e bridge ain't exactly a chancery in the
daylight. Come along, sir; argifyin' don't get nowhere.'

Realising that further expostulation was useless, Dick followed the groom
to the bridge. As they crossed it he noted that it was strongly built of
steel, with supports that would bear the heaviest of weights. Gaining
the opposite side, they waited as Dick took his bearings by the tree; and
crossing a hard, chalky field, they stole towards the sunken road. They
could hear the occasional crack of a rifle, and there was the _ping_ of a
bullet passing over their heads as they pressed on through the lightening
gloom.

'Halt!'

A voice rang out, and they were questioned as to their identity. On
being ordered to advance, they jumped down into a sunken road which
constituted an admirable trench, and were at once surrounded by American
soldiers.

'I was ordered to report to Major Van Derwater,' said Durwent.

They were asked various questions, and were then escorted a few yards to
the right, where an officer was looking over the bank which hid the road.

'British stragglers, sir,' said the sergeant who had taken charge of them.

'What unit are you from?' asked the officer.

His voice was calm and deep, but gave no indication as to how he felt
disposed towards the two fugitives. In answer to his question Dick gave
the name of his battalion, and Mathews did the same.

'How did you know my name?'

'We met your corporal, sir,' said Durwent.

'Where are your rifles?'

'Lost them, sir.'

'In what engagement were you cut off from your units?'

Dick tried to reply, but not only was he ignorant of the locality through
which he had travelled, but his soul burned with resentment at being
forced into lying. Mathews said nothing, and seemed quite untroubled.
He was prepared to accept his young master's choice of engagements for
his own, no matter where or when it might have taken place.

'I don't like this,' said the officer. 'These men are a long way from
the British lines, and are either deserters or worse. Guard them
closely, and if things get hot, tie their arms together so they will give
no trouble.'

'Very good, sir,' answered the sergeant, preparing to lead them away; but
Durwent, whose blood, had run cold with dismay at the officer's words,
struggled forward.

'Sir,' he cried, 'if you think I'm not to be trusted, give me a dirty
job--anything. A bombing-raid, or a patrol--I'll do anything at all,
sir, if