"All right--sh-h-h!"

Cautiously, silently, Tom crept out, peering anxiously in every direction. Stealthily he raised himself. Then suddenly he made a low sound and with a rapidity which startled Archer, dropped to his hands and knees.

"What's the matterr?" Archer whispered. "Come inside--quick!"

But Tom was engrossed with something on the ground.

"What is it?" Archer whispered anxiously. "His footprints?"

"Yop," said Tom, less cautiously. "Come on out. He's standing over there in the field now. Come on out, don't be scared."

Archer did not know what to make of it, but he crept out and looked over to the adjacent field where Tom pointed. A kindly, patient cow, one of those they had seen before, was grazing quietly, partaking of a late lunch in the moonlight.

"Here's her footprint," said Tom simply. "She gave us a good scare, anyway."

"Well--I'll--be----" Archer began.

"Sh-h!" warned Tom. "We don't know yet why Frenchy's sister don't come.

But there weren't any soldiers here--that's one sure thing. We had a lot of worry for nothin'. Come on."

CHAPTER VIII

THE HOME FIRE NO LONGER BURNS

"That's the first time I was everr scarred by a cow," said Archer, his buoyant spirit fully revived, "but when I hearrd those footsteps overr my head, _go-od night_! It's good you happened to think about looking for footprints, hey?"

"I didn't _happen_ to," said Tom. "I always do. Same as you never forget to get a souvenir," he added soberly.

"I'd like to get a sooveneerr from that cow, hey? _You_ needn't talk; if it hadn't been for that wire, where'd we be now? Sooveneerrs arre all right. But I admit you've got to have ideas to go with 'em."

"Thanks," said Tom.

"Keep the change," said Archer jubilantly. "Believe me, I don't carre what becomes of me as long as I'm above ground--on terra cotta----"

"We've got to get away from here before daylight, so come on,"

interrupted Tom.

"Are we going up to the house?"

"What else can we do?"

The explanation of those appalling footfalls by no means explained the failure of Florette to keep her promise, and the fugitives started along the path which led to the house.

They walked very cautiously, Tom scrutinizing the earth-covered planking for any sign of recent pa.s.sing. The door of the stone kitchen stood open, which surprised them, and they stole quietly inside. A lamp stood upon the table, but there was no sign of human presence.

Tom led the way on tiptoe through the pa.s.sage where they had pa.s.sed before, and into the main room where another lamp revealed a ghastly sight. The heavy shutters were closed and barred, just as Florette had closed them when she had brought the boys into the room. Upon the floor lay old Pierre, quite dead, with a cruel wound, as from some blunt instrument, upon his forehead. His whitish gray hair, which had made him look so n.o.ble and benignant, was stained with his own blood. Blood lay in a pool about his fine old head, and the old coat which he wore had been torn from him, showing the stump of the arm which he had so long ago given to his beloved France.

Near him lay sprawled upon the floor a soldier in a gray uniform, also dead. A little bullet wound in his temple told the tale. Beside him was a black helmet with heavy bra.s.s chin gear. Archer picked it up with trembling hands. Across its front was a motto:

"_Mitt Gott--und Vaterland_."

The middle of it was obscured by the flaring German coat-of-arms. A pistol lay midway between the two bodies and part of an old engraved motto was still visible on that. Tom could make out the name Napoleon.

"What d'you s'pose happened?" whispered Archer, aghast.

Tom shook his head. "Come on," said he. "Let's look for the others."

Taking the lamp, he led the way silently through the other rooms. On a couch in one of these was laid a soldier's uniform and a loose paper upon the floor showed that it had but lately been unwrapped. There was no sign of Florette or her mother, and Tom felt somewhat relieved at this, for he had feared to find them dead also.

"What d'you think it means?" Archer asked again, as they returned to the room of death.

"I suppose they came for her just like she said," Tom answered in a low tone. "Her father must have shot the soldier, and probably whoever killed the old man took her and her mother away."

He looked down at the white, staring face of old Pierre and thought of how the old soldier had risen from his seat and had stood waiting with his fine military air at the moment of his own arrival at the shadowed and stricken home. He remembered how the old man had waited eagerly for his daughter to translate his and Archer's talk and of his humiliation at the shabby hospitality he must offer them. He took the helmet, a grim-looking thing, from the table where Archer had laid it, and read again, "Mitt Gott----"

It seemed to Tom that this was all wrong--that G.o.d must surely be on the side of old Pierre, no matter what had happened.

"Do you know what I think?" he said simply. "I think it was just the way I said--and like she said. They came to get her and maybe they didn't treat her just right, and her father hit one of them. Or maybe he shot him first off. Anyway, I think that soldier suit must be the one Frenchy had to wear, 'cause he told me that the boys in Alsace had to drill even before they got out of school. I guess she was going to bring it to us so one of us could wear it.... We got to feel sorry for her, that's one sure thing."

It was Tom's simple, blunt way of expressing the sympathy which surged up in his heart.

"I liked her; she treated us fine," said Archer.

For a few seconds Tom did not answer; then he said in his old stolid way, "I don't know where they took her or what they'll make her do, but anybody could see she didn't have any muscle. Whenever I think of her I'll fight harder, that's one sure thing."

For a few moments he could hardly command himself as he contemplated this tragic end of the broken home. Florette, whom he had seen but yesterday, had been taken away--away from her home, probably from her beloved Alsace, to enforced labor for the Teuton tyrant. He recalled her slender form as she hurried through the darkness ahead of them, her gentle apology for their poor reception, her wistful memories of her brother as she showed them their hiding-place, her touching grief and apprehension as she stood talking with him under the trellis....

And now she was gone and awful thoughts of her peril and suffering welled up in Tom's mind.

He looked at the stark figure and white, staring face of old Pierre and thought of the impetuous embrace the old man had given him. He thought of his friend, Frenchy. And the mother--where was she? Good people, kind people; trying in the menacing shadow of the detestable Teuton beast to keep their flickering home fire burning. And this was the end of it.

Most of all, he thought of Florette and her wistful, fearful look haunted him. "_Maybe for ze great Krupps_"--the phrase lingered in his mind and he stood there appalled at the realization of this awful, unexplained thing which had happened.

Then Tom Slade did something which his scout training had taught him to do, while Archer, tremulous and unstrung, stood awkwardly by, watching.

He knelt down over the lifeless form of the old man and straightened the prostrate figure so that it lay becomingly and decently upon the hard floor. He bent the one arm and laid it across the breast in the usual posture of dignity and peace. He took the threadbare covering from the old melodeon and placed it over the face. So that the last service for old Pierre Leteur was performed by an American boy; and at least the ashes of the home fire were left in order by a scout from far across the seas.

"It's part of first aid," explained Tom quietly, as he rose; "I learned how at Temple Camp."

Archer said nothing.

"When a scout from Maryland died up there, I saw how they did it."

"You got to thank the scouts for a lot," said Archer; "forr trackin' an'

trailin'----"