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“Yes, because he might have chased after us, and thought it fun to jab us with the sharp tip of that lance he carries,” chuckled Jack. “These Uhlans make me think of certain Western Indians I used to meet up with when on the ranch. For the life of me I can’t understand what use they make of such an old-fashioned weapon as a lance in these days of Maxims and modern firearms. Still, they know what they’re doing.”

“Nothing to keep us from skipping out now, is there, Jack?”

“Surely not, and we’ll write down the adventure of the windmill as a stirring memory of this war business. Come on, Amos.”

“I see you’re heading toward the east, and I take it you mean to strike that bunch of British making for the front? Everywhere we go we keep on asking for information concerning one Frank Bradford; but so far we don’t seem to have met with any great good luck. Still, I’m hoping for the best. With such a chum as you at my right hand, a fellow would be silly to despair.”

“It’s a long lane that has no turning, remember,” remarked Jack, as they commenced to walk along at a smart pace.