CHAPTER XI
THE SCOUT THROUGH ALSACE
As soon as it was dark they started southward, following the ridge. Their way took them up hill and down dale, through rugged uplands where they had to travel five miles to advance three, picking their way over the trackless, rocky heights which formed the first foothills of the mighty Alps.
"S'pose we should meet some one?" Archer suggested, as he followed Tom's lead over the rocky ledges.
"Not up here," said Tom. "You can see lights way off south and maybe we'll have to pass through some villages tomorrow night, but not tonight. We'll only do about twelve miles tonight if it keeps up like this."
"S'pose somebody should see us—when we'rre going through a village? We'll tell him we'rre herre to back the Kaiser, hey?"
"S'pose he's a Frenchman that belongs in Alsace," Tom queried.
"Then we'll add on out o' France. We'll say—look out for that rock!—We'll just say we'rre herre to back the Kaiser, and if he looks sourr we'll say; out o' France. Back the Kaiser out o' France. We win either way, see? A fellerr in prison told me General Perrshing wants a lot of men with glass eyes—to peel onions. Look out you don't trip on that root! Herre's anotherr. If you'rre under sixteen what part of the arrmy do they put you in? The infantry, of course. Herre's——"
"Never mind," laughed Tom. "Look where you're stepping."