It was easy for the boys to imagine that the specks they could see were soldiers, American soldiers perhaps, and that low-hung clouds were the smoke of thundering artillery....
"I wonder if we'll ever get over there," said Archer.
"Over there," Tom repeated abstractedly.
Their program now must be one of stealth, not boldness, and they did not wish to be seen scrambling down the heights in broad daylight; so they waited for the night, regaling themselves out of the "furious profusion" of grapes of which there seemed enough to make an ocean of Rhenish wine.
It was dark when they reached the river bank and explored the shore for some means of getting across. At last they discovered a float with several boats attached to it and a ramshackle structure hard by within which was a light and the familiar sound of a baby crying.
"We've got to make up our minds not to be scared," said Tom, "and we mustn't look as if we were scared. You can't make believe you're not scared if you are. Let's try to make ourselves think we're really German soldiers and then other people will think so. We've got to act just like 'em."
"If you mean we've got to murrderr that baby," said Archer; "no sirree! Not for mine!"
"That ain't what I mean," said Tom. "You know Jeb Rushmore at Temple Camp? He came from Arizona. He says you can always tell a fake cowboy no matter how he may be dressed up because he don't feel like the West. It ain't just the uniforms that do it; it's the way we act."
"I get you," said Archer.