That was when the dawn was beginning to break.  Off to the east the sun was beginning to rise, and in the grey half light before full day there was something stark and gaunt about the country.  Before him smoke was rising, probably from a village.  But that sign of human habitation, that certain indication that people were near, somehow only made him feel lonelier than he had been in the starlit darkness of the night.  This would be good enough fun, if only one of his many friends back home were along—­Jack French, or Steve Vedder.  It was with them that he had shared such adventures in the past.  And yet not just such adventures, either.  This was more real than anything his adventures as a Boy Scout had brought him, though he belonged to a patrol that got in a lot of outdoor work, and that camped out every summer in a practical way.

Being alone took some of the zest out of what had seemed, once Lieutenant Ernst’s loan had saved him from his most pressing worry, likely to be a bully adventure.  Now it seemed rather flat and stale.  But that was partly because having tramped all night, he was really beginning to be tired.  So he went on to the village, and there he found a little inn, where he got a good breakfast and a bed, in which, as soon as he had eaten his meal, he was sound asleep.

Few men were about the village when he went in.  He had noticed, however, the curious little throng, early as it was, about a bulletin ominously headed, “Kriegzustand!” That meant mobilization and war.  The men had answered the call already, all except those who were too old to spring to arms at once.  Some of the older ones, he knew, would be called out, too, for garrison duty, so that younger men might go to the front.

In his sleep he had many dreams, but the most insistent one was made up of the tramp of heavy feet and the blowing of bugles and the rattling of horses’ feet.  And this wasn’t a dream at all, for when he awoke it was to find a soldier shaking him roughly by the shoulders, and ordering him to get up.  And outside were all the sounds of his dream.  The sun was high for he had been asleep for several hours.  So he got up willingly enough, and hurried his dressing because he remembered what Ernst had told him.  Then he followed the soldier downstairs, and found himself the prisoner in an impromptu sort of court-martial.

Really, it wasn’t as bad as that.  Considering that he had no passports and nothing, in fact, to show who he was, and that no responsible person could vouch for him, he was very lucky.  It was because he was a boy, and obviously an American boy, that he got off so easily.  For after he had answered a few questions, a major explained the situation to him very punctiliously.

“You must be detained here for two or three days,” said the major.  “This is an important concentration district, and many things will happen that no foreigner can be allowed to see.  We believe absolutely that you are not unfriendly, and that you have no intention of reporting anything you might chance to learn to an enemy.  But in time of war we may not take any risks, and you will, therefore, be required to remain in this village under observation.