Dawson had suddenly jumped a little and then stiffened rigid. He had put his hands on the ground in back of him to make his arms serve as props for the upper half of his body. But both of his hands had not touched ground. His right hand had come down on a booted foot. And it was not one of the booted feet of Freddy's dead German. He was dumped down behind some of the rubble a good five yards away.
Dave heard Freddy's excited question, but his own tongue was stuck fast against the roof of his mouth. His right hand still pressed down on the booted foot in the darkness behind him. He knew, he could feel that there was a human foot inside the boot. And he also knew that the foot and its owner were dead!
"Dave—?"
"Steady, Freddy!" he whispered. "Get set for another shock. My right hand's on the foot of a dead man. I'm sure of it. A Nazi boot. But—"
Dave had to stop and swallow hard before he could go on.
"But not a Nazi inside," he said with an effort. "I think Jones showed up, Freddy, but—but he isn't going to be of any help to us, pal. We're right behind the eight ball. Right out on the limb, and somebody waiting to saw it off."
As a matter of fact, Dave wasn't conscious of whispering those words to Freddy. He spoke them without thinking as he slowly turned around and felt with both hands to confirm the terrible belief in his brain. Freddy turned too. Their hands touched several times as they explored the stiffened body stretched out on the ground. But neither of them spoke. Neither of them dared to, for fear they wouldn't be able to control their tongues, and start screaming crazy things at the top of their voices.
Eventually, though, Dave thought he could trust his own tongue to say what they both knew, now.
"Jones," he got out. "It must be. A German uniform. Shot in the back. Uniform torn and ripped to shreds. The rats searched him for any secret identification papers he might be carrying. Please God that they didn't find any!"
"Amen!" Freddy Farmer said in almost a sob. "Of course you're right, Dave. It must be Jones, poor devil. Wonder what happened? Wonder how they managed to catch him? Blast this for a fine mess!"