They turned westward now in a direction which Tom thought would bring them about opposite the Alsatian town of Norne. A day's journey took them out of the forest proper into a rocky region of sparse vegetation from which they could see the river winding ribbonlike in the distance. Beyond it in the flat Alsatian country lay a considerable city which, from what old Melotte had told them, they believed to be Mulhausen.

"Norne is a little to the south of that and closer to the river," said Tom.

They picked their way along the edge of the palisades, concealing themselves among the rocks, and as they thus worked to the southward the precipitous heights and the river converged until they were almost directly above the water. At last, looking down, they saw upon the narrow strip of shore directly below them the old castle of which Melotte had told them. There was no other in sight. From their dizzy perch among the concealing rocks they could see almost the whole width of southern Alsace in panorama, as one sees New York from the Palisades of the Hudson, and in the distance the dim outlines of the Vosges mountains, beyond which lay France.

Not far from the river on the Alsatian side and (as old Melotte had said) directly opposite the castle, was a small town which Tom studied carefully with the glass.

"That's it," he said, relieved, for both of them had harbored a lingering fear that these places existed only in the childish mind of the blue-eyed old weaver. "Melotte was right," he added. "Wait a minute—I'll let you look. You can see the new road and people working on it and—wait a minute—I can see a little flag on one house."

There was no doubt about it. There was the town of Norne, and just west of it a road with tiny figures distributed along it.

Archer was all a-quiver as he took the glass. "I can see the house," he said; "it's right near the road, it's got a flag on it. When the light strikes it you can see the black spot. Oh, look, look!"

"I can't look when you've got the glass," said Tom in his dull way.

"I can see the battleline!" cried Archer.

Tom took the glass with unusual excitement. Far across the Alsatian country, north and south, ran a dim, gray line, seeming to have no more substance than a rainbow or the dust in a sun-ray. Far to the north it bent westward and he knew its course lay through the mountains. But short of those blue heights it seemed to peter out in a sort of gray mist. And that was all that could be seen of that seething, bloody line where the destinies of mankind were being contended for.

It was easy for the boys to imagine that the specks they could see were soldiers, American soldiers perhaps, and that low-hung clouds were the smoke of thundering artillery....

"I wonder if we'll ever get over there," said Archer.

"Over there," Tom repeated abstractedly.

Their program now must be one of stealth, not boldness, and they did not wish to be seen scrambling down the heights in broad daylight; so they waited for the night, regaling themselves out of the "furious profusion" of grapes of which there seemed enough to make an ocean of Rhenish wine.

It was dark when they reached the river bank and explored the shore for some means of getting across. At last they discovered a float with several boats attached to it and a ramshackle structure hard by within which was a light and the familiar sound of a baby crying.

"We've got to make up our minds not to be scared," said Tom, "and we mustn't look as if we were scared. You can't make believe you're not scared if you are. Let's try to make ourselves think we're really German soldiers and then other people will think so. We've got to act just like 'em."

"If you mean we've got to murrderr that baby," said Archer; "no sirree! Not for mine!"

"That ain't what I mean," said Tom. "You know Jeb Rushmore at Temple Camp? He came from Arizona. He says you can always tell a fake cowboy no matter how he may be dressed up because he don't feel like the West. It ain't just the uniforms that do it; it's the way we act."

"I get you," said Archer.

"I wouldn't do the things they do any more than I have to," Tom said; "and I don't know exactly how they feel——"

"They don't feel at all," interrupted Archer.

"But if we act as if we didn't care and ain't afraid, we stand a chance."

"We've got to act as if we owned the earrth," Archer agreed.

"Except if we should meet an officer," Tom concluded.

In his crude way Tom had stumbled upon a great truth, which is the one chief consideration in the matter of successful disguise. You must feel your part if you would act it. As he had said, they did not know how German soldiers felt (no civilized mortal knows that!), but he knew that the Germans were plentiful hereabouts and no novelty, and that their only hope of simulating two of them lay in banishing all timidity and putting on a bold front.

"One thing, we've got to keep our mouths shut," he said. "Most people won't bother us but we've got to look out for officers. I'm going to tear my shirt and make a sling for my arm and you've got to limp—and keep your mind on it. When you're faking, you limp with your brain—remember."

The first test of their policy was successful beyond their fondest dreams, though their parts were not altogether agreeable to them. They marched down to the float, unfastened one of the boats with a good deal of accompanying noise and started out into the river, just as Kaiser Bill had started across Belgium. A woman with a baby in her arms appeared in the doorway and stared at them—then banged the door shut.

They were greatly elated at their success and considered the taking of the boat as a war measure, as probably the poor German woman did too.

Once upon the other side they walked boldly into the considerable town of Norne and over the first paved streets which they had seen in many a day. They did not get out of the way of people at all; they let the people scurry out of their way and were very bold and high and mighty and unmannerly, and truly German in all the nice little particulars which make the German such an unspeakable beast.

Tom forgot all about the good old scout rule to do a good turn every day and camouflaged his manners by doing a bad turn every minute—or as nearly that as possible. It was good camouflage, and got them safely through the streets of Norne, where they must do considerable hunting to find the home of old Melotte's friend Blondel. They finally located it on the outskirts of the town and recognized it by the billet flag which Melotte had described to them.