They seemed to be scouting in the night almost to the mouths of the French guns, and he admired their energy although it stood in the way of his own plans.

He came to a second brook, drank again, and then took a short cut through a small wood.

He had marked the reports of guns from a hill about two miles in front of him, and he was sure that a French battery must be posted there.

He reckoned that he could reach it in a half hour, if he exerted himself.
Half way through the wood and human figures rose up all about him.
Strong hands seized his arms and an electric torch flashed in his face.
"Who are you ?" came the fierce question in French.
But it was not necessary for John to answer.

The man who held the torch was short, but very muscular and strong, his face cut in the antique mold, his eyes penetrating and eager.