"What do you say?" said Tom. "It's up to both of us."

"Oh, don't mind me," Archer answered sarcastically. "I don't count. I know one thing—I'm going to head straight for the Swiss borderr. If crossing the river herre's the quickest way to do it, then that's what I'm going to do, you can bet!"

For a moment Tom did not speak, then looking straight at Archer, he said,—

"You don't forget how she helped us, do you?"

"I'm not saying anything about that," said Archer. "My duty's to Uncle Sam. You've got the crazy notion now that you want to rescue a girrl, just like fellerrs do in story books. If you'rre going to be thinking about herr all the time I might as well go by myself. I could get along all right, if it comes to that."

"Well, I couldn't," said Tom, with a note of earnestness in his voice. "Anyway, there's no use of our scrapping about it 'cause I don't suppose we'll find her. As long as we're going south through the mountains we might as well see if we can pick out Norne with the glass. Maybe we could even see that feller Blondel's house. The old man said the west slopes of the mountains were steep and that they run close to the river down there, so we ought to be able to pick out Norne with the glass. There isn't any harm in that, is there?" he added conciliatingly, "as long as we've got the glass?"

Archer maintained a sullen silence.

"I know we've got to think about Uncle Sam, and I know you're patriotic," said Tom generously, "and we can't afford to be taking big chances. But if you had known her brother, you'd feel the way I do—that's one sure thing."

"I wouldn't run the risk of getting pinched and sent back to prison just on account of a girrl," said Archer scornfully. "That's one sure thing," he added, sulkily mimicking Tom's phrase.

"That ain't the way it is," said Tom, flushing a little. "I ain't—if that's what you mean. Anyway, I admit we got to be careful, and I promise you if we can't spy out the house and the road with the glass I won't cross the river again till we get to the border."

"First thing you know somebody'll come along if we keep on standing here," said Archer.

"Here, you take one of these rubber gloves," said Tom. "Shut the glass and see if it'll go inside. I'll put the flashlight and the compass in the other one. It's going to rain, too. Here, let me do it," he added rather tactlessly, as he closed the little telescope and forced its smaller end down into the longest of the big glove fingers. "Twist the top of it and turn the edges over, see?" he added, doing it himself, "and it's watertight. I can make a watertight stopple for a bottle with a long strip of paper, but you got to know how to wind it," he added, with clumsy disregard of his companion's mood. Tom was a hopeless bungler in some ways.

"Oh, surre, you can do anything," said Archer.

"Maybe it would be best if you held it in your teeth," said Tom thoughtfully; "unless you can swim with it in your hand."

The compass and the flashlight, which indeed were more susceptible of damage from the water than the precious glass, were encased in the other rubber glove, and the two fugitives waded out into the black, silent river.

Scarcely had their feet left the bottom when the first drop of rain fell upon Tom's head, and a chill gust of wind caught him and bore him a yard or two out of his course. He spluttered and looked about for Archer, but could see nothing in the darkness. He did not want to call for he knew how far voices carry across the water, and though the spot was isolated he would take no chances.

It rained hard and the wind, rising to a gale, lashed the black water into whitecaps. Tom strove vainly to make headway against the storm, but felt himself carried, willy-nilly, he knew not where. He tried to distinguish the light beyond the Baden shore, which he had selected for a beacon, but he could not find it. At last he called to Archer.

"I'm going to turn back," he said; "come on—are you all right?"

If Archer answered his voice was drowned by the wind and rain. For a few moments Tom struggled against the elements, hoping to regain the Alsatian shore. His one guiding instinct in all the hubbub was the conviction that the wind smelled like an east wind and that it ought to carry him back to the nearer shore. He would have given a good deal for a glimpse of his precious little compass now.

"Where are you?" he called again. "The light's gone. Let the wind carry you back—it's east."

He could hear no answer save the mocking wind and the breaking of the water. This latter sound made him think the shore was not far distant. But when, after a few moments, he did not feel the bottom, his heart sank. He had been lost in the woods and as a tenderfoot he had known the feeling of panic despair. And he had been in the ocean and seen his ship go down with a torpedo's jagged rent in her side. But he had never been lost in the water in the sense of losing all his bearings in the darkness. For a minute it quite unnerved him and his stout heart sank within him.

Then out of the tumult came a thin, spent voice, barely audible and seeming a part of the troubled voices of the night.

"——lost——," it said; "——going down——"

Tom listened eagerly, his heart still, his blood cold within him.

"Keep calling," he answered, "so I'll know where you are. I'll get to you all right—keep your nerve."

He listened keenly, ready to challenge the force of the storm with all his young skill and strength, and thinking of naught else now. But no guiding voice answered.

Could he have heard aright? Surely, there was no mistaking. It was a human voice that had spoken and whatever else it had said that one, tragic word had been clearly audible:

"——down——"

Archer had gone down.