The little spur of woods afforded, indeed, an ideal spot for secreting a machine gun, whence a clear range might be had both north and south.
If Tom had not been a little afraid of Roscoe he would have acted on the good scout warning of the broken branches and made a detour in time to escape this dreadful plight.

And the vain regret that he had not done so rankled in his breast now.

The pit was completely surrounded and almost covered with branches, so that no part of the guns and their tripods which rose out of it was discoverable, at least to Roscoe.
"Vell, you go home, huh ?" the officer demanded, with a grim touch of humor.
Roscoe was about to answer, but Tom took the words out of his mouth.
"We got lost and we got rattled," he said, with a frank confession which surprised Roscoe; "we thought we were headed south." The sniper bestowed another angrily contemptuous look upon him, but Tom appeared not to notice it.
"Vell, we rattle you some more--vat ?" the officer said, without very much meaning.

His voice was enough to rattle any captive, but Tom was not easily disconcerted, and instead of cowering under this martial ferocity and the scorning looks of his friend, he glanced about him in his frowning, lowering way as if the surroundings interested him more than his captors.

But he said nothing.
"You English--no ?" the officer demanded.
"We're Americans," said Roscoe, regaining his self-possession.
"Ach! Diss iss good for you.