"Instead of which we're tramping along, with a dozen of more or less intoxicated soldiers to keep an eye on us," added Kenneth. "I believe if we made a bolt for it they would be too tipsy to aim properly." "It's too risky," declared Rollo. "There are hundreds of German troops scattered all over this part of the country. Besides, if we did get away, the other prisoners would get a rough time. What's that?" "Rifle-firing," replied Kenneth, as the rattle of musketry could be faintly heard, the sounds coming from the north. "A battle before Antwerp, probably," suggested Rollo. "The Germans will have a stiff task if----" A vicious box on the ear from the nearest soldier brought the conversation to a sudden close. The fellow who dealt the blow grinned with intense satisfaction at his deed. The next instant Rollo's fist shot out straight from the shoulder, and the German dropped like a log. He was too drunk to feel the blow, so he sat on the road, his rifle on the ground, holding his jaw with both hands and bawling in pot-valiant style. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, two of the Belgian prisoners made a dash for liberty. One was the man to whom Kenneth had spoken--a short, stout, apoplectic individual; the other a tall, lean fellow who had the appearance of a trained athlete. Before the astonished Germans could level their rifles both men had got across a wide ditch, and had placed a hundred yards of marshy ground between them and their late captors. Then half a dozen rifles rang out, but the fugitives held on, the taller one having established a lead of twenty yards. They were making for a wood, not more than a quarter of a mile off. Again and again the Germans fired. The lads could see some of the bullets kicking up spurts of dirt a long way wide of their mark; others must have sung harmlessly overhead. Suddenly the short man stopped. He could run no farther. He called to his companion; but the latter, taking no heed, did not slacken his swift pace. The corpulent fugitive looked over his shoulder, and seeing that some of the Germans had attempted pursuit, began to walk after his compatriot. The fact that the soldiers had missed him at short range had given him confidence. Presently the tall Belgian gained the outskirts of the wood. Here he stopped, and waved his arms with a contemptuous gesture at the German soldiers. It was his undoing, for by sheer chance a bullet struck him in the head. He pitched on his face and lay motionless. The other man, alternately walking and running, got clear away.