nkee lies," sneered the officer. "You are very ready to give me
more information than I ask for when it will suit your purpose."

Tom kept discreetly silent, but he chuckled inwardly at the discomfort
shown by his enemy.

The officer pondered a moment, and evidently decided that there was not
much to be got out of this young American who faced him so undauntedly.
Perhaps other prisoners would prove more amenable. But his dignity had
been too much ruffled to let Tom get off without punishment.

"You think that you have baffled me," he said, "but you will find that
it is not wise to try to thwart the will of a German officer. We have
ways to break such spirits as yours."

He called to the guard, who had been standing stolidly at the door.

"Take him out in the woods and put him to work where the enemy's shell
fire is heaviest," he commanded. "It doesn't matter what happens to
him. If his own people kill him so much the better. It will only be
one less Yankee pig for us to feed."

The guard seized Tom and thrust him roughly out of the door. Then he
took him back to the barn and a whispered conversation ensued, with
many black glances shot at Tom.

A short time afterward he was placed with some others in the custody of
a squad of soldiers, and taken into the woods close behind the German
lines. Of course this was a flagrant breach of all the laws of war.
But there was no use in protesting. That would only arouse the
amusement of the German guards.

As a matter of fact, when Tom came to think it over, he did not want to
protest. His captors could have taken no course that would have suited
him better. At first his heart had sunk, for he realized that the
officer's purpose was to sign his death warrant. The chances of being
killed by the American shells was very great. And then the significant
word of the lieutenant that it didn't matter what happened to him, was
a hint to the guards that they could murder him if they liked, and
there would be no questions asked.

But after all, to be in the open was infinitely better than to be
eating his heart out in a squalid prison camp. His health stood less
chance of being undermined. As to the shells, he had grown so used to
that form of danger that it hardly disturbed him at all.

But the one thing that stood out above all others was that in the woods
he would have a chance of escape, while in the camp he would have
practically none at all. His limbs would h