"Better not," Stan warned.
O'Malley held his appetite in check, but he kept on grumbling.
"Stop watching him eat," Stan advised in a whisper.
"Sure, an' I can't take me eyes off that sausage sandwich. 'Tis the most appetizin' thing I iver seen," O'Malley said mournfully.
The cart rattled through a village and moved on down another narrow lane. Presently they came to a gate and the driver pulled up. Stan ducked back.
"German soldiers," he whispered warningly.
The soldiers were shouting at the driver. He got down and began talking to them excitedly.
"They're looking for escaped prisoners," O'Malley whispered in Stan's ear.
Three burly soldiers walked over to the cart and began thrusting their bayonets into the hay. Stan stiffened. If he was stabbed he meant to make no outcry. He felt the cold steel move across his body a few inches from his chest. It slipped back, then stabbed again. Stan was glad the bed of the cart had a ten-inch high board around it.
After more shouting and poking the driver got back on his seat and the cart moved forward.