“Drive ahead, then,” chirped Josh, always willing to do anything that came along, especially when it promised fresh excitement; possibly he was hoping that from the top of the low elevation they would be able to see many stirring dramas connected with the great battle that was now opening, and which must seal the fate of the French capital, one way or the other.
“I’m going to slow up first,” observed the cautious leader; “because we don’t know what we may run on at the top of that hill. It’d be rough on us to suddenly come face to face with a whole battalion of Germans, advancing up the other side, and reaching the crown just at the same time we did.”
“Rod, you’re right there!” Josh was heard to call out almost instantly; “look up where we’re heading, and you’ll see the Germans have got there even before we did!”
All of them came to a sudden halt, and dropped off their motorcycles in a desperate hurry.
CHAPTER VIII.
OUT OF THE JAWS OF THE TRAP.
The summit of the low hill was not more than a quarter of a mile away from the spot where Rod and his two chums had dismounted, to stare aghast at what was transpiring before their eyes.
The hill was almost devoid of trees near its top, and a minute before they had taken note of the fact that the bushes stood out against the sky-line with nothing to interfere with the vision of an observer perched aloft. But now it seemed as though the whole hilltop were alive with moving figures. The declining sun glinted from hundreds of polished guns and bayonets. And clearly could the boys see that these men were garbed in the dun-colored uniforms distinguishing the Kaiser’s troops.
“That settles our hash so far as getting a peek at the fighting goes,” muttered Josh discontentedly, for he always gave a cherished object up very lothfully.
“Oh! I wouldn’t say that!” declared Hanky Panky; “there are other ways of doing it, you can wager. That hill yonder isn’t the only pebble on the beach. What’ll we do now, Rod?”