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. CHAPTER XIII THE PRIZE SAUSAGE "Come on out, Archy," said Tom with a recklessness which struck terror to poor Archer's very soul. "He won't hurt you--he's dead." "D-e-a-d!" ejaculated Archer. "Sure--he's hanging there." "And all the time I wanted to sneeze," said Archer, laughing in his reaction from fear. "Ebe-nee-zerr, but I had a good scarre!"