"Not bad. Now here we are; climb over this wall, and lower yourself into the bed of the river. Then creep along in the shadow of the wall until you reach the shadow of the bridge. Then we can cross, and shall stand a good chance of getting away. Most of the Germans are quartered on this side of the town." Max and Dale were by this time experts in eluding observation, and had no great difficulty in getting out of the town without raising an alarm. Once well away, they strode at a good pace straight across country towards the wooded region south-west of the town, where the fugitives were popularly supposed to be. They knew that by their action they would be placing themselves inside the zone about to be swept by converging bodies of Uhlans, and that all persons found there, who could not give a good account of themselves, would almost certainly be shot or speared out of hand. But they took no heed of that, for the thought that some members of the gallant little English army which had, they knew, from the gossip of the countryside, fought so splendidly against overwhelming odds might be caught unsuspecting, and probably killed, made them ready to face even greater risks than that. Besides, they had, in their many successful encounters with the Germans in Liege, gained a self-reliance and confidence in themselves that made them look upon the affair as one by no means certain to go against them. An hour or two after daybreak Max and Dale had reached the woods in which the fugitives were said to be, and were slowly traversing them, keeping a sharp look-out on all sides. The trouble, they now realized, was how to get in touch with them. It was highly probable that they would keep out of sight, and avoid contact with everybody they were not forced to have dealings with in the way of purchasing or begging food. Fortunately the difficulty was solved very suddenly and unexpectedly. "'Alt!" came a hoarse command just as they were about to enter a somewhat thick belt of timber well supplied with undergrowth. Simultaneously a rifle protruded from the bushes right in front of them, and a wild, famished-looking face followed it. Max and Dale stopped dead. "What d'ye want poking about 'ere?" the man demanded in Cockney English in a surly tone. "I don't understand your lingo, but say something, or I'll let go." The man had a fierce and reckless look, and fingered his rifle as though ready enough to keep his word. Hastily Max replied: "It's all right; we're friends. Put down your gun, there's a good fellow." [Illustration: "IT'S ALL RIGHT; WE'RE FRIENDS"] "Huh! Friends--eh? Fust I've seen for many a long day. 'Ere, boys, 'ere's a Johnny wot speaks English says he's a friend--in this outlandish place."