But Tom Slade of Temple Camp, Scout of the Circle and the Five Points, winner of the Acorn and the Indianhead, looked up from time to time at the quiet, trustful stars.
So they made their way along, following a fairly straight course, and verging away from the wood's edge, heading toward the distant light.

Two of the Germans went ahead with fixed bayonets, scouring the underbrush, and the others escorted Tom and Roscoe, who carried all of the burden.
The officer strode midway between the advance guard and the escorting party, pausing now and again as if to make sure of his ground and occasionally consulting the compass.

Once he looked up at the sky and then Tom fairly trembled.

He might have saved himself this worry, however, for Herr Officer recognized no friends nor allies in that peaceful, gold-studded heaven.
"It was an unlucky day for me I ran into you over here," Roscoe muttered, yielding to his very worst mood.
Tom said nothing.
"We won't even have the satisfaction of dying in action now." No answer.
"After almost a year of watching my step I come to this just because I took _your_ word.

Believe _me_, I deserve to hang.