in any event), but of a certain young friend far away, he did not know where. And he thanked Archibald Archer, vandal though he was, for, one idle, foolish thing that he had done.
[ [1] The woods near Bridgeboro, in America, where Tom and the Scouts had hiked and camped.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE BIG COUP
No one knew, no one ever would know, of the anxiety and suspense which Tom Slade experienced in that fateful march through the country above Cantigny. Every uncertain pause of that huge officer, and every half inquiring turn of his head sent a shock of chill misgiving through poor Tom and he trudged along under the weight of his burden, hearing the flippant and bitter jibes of Roscoe as if in a trance.
At last, having crossed a large field, they fell into a well-worn path, and here Tom experienced his moment of keenest anxiety, for the officer paused as if in momentary recognition of the spot. For a second he seemed a bit perplexed, then strode on. Still again he paused within a few yards of the little house where the light had appeared.
But it was too late. About this house a dozen or more figures moved in the darkness. Their style of dress was not distinguishable, but Tom Slade called aloud to them, "Here's some prisoners we brought you back."
In an instant they were surrounded by Americans and Tom thought that his native tongue had never sounded so good before.