In the dawn of the next morning Ruth arose and rearranged all her stock of supplies and corrected the schedule of goods on hand. Despite her recent activities she had kept her accounts up to date and every record was properly audited.
Before Helen Cameron and Jennie Stone even knew how Ruth proposed making use of them, the girl of the Red Mill had explained her plan fully to the matron. That the Americaine Mademoiselle was so friendly with the grand folk at the chateau rather awed the Frenchwoman. She could find no fault with anything Ruth did.
But there was a great outcry when, at breakfast, Ruth explained to Helen and Jennie that she was called away from the hospital on private and important business, and for several days.
"She's running away to be married!" gasped Jennie Stone. "Treason!"
"Your romantic imagination is ever on tap, isn't it, Heavy?" responded Ruth with scorn.
"That's all right," returned the plump girl sharply. "You look out for your brother Tom, Helen Cameron."
"But it may be one of these French officers," Helen said, with more mildness. "Some of them are awfully nice."
"Don't be ridiculous, girls!" Ruth observed.
"Really it isn't at all nice of you, my dear," her chum said.
"I'm not doing this because it is nice," flared Ruth, whose nerves were a little raw by now. "It is something I have to do."
"What, then?" demanded Jennie.
"I can't tell you! It is not my secret! If it were, don't you suppose I would take you both into my confidence?"
"I don't know about that," grumbled Jennie Stone.
"I had made arrangements to do this before you came," the girl of the Red Mill said, rather provoked. "You must take me at my word. I cannot do differently. I never told you girls a falsehood in my life."
"Goodness, Ruthie!" exclaimed Helen, with sudden good sense. "Say no more about it. Of course we know you would not desert us if it could be helped. If Tom would only come while you are gone——"
"I may be able to communicate with him," Ruth said, turning her head quickly so that her chum should not see her expression of countenance. "And there is something you girls can do for me while I am gone."
"I warrant!" groaned Jennie. "No rest for the wicked. Don't try to think up anything in the line of cooking for me, Ruthie Fielding, for I won't do it! I have come here to get away from cooking."
"Will you fast then, while you remain at Clair?" asked Ruth rather wickedly.
"Ow-wow!" shrieked the plump girl. "How you can twist a fellow's meaning around! No! I merely will not cook!"
"But she still hopes to eat," said Helen. "What is it you want of your poor slaves, Lady Ruth?"
"Do my work here while I'm gone. Look out for the supplies. I can break you both in this morning. I do not know just when I shall be called for——"
"By whom, pray?" put in the saucy Jennie drawlingly.
Ruth ignored the question. "You will not find this work difficult. And, as Jennie suggests, it will be a change."
"Good-night!" groaned Jennie.
"Don't lose heart, sister," said Helen cheerfully. "I understand that Ruth often goes into the wards and writes letters for the poor poilus, and feeds them canned peaches and soft puddings. Isn't that what you do, Ruthie?"
"Better not let me do that," grumbled Jennie. "I might be tempted to eat the goodies myself. I'll write the letters."
"Heaven help the home folks of the poor poilus, my dear," Helen responded. "Nobody—not even Madame Picolet—could ever read your written French."
"Well! I do declare!" exclaimed the fleshy girl, tossing her head. "I suppose the duty will devolve upon me to eat all the blessés' fancy food for them. Dear me, Ruthie Fielding! Don't stay long. For if you do I shall utterly ruin my figure."
It was very kind of the girls to agree to Ruth's suggestion, and she appreciated it. But she could not tell them anything about what she was to do while she was absent from the hospital.
Indeed, she barely knew herself what she would do—in detail, that is. She had put herself in the hands of Major Marchand and must wait to hear from him.
She dared not breathe to Helen a word of Tom's trouble. Nobody must know that she, Ruth, hoped in some way to aid him to escape from beyond the German lines.
It seemed almost impossible for a girl—any girl—to pass from one side of the battle front to the other. From the sea on the Belgian coast to the Alps the trenches ran in continuous lines. Division after division of Belgians, British and their colonial troops, French, and Americans held the trenches on this side, facing a great horde of Germans.
In places the huge guns stood so close together they all but touched. Beyond these were the front trenches, in which the sharpshooters and the machine-gun men watched the enemy. And beyond again were the listening posts and the wire entanglements.
How could a girl ever get through the jungle of barbed wire? And in places the Huns had strung live wires, carrying voltages strong enough to kill a man, just as they did along the borderland of Holland.
When Ruth thought of these things she lost hope. But she tried not to think at all. Major Marchand had bade her be of good hope.
She kept her mind occupied in showing the two girls their duties and in introducing them to such of the nurses and other workers as Ruth herself knew well.
It was rather late in the afternoon, and she had heard no word of the major, when Ruth and her two friends came out of a lower ward to the main entrance of the hospital just as an ambulance rolled in. Two of the brancardiers came out of the hospital and drew forth one stretcher on which a convalescent patient lay.
"Oh, the poor man!" murmured Helen. "What do they do with him now?"
"He has come in from a field hospital," began Ruth. And then she saw the face of the ambulance driver. "Oh, Charlie Bragg!" she called.
"What did I tell you?" said Jennie solemnly. "She knows 'em all. They grow on bushes around here, I warrant."
"They don't grow 'em like Charlie on bushes, I assure you," declared Ruth, laughing, and she ran down the steps to speak to the ambulance driver, for she saw that he wanted to say something to her.
"Miss Ruth, I was told to whisper something in your private ear, and when I have said it, you are to do it, instantly."
"Goodness! What do you mean, Charlie Bragg?" she gasped.
"Listen. Those two brancardiers are coming for the second man. When they start up the steps with him, you pop into the back of the ambulance."
"Why, Charlie!" she murmured in utter amazement.
"Are you going to do as you are told?" he demanded with much apparent fierceness.
"But the third man? You have another wounded man inside."
The stretcher-bearers slid the second convalescent out of the ambulance.
"Now!" whispered Charlie. "Do as you are told."
Half understanding, yet still much puzzled, the girl went around to the rear of the ambulance. It was half dark within, but she saw the man lying on the third stretcher, the one overhead, put out a hand and beckon her. She could see nothing of his face, his head was so much bandaged. One arm seemed strapped to his side, too.
The engine of the car began to purr. Charlie clashed the clutch. Ruth jumped upon the step, and then crept into the covered vehicle. The car leaped ahead.
She heard Jennie Stone exclaim in utter amazement:
"Well, what do you think of that? What did I tell you, Helen? She is actually running away."
In half a minute the ambulance was out of the courtyard and the dust of the village street wan rising behind it, as Charlie Bragg swung the car into high gear.
This was adventure, indeed!
"Sit down, Mademoiselle," said a low voice. "There is a cushion yonder. Make no sound—at least, not until we are out of the village."
Ruth could only gasp. There was light enough under the ambulance roof for her to see the speaker creep down from the swinging stretcher. He moved very carefully, but his bandages were evidently camouflage.
The jouncing of the automobile made her uncomfortable. Charlie Bragg was driving at his usual reckless pace. Ruth did not even laugh over the surprise of Helen and Jennie at her departure. She was too deeply interested in the actions of the man with her in the ambulance.
He was unwinding the bandage that strapped his left arm to his side and, with gravity, removed the splints that had evidently been put in place by a professional hand.
His arm, however, was as well and strong as Ruth's own. She saw that he wore a familiar, patched, blue smock, baggy trousers, and wooden shoes. He began to look like the mysterious Nicko, the chocolate vender!
Then he unwrapped his head. There were yards of the gauze and padding. To believe his first appearance once might have thought that his jaw had been shot away.
But at last Ruth saw his unmarred face so clearly that she could no longer doubt his identity. It was Major Marchand. And yet, it was Nicko!
"Pardon, Mademoiselle," said the officer softly. "It is necessary that I go disguised at times. My poor friend, Nicko (perhaps you saw him at the field hospital to which you were assigned for a week?), allows me to dress like him and did, indeed, allow me to live in his house at times. Now he has been removed from his home and fields with the rest."
"I think I understand, Major Marchand," she answered.
"I was much interested in a wounded Uhlan captain who was in that hospital. He began by trying to bribe our poor Nicko, thinking the chocolate peddler too weak-minded to be patriotic. He was mistaken," and the major nodded. "Had the Uhlan not died of his wounds I believe I should have got something of moment from him."
Ruth shook her head and asked: "Where are you taking me? Oh! I thought Charlie would have us over then!"
The major smiled. "Our friend, Monsieur Bragg, is faithful and wise; but he drives like Jehu. I have engaged him to transport us a part of the way."
"Part of the way to where?"
"To where we are going," Major Marchand replied dryly enough.
"But I was not exactly prepared, Major Marchand," Ruth said. "I am not properly clothed. I wear slippers and I have no hat."
"Trouble not regarding that," he told her. "It would be impossible for you to take a wardrobe across No Man's Land. An outfit of proper clothing must be secured for you upon the other side."
"Will that be possible?"
"German women still dress in the mode, Mademoiselle. And the garments you wear at Merz must bear the labels of Berlin tradesmen."
"Goodness! I never thought of that," admitted Ruth.
"Somebody must think of all the details," he said gently. "My brother will attend to it all."
"Count Allaire?"
"Yes. He is a master of detail," and the major smiled and nodded.
"You speak as though I were sure of getting across," Ruth whispered.
"Have no doubt, Mademoiselle. We must get over. Doubt never won in a contest yet. Have courage."
After another minute of jouncing about in the furiously driven ambulance, the girl continued her questioning:
"What am I to do first?"
"Do as you are told," he smiled.
"We are going toward the front now? Yes? And at what part of the line can we cross?"
"There is but one place where it is possible for you to get over. It is at the Savoie Swamps. It is a wild and deserted place—has always been. There is a little lake much sought by fishermen in the summers before the war started. The shores immediately about it are always marshy. At this season they are inundated."
"Then, how am I to get through?"
"That you will be able to understand better when you are there," said the officer noncommittally.
"Is it open country?" she asked wonderingly. "Shall we be quite exposed?"
"Not at night," he returned grimly. "And it is partly forest covered, that morass. The guns have shattered the forest in places. But most of the huge shells which drop into the swamp never explode."
"Oh!"
"Yes. They are very, very dangerous—those duds. But they will not be our only peril in crossing. Have you a brave heart, Mademoiselle?"
"I am going to help Tom Cameron escape," she said firmly.
He bowed and said nothing more until she again spoke.
"I can see that it may be possible for a man to get through that swamp—or across the lake by boat. But how about me? My dress——"
"I am afraid we shall have to disguise you, Mademoiselle," Major Marchand said with one of his flashing smiles. "But do not take thought of it. All will be arranged."
This was comforting, but only to a slight degree. Ruth Fielding was not a person given to allowing things to take their course. She usually planned far ahead and "made things come her way."
She stared out rather stonily upon the landscape. Charlie was still driving at his maddest gait. They passed few houses, and those they did pass were deserted.
"Your Americans, Mademoiselle," said the major, "have prepared for the expected German advance with a completeness—yes! They have my admiration."
"But will the attack come?" she asked doubtfully.
"Surely. As I told you, Mademoiselle, we can thank your young friend, Lieutenant Cameron, for the warning. Through his advantage with General Stultz he gained such information. The High Command of the German Armies has planned this attack upon the first American-held trenches."
"Oh, what will they do to poor Tom if they are sure he is a spy?" murmured Ruth, for the moment breaking down.
"We will get there first," was the assurance given her.
"But his sister—Helen—— Think of it, Major Marchand! She has just arrived at Clair and awaits him there at the hospital. I have not dared tell her that Tom has been caught by the Germans."
"Fear not," he urged her. "There is yet hope."
But every now and then Ruth felt her courage melting. It seemed so impossible for her to do this great thing she had set out to do. She felt her limitations.
Yet it was not personal fear that troubled her. She would have pressed forward, even had she been obliged to essay the crossing of No Man's Land alone.
At last the jouncing ambulance came to a rocking halt.
"As far as I can take you folks in this old fliver, I guess," drawled Charlie Bragg. "An unhealthy looking place for a picnic."
He twisted around in his seat to look at Ruth. She smiled wanly at him, while the Major got down quickly and offered her his hand.
"Is it all right, Ruth?" Charlie whispered. "I don't know this French chap."
"Don't fear for me, Charlie dear," she returned. "He is Major Henri Marchand. I fancy he is high in the French Army. And I know his mother—a very lovely lady."
"Oh, all right," responded the boy shortly. "One of the family, as you might say? Take care of yourself. Haven't heard from Cameron, have you?"
"That is what I am here for," whispered Ruth. "I hope I shall hear of him soon."
"Well, best o' luck!" said Charlie Bragg, as Ruth followed the major out of the rear of the ambulance.
The evening was falling. They stood at the mouth of a wide gully up which the car could not have traveled. The latter turned in a swirl of dust and pounded back toward the rear. When it was out of sight and the noise of it had died away, there did not seem to be any other sound about them.
"Where are we?" asked Ruth.
"Let us see," returned Major Marchand cheerfully. "I think we shall find somebody up this way."
They walked up the gully some hundreds of yards until they finally came out upon a narrow plain at the top. On this mesa was a ruined dwelling of two stories and some shattered farm buildings.
"Halt!" was the sudden command.
A man in khaki appeared from a clump of trees near the house, advancing his rifle.
"Friends," said the major quietly.
"Advance one friend with the countersign."
Major Marchand stepped ahead of Ruth and whispered something to the sentinel.
"Guess it's all right, Boss," said the sentinel, who evidently had no French. "But you can't proceed in this direction."
"Why not, mon ami?"
"New orders. Something doing up front. Wait till my relief comes on in half an hour. Top-sergeant will tell you."
"But we must go forward," urged the major, rather vexed.
"Don't worry," advised the American. "General orders takes the 'must' out of mustard even, and don't you forget it. If you were a soldier, you'd learn that," and he chuckled. "Come on over to the dyke and sit down—you and the lady," and he favored Ruth with an admiring glance.
The American girl did not speak, and it was evident that the sentinel thought her French like her companion. The three strolled along to the grassy bank behind the trees and directly before the half-ruined house.
Shell fire had destroyed one end of it. But the other end wall was complete. On the second floor was a window. The lower sash was removed, but in the upper sash there were several small, unbroken panes of glass.
There was the smell of smoke in the air, and the two newcomers spied a little handful of fire blazing on a rock under the dyke. Here the sentinel had made his little camp, and it was evident that he had boiled coffee and toasted meat within the hour.
"Great housekeeping," he said, grinning. "When I get back home I guess my mother'll make me do all the kitchen work. Ain't war what General Sherman said it was—and then some?"
"But we wish to hurry on, Monsieur," said the major quietly.
"Nothing doing!" responded the sentinel. "I got particular orders not to let anybody pass—not even with the word. Just stick around a little while, you and the lady. Toppy'll be along soon."
Ruth wondered that the French officer did not reveal his identity. But she remained silent herself, knowing that Major Marchand must have good reason for not wishing his rank known.
"We got to watch this old ranch," continued the talkative sentinel, nodding toward the half-ruined dwelling. "Somebody thinks there's something besides cooties in it. Yep," as the major started and looked at him questioningly. "Spies. Those Dutchmen are mighty smart, they do say. I'm told they flash signals from that window up yonder clear across the swamps to the German lines. Now, when it gets dark——"
He nodded and pursed his lips. The major nodded in return. Ruth remained silent, but she was becoming nervous. While they were in action and going forward the suspense was not so hard to bear. But now she began to wonder how she was ever going to cross that morass the major had told her about. And half a hundred other difficulties paraded through her troubled mind.
They sat upon the bank, and waited. The sentinel continued to march up and down just the other side of the fire, occasionally throwing a remark at the major, but usually with his face turned toward the house, which was distant about five furlongs.
Suddenly Ruth observed that Major Marchand had in his palm a little round mirror. He seemed to be manipulating it to catch the firelight. Ruth saw in a moment what he was about.
The sentinel stopped in his beat with a smothered exclamation. His back was to them and he was staring up at the open window of the house.
There came a flash of light from the window—another! Like lightning the sentinel raised his rifle and fired pointblank into the opening on the second floor.
Then, with a shout, he dashed across the intervening space and disappeared within the house. Major Marchand seized Ruth's hand and rose to his feet.
"Come!" the French officer whispered. "Now is our chance."
"Oh!" Ruth murmured, scarcely understanding.
"Haste! He will be back in a minute," the officer said.
He helped her over the dyke, and, stooping, they ran away from the abandoned house from which the puzzled American sentinel thought he had seen a spy flashing a light signal to the enemy lines.
"Fortunately, I had a little mirror," murmured Major Marchand, as he and the girl hurried on through the dusk. "With it, you see, I flashed a reflection of the firelight upon the broken panes of that upper window. Our brave young American will discover his mistake before his relief comes. We could not wait for that. Nor could we easily explain to his top-sergeant why we wished to go forward."
"Oh!" murmured Ruth again. "In your work, Monsieur, I see you have to take chances with both sides."
"It is true. Our own friends must not suspect too much about us. The best spy, Mademoiselle, plays a lone hand. Come! This way. We must dodge these other sentinels."
It was evident that he knew the vicinity well. Beyond the mesa they descended through a grove of big trees, whose tops had been shot off by the German guns.
They traveled through the lowland swiftly but cautiously. Ruth could not see the way, and clung to Major Marchand's hand. But she tried to make no sound.
Once he drew her aside into a jungle of brush and they crouched there, completely hidden, while a file of soldiers marched by, their file leader flashing an electric torch to show the way.
"The relief," whispered Major Marchand, when they had gone. "They may be swarming down this hill after us in a few minutes."
The two hurried on. The keen feeling of peril and adventure gripped Ruth Fielding's soul. It was not with fear that she trembled now.
At length they halted in a pitch-black place, which might have been almost anything but the sheepfold Major Marchand told Ruth it was. He produced an officer's trench whistle and blew a long and peculiar blast on it.
"Now, hush!" he whispered. "It is against usage to use these whistles for anything but the command to go over the top at 'zero.' Necessity, however, Mademoiselle, knows no law."
They waited. Not a sound answered. There was no stir on any side of them. Ruth's fears seemed quenched entirely. Now a feeling of exultation gripped her. She was fairly into this adventure. It was too late to go back.
The major blew the whistle a second time and in the same way. Suddenly a dark figure loomed before them. There was a word In French spoken out of the darkness. It was not the password the Major had given the American sentinel.
"Come, Mademoiselle," said the major. "Give me your hand again."
Ruth's warm hand slipped confidently into his enclosing palm. The Frenchman's courtesy and unfailing gentleness had assured her that she was perfectly safe in his care.
They left the sheepfold, the second man, whoever he was, moving ahead to guide them. Even in the open it was now very dark. There was no moon, and the stars were faint and seemed very far away.
Finally Ruth saw that a ridge of land confronted them; but they did not climb its face. Instead, they followed a winding path along its foot, which soon, to the girl's amazement, became a tunnel. It was dimly lit with an electric bulb here and there along its winding length.
"Where are we?" she whispered to the major.
"This is the first approach-trench," he returned. "But silence, Mademoiselle. Your voice is not—well, it is not masculine."
She understood that she was not to attract attention. A woman in the trenches would, indeed, create both curiosity and remark.
The guide stopped within a few yards and sought out trench helmets that they all put on. When the strap was fastened under her chin Ruth almost laughed aloud. What would Helen and Jennie say if they could see her in this brand of millinery?
She controlled her laughter, however. Here, at the first cross-trench, stood a sentry who let them by when the ghostly leader of the trio, whose face she could not see at all, had whispered the password. Ruth walked between her two companions, and her dress was not noticed in the dark.
Soon they were out of the tunnels through the ridge. Later she learned that the ridge was honeycombed with them. The trench they entered was broader and open to the sky. And muddy!
She stepped once off the "duckboards" laid down in the middle of the passway and dipped half-way to her knee in the mire. She felt that if the major had not pulled her up quickly she might have sunk completely out of sight.
But she did not utter a sound. He whispered in her ear:
"I admire your courage, Mademoiselle. Just a short distance farther. Do not lose heart."
"I am just beginning to feel brave," she whispered in return.
Presently the leader stopped. They waited a moment while he fumbled along the boarded side of the trench. Then a plank slid back. It was the door of a dugout.
"This way, Major," the man said in French.
The major pushed Ruth through the narrow opening. The plank door was closed. It was a vile-smelling place.
A match was scratched, a tiny flame sprang up, and then there flared a candle—one of those trench candles made of rolled newspapers and paraffin. It illumined the dugout faintly.
There were bunks along the walls, and in the middle of the planked cave was a rustic table and two benches. Evidently the men who sometimes occupied this trench had spent their idle hours here. But to Ruth Fielding it seemed a fearful place in which to sleep, and eat, and loaf away the long hours of trench duty.
"All ready for us, Tremp?" asked Major Marchand of the man who had led them to this spot.
The American girl now saw that the man was a squat Frenchman in the horizon blue uniform of the infantry and with the bars of a sergeant. He was evidently one of the French officers assigned to teach the Americans in the trenches.
In his own tongue the man replied to his superior. He drew from one of the empty bunks two bulky bundles. The major shook them out and they proved to be two suits of rubber over-alls and boots together—a garment to be drawn on from the feet and fastened with buckled straps over the shoulders. They enclosed the whole body to the armpits in a waterproof garment.
"A complete disguise for you, Mademoiselle—with the helmet," Major Marchand suggested. "And a protection from the water."
"The water?" gasped Ruth.
"We have half a mile of morass to cross after we get out of the trenches," was the reply. "I am unable to carry you over that, pickaback. You will have to wade, Mademoiselle."
Perhaps this was the moment most trying for Ruth Fielding in all that long-to-be-remembered night. And the Frenchmen realized it.
Having come so far and already having endured so much, however, the girl of the Red Mill was of no mind to break down. But the thought introduced into her brain by Major Marchand's last words was troubling her.
As for roughing it in such an admirable garment as this rubber suit, Ruth was not at all distressed. She had camped out in the wilderness, ridden half-broken cow ponies on a Wyoming ranch, and gone fishing in an open boat. It was not the mannish dress that fretted her.
It was the suggestion of the long and arduous passage between the American trenches and the German trenches. What lay for her in that No Man's Land of which she had heard so much?
"I am ready," she said at length, and calmly. "Am I to remove my skirts?"
"Quite unnecessary, Mademoiselle," replied the major respectfully. "See! The garment is roomy. It was made, you may be sure, for a man of some size. Your skirts will ruffle up around you and help to keep you warm. At this time in the year the swamp water is as cold as the grave."
Without further question the girl stepped into the rubber suit. Sergeant Tremp helped to draw it up to her armpits, and then buckled it over her shoulders. He showed her, too, how to pull in the belt.
She immediately felt that she would be dry and warm in the suit. And, although the boots seemed loaded, she could walk quite well in them. Major Marchand gave her a pair of warm gloves, which she drew on, after tucking her hair up under her helmet all around.
The major thrust two automatic pistols into his belt. But he gave her a small electric torch to carry, warning her not to use it.
"Then why give it to me?" she asked.
"Ah, Mademoiselle! We might need it. Now—allons!"
Tremp slid the plank back, and they filed out into the trench after he had looked both ways to make sure that the coast was clear. Ruth wondered what would happen to them if they were caught by an American patrol? Perhaps be apprehended for the spies they were—only the Americans would think them spying for the Huns!
The major's hands were full. Before the candle had been put out Ruth had seen him pick up two gas-masks, and he carried these as they stumbled along the duckboards toward the next cross trench.
"Halt!"
A sibilant whisper. Sergeant Tremp muttered something in reply. The trio turned the corner and immediately it seemed they were at the back of the firing shelf where—every so far apart—the figures of riflemen stood waiting for any possible German attack. The men in the trenches at night are ever on the alert.
Nobody molested the girl and her companions. Indeed, it was too dark to see much in the trench. But the sergeant seemed to know his way about perfectly.
Little wonder in that. The French had dug these trenches and Sergeant Tremp knew them as he did the paths in the environs of his native village.
At a dark corner he clucked with his tongue and brought them to a halt.
"This is it, Major," he whispered, after peering about.
"Good!" ejaculated the officer softly. "Let me step ahead, Mademoiselle. Cling to my belt behind. Try to walk in my footsteps."
"Yes," she breathed.
Tremp seemed to melt into the darkness. Major Marchand turned at an abrupt angle and Ruth followed him as he had desired. She knew they were passing through a very narrow passage. The earth was scraped from the walls by their elbows and rattled down upon their feet.
The passage rose slightly. The bottom of the trench they had just left—the very front line—was all of thirty feet in depth at this point. This narrow tunnel was thrust out into No Man's Land and led to a listening post.
At least, so she supposed, and she was not mistaken. Nor was she mistaken in her supposition that Tremp was no longer with them. He was not prepared to cross the Savoie morass.
A breath of sweeter air blew upon Ruth's cheek.
"Down!" whispered the major. They almost crawled the final few yards.
There was a quick word spoken ahead and the clatter of arms. Major Marchand shrilled a whisper in reply.
"Come, my boy," he said aloud, turning to Ruth. "We must step out lively. It is nearing ten o'clock."
"So you take a friend to-night, do you, Major?" asked a good American voice—that of the officer in command of the listening post.
"Aye," was the reply. "A boy to help me bring home the fish I may catch."
There was a little laugh. Ruth felt herself in a tremor. She knew instinctively that it would never do for her sex to be discovered.
She was not discovered, however. They stood upon the surface. Major Marchand took her hand and led her quietly away. The earth about them looked gray; but the blackness of night wrapped them around. There was not a light to be seen.
She realized more by the sense of locality she possessed than by aught else that they were on the lowland far beyond that ridge through which they had first tunneled after Sergeant Tremp had joined them.
Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as they stumbled on. Below them and ahead, she occasionally caught the glint of water. It was a pool of considerable size. She believed it must be the small lake Major Marchand had spoken of.
Suddenly Ruth seized her companion's arm.
"There!" she whispered.
"What is it?" he asked in the same low tone.
"There are men. See them?"
"No, no, Mademoiselle," he told her with a small chuckle. "There are no men standing so boldly there. They are posts—posts to which our barbed-wire entanglements are fixed."
"Oh!" she breathed with relief.
"Be not alarmed——" He seized her shoulder as he spoke and so great was his sudden pressure on it that he carried her with him to the ground.
A shower of flare rockets had erupted from the German trenches. They sailed up over No Man's Land and burst, flooding acres of the rough ground with a white glare.
The major and Ruth lay flat upon the ground, and the girl knew enough not to move. Nor did she cry out. For five minutes the eruption lasted. Then all died down and there was no reply from the American side. Major Marchand chuckled.
"That was most unexpected, was it not, Mademoiselle? But have no fear. The first patrol has already been across here to the German wire entanglements to-night, and found nothing stirring. It is not yet that we shall run into Germans."
They arose, and the major led straight on again, slowly descending the easy slope of this hillside. Finally they reached a gaping hole. Ruth knew it must have been made by a shell. It was thirty feet or more across, and when they descended into it she found it to be fully twenty feet deep.
"Now you may show a flash of your light, Mademoiselle," the Frenchman advised her. "Thank you. Remove that casque you wear. These would attract much attention upon the German side. Here is a German helmet to take the place of the other. I cached them on a former trip. So! Now, over this way. On hands and knees, Mademoiselle."
She followed him, obeying his word. So they crept out of the marmite hole and up under the entanglement of wire. It was plain that this path had been used before.
Once clear of the barrier, they descended the last few steps to the shore of the lake. There was thick shrubbery here, but Major Marchand led through this to the narrow beach.
"Can it not be crossed by boat?" she whispered.
"This water can be seen from watchers of both armies. Its least disturbance—even that occasioned by a swimmer—would draw volleys of shots from Americans and Germans alike.
"Now, we follow along this narrow beach. Step in my track, if possible, Mademoiselle Fielding. And keep within touch of me."
They walked on steadily. Soon the track became soft and sticky. She sank ankle deep in mire. Then gradually the morass grew deeper and she was in mud and water up to her knees. Later she was plodding half-leg deep, panting deeply.
The Frenchman wished to get to a certain place before they halted. The girl was almost exhausted when the major leaped out upon a log and offered her his hand.
"Come up here, Mademoiselle," he whispered. "We shall be dry here—and we can rest."
She could not speak; but her breathing soon grew calmer. Major Marchand said, suddenly speaking in German:
"Forget your French, Fraulein—from this point on. The German tongue only for us."
"Oh! Are we near?" she asked, obeying him.
"Yes. Can you go on again?"
"At once," she declared with confidence.
They walked to the end of the long log. Stepping down, she found that the quagmire was not so deep. But for some minutes they continued to plow through it, but walking as softly as possible.
Ahead there was a flash of light. Ruth thought it might be another flare, and prepared to drop down in the mud.
But it was merely an electric torch. There were voices—rougher voices than those to which Ruth had been used. She caught German words.
Major Marchand drew her behind the huge trunk of a tree. There splashed past through the mud a file of bulky figures. When they had gone, her companion whispered to the girl:
"Fraulein, it is a patrol. We are in good season. Soon we shall be there."
She was soon able to walk beside him on higher ground. She saved her breath for continued exertion. They came to a wire entanglement somewhat similar to that on the American side of the morass. But here a narrow path had been opened for the patrol.
"Halt! Who goes there?" croaked the sentinel.
"Ein Freund!"
The major gave the reply in a guttural tone. He stepped forward and whispered to the sentinel. Evidently he had the password of the Germans, as he had had that of the Americans!
Ruth followed on through the wires. They crossed a narrow field and were again challenged. Here a sergeant was brought to confer with the disguised Frenchman. But it was all right. He and his companion were passed, and they were led on by the sergeant.
They went over several bridges which spanned the front trenches and then their escort left them. Major Marchand seized Ruth's hand and held it for a moment.
"Rejoice, Fraulein!" he whispered. "We are through the lines."
Ruth Fielding thought afterward that Major Marchand must possess the eyes of a cat. And his sense of locality was as highly developed as that of a feline as well.
In the midst of the wood into which they had come out from the German trenches he discovered a path leading to a tiny hut, which seemed entirely surrounded by thick brush.
He left her waiting for a moment while he ventured within. Then he came to the door and touched Ruth's sleeve.
"I can never know who is waiting for me here," he whispered.
"Your brother?"
"No, no! Some day they will suspect—these Boches—and they will find my little lodge. You know, Fraulein, the pitcher that too often goes to the well is at last broken."
She understood his meaning. At last he would be caught. It was the fate of most spies.
He lit a smoky lamp; but it gave light enough for her to see that the hut was all but empty. It must have been a swineherd's cot at a pre-war date. There was a table, a sawed-off log for a chair, a cupboard hanging against the wall, and a heap of straw in a corner for a bed.
This he pushed aside until he revealed beneath it a box like a coffin, buried in the dirt floor. Its cover was hinged.
From this hidden receptacle he drew forth the complete uniform of a Uhlan lieutenant. "Turn your back for a little, Fraulein," he said softly. "I must make a small change in my toilet."
He removed the muddy rubber suit and the helmet. Likewise, the smock, and baggy trousers, like those worn by Nicko the chocolate peddler. In a trice he clothed himself from top to toe as a Uhlan full lieutenant. He stood before the small glass tacked in the corner and twirled and stiffened his mustache with pomatum. When he turned and strode before Ruth again he was the typical haughty martinet who demanded of the rank and file the goose-step and "right face salute" of the German army.
"For your protection, Fraulein," he said, stooping at the box again, "we must make a subaltern of you."
"Oh! I could never look like a boy," Ruth objected, shrinking as she saw the second uniform brought to light.
"For your protection," he said again. "A girl like you, Fraulein, would not have the chance of a rabbit among these Huns. They are not French," he added dryly. "I will step outside. Make haste, please."
He practically commanded her to don the uniform he laid out.
Ruth let fall the heavy rubber garment she had worn through the swamp. Then she removed her outer clothing and got into the uniform and into the long, polished boots quickly. There was even the swagger cane that young Prussian officers carry.
She viewed herself as well as she could in the piece of mirror in the corner. She might have the appearance of a "stage" soldier; but nobody would ever, for a moment, take her for a man!
She strode up and down the hut for several moments, trying to tune her gait to her new character—no easy matter. Finally she went to the door. The lamplight showed her figure boldly in the frame of the doorway. She saw the waiting major start, and he muttered something under his breath.
"Am I not all right?" she asked with some trepidation.
For once Major Marchand forgot himself.
He bowed his stiff, military bow with a gesture as though he would kiss her finger tips.
"Assuredly, Mademoiselle!"
She drew back for him to enter the hut again. He withdrew from the box under the straw a long, military cloak, which he fastened upon Ruth's shoulders.
"It will cover the figure, Fraulein. And now, a bit of camouflage."
From his pocket he drew a leather roll, which, when opened, proved to contain shaving materials and certain toilet requisites. With a camel's hair brush dipped in grease paint he darkened her lip and her cheekbones just before her ears—as though the down of immature manhood were sprouting. She again looked at herself in the glass.
"I am a boy now!" she cried.
Major Marchand chuckled as he tumbled the rubber suits and all the other articles into the box, shut the cover and covered it with the straw. He looked carefully about the hut before they departed to make sure that no signs of their occupancy of it were left. He even rubbed out faint imprints of Ruth's slippers upon the damp earthen floor of the hut.
Putting out the smoky lamp, they left the place. The Frenchman seemed to know the vicinity perfectly. They followed yet another path out of the wood and came to what was evidently a small inn. There was a noisy party within, caparisoned horses held by orderlies in the yard, and several automobiles under the sheds.
"Some of the Crown Prince's wild friends," whispered Major Marchand to Ruth. "We must keep out of their sight but appear to be members of the party. Remember, you are Sub-Leutnant Louden. I am your superior, Leutnant Gilder. Do not speak if you can help it, Fraulein—and then of the briefest."
She nodded, quite understanding his warning. She was alive to the peril she faced, but she felt no panic of fright now that she was in the midst of the adventure.
The major found somebody in authority. An auto-car for hire? Surely! A price asked for it and a driver to Merz, which staggered Ruth. But her companion agreed with a nod. To be a Prussian lieutenant of the Crown Prince's suite one must throw money around!
In ten minutes they were under way—as easily as that was it accomplished. Huddled down in her corner of the tonneau, with the cloak wrapped around her, Ruth dozed. It was growing very late, and after her struggle across the swampland between the lines she was exhausted in body if not in mind.
She awoke suddenly. The car was stopping at a wide gateway and two sentries were approaching to examine their papers.
The Frenchman seemed prepared for everything. He had papers for himself and for "Sub-Leutnant Louden."
"Correct, Herr Leutnant. Pass on."
The car entered the private estate, but swiftly sped off into a side road instead of going up to the big house in the upper windows of which Ruth saw lights, although it was now nearly morning.
"Our quarters are in the gardener's cottage," said the major, loudly, evidently intending the information for the automobile driver's ear.
They came to a roomy old cottage. Its windows were dark. The chauffeur stopped before it and the major sprang out.
"Have a care how you step," he whispered to Ruth, and she made ready to get out of the car without a tumble. The high boots did feel queer on her legs.
Her companion was hammering on the door of the cottage with the hilt of his sword. A window opened above.
"Leutnant Gilder and Sub-Leutnant Louden billeted here. Make haste and come down," he commanded in his gruffest voice as the automobile wheeled around in the drive and started back for the gate.
In three minutes the door was opened; but it was dark inside.
"Is it thou, my Henri?" whispered a voice.
"Allaire!"
Ruth knew that it was the young count himself. Major Marchand drew her into the tiny hall. There was not much light, but she saw the two tall men greet each other warmly—in true French fashion—with a kiss upon either cheek.