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purring like a black cat.
 
I had been dropping compasses and canned meat to escaping prisoners, who acquainted me with their whereabouts by shouting and waving frantically, or by building fires, or sending up Very lights. 

When about 35 miles north of the Swiss border, where it is determined by the Shaffhousen [[Schaffhausen]] salient, I spied a curious group of low plaster shacks, which I took to be the barracks of some Hun regiment. So I flew over them, to throw over a few packages of poisoned peanuts. Just then my motor conked, and I jumped. Like a cat, I landed on my feet and had

started toward what seemed to me the exit when I saw a crowd of khaki-clad figures running toward me and foremost among them a blond slender youth in a dark blue uniform and a trick hat. I didn't stop, but continued toward that gate, on high gear. 

At the gate a seedy, starved, mangy-looking individual wearing a shabby, no-color-at-all old suit and carring an old gun (which he aimed at me,), said "Nix aus gehen"! His argument prevailed. I turned around to the Trick Hat and offered him a chew of tobacco. "Go to Barrack III Room 9" he said, wiping his chin with his sleeve and I've been here ever since.