"What I'm worrying about now," said Archer, his spirits mounting as they made their way southward, "is how we're going to cross the frontierr when we get to it. They've got a big tangled fence of barrbed wirre all along, even across the mountains, to where the battleline cuts in. And it's got a good juicy electric current running through it all the time. If you just touch it—good night!"
"I got an idea," said Tom simply.
"If I could get a piece of that electrified wirre for a souveneerr," mused Archer, "I'd——"
"You'll have a broken head for a souvenir in a minute," said Tom, "if you don't watch where you're going."
"Gee, you've got eyes in your feet," said Archer admiringly.
"Whenever you see a fallen tree," said Tom, "look out for holes. It means the earth is thin and weak all around and couldn't hold the roots."
"It ought to drink buttermilk, hey?" said Archer flippantly, "if it's thin and pale."
"I said thin and weak," said Tom. "Do you ever get tired talking?"
"Sure—same as a phonograph record does."
So they plodded on, encircling areas of towering rock or surmounting them when they were not too high, and always working southward. Tom, who was not unaccustomed to woods and mountains, thought he had never before traversed such a chaotic wilderness. He would have given a good deal for a watch and for some means of knowing how much actual distance they were covering. It was slow, tiresome work.