lated. There were patches of forest, too, something hard to find in Northern France, where for almost three years the ravages of modern warfare had told heavily on woods and orchards.
Tom changed his plans. Instead of looking for a house he meant to find a car either on that road or else laid up somewhere, from which they might get the gasolene so necessary for their deliverance.
Looking ahead he saw something moving. A second glance told him it was what he was most desirious of discovering. It was a car, and heading in the same general direction as themselves.
Tom instantly made up his mind that his course was clear. He would drop down with a rush, and chase after that fleeing car. It would be easy enough to overtake it, and perhaps if they used the rapid-fire gun a few rounds the driver would draw up and surrender.
No sooner had he conceived this rather desperate plan then he commenced once more to volplane toward the earth. He had a glimpse of a man's face thrust out from the side of the car, which had started on at wild speed, as if the driver realized that the monster plane was swooping particularly at him, with some object in view.
