They were indeed entering the less densely wooded region which formed the extreme northern reaches of that mountainous wilderness famed in song and story as the Black Forest. Even here, where it fizzled out on the eastern edge of Alsace, the world-renowned fragrance of its dark and stately fir trees was wafted to them out of the wild and solemn recesses they were approaching.
"I wish I had a map," said Tom.
"We ought to be thankful we've got the compass. If this is the Black Forest, you can bet I'm going to get a sooveneer. Gee, isn't it dark! It smells good though, believe me."
They passed on now over land comparatively level, the soft, fragrant needles yielding under their feet, the tall cone-like trees diffusing their resiny, pungent odor. It seemed as if the war must be millions of miles away. The silence was deathlike and the occasional crunching of a cone under their feet startled them as they groped their way in the heavy darkness.
"That looks like an oak ahead," said Archer. "You can see the branches sticking out——"
"Sh-h-h," said Tom, grasping his arm suddenly and speaking in a tense whisper. "Look—right under it—don't move——"
Archer looked intently and under the low spreading branches he saw a human form with something shiny upon its head. As the two boys paused, awestruck and shaking, it moved ever so slightly.
The fugitives stood rooted to the ground, breathing in quick, short gasps, their hearts pounding in their breasts.
"He didn't see us," whispered Tom, in the faintest whisper. "Wait till there's a breeze and get behind a tree."
When presently the breeze rustled in the tress the two moved cautiously behind two trees.