WHERE THERE'S A WILL----
"They're hunting for us," whispered Tom hoarsely. "It's good it was
shut."
"I'd ratherr have them catch us," shivered Archer, "than die in herre."
"We haven't died yet," said Tom, "and they haven't caught us either.
Don't lose your nerves. She'll come as soon as she can."
For a few minutes they did not speak nor stir, only listened eagerly for
any further sound.
"What do you s'pose that shot was?" Archer whispered, after a few
minutes more of keen suspense.
"I don't know. A signal, maybe. They're searching this place for us, I
guess. Don't talk."
Archer took comfort from Tom's calmness, and for half an hour more they
waited, silent and apprehensive. But nothing more happened, the solemn
stillness of the countryside reigned without, and as the time passed
their fear of pursuit and capture gave way to cold terror at the thought
of being locked in this black, stifling vault to die.
What had happened? What did that shot mean, and where was it? Why did
Florette not come? Who had walked across the plank roof of that musty
prison? The fact that they could only guess at the time increased their
dread and made their dreadful predicament the harder to bear. Moreover,
the air was stale and insufficient and their heads began to ache
cruelly.
"We can't stand it in here much longer," Tom confessed, after what
seemed a long period of waiting. "Pretty soon one of us will be all in
and then it'll be harder for the other. We've got to get out, no matter
what."
"Therre may be a Gerrman soldierr within ten feet of us now," Archer
said. "They'rre probably around in this vineyarrd _somewherre_, anyway.
If we tried to forrce it open they'd hearr us."
"We couldn't force it, anyway," Tom said.
"My head's pounding like a hammerr," said Archer after a few minutes
more of silence.
"Hold some of that damp straw to it.--How many matches did she give
you?"
"'Bout a dozen or so."
"Wish I had a knife.--Have you got that piece of wire yet?"
"Surre I have," said Archer, hauling from his pocket about five inches
of barbed wire--the treasured memento of his escape from the Hun prison
camp. "You laughed at me for always gettin' sooveneerrs; now you see----
What you want it for?"
"Sh-h. How many barbs has it?" asked Tom in a cautious whisper.
"Three."
"Let's have it; give me a couple o' matches, too."
Holding a lighted match under the place where he thought the iron
padlock band must be, he scrutinized the under side of the door for any
sign of it.
"I thought maybe the ends of the screws would show through," he said.
"What's the idea?" Archer asked. "Gee, but my head's poundin'."
"If that hasp just fell over the padlock eye," Tom whispered, "and
didn't fit in like it ought to, maybe if I could bore a hole right under
it I could push it up. Don't get scared," he added impassively. "There's
another way, too; but it's a lot of work and it would make a noise. We'd
just have to settle down and take turns and dig through with the wire
barbs. I wish we had more matches. Don't get rattled, now. I know we're
in a dickens of a hole----"
"You said something," observed Archer.
"I didn't mean it for a joke," said Tom soberly.
"This has got the trenches beat a mile," Archer said, somewhat
encouraged by Tom's calmness and resourcefulness.
Striking another match, Tom examined more carefully the area of planking
just in the middle of the side where he knew the hasp must be. He
determined the exact center as nearly as he could. While doing this he
dug his fingernails under a large splinter in the old planking and
pulled it loose. Archer could not see what he was doing, and something
deterred him from bothering his companion with questions.
For a while Tom breathed heavily on the splintered fragment. Then he
tore one end of it until it was in shreds.
"Let's have another match."
Igniting the shredded end, he blew it deftly until the solid wood was
aflame, and by the light of it he could see that Archer was ghastly pale
and almost on the point of collapse. Their dank, unwholesome refuge
seemed the more dreadful for the light.
"You got to just think about our getting out," Tom said, in his usual
dull manner. "We won't suffocate near so soon if we don't think about
it, and don't get rattled. We _got_ to get out and so we _will_ get out.
Let's have that wire."
All Archer's buoyancy was gone, but he tried to take heart from his
comrade's stolid, frowning face and quiet demeanor.
"We can set fire to the whole business if we have to," said Tom, "so
don't get rattled. We ain't going to die. Here, hold this."
Archer held the stick, blowing upon it, while Tom heated an end of the
wire, holding the other end in some of the damp straw. As soon as it
became red hot he poked it into the place he had selected above him. It
took a long time and many heatings to burn a hole an eighth of an inch
deep in the thick planking, and their task was not made the pleasanter
by the thought that after all it was like taking a shot in the dark. It
seemed like an hour, the piece of splintered wood was burned almost
away, and what little temper there was in the malleable wire was quite
gone from it, when Tom triumphantly pushed it through the hole.
"Strike anything?" Archer asked, in suspense.
"No," said Tom, disappointed. He bent the wire and, as best he could,
poked it around outside. "I think I can feel it, though. Missed it by
about an inch. There's no use getting discouraged. We'll just have to
bore another one."
Long afterward, Archibald Archer often recalled the patience and
doggedness which Tom displayed that night.
"As long's the first hole has helped us to find something out, it's
worth while, anyway," he said philosophically.
Resolutely he went to work again, like the traditional spider climbing
the wall, heating the almost limp wire and by little burnings of a
sixteenth of an inch or so at a time he succeeded in making another hole
through the heavy planking. But this time the wire encountered a
metallic obstruction. Sure enough, Tom could feel the troublesome hasp,
but alas, the wire was now too limber to push it up.
"I can just joggle it a little," he said, "but it's too heavy for this
wire."
However, by dint of doubling and twisting the wire, he succeeded after
many attempts and innumerable straightenings of the wire, in joggling
the stubborn hasp free from the padlock eye on which it had barely
caught.
"There it goes!" he said with a note of triumph in his usually impassive
voice.
Instantly Archer's hands were against the door ready to push it up.
"Wait a minute," whispered Tom; "don't fly off the handle. How do we
know who's wandering round? Sh-h! Think I want to run plunk into the
Prussian soldier that walked over our heads? Take your time."
In his excitement Archer had forgotten that ominous tread above their
prison, and he drew back while Tom raised the door to the merest crack
and peered cautiously out. The fresh air afforded them infinite relief.
The night was still and clear, the sky thick with stars. Far away a
range of black heights was outlined against the sky, and over there the
moon was rising. It seemed to be stealthily creeping up out of that
battle-scourged plain in France for a glimpse of Alsace. It was from
beyond those mountains that had come the portentous rumblings which they
had heard.
"The blue Alsatian mountains," murmured Tom. "I wish we were across
them."
"We'll have to go down and around if we everr get therre," Archer said.
"Sh-h-h!" warned Tom, putting his head out and peering about while
Archer held the lid up.
The moonlight, glinting down through the interstices of the trellised
vine, made animated shadows in the quiet vineyard, conjuring the wooden
supports and knotty masses of vine stalk into lurking human forms. Here
some grim figure waited in silence behind an upright, only to dissolve
with the changing light. There an ominous helmet seemed to stir amid the
thick growth.
The two fugitives, elated at their deliverance, but tremblingly
apprehensive, stood hesitating at so radical a move as complete
emergence from their hiding place.
"We can't crawl out of herre in daylight, that's surre," whispered
Archer. "D'you think maybe she'll come even now--if we waited?"
"It must be long after midnight," Tom answered. "You wait here and hold
the door up while I crawl out. Don't move and don't speak. What's that
shining over there? See?"
"Nothin' but an old waterring can."
"All right--sh-h-h!"
Cautiously, silently, Tom crept out, peering anxiously in every
direction. Stealthily he raised himself. Then suddenly he made a low
sound and with a rapidity which startled Archer, dropped to his hands
and knees.
"What's the matterr?" Archer whispered. "Come inside--quick!"
But Tom was engrossed with something on the ground.
"What is it?" Archer whispered anxiously. "His footprints?"
"Yop," said Tom, less cautiously. "Come on out. He's standing over there
in the field now. Come on out, don't be scared."
Archer did not know what to make of it, but he crept out and looked over
to the adjacent field where Tom pointed. A kindly, patient cow, one of
those they had seen before, was grazing quietly, partaking of a late
lunch in the moonlight.
"Here's her footprint," said Tom simply. "She gave us a good scare,
anyway."
"Well--I'll--be----" Archer began.
"Sh-h!" warned Tom. "We don't know yet why Frenchy's sister don't come.
But there weren't any soldiers here--that's one sure thing. We had a lot
of worry for nothin'. Come on."