THE DANCE WITH DEATH
The boys were thoroughly frightened, but they stood absolutely
motionless and silent and Tom, at least, retained his presence of mind.
They were not close enough together to communicate with each other, nor
could they more than distinguish each other's forms pressed against the
dark tree trunks.
But the figure, being comparatively in the open, was discernible and
Tom, by concentrating his eyes upon it, satisfied himself beyond a doubt
that it was a human form--that of a German soldier, he felt sure.
Thanks to his stealth and dexterity, they were apparently undiscovered.
He tried to distinguish the bright spot on the cap or helmet, but it was
not visible now, and he thought the man must have turned about.
In his alarm it seemed to him that his breathing must be audible miles
away. His heart seemed in his throat and likely to choke him with every
fresh breath. But he did not stir. Then another little breeze stirred
the trees, sounding clear and solemn in the stillness and Tom moved ever
so slightly in unison with it, hoping by changing his angle of vision to
catch a better glimpse. He could see the bright spot now, the grim
figure standing directly facing him in ghostly silence.
No one moved. And there was no sound save the half audible rustle of
some tiny creature of the night as it hurried over the cushiony ground.
What did it mean? Who was it, standing there? Some grim Prussian
sentinel? Had they, in this remote wilderness, stumbled upon some
obscure pass which the all-seeing eye of German militarism had not
forgotten? Was there, after all, any hope of escape from these demons of
efficiency?
Archer, his chest literally aching from his throbbing breaths, crowded
close behind his tree trunk in terror, startled by every fresh stir of
the fragrant breeze. It seemed to him, as he looked, that the figure
danced a trifle, but doubtless that was only his tense nerves and
blinking eyes playing havoc with his imagination.
There was another rustling in the trees, caused by the freshening night
breeze which Tom thought smelt of rain. And again the silent figure
veered around with a kind of mechanical precision, the very perfection
of clock-work German discipline, as if to give each point of the compass
its allotted moment of attention.
Tom strained his eyes, trying to discover whether that lonely sentinel
were standing in a path or where two paths crossed or where some favored
view might be had of something far off in the country below. But he
could make out nothing.
Suddenly he noticed something large and black among the trees. Its
outline was barely discernible against the less solid blackness of the
night, and it was obscured by the dark tree branches. But as he looked
he thought he could see that it terminated in a little dome, like the
police telephone booths on the street corners away home in Bridgeboro. A
tiny guardhouse, possibly, or shelter for the solitary sentinel.
Perhaps, he thought, this was, after all, a strategic spot which they
had unconsciously stumbled into; a secret path to the frontier, maybe.
He remembered now the talk he had heard in the prison camp, of Germany's
building roads through obscure places in the direction of the Swiss
border for the violation of Swiss neutrality if that should be thought
necessary. These roads were shrouded in mystery, but he had heard about
them and the thought occurred to him that perhaps these poor Alsatian
people--women and children--were being taken to work on these avenues of
betrayal and dishonor.
But try as he would, he could discern no suggestion of path, nor any
other sign of landmark which might explain the presence of this remote
station in the desolate uplands of Alsace. He believed that if they had
taken five steps more they would have been discovered and challenged.
How to withdraw out of the very jaws of this peril was now the question.
He feared that Archer might make an incautious move and end all hope of
escape.
Tom watched the solitary figure through the heavy darkness. And he
marvelled, as he had marvelled before, at the machine-like perfection of
these minions of the Iron Hand. Even in the face of their awful danger
and amid the solemnity of the black night, the odd thought came to him
that this stiff form turning about like a faithful and tireless
weathercock to peer into the darkness roundabout, might be indeed a huge
carved toy fresh from the quaint handworkers of the Black Forest.
As he gazed he was sure that this lonely watcher danced a step or two.
No laughter or sign of merriment accompanied the grim jig, but he was
sure that the solitary German tripped, ever so lightly, with a kind of
stiff grace. Then the freshening breeze blew Tom's rebellious hair down
over his eyes, and as he brushed it aside he saw the German indeed
dancing--there was no doubt of it.
Suddenly a cold shudder ran through him and he stepped out from his
concealment as he realized that this uncanny figure was not standing but
_hanging_ just clear of the ground.