Amos, however, was hard to convince. “Of course they’ve got powerful glasses--I mean the officers directing the fire of that battery?” he ventured. “That goes without saying, Amos.” “And if they chanced to look this way they’d see us here, though of course they couldn’t tell who or what we were. Now, Jack, wouldn’t it be natural for them to think some high British officers had climbed up into this lookout so as to make use of it as a watch tower?” “I must say you put up a reasonable argument there,” admitted Jack. “Well,” argued Amos, “if they got the notion in their heads that this deserted chateau was being used as headquarters by the British commander and his staff, it would be an object with the Germans to drop a shower of shells hereabouts, with the intention of putting them out of business.” Jack seemed quite interested in the theory his chum was so earnestly putting forward. He even smiled as he turned to look at Amos. “There’s only one weak place in that argument of yours,” he went on to say. “Then tell me what it is, won’t you, Jack?” “Since that shell dropped in here all of a sudden I should say two full minutes had gone by,” the Western boy told him. “What of that, Jack?” “Only this, Amos, we’ve seen nothing of a second shot anywhere near us. There’s been plenty of time, and to wipe out the British army staff it would pay to turn the fire of a whole battery this way; but it hasn’t been done.” “Then you believe now that shot was only an accident?” asked Amos. “Oh! well, some gunner was trying his range, and got it with just one shell. His next aim was in another quarter, and it may be he did terrible work. We’ll never know.” “But you said you’d be willing to clear out of this soon, Jack. I wish you’d settle on doing so now.” “I suppose I’ll have to keep my word,” agreed the other, “though between you and me I haven’t seen half enough of this thrilling picture. It’s ten times as interesting as looking at one of those war panoramas like Gettysburg, the Siege of Paris, and all the rest.” “And a thousand times more terrible,” added Amos, “because we know that what we’re looking at isn’t a painting on canvas but the real thing.” “Just give me one more chance to see through a gap in the smoke,” pleaded Jack. “I’d like to know what became of those men in the kilts, and with the bare knees.” “The Highlanders, you mean,” said Amos. “Oh! they’ve found shelter behind some other stone wall, and are holding their own, I’m dead certain. Just as you said a while ago the canny Scot keeps a grip on what he can seize like a bulldog might.” “Now the breeze has struck up again, Amos, and it’s blowing the smoke away, like we saw that fog at sea driven off. Use your eyes and tell me if you can pick out the men from the Scotch hills.” Jack had hardly ceased speaking when his companion uttered a loud cry, as though he had made a discovery.