llery duel was going on and the infantry was
getting a rest that it sorely needed, the Army Boys went over to the
house. The girl saw them coming and recognized them at once. She came
out to meet them with a smile on her face.

"_Les braves Americains!_" she exclaimed. "You have not then been
killed by those dreadful Germans."

"Don't we look pretty lively for dead men?" asked Frank jokingly.

"And that lieutenant?" she inquired. "Oh, I hope you have hanged him."

"No," said Frank, "but he's a prisoner."

"It is not enough," she said with a shudder of repulsion.

"Have you heard anything of the young soldier that the lieutenant was
going to hang?" asked Frank eagerly.

"No," she answered. "But stay," she added, "I have something here that
you may want to see."

She darted back in the house and quickly returned with a very-much
crumpled card in her hand.

"It is a _carte postale_," she explained. "We found it in the yard
some days after you had been here. It had been trampled in the mud by
the horses' feet and the writing had been scraped or blotted out.
Perhaps it belonged to the young man. It may have fallen from his
pocket. I do not know."

Frank took it eagerly from her hand, while his comrades gathered around
him.

The card was almost illegible, but it could be seen that it was a
United States postal. There was not a single word upon it that could
be made out in its entirety, but up in the corner where the postmark
had been they could see by straining their eyes the letters C and M.

"That's Camport, I'm willing to bet!" exclaimed Bart excitedly.

"And here's something else," put in Billy pointing to where the address
would naturally be looked for. "See those letters d-f-o-r----"

"It's dollars to doughnuts that that stands for 'Bradford,'" Frank
shouted. "A card from Camport to Tom Bradford. Boys, we didn't guess
wrong that day. That was Tom that that brute of a lieutenant was going
to hang!"

They were tingling with excitement and delight. To be sure, they did
not know what had become of their friend. But he had escaped from this
house. He was perhaps within a few miles of them. He was, at any
rate, not eating his heart out in a distant prison camp.

Then to Frank came the thought of Rabig. Perhaps Tom hadn't escaped.
Perhaps Rabig had added murder to the crime of treason of which they
were sure he was guilty.

"Are you sure that you haven't found anything else that would he