They rushed on toward the culvert faster and faster.  The powerful headlight illuminated the scene before them, and they could see a dozen or more dark figures.  And as they came closer, they saw that several men were looking at them, trying to shade their eyes with their hands.

Fred sounded the bugle steadily now, and saw that this seemed to relieve the watchers.  For the first time he took his eyes from the culvert itself and looked around.  The road here descended much more steeply than the railway, and that, Fred judged, was the reason for the culvert.  For the first time he realized that the culvert was not quite at the bottom of the hill; that beyond it the road still bore downward quite sharply for a space, until it turned.  It was plain to him that there were more dangers ahead than those represented by the soldiers on the culvert.

The pace of the rushing car was faster now than would have been altogether comfortable had they been on a road they knew perfectly.  Here, with a curve just ahead that was an unknown quantity, there was real danger in the sheer speed of the machine.  Heavy as the car was, it lurched and swayed from side to side.  And simply to shut off the power would not have been enough.  Moreover, that was something both of them would have feared to do.  The slightest mischance, the most trifling circumstance, might arouse suspicion in the watchers on the culvert.  It was necessary, and Ivan had warned them specially of this, to dash under that at the highest possible speed for there would be stationed not private soldiers alone, who would be likely to take it for granted that an officer’s coat and helmet meant that all was well, but an officer as well.

And an officer would be curious as to the meaning of this solitary car, rushing over a road that had been deserted, in all probability, for at least two days.  No, there could be no slowing down, even had the fearful grade made it possible.

Then they flashed into the shadow.  For just a moment, before they were actually under the culvert, Fred, looking up, saw the white faces of those above, staring curiously.  Then he lowered his head, for he knew that his face and Boris’s gave the lie to their helmets.  Streaked with dust they both were, to be sure.  There had been a mist in the low-lying country through which they had come, and the flying dust of the higher, drier parts of the road had caked on their faces.  But they were not the faces of officers.

Fred thought he heard a shout as they passed under the culvert.  But shouts were not enough to check them.  What they both feared was a volley.  And that, as they passed out and beyond the menace of the culvert, did not come.

“Look back!  See if they are looking after us!” cried Boris.

“No!” Fred shouted in his ear, for now the rush of the wind made it difficult for them to hear anything.  “The light is on us now—­they might see too plainly.  And, if we were officers going as fast as this, there would be no reason for us to look back—­Oh!  Look out!”