I had no need to re-read the message, for it was stamped upon my memory by the pains I had taken in deciphering it. Then I carefully erased the marks. All that day and the next we remained in the same place, but I saw nothing of Jot. It was Tuesday when we were put here, and by Wednesday several other American prisoners had been added to our party. The nearing sound of artillery and of fainter rifle fire told that a battle was on. A young non-commissioned officer who spoke English was put in charge of the guard. Once as he walked by my side, Jot came up and spoke a few words in German to him, and then took off his hat and used his handkerchief. It was the signal. Our next march began, with the sound of battle closing in around us. Later we halted to rest, and Gordon remarked while dressing my wound, “There don’t seem to be a right good chance for us to get away together, so do your best for yourself, and I will do the same for myself, and trust to chance for the rest.” Before I could reply the young sergeant on guard came up and said, “You are talking too much,”--and peremptorily ordered Gordon to another part of the line. Gordon shook hands with me at parting, saying, “When you get back into God’s country again, look me up,” and was gone. “Are you not needlessly severe?” I remonstrated to the sergeant. “He was dressing my wound, and you are taking away what little comfort a prisoner has by separating friends?” But he answered loudly as though accidentally addressing me in German: “Wenn sie versuchem sich zu entfernen, schiesse ich!”--and repeated in English, “If you try to run away, I’ll shoot you.” Then he added in a whisper while scarcely moving his lips, as he turned away, “Wait!” I could hardly believe I had heard it. Was _he_ in Jot’s service and a part of his plan? Nothing else occurred just then to confirm that belief. Could I have imagined I heard it? Hardly! Before night came on it began raining, and as I marched on, I was a prey to thoughts as dark as the clouds above me. Was this young German trying to test Jot’s loyalty to the German cause through me? Was there a trap set for both of us? But how could he do it? We were marched into a field, where there were stacks of straw and hay, and halted for the night. With the slight shelter afforded by my overcoat thrown over a portion of a straw stack I lay down, the young guard loudly and roughly repeating his warning about running away in German, and as though to enforce this, he sat down with his back against the stack near me. Most of the guard by this time were trying to shelter themselves from the storm by taking refuge near the stacks; but the young sergeant, as though determined to keep an eye on me, stretched himself by my side.