"What's the matter now?" asked Algy.

"Pardon me, sir, but you have referred to the Army in slighting terms. I am certain that Colonel North would censure me if I allowed this message to go."

"But I'm an officer—yet—so what right have you to refuse to send it, Sergeant?"

"It will have to be approved by Colonel North, or his adjutant, before I can allow it to be sent, sir," replied Noll firmly.

"Humph! But it's high time to get out of the Army when a chap can't even write his own telegrams!"

However, Ferrers thought it over for a few moments. Then he wrote this new message:

"Expect me home, soon. Have resigned from the Army."

"Is a chap allowed to send a message like that?" Algy inquired plaintively.

"Certainly, Lieutenant," Noll replied, and handed the message over to a soldier operator.

A glance at the clock in the room told Lieutenant Ferrers that he had a little time to spare before he was due at his next bit of duty. He put in the time strolling about the post. When he saw the brisk, trim-looking soldiers, and received their salutes in passing, Algy began almost to regret the Army that he had given up. Then the remembrance of gay times in the set where he had once been something of a favorite consoled him, and he looked forward to being where he did not have to answer to a colonel as a boy does to a schoolmaster.

"'Pon my word, I think I could like the Army very well, if they weren't so beastly strict about everything," murmured Algy to himself.

Finally a bugle blew, and Lieutenant Ferrers hastened away to another duty, which was not now so distasteful, since there was soon to be an end of it all.

"I used to think being a soldier was all parading," Algy muttered to himself. "I didn't know that there was about six months of never-ending drill behind each parade."

Just before the noon mess call Captain Cortland, in passing, called out to Hal.

"Sergeant, it is getting so well on into the fall of the year, now, that Major Silsbee has suggested to me that some of the men of B company would do well to hit the trail into the mountains."

"Another practice hike, sir?" asked Hal.

"Not exactly, Sergeant. The enlisted men of this post, to say nothing of the officers, would appreciate some supplies of game in place of the regular issues of beef and mutton. Major Silsbee has suggested that I allow some of the men of B company to form themselves into a hunting party and go away on leave into the mountains."

"That would be fine for the men who get away, sir," agreed Hal, his eyes shining at the thought.

"How would you like, Sergeant, to make up such a party and head it?" continued Captain Cortland.

"I head the hunting party? I would like it immensely, sir, but for one objection. I am not an experienced hunter."

"But you are a non-commissioned officer who would be sure to preserve whatever discipline may be needed on a hunting trip, and that is the matter of greatest importance. As to experience in hunting, there are some highly experienced hunters in B company, and you could include them in your party."

"How much discipline is needed, sir, with a hunting party?"

"Not too much," replied Captain Cortland. "A soldier's hunting party is something of a picnic affair, and discipline is relaxed as much as possible. You want just enough discipline to keep order and make the men pull together. For, on one of these hunting parties, recollect that the men are actually expected to bag enough game, and to bring it back with them."

"I thank you, Captain, and I shall be delighted if I can persuade enough of the really useful men to go with me. But I suppose you know, sir, that there is still a good deal of suspicion felt about me in barracks."

As Hal said this he flushed a bit.

"Oh, that old affair, Sergeant, of Private Green and his missing money?" replied the captain. "Sergeant, no suspicion ever justly directed itself against you, and you must deny, even to yourself, that any of the suspicion still lingers in the minds of any of the men."

"Thank you, sir."

"But you haven't answered me as to whether you will head the hunting party."

"I shall do it gladly and eagerly, sir."

"Very good; then pick out about fourteen men to go with you, and make sure that they all wish to go, as no soldier is compelled to go on a hunting trip against his own wishes. It will take you about two days to reach the hunting grounds, Sergeant, and about two days more to get back. So you shall have fourteen days' leave, which will give you about ten days of actual hunting."

"I thank you again, sir."

"Go and find your men."

"Very good, sir. May I include Sergeant Terry?"

"If he can arrange for relief at the telegraph station."

In his spare time during the rest of the day Sergeant Hal Overton was extremely happy. He was busy interviewing soldiers, and in finding out who were the most experienced hunters, for there was big game to be had up in the mountains.

Noll was invited first of all. Terry succeeded in arranging for relief from telegraph duties, so that he could go.

Corporal Hyman proved to be one of the skilled hunters, and he at once agreed, besides suggesting others who should be invited.

"It's a great picnic, Kid Sergeant; you don't know what bully fun it is until you get there," Hyman assured Hal.

Lieutenant Ferrers dropped in at the officers' club well ahead of the dinner hour that evening.

"Yes, fellows," he drawled, "I'm going back to life and civilization. No more of this boarding school and chain-gang life for me."

The other officers present laughed good-humoredly.

"Yet, just as sure as you're alive, Ferrers, the day will come, and before long, when you'll wish yourself back once more among the regulars' uniforms."

"Maybe," sniffed Algy doubtfully.

An orderly appeared in the doorway, yellow envelope in hand.

"Telegram for Lieutenant Ferrers," he announced.

"Right here, my man. Thank you."

Algy tore open the envelope, after apologizing, and glanced at the bottom of the message.

"It's from the guv'nor," he announced. "I expect he's getting ready to kill the fatted calf against my arrival home."

Then Algy fell to reading the message. As he started his brows puckered. Once he gasped. Then, at the end, he burst forth:

"My, but the guv'nor seems almost annoyed," cried Algy, his face reddening.

"Anything serious?" inquired Holmes politely.

"Read it aloud to the rest, old chap," begged Algy, passing the telegram to Lieutenant Holmes. This was the message that the latter thereupon read aloud:

"You blithering young idiot! I worked like blazes to get you into the Army, in order to give you one last chance to grab at a little manhood. I've set the government machinery going at Washington, and your resignation won't be accepted. Within a day or two you'll receive orders to report at the Infantry School at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. There you'll have to work sixteen hours out of every twenty-four, but it will make a man of you if anything can, and you'll learn all about becoming a real infantry officer. Don't send me any more news about resigning. If you quit the Army, or are kicked out of it, I'll separate you forever from every cent of my money.

"(Signed) Donald Ferrers."

There was silence in the club parlor, until it was broken by Algy, who wailed plaintively:

"That's the guv'nor. That's the guv'nor every time. Says he'd separate me from every cent of his money. And he'd do it, too! Fellows, I'm afraid I've simply got to like the Army."

"That's your trump card, now, Algy," observed Jerrold, of A company.

"Some class about your father, Ferrers, isn't there?" asked Lieutenant Prescott.

"Oh, he's a fine old fellow," replied Algy loyally. "But he has a confoundedly abrupt way about him sometimes. You see, he didn't—er—start life exactly as a gentleman. He had to work hard most of his life to get what money he has, and I suppose—well, I guess his hard work has made him pig-headed to some extent."

Now that he knew that he would have to stay in the Army, young Ferrers found himself hating it worse than ever.

Nor did the information that his comrades offered him console him any. He was assured that there would be no doubt about his learning all of his military duties at Fort Leavenworth—if he lived to get through the ordeal.

In the Army there is an officers' school for every branch of the service. Officers attend as "student officers"; the course is severe, but the officer seldom fails to learn whatever he goes to such a school to learn.

Two days later there were two officers leaving the post.

Algy went down to the station to take up his journey to the new station in Kansas. Despite his seeming inability to learn to be a soldier, Ferrers had made himself well enough liked personally, so many of the officers accompanied him as far as the Clowdry station.

Lieutenant Prescott was going with the hunting party. He had succeeded in procuring leave for hunting, and in getting himself invited to go along with Sergeant Hal Overton's party.



CHAPTER XVI

HAL'S GUN MAKES THE REST CURIOUS

"OH, my, but that smells good!"

The words came in a sort of ecstasy from the lips of Sergeant Noll Terry, as, gun in hand, he tramped into camp with Corporal Hyman and three others.

"Bear meat," said Slosson briefly. "Sergeant Overton and Lieutenant Prescott brought it in just before noon with their compliments."

"Where are they now?"

"Somewhere out in the world," replied Private Kelly, nodding at the mountain tops beyond. "They went out to see how much more they could get."

Slosson had mentioned the sergeant before the lieutenant, but that was not an unpardonable breach of etiquette, out here in the wilds.

More especially was it proper because Sergeant Hal, and not the handsome, fine, young West Pointer, commanded this camp and detachment.

"Where are your mates, Sarge?" inquired Slosson.

"Oh, I left my crowd," smiled Noll. "They won't be in for an hour yet, in all probability."

"Get anything, any of you?" queried Kelly.

"Not a thing, up to the time I quit," sighed Noll.

"Humph! We've all got to get a brace on us," muttered Slosson. "This is our third day in camp, and what have we killed so far? Just enough meat to satisfy the appetites we've developed up here in the hills!"

Sergeant Hal Overton's hunting detachment of the Thirty-fourth was now encamped up in the highest points, almost, of all the Colorado Rockies.

Entraining, the party had gone some sixty miles over the rails. At the station where the men detrained two heavy Army wagons had been awaiting them, these wagons having been sent on two days ahead.

On the first day after leaving the railway the hunting detachment had marched some eighteen miles; on the second day fifteen miles had been covered, and now camp was pitched more than ninety miles from Fort Clowdry.

The little village of wall tents stood some fifty feet away from where Privates Slosson and Kelly were now busy getting the evening meal.

There was still about an hour of daylight left. It was not expected that many of the hunters would be in much before the sun went down behind the western tops.

"It's chilly to-night," announced Sergeant Terry, standing back and watching the two soldiers at work.

"It's hot," grumbled Slosson, piling on more wood and stirring one of the open cook fires.

"All a matter of where you happen to be standing," laughed Noll, diving into the tent that he and Hal occupied. When Sergeant Terry came out again he had on his olive tan overcoat.

Three days of incessant hunting had been indulged in. "Enjoyed" would have been the word, only that so far the men of the detachment had not struck very heavy luck with the game.

It was not Hal's fault. He, confessedly, was not an experienced hunter in the Rockies. Corporal Hyman was an old hand at the hunt, and there were other soldiers in the detachment who could find the wild game when there was any to be found. Up to date, however, the game had been scarce. A few mountain antelope and some smaller animals—but these the hungry hunters had eaten as fast as they bagged.

The party consisted of Sergeants Overton and Terry, Corporals Hyman and Cotter, twelve privates and Lieutenant Prescott.

Mr. Prescott was not a detailed member of the detachment. He had secured leave from the post and had asked to be accepted as a guest. For this reason the young West Pointer did not attempt to command in camp. Each morning the officer accompanied which ever party of hunters he chose.

Every day two of the soldiers were left behind for the double duty of watching the camp and of cooking the morning and evening meals. For the noon meal, or in place thereof, the hunters carried such dry food as they could stow away in their pockets.

"How big was the bear before you cut him up?" asked Noll, standing about and watching the cooks.

"About a hundred and thirty pounds, I guess," replied Slosson.

"How far away from here did they shoot him?"

"Over a mile."

"Hm! Hal must have had a long, heavy pack."

"The lieutenant was carrying the carcass when they reached camp," retorted Private Kelly. "The lieutenant did his full share in packing the meat in. That lieutenant ain't a dude."

"I know he isn't," Noll nodded quietly. "Still I didn't suppose Hal would feel like letting an officer make a pack animal of himself."

"Your bunkie ain't no dude, either, Sarge," continued Kelly. "Him and the lieutenant are two men of pretty near the same color."

"White isn't a color, anyway," laughed Noll.

"Maybe it isn't," assented Private Kelly.

Noll turned to look at the descending sun.

"My, I don't believe I've ever been as hungry as I am now," complained Noll.

"Nothing doing, Sarge, until the rest of the crowd comes in," grinned Slosson.

"Oh, that's easy enough for you fellows to say," grunted Noll. "You two have been in camp all day, and you had a big, filling, hot meal at noon. All I had at noon was a hard tack and a half."

"You could have carried more," insisted Slosson.

"I had more, but I didn't find water anywhere and hard tack is abominably dry stuff to get down without help."

"Go over to the bucket and help yourself to water now, Sarge," suggested Private Kelly teasingly.

"I think I will," agreed Noll, turning.

"Take a lot of it," urged Slosson. "Water, when you get enough of it, is mighty filling."

"I'll brain you, if you go on making fun of a hungry man," warned Sergeant Noll Terry, as he reached for the dipper hanging on a nail driven into a tree trunk.

"That would look like losing your temper," retorted Kelly. "Now, what are you mad with us for, Sarge? Haven't we been in camp all day, working like Chinamen just so you fellows can have something to eat when you get back from the day's stroll?"

"Well, I'm back," argued Noll.

"And you'll eat, Sarge, when the rest eat."

"What's in that oven?" queried Noll, pausing before an Army cookstove.

"Mince pie," remarked Kelly quietly.

"Oh, you fiend!" growled Sergeant Noll. "To torment a hungry man with lies like that!"

"Lies, eh?" roared the soldier. "A Kelly to stand by and have a sergeant boy tell him his mother raised a family of liars. Ye sassenach, take one peep—and then may yer stomach cave in before the meal's laid!"

Kelly cautiously opened the oven door for a brief moment, affording Noll an instant's glimpse of three browning pies.

"And there's six more of them hid here," added Kelly tantalizingly.

"And you have the cruel nerve to tell that to a man dying of starvation?" demanded Sergeant Noll with heat. "Kelly, it takes me four seconds to get my overcoat off, and only two seconds to get off the blouse underneath!"

"At that rate, how long would it take you to undress altogether?" demanded Kelly indifferently. "For the last five minutes I've had my eyes on ye. I've been thinking how fine ye'd look in grave clothes."

"I don't have to take off many clothes, Kelly, to be down to fighting trim enough to thrash you!"

"I wouldn't take advantage of ye," protested Kelly generously. "Sure it would be no victory for a Kelly to whip a dying man."

"What's the fight about, men?" inquired a jolly voice.

Lieutenant Prescott had entered camp unnoticed. Instantly the soldiers straightened up, raising their hands to their caps in salute. Mr. Prescott returned their salutes. On first meeting the officer in the morning the men saluted him, then again when he returned from the day's hunt. For the rest of the time, at Lieutenant Prescott's own request, they treated him like one of themselves.

"This sassenach is threatening to murder me, Lieutenant," complained Kelly, "just because I showed him a pie and wouldn't let him eat it on the spot."

"That would be enough to make me commit murder, too, if I weren't a guest here," replied the lieutenant gravely, as he reached down the dipper and helped himself to a drink from the water bucket. "How many pies have you there?"

"Nine, sir, when the three in the oven come out."

"What kind?"

"Mince."

"Um-um-um!" quoth the officer.

"The sun's going so low now, Kelly, that I'm minded to let you live another day," broke in Sergeant Noll.

"Aw, that's just because there's company present," growled Kelly, with a side glance at the lieutenant.

"Supper ready?" hailed a distant voice.

"Will be, when you come in and fetch the wood to cook with," Slosson hailed back through his hands.

A growl of desperation came from the party headed by Corporal Hyman. Then in they tramped, but they carried only their rifles.

"What have ye been doing the long day?" demanded Kelly, with a keen look at the party.

"Getting up an appetite for supper," retorted Corporal Hyman.

"But the game?"

"'Twas so heavy we gave up carrying it," grinned Corporal Hyman.

"The boys back in barracks have had their mouths watering for game for days," grunted Slosson. "How'll we ever break the news to 'em?"

The soldiers shook their heads blankly.

"Want a suggestion as to the gentlest way of breaking the news back home, Slosson?" inquired Lieutenant Prescott.

"We'd surely be grateful for it, sir," answered Slosson.

"Then we'll coax Sergeant Overton to wire back requesting full rations for seventeen days for seventeen men."

"It'd be a bad trick, sir."

"How so?"

"The post commissary sergeant would be that mad he'd poison the grub, sir, before shipping it."

"I believe he would," agreed Mr. Prescott thoughtfully. "For the men back in barracks are looking for at least four tons of game food."

Bang! Bang!

"Hello! What's that?" cried Noll, starting up and listening.

"Queer question for a soldier to be askin'," mocked Private Kelly.

Bang-bang-bang!

"Wirra, but that feller can't stop to take breath between his shooting," remarked Private Kelly.

"Those shots," declared Lieutenant Prescott, "sound out in the direction where I left Sergeant Overton."

"He's struck something," declared Noll gleefully.

"Some of us had better go out there," hinted Lieutenant Prescott, rising from the campstool that he had brought out from his tent. "Either the sergeant is in trouble, or else he's bagging a wagonload of game."

"Bang-bang!" sounded the distant rifle.

"He's moving, anyway, whoever he is," declared Sergeant Noll.

"Hello, there!"

"'Lo yerselves!" yelled back Kelly.

Another group of men came, and right after them the remainder of the hunters save one.

Bang-bang!

"Now we know it's Sergeant Overton out there," announced Lieutenant Prescott. Then he turned to Noll.

"Sergeant Terry, you're in charge. What are you going to do about it?"



CHAPTER XVII

BIG GAME AND A NIGHT IN CAMP

"IT'S a bad time to follow through the woods," remarked Corporal Cotter. "There goes the sun behind the tops."

"It'll be dark within five or six minutes more," said Noll. "If Hal Overton is running about in the woods, I think the best thing to do will be to run two lanterns up to the tree top, so that Overton can locate the camp. Then, if he's in any further difficulty, he'll fire the rifle signal. What do you think, lieutenant?"

"Nothing," replied Mr. Prescott promptly. "You're in temporary command here, Sergeant Terry."

"Run up the camp lights, Johnson," Noll directed.

These lights, a red and a green one, were quickly run up on halyards to almost the top of a tall fir tree.

It was quickly dark, but camp now waited to learn the meaning of so many shots.

"Hey, there's Dinkelspiel's Comet let loose in the sky!" announced Private Johnson.

"Wrong! It's Overton waving a torch from a tree top," returned Noll, studying the flame sweeps of the distant torch that waved. "Johnson get hold of the halyards and raise and lower the lanterns two or three times to let Sergeant Overton know that we see his signal."

The distant signalman now began waving his torch from right to left, following the regular code.

"Send—here—all—men—can—spare," read Sergeant Terry, following the torch's movements with his eyes. "Will—signal—time—to—time—till—men—arrive. Overton."

"He must be in trouble," cried Hyman.

"No; he's struck game," retorted Noll. "Johnson, raise and lower the lanterns three times to show Sergeant Overton that his signal has been read. Now, then, we'll all get out there on a hike—a fast hike. But we'll have to leave some one here who can read further signals. Lieutenant, do you mind, sir, watching further signals?"

"Why, yes," agreed young Mr. Prescott, laughing, "if you feel that I'll be of no use on the hike. But if you asked me what I'd like, I'd rather go with you."

"Very good, sir. Corporal Hyman, you will remain here and watch for further signals. Kelly and Slosson, of course, will stay by the supper. The rest—forward!"

"Guns, Sergeant?" called one of the men.

"Two of you bring rifles, in case of trouble. The rest had better be unencumbered. Forward."

Having located his bunkie's direction, Noll had little difficulty in finding the way. Most of the time they were within sight of the torch that moved from time to time.

"Hel-lo, bun-kie!" hailed Noll when the party was within an eighth of a mile of the tree.

"Hello! Glad you're here."

From the subsequent movements of the torch the approaching party knew that Overton was going down the tree. Then they saw him coming over the ground.

"What's up?" hailed Noll.

"Nothing. I've just come down," retorted Sergeant Hal.

"What have you been doing?"

"Killing game," replied Sergeant Overton, as he headed toward them.

"What kind?"

"How much?"

"All you'll want to lug back," chuckled Sergeant Hal gleefully. "Come on, now, and I'll show you. You see," Sergeant Hal continued, as the party joined him, "I got a sight at a fine antelope buck to windward and only four hundred yards away. I brought him down the first shot."

"Oh, come now, Sarge!" teased Private Johnson.

"I fired two shots, but the first toppled him," insisted Hal. "Come, look here."

Hal Overton halted under the trees, pointing with his torch.

It was certainly a fine, sleek, heavy buck to which Hal pointed.

"But you didn't need all of us to carry it in, did you?" demanded one of the men.

"Not exactly," laughed Hal happily. "Swing on to the buck, a couple of you, and come along. I'll tell you the rest. Just after I fired the second shot I heard a growl close to me. Less than a hundred yards away I heard a sound of paws moving toward me. Then I saw him. There he is."

Sergeant Overton's torch now lit up the carcass of a dead brown bear, one of the biggest that any of them had ever seen.

"And right behind him," went on Hal, "was Mrs. Bruin. I can tell you, my nerve was beginning to ooze. But I fired—and here's the lady bear."

Sergeant Hal led his soldier friends to the second bear carcass.

"But it wasn't more than a second or two later," laughed Hal, though some of the soldiers now noticed the quiver in his voice, "that I began to think some one had locked me in with a menagerie and turned the key loose. Just beyond were a he-bear and two more females, and they were plainly some mad and headed toward me."

"Whew!" whistled Lieutenant Prescott. "What did you do?"

"Shook with the buck fever," admitted the boyish sergeant, with a laugh. "I'm not joking, either. I didn't expect to get back to camp alive, for it was growing dark in here under the trees, and I knew I couldn't depend on my shooting. I'm almost afraid I closed my eyes as I fired and kept firing. But, anyway——"

Hal stopped, holding his torch so as to show the carcass of another male bear. Not many yards away lay two females.

"An antelope and five bears!" gasped Lieutenant Prescott. "Sergeant Overton, you've qualified for the sharpshooter class in two minutes!"

"I don't claim any credit for the last three bears," insisted Hal. "I simply don't know how I hit 'em. It wasn't marksmanship, anyway."

"Nonsense!" spoke Prescott almost sharply. "It was clever shooting and uncommonly brave work."

"Brave, sir?" retorted Hal, laughingly. "Lieutenant, do you note how my teeth are still chattering? I'm shaking all over, still, for that matter."

"Talk until morning light comes, and you can't throw any discredit either on your shooting or your nerve, Sergeant Overton. If you won't take a young officer's word for it," answered Mr. Prescott, "then ask any of the old, buck doughboys in this outfit."

"It's a job an old hunter'd brag about," glowed one of the soldiers.

Forgetting, for the time, their hunger, the men wandered from one carcass to another, examining them to see where the hits had been made.

"If you men are not going to get together soon, to pick up these animals, I'll have to tote 'em all myself," Prescott reminded them. "Terry, will you swing on under this bear with me?"

The two managed to raise it.

"Here, Lieutenant, that's not for you to do," remonstrated Sergeant Overton. "Let me take hold of your end."

"I'm not a weakling, thank you," retorted Mr. Prescott. "I'll do my share, and I recommend you to proclaim that any man who doesn't do his share doesn't eat to-night. But as for you, Sergeant Overton, I shall have a bad opinion of this outfit if they let you carry anything more than your rifle back to camp this night."

And that motion was carried unanimously. Sergeant Hal was forced to go ahead as guide, while the others, the lieutenant included, buckled manfully to their burdens.

Not infrequently they had to halt and rest, for the carcasses were fearfully heavy, even for men as toughened as regulars.

Yet, finally, they did manage to get Hal's prizes back to camp.

"Another day or two like this, and we needn't be ashamed to face the men back at Clowdry," observed Lieutenant Prescott complacently. "Six bears and a buck antelope in one day is no fool work, even if one man did do it all."

"But you killed the bear this morning, sir," urged Sergeant Hal.

"Yes, Sergeant; after you had fired the first shot and had crippled the beast so that it couldn't get away from me."

Not even to gloat over the big haul of game, however, could the men wait any longer for their long-deferred evening meal.

There was a general washup, after which the entire party went to table.

Lieutenant Prescott permitted one concession to his rank. He sat at table with the enlisted men, but he had one end of the board all to himself.

Two ruddy campfires now shed their glow over the table. It was a rough scene, but one full of the sheer joy of outdoor, manly life.

"I hope, Kelly, that the long wait hasn't encouraged to-night's bear meat to dry up in the pans," remarked the lieutenant pleasantly.

"No fear o' that, sir," replied the soldier cook. "Instead, the meat had simmered so long in its own juices that a thin pewter fork would pick it to pieces."

"How much meat is there?" asked Private Johnson, whereat all the men laughed as happily as schoolboys on a picnic.

"Never ye fear, glutton," retorted Kelly. "There's more meat than any seventeen giants in the fairy tales could ever eat at one sitting."

And then on it came—great hunks of roast bear meat, flanked with browned potatoes and gravy; flaky biscuits, huge pats of butter, bowls heaped with canned vegetables. Pots of steaming coffee passed up and down the table.

Hunters in the wilds get back close to nature, and have the appetites of savages. These men around the camp table ate, every man of them, twice as much as he could have eaten back at company mess at Fort Clowdry.

Then, to top it all, came more coffee and mince pie in abundance. Nor did these hardy hunters, after climbing the mountain trails all day, fear the nightmare. Their stomachs were fitted to digest anything edible!

It was over at last, and pipes came out here and there, though not all of the soldiers smoked.

Hal Overton was one of those who did not smoke. He had brought out his rubber poncho and a blanket, and had placed these on the frosty ground at some distance from one of the campfires.

"You are looking rather thoughtful, Sergeant," observed Lieutenant Prescott, strolling over to Overton. "I hope I am not interrupting any train of thought."

"No, sir."

"May I sit down beside you?"

"Certainly, sir."

Sergeant Hal moved over, making plenty of room on his blanket. Officer and non-com. stretched themselves out comfortably, each resting on one elbow.

"Nevertheless, Sergeant," continued Mr. Prescott, "you were thinking of something very particular when I came along."

"I was just thinking, sir, how jolly this life is, and for that matter, how jolly everything connected with the Army is. I was wondering why so many young fellows let their earlier manhood slip by without finding out what an ideal place the Army is."

"But what is especially jolly just now, Sergeant," replied the lieutenant, "is the hunting. Now, men don't have to enter the Army in order to have all the hunting they want."

"But we're drawing our pay while here," returned Overton. "And we are having our expenses paid, too. The man in civil life doesn't get that. If he hunts, he must do it at his own expense. Then there's another point, sir. In the case of the average hunting party of men from civil life it must be hard to find a lot of really good fellows, who'll keep their good nature all through the hardships of camping. For instance, where, in civil life, could you get together seventeen fellows, all of them as fine fellows and as agreeable as we have here? But I beg the lieutenant's pardon. I didn't intend to include him as one of the crowd, for the rest are all enlisted men."

"I want to be considered one of the crowd," replied the young officer simply.

"But you're not an enlisted man, sir."

"No; but I've cast my lot with the Army for life, and so, I trust, have most of you enlisted men. Therefore we all belong together, though not all can be officers. For that matter, I imagine there are a good many men in the ranks of our battalion who wouldn't care to be officers. Many soldiers are of a happy-go-lucky type, and wouldn't care to burden themselves with an officer's responsibilities. Yet I certainly want to be, as far as good discipline will permit, one of the crowd along with all good, staunch and loyal soldiers, whatever their grades of rank may be."

This was seeing the commissioned officer of Uncle Sam's Army in a somewhat different light, even to one as keen and observing as Hal Overton.

In garrison life it is very seldom that the enlisted man gets a real glimpse of the "man side" of the officer. The requirements of military discipline are such that officers and enlisted men do not often mingle on any terms of equality. This fact, as far as the American Army goes, is based on the military experience of ages that, when officers and men mingle on terms of too much equality, discipline suffers sadly. It is this intimacy of officers and men that keeps many National Guard organizations from reaching greater efficiency.

Men have served through a whole term of enlistment in the regular Army without realizing how friendly a really good and capable officer always feels toward the really good enlisted men under his command. The captain of a company, is, in effect, the father of his company, and his time must be spent largely in looking after the actual welfare and happiness of his men. In this work the captain's lieutenants are his assistants.

Soon the night grew much colder in this high altitude. Now the wood was heaped on one fire, and around this blazing pile soldiers sat or stretched themselves on blankets and ponchos. It is at such a time that the soldier's yarns crop up. Story after story of the military life was told. All in good time Lieutenant Prescott contributed his share, from anecdotes of the old days at West Point.

Then it became so late that Sergeant Hal announced that Johnson and Dietz would have the camp detail for the day following. This meant, also, that Johnson and Dietz would therefore divide between them the duty of watching over the camp through the night.

It was Johnson who took the first trick of the watch, while the others turned in in their tents.

Holding his rifle across his knees, mainly as a matter of form, Johnson sat down by the campfire, while his drowsy comrades turned in in their tents and slept the sleep of the strong in that clear, crisp Colorado air.



CHAPTER XVIII

HOLDING UP A CAMP GUARD

HALF an hour before daylight was due everyone in the camp was stirring.

The two new cooks for the day had their work cut out for them. Other soldiers busied themselves with hauling wood and water.

Then, too, the four horses belonging to the transport wagons had to be curried, watered and fed.

By the time these first duties were out of the way broad daylight had come and breakfast was ready.

The meal over "police," or cleaning up, was performed as carefully as in barracks.

The hunters were now ready to set out, for, in the meantime, the antelope and bears killed the afternoon before had been skinned and the meat hung up in the dry, cool air.

"Anybody in this outfit been wearing moccasins?" queried Corporal Hyman, strolling back into camp.

No one admitted it.

"Then we've been having visitors in the night," continued Hyman. "No less than four of them, either, for the prints are right under that tree over there, and they lead down to the trail."

"Moccasins? Indians, then?" thrilled Private William Green, who was one of the hunting party.

"Sorry to spoil your dream of glory in an Indian fight, Green," laughed the lieutenant, "but the last Indian in these parts died years ago."

"But what can the moccasins mean?" pondered Sergeant Hal aloud. "If there have been visitors about, and honest ones, they would naturally let themselves be announced. Dietz, you had the last trick of watch?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Did you see or hear any prowlers?"

"Nary one, Sergeant."

"Corporal Hyman, take me over to the moccasin prints. Lieutenant, do you mind taking a look at them, too, sir?"

Mr. Prescott stepped over in the wake of Hyman and Overton.

"There are the prints," declared the corporal, pointing. "On account of the hard ground they're not very distinct, but there were four of the fellows."

"More likely five," supplemented Lieutenant Prescott, pointing to still another set of footmarks.

"Here are other prints over here," called Sergeant Overton. "Aren't these still a different set?"

"Yes," agreed both the lieutenant and Corporal Hyman.

"Then there were at least six men prowling about here while we slept in the night," concluded Hal.

"And here is one of the trails," called the lieutenant, "leading toward camp."

"Suppose we follow the trail?" suggested the young sergeant.

They did so, halting at the end of the trail.

"From here I can see where the stool of the guard rested near the fire," continued Overton. "From that it would seem fair to conclude that one of the prowlers got this far, found our guard awake, and then retired."

"It would be interesting to know who our visitors were," nodded Lieutenant Prescott.

"I've changed my mind about going hunting to-day," went on Sergeant Hal. "While the rest of you are out after game I am going to remain right here."

"The camp is guarded by two reliable men," remarked Mr. Prescott.

"True enough, sir, but they're not real guards, for both will have their hands full with camp housework," objected the boyish sergeant. "They can't do real guard duty, or else we'd all have to turn to get the evening meal in a rush. So I've decided to remain behind to-day."

"And, on the whole, I think you're wise to do it, Sergeant," approved the lieutenant.

So, while the main party hied itself away soon after, Hal Overton remained behind with the two camp duty men.

Having a couple of good books in his tent, Sergeant Hal donned his olive tan Army overcoat, spread a poncho and a pair of blankets on the ground and lay down to read.

But his rifle and ammunition belt rested beside him.

The morning passed without any event, other than two or three times Sergeant Overton paused long enough in his reading to do some brief scouting past the camp.

Nothing came of it, however. At noon Hal ate with Dietz and Johnson.

"The chuck is better back in camp," laughed the young sergeant. "But I've heard a gun half a dozen times this morning, and each time I've been curious to know how the hunting luck is running."

"Nobody will beat the haul you made yesterday, Sarge," offered Private Dietz.

"Oh, I'd like to see several of the fellows beat it," rejoined Overton. "I certainly hope to see both wagons go back loaded to the top with game. I don't want to have the only military command I ever enjoyed being the head of go back stumped."

"We're not stumped, with five bear carcasses," hinted Private Johnson.

"Those carcasses might afford two meat meals to the garrison," speculated Sergeant Overton. "But what we want to do is to take back so much game flesh that no man in Fort Clowdry will want to hear game meat mentioned again before next spring."

"Huh! By that time the old Thirty-fourth will probably be in the Philippines," retorted Dietz, forking eight ounces more of wood-broiled bear steak to his tin plate.

"I wonder!" cried Hal, his eyes blazing with eagerness.

"Crazy to get out to the islands, Sarge?"

"Humph! I put in three years there with the Thirty-fourth," grunted Dietz. "I'll never kick at a transfer to another regiment whenever the regiment I'm in gets the islands route."

"What have you against the Philippines?" Hal wanted to know.

"Well, Sarge, don't you enjoy this cool, crisp, bracing air up here in the hills?"

"Certainly. Who wouldn't? This air is bracing—life-giving."

"Nothing like it in the Philippines," answered Dietz. "It's hot there—hot, you understand."

"Yet I've been told that a soldier always needs his blankets there at night," objected Hal.

"Yes; if you have to sleep outdoors, then you need your full uniform on, including shoes and leggings, and you wrap yourself up tight in your blanket. But that isn't to keep warm; it's to keep the mosquitoes from eating you alive. So, after you get done up in your blanket, you put a collapsible mosquito net over your head to protect your face and neck. Then there's a trick you have to learn of wrapping your hands in under your blanket in such a way that the skeeters can't follow inside. After you've been in the islands a few weeks you learn how to do yourself up so that the skeeters can't get at your flesh."

"Then that ought to be all right," smiled Hal hopefully.

"Yes; but you never heard a Filipino skeeter holler when he's mad. When they find they can't get at you then about four thousand settle on your net and blanket and sing all night. You've got to be fagged out before you can sleep over the racket those little pests make."

"I guess the whole trick can be learned," predicted Overton.

"The night trick can be learned after a while," agreed Dietz. "But, in the daytime, there's nothing that can be done to protect you. You simply have to suffer. Then the hot days! Why, Sarge, I've marched north up the tracks of the Manila & Dagupan railroad, carrying fifty pounds of weight, on days when the sun sure beat down on us at the rate of a hundred and forty degrees Fahrenheit."

"Yet you're alive, now," observed Overton.

"Oh, yes; just as it happens."

"But surely there's some marching in the shade, too?"

"Oh, yes; sometimes you spend the whole day, everyday for a fortnight, hiking through the dense jungles after a gang of bolomen or Moros or ladrones. Shade enough there in the jungle, but it has a Turkish bath beaten to a plum finish. You drip, drip, drip with perspiration, until you'd give a week's pay to be out in the sun for ten minutes with a chance to get dried off."

"I'm going to like it, just the same," retorted Hal. "I know I am. And, if the natives put up any real trouble for us, then we'll see some actual service. That's what a very young soldier always aches for, you know, Dietz."

"Yes, and it's sure fun fighting those brown-skinned little Filipino goo-goos," grunted the older soldier. "First they fire on you, and then you and your comrades lie down and fire back. After you've had a few men hit the order comes to charge. Then you all rise and rush forward, cheering like the Fourth of July. You have to go through some tall grass on the way, and, first thing you know, a parcel of hidden bolo men jump up right in front of you. They use their bolos—heavy knives—to slit you open at the belt line. Ugh! I'd sooner fight five men with guns than step on one of those bolo men in the jungle!"

"Just the same," voiced the young sergeant, "the sooner the Thirty-fourth is ordered to the island the better I'll like it. I'm wild to see some of the high foreign spots."

"Wish I could give you all the chances that are coming to me in my service in the Army," grunted Private Dietz, as he rose from the table.

The afternoon was one of harder work for the two camp duty men. Hal tried to read again, but found his thoughts too frequently wandering to the Philippines.

The afternoon waxed late, at last, though still there was no sign of the hunters. Once in a while a gun had been heard at some distance, and that was all.

All the time Sergeant Hal had trailed his rifle about camp with him. Now, tiring of reading, he went to his tent, standing his rifle against the front tent pole.

Hearing a swift step the young sergeant reached the tent flap in time to see a roughly-dressed, moccasined white man running away with Hal's Army rifle.

Then, in the same instant, he heard a voice call:

"Throw your hands up there, man!"

"Holding me up with my own gun, are you?" raged Private Dietz.

"Yes; and we've got the other chap's lead-piece, too. Up with your hands, both of you."

Hal dropped back behind the flap of his tent, peering out through a little crack in the canvas.

There were now seven men outside, all strangers, all rough-looking and all moccasined.

Between them they had the three rifles belonging in camp that day.

"Bring out that other fellow, the kid sergeant," commanded the same voice, after Dietz and Johnson, hopelessly surprised, had hoisted their hands skyward.

"Humph!" growled Sergeant Hal, his eyes snapping. "I don't like the idea of surrendering the camp that I command!"



CHAPTER XIX

WHEN THE LAST CARTRIDGE WAS GONE

WHATEVER was to be done would have to be done in a very few seconds.

For one of the rifle-armed strangers had started briskly for the tent that concealed the boyish sergeant.

"Whatever happens, he isn't going to get me alive, if I can help it!" quivered young Overton. "I'd sooner be killed at once than disgrace my chevrons."

Two swift steps backward, and Sergeant Hal caught up his revolver.

With this in his right hand, and stepping panther-like, he returned to the fallen tent flap.

The approaching man with the rifle bent forward, sweeping the tent flap aside.

"Come out, Sarge!" he ordered.

"If I have to," retorted Hal, setting his teeth.

Grasping the revolver by the barrel end, he sprang through, before the other fellow could comprehend what was happening.

"Look out, there!" yelled one of the invaders, coming up behind the man with the rifle.

It was too late.

Crack! It was a fearful blow, the butt of the heavy Army revolver landing on the fellow's jaw and fracturing it.

"O-o-o-h!"

It was a wail of fearful agony, but under the circumstances Sergeant Overton could not afford to regret it.

The stricken man staggered back.

Hal poised for a bound, intending to snatch the rifle from him.

As the fellow dropped back, however, his companion coming up behind him was in time to snatch the rifle, turning the muzzle on Overton.

There being not a second to lose, and the fight unequal, Hal darted, instead, back to his tent pole.

There hung a mirror that he had used in shaving.

It took but an instant to get this. Then Hal raced for a tree thirty feet away.

Dropping the small mirror into a pocket, Overton started to climb the tree.

"Come down out of that tree, or we'll bring you down!" roared an ugly voice.

"You'll have to drop me, then, if you want me," taunted Hal coolly.

He was a dozen feet up the trunk by the time that the man who now held that rifle gained the base of the tree.

"Coming down, you——?" called the ruffian with an oath.

"No," responded Hal. "Coming up?"

"Come down, I tell you!"

"Some mistake," sneered Hal, still climbing. "I'm headed for the roof."

Below him he heard a threatening click as the bolt of the rifle was thrown back.

"Hey! Don't shoot the kid—yet," ordered another voice. "He'll come down when he sees what we can do to him. He hasn't any show."

So the fellow under the tree went back to join his six companions.

Dietz and Johnson were still holding up their hands. This fact was no reflection on their courage. They were trained fighting men, and had sense enough to realize when the enemy had "the drop" on them.

"You two soldiers," ordered the leader of the ruffians, "lie down on your faces and hold your hands behind your backs for tying."

Neither soldier, however, stirred as yet.

"You heard that, Sergeant?" called Dietz dryly.

"Yes," admitted Hal.

"What shall we do?"

"You fellows get down on your faces—flop!" broke in the leader of the ruffians. "That's what you'll do!"

"Will you be kind enough to shut up?" retorted Private Dietz coolly. "We're taking our orders from the sergeant."

"Let him come down here and give the orders, then," jeered the leader of the invaders.

"You'd better give in, Dietz and Johnson," order Sergeant Hal. "You can't do anything and I don't want to see you killed."

"That's your order, then, is it, sergeant?" inquired Private Johnson.

"Yes; it can't be helped."

Dietz and Johnson, therefore, lay down as directed. Some of the scoundrels who were not armed busied themselves with tying the soldiers, and this work the miscreants did with a thoroughness that spoke eloquently of practice.

But the diversion gave Hal a chance to do something that had popped into his head at the instant when he had stepped back for the mirror.

The sun was still sufficiently high for him to catch the rays strongly on his small mirror.

Now, in the Army signaling work, one branch has to do with heliographing; that is, flashing a message by means of reflected rays of the sun's light.

Swiftly enough the young sergeant caught the flash, and found to his delight that he was able to throw a fairly long flash.

"Camp in hands of ruffians. Help quick!"



Despite his tremendous excitement, Sergeant Overton endeavored to steady his right hand enough to enable him to send the message quite clearly.

Again and again he flashed the message, until one of the invaders, glancing up at the tree top, caught sight of the work that was going on.

"That kid's trying to send word to some one," guessed the leader. "Here, cub, hand me that rifle."

Crack!

Smash!

It was a true shot, though how much of it was due to luck Sergeant Hal could not surmise.

But the glass was shot from his hand, the splintered bits falling to the ground.

"Next shot for you, kid!" warned the marksman below.

"Yes?" mocked Overton.

"Surest thing in the world? Coming down, or shall I bring you down?"

Crack!

Hal drew his own weapon up, firing as the sight passed the human target.

It was a close shot, the revolver bullet carrying away the fellow's cloth cap.

"I'm firing too high," spoke Hal as composedly as though he did not feel any excitement. "I'll fire for your belt line after this."

That was too much for the ruffian's composure. He turned, running in a zig-zag line.

So Hal held his fire, awaiting results for a moment. As he waited he felt for his revolver ammunition.

Then he made a sickening discovery. He had no revolver ammunition beyond the five cartridges remaining in the cylinder of his weapon.

As for the invaders, they had more than three hundred rounds of rifle ammunition now at their disposal.

And they had fled to cover, too, but now Sergeant Overton had the uncomfortable conviction that three rifles were trained on him.

"Now, come down out of that tree on the double quick!" commanded the leader of the invaders.

"My coming will suit myself only," boasted Hal in a tone conveying ten times the confidence that he felt.

"That shot of yours may start help this way," continued the leader threateningly. "We ain't going to take any chances. Start on the second, or we'll begin shooting, and keep it up until we tumble you out of that tree."

"You may fire whenever ready," mocked Hal. "Every shot you fire will be a signal that will make my friends come faster."

Bang! It was the leader himself who fired. The bullet clipped off a leaf within an inch of Sergeant Overton's ear.

Crack! The boyish young sergeant was all there with the grit. He fired straight back at the leader, the bullet striking the rock before the other's face.

Now two more shots clipped close to the young soldier. Hal answered with one.

But he tried to steady himself. He realized that he had but three fighting shots left, and that he must make them count.

"But maybe three are enough to last me as long as I'm going to live, anyway," reflected Sergeant Overton grimly.

There was not much comfort in that thought, but Hal drew himself around more behind the tree trunk in order to shield himself as much as possible, although the tree trunk would be no real protection from bullets.

The Army bullet, at an ordinary range, will pierce three solid feet of standing oak.



CHAPTER XX

THE EIGHTH MOCCASIN APPEARS

"GIVE it up?" queried the leader.

"I answered you before on that head," retorted Sergeant Overton.

"Don't be a fool, kid. We don't want to hurt you. All we want is that revolver."

"I don't want to give it up," rejoined Hal.

"You'd better!"

"It isn't mine to give, anyway. It belongs to the United States Government."

"Uncle Sam will never see that revolver again," declared the leader of the invaders, with profane emphasis. "And you'll never see your friends again if you don't hit it fast for the ground."

"I'm here until further orders."

"You've got your orders!"

"I don't take any orders from you," retorted Hal with fine scorn.

"Open up on the fool, boys—all together!"

Three spurts of flame jetted out from the cover that the ruffians had taken.

Hal steadied his arm by resting it across a branch before him, and fired back, his aim, as before, at the leader.

He had the satisfaction of seeing that rascal's head duck below cover.

Though he could not know it then, Overton had clipped a lock of hair from the fellow's hatless head.

Another volley, which Hal answered with another shot.

"What do you fellows want with guns if you can't shoot better!" hailed Overton derisively.

He didn't want them to shoot any better, but he was trying to anger them and thus make their shooting wilder.

"It won't take us more than half a minute more to get you," flung back the leader.

Now that fellow raised himself, exposing himself more, but getting a solid left-hand rest for his rifle.

Hal could see and feel that the rifle was pointed fairly at him.

On the instinct of the moment the young sergeant fired. And he would have scored, had he not seen the other two riflemen leaving their cover also to get a better aim. That realization spoiled his shot.

"Gracious! That was my last cartridge, too!" groaned the young sergeant inwardly.

The realization made him feel creepy. It is one thing to fight bravely, when one has the fighting tools and a knowledge of their use. But it is quite another thing to face the certainty of being helpless with so many armed foes bent on one's destruction.

None the less, summoning up all his courage, Hal broke the revolver at the breech, allowing the ejector to shed the empty shells on the ground underneath.

With lightning motions Hal went through the sham of filling his cylinder with fresh cartridges.

"No use, little man! No use at all. If you had any more cartridges you'd get me now—but you can't. Come on, boys! We'll go under the tree and smoke him out!"

As he spoke, the leader moved boldly from cover, exposing the whole length of his body.

It would have made a splendid mark for as expert a shot as Sergeant Hal Overton. The soldier boy did raise his revolver, as though to shoot, but the leader, coolly confident, continued to come forward.

Of course Hal could not shoot, and the rest seeing that, also came out from cover.

Chuckling, all but the one whose jaw Hal had injured, the wretches moved forward, halting just under the tree.

"Coming down now?" demanded the leader, directing the muzzle of his stolen rifle up the tree.

"I don't know," mimicked Hal.

"Ever hear what the treed 'coon said to Davy Crockett?" inquired the scoundrel facetiously.

"If it's a chestnut I'll stand hearing it again," proposed the young sergeant.

"Well, friend, when the raccoon saw Davy pointing his gun upward, he called down: 'Don't shoot, Davy! I'll come down.'"

"Great!" mocked young Overton.

"Are you going to do like the 'coon?"

Hal's answer was to raise his right hand suddenly and hurling his now useless revolver.

There was no time to dodge. One of the riflemen below received the impact of the descending weapon squarely on top of his head and he keeled over, falling into a bush.

"You said all you wanted was my revolver," announced Sergeant Hal. "Well, you have it. Now on your way with it."

The dropped revolver had been picked up by another of the crowd, and now two men raised their guns to shoot Hal Overton out of the tree.

But their leader struck down their guns.

"None of that, unless we have to," he commanded. "The sergeant's a game one, and he's not to blame for trying to defend his camp. He can't do any more harm now, and I won't have him hurt unless he forces us to do it. Now, then, young man, are you coming down out of that tree?"

"Why?" challenged Hal. "You said that all you wanted was my revolver. You have that now, and all the rifles in camp. What do you need of me?"

"We've got to slip away from here quick," retorted the leader with a deceptive show of good-nature and fair-mindedness. "But do you think, Sergeant, we're going to be fools enough to dust out of here and leave you to come down out of the tree and trail us along, then come back here for help and bag us all. No, no, young man! We know the regulars, and we're not going to leave any cards in the hands of the fighting line of the Army."

"But it's so comfortable up here," objected Hal.

"I'm going to give you, Sergeant, until I count three. Then, if you haven't started, we'll simply have to bring you down like a cantankerous grizzly. Or, if you start and then stop again, we'll shoot just the same. We can't afford to waste any more time talking."

Where had Hal seen this man before? Where and when had he heard that voice?

Face and voice both seemed strangely familiar, yet, to save him, Overton could not place the fellow at that moment.

"One!" counted the leader, and Hal saw three rifle muzzles pointed at him.

"Two!"

"All right! I'm the 'coon. Be with you in a minute, Davy Crockett," laughed Sergeant Hal Overton.

It was hard luck, but the soldier boy felt that he had made all the fight that could be expected of any one. There seemed no sense in being killed for sheer stubbornness, now that he had not a ghost of a chance of fighting back.

Having once started groundward, Overton continued to descend rapidly.

As he reached the last limb on his descent he took a swift slide and landed among his captors.

"Good boy," mimicked the leader of the invaders. "Now continue to be sensible. Just lie down on your face and put your hands behind your back the way your two men did. Nothing happened to them and nothing worse will happen to you."

The wretch's words were smooth and oily. To Hal it really looked as though this fellow respected gameness enough not to take it out on a defenseless enemy.

So Hal lay face downward and gave up his hands for binding.

Wrap! wrap! He felt the cord passing swiftly around his wrists, and then an extra turn was taken around his ankles.

"Your name's Overton, isn't it?" asked the leader with a wicked grin on his face.

"Yes."

"Then you're the man we want."

"From the way you acted I judged that you wanted me," mocked Hal dryly.

"Yes; but we wanted you for more than general reasons. In fact, we want you, most of all, for purely personal reasons. Or, at least, one of our fellows does. Here he comes."

An eighth man of the wretched crew now came swiftly forward from the hiding that he had kept from the first.

As he came he chuckled maliciously, and Hal Overton knew that sinister laugh.

Then the fellow halted, bending over the prostrate, tied young sergeant.

The face was the face of that evil deserter from the Army—ex-Private Hinkey!



CHAPTER XXI

THE ENEMY HAS HIS INNINGS

"I'D much better have stayed up the tree and been shot out of it!" flashed through Sergeant Hal's startled brain.

"Howdy!" jeered Hinkey, leering wickedly. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"

"No," Hal admitted frankly.

"It's my inning now, Overton."

"It looks like it."

"And I'm to have my own way with you—you officers' boot-lick!"

"That's a lie, Hinkey, and you know it!" broke in the deep, indignant voice of Private Dietz. "Overton's a man, first, last and always. He's worth a million of your kind."

"Good!" added Private Johnson valiantly. "And true, too! I never realized it until to-day, either."

"Oh, you both hold your tongues," ordered Hinkey, glaring over at the pair of bound soldiers who lay beyond. "You fellows are no good, either. No man that'll stay in the Army is any good."

"I'm glad to know why you left, Hinkey," jeered Dietz. "I've wondered a lot about that."

"Oh, have you?" snarled Hinkey. "Nobody but a boot-lick would stay in the Army, and I don't lick any man's boots, not for the whole Army."

"Come, hurry up, Hink, and have your grudge satisfied, and come along. We don't want to be caught by a lot of soldiers. All the shooting we've done here will be sure to attract the hunters."

"No it won't," rejoined Hinkey. "We trailed the hunting parties, and they went out in three squads, in three different directions. Now, any of the hunters that hear a lot of firing will only think that one of the other parties has run into a lot of game."

This was true. Hal Overton hadn't thought of it before in that light. And, in addition, it was rather unlikely that any of the hunters had chanced to see his mirror-thrown signals in the short time that had passed before the glass had been shot from his hands.

The rascal floored by the revolver which the sergeant had thrown was now coming to, for one of the crew had been dashing water in his face.

Not far away sat the man whose jaw Hal had damaged. He was groaning a bit, despite his efforts to make no fuss.

"Look at our two mates this sergeant boy has put out of action," growled Hinkey, trying to inflame his comrades.

"They were hit in fair fight," replied the leader. "The sergeant kid doesn't belong to our side, but I don't hold his fighting grit against him."

"You'd hold anything and everything against him if you knew him as well as I do," retorted Hinkey.

He was still standing over his young victim, gazing down gloatingly at him.

"And now the time has come to square matters up with you, younker," went on Hinkey tauntingly. "It's all my way now."

Hal looked up at him steadily, but without speaking. The boy knew better than to say anything foolish that would needlessly anger this brute, who now held the situation all in his own hands.

"Well, why don't you talk back, Overton?" demanded Hinkey sneeringly.

Just the ghost of a smile flickered over Overton's face.

"Laughing at me, are you?" yelled Hinkey, trying to work himself into a more brutal rage.

Hal spoke at last.

"No," he answered.

"If you ain't laughing," continued the brute, "what are you doing?"

"Just thinking how sorry I am for you," Hal flashed back coolly.

"Sorry?" echoed the fellow bitterly. "You'd better waste your sorrow on yourself! What are you feeling badly about me for?"

"I was thinking," went on Hal slowly, and with no trace of taunt in his voice, "what a sad come-down you have had. You were in the Army, wearing its uniform, and with every right to look upon yourself as a man. You could have gone on being trusted. You could have raised yourself. Instead, you have followed a naturally bad bent and made yourself a thousand times worse than you ever needed to be. Hinkey, do you wonder that I'm sorry for you, when I find that you have fallen outside of an honest man's estate?"

"Good! Tell him some more, Sarge," came from Dietz.

"Do you hear that?" raged Hinkey, turning and catching his new leader's eye. "Do you hear what the boot-lick insinuates about the new crowd I've joined?"

"It's your affair—your battle, Hinkey," replied the leader grimly. "Don't try to drag us in."

"You're making such a beast of yourself, Hinkey, that even your own gang don't respect you," taunted Johnson.

"A crowd of Colorado wild-cats couldn't respect such a fellow," supplied Dietz.

With a snarl Hinkey ran over to where Dietz and Johnson lay, giving each a hard kick. The soldiers suffered the violence in silence.

"You two mind your own affairs," warned Hinkey savagely. "Don't turn me against you. I don't want to give either of you as bad a dose as I've planned for this sergeant boy."

"Hurry up, Hinkey," warned the leader impatiently. "You're wasting time that's worth more to us than money. You said that if we'd capture this boy for you, you'd cart him away on your back, to settle with him later. Now do it!"

"All in a minute," promised the deserter. "But, first of all, are you going to take the other two soldiers with you?"

"No. We don't need 'em."

"Then I don't want this fellow Overton to go along with us with his eyes open. He'd know our whole route if he managed to get away from us, and then he'd bring the regulars down on us. You don't want that?"

"Of course not."

"Then I'll stun this sergeant boy, and I'll do it so hard that he won't open his eyes in ten miles of traveling," promised Hinkey.

With that he turned to Hal.

"Overton, I'm going to hit you, and I'm going to hit you so hard that you won't even see stars. Close your eyes if you're afraid to see the blow coming!"

But Hal merely opened his eyes the wider, smiling back with a confidence in himself that maddened the brute.

With a snarl like a panther's Hinkey crouched over the young sergeant, holding his hand high before striking.



CHAPTER XXII

THE NAVY HEARD FROM

LOOKING up at that hand Hal Overton saw a spot of blood appear suddenly in the middle of the palm.

In the same moment there came the sharp crack of a rifle.

The blow never descended on Overton's upturned face.

Instead, Hinkey uttered a startled yell, tottered to his feet, then threw himself over on his face.

For, following that first shot, came a volley of them, accompanied by the whistling of bullets through the camp.

The leader of the invaders pitched and fell, shot through the hip.

"Take to cover, boys!" roared the stricken leader. "Take my rifle, too. Defend yourselves. The soldiers are down on us!"

But Sergeant Hal, after that first moment of joyous surprise, felt a thrill of astonishment.

The bullets that were whistling through camp had not the sound of Army missiles!

Yet the young sergeant had no time to speculate on this discovery, for now he heard a voice, and a wholly strange one, shout, as the volley ceased:

"You men surrender, if you don't want to be riddled. If you start to make a move away from camp we'll drop every one of you before any man can reach cover. We mean business!"

"Hello! What's going on here? Halt! Deploy, there! Lie down! Ready—load—aim!"

That was Noll Terry's voice, and the young sergeant was right on his word like a flash.

While the first party was hidden behind cover to the northward, Sergeant Noll and his men had come up from the westward.

"We're friends," hailed that same voice from northward. "Who are you over to the westward? Who commands there?"

"Sergeant Oliver Terry, United States Army," Noll called back.

"Good for you, Sergeant! Stay in command. We'll back up any move you make," came from northward.

"Do you rascally prowlers surrender?" called Noll.

"It's about the only thing that seems left to do," sullenly admitted the leader of the invaders.

"Then hold up your hands and step away from those rifles," ordered Noll.

That command was obeyed, except by the man whose head had been battered by Hal's flying revolver.

"Have they any other weapons, Hal?" called Sergeant Noll.

"So far as I know they haven't," Sergeant Hal answered.

"You to the north!" called Noll.

"Ahoy, there!" came the good-natured answer.

"Will you move in, covering the prisoners with your rifles?"

"Gladly, Sergeant."

"Thank you."

Out of brushwood cover to the northward stepped three men. One was a middle-aged man, a mountaineer if dress and manner went for anything.

With him, supporting this guide on each side were two tall, very straight young men who appeared to be about twenty-three years of age each. These younger men were nattily though plainly attired in corduroy, with leggings and caps.

"Just stand right there, and hold the prisoners, please," directed Sergeant Terry.

Then Noll's next step was to move in with his own men, four in number.

"Get the handcuffs," directed Noll. "I think we've enough to go around."

So saying Noll stepped over to his chum, quickly freeing him.

"Get up, Sergeant Overton," cried Noll, as he cut the last cord at his chum's ankles. "And now I turn the command over to you."

Most of the prisoners took their capture in an ugly mood. Their leader, however, affected, coolly, to regard it all as the fortunes of the game.

"Here don't handcuff any of the disabled men," directed Sergeant Hal. "Green, you stand as a guard over those wounded. It's bad enough to be hurt, without having one's hands fixed so that he can't aid himself any in his misery."

"You want Hinkey ironed, don't you?" inquired Noll.

"No."

"But he's an Army deserter."

"If he gets away from where he's sitting he'll be only the remains of one," returned Sergeant Overton dryly. "But Hinkey is wounded, and he'll need his hands free in order to look after himself."

Hinkey, however, did not deign to notice this grace by so much as a look or a word.

"What are you going to do with these fellows?" asked Noll presently.

"It doesn't rest with me," Hal replied. "This is a purely military matter, and I shall wait to get Lieutenant Prescott's orders."

"Then Prescott belongs with this camp?" queried the taller, finer-looking of the pair of young strangers who had given Hal his first aid.

"Lieutenant Prescott is with this camp; yes, sir," Hal replied, laying considerable emphasis on the title.

"We're friends of his," explained the same stranger. "So, if you don't mind, we'll just wait for him."

"If you're friends of Lieutenant Prescott, then make yourselves very much at home, sir," Hal answered cordially. "Any friend of Lieutenant Prescott has B company for his friends also."

Johnson and Dietz, who had been freed right after Sergeant Hal, were now busy once more with preparations for the extra meal.

"Had we better provide for three extra plates, Sarge?" inquired Johnson, in a low voice.

"It looks very much that way," smiled Hal. "And be sure to have a great plenty of everything. Vreeland will help you, as you've lost some time."

Ten minutes later the footsteps of others were heard approaching camp. Then in came Lieutenant Prescott, with Corporal Cotter and five men. They were carrying two antelope and a fine, big bear.

But the instant that Lieutenant Prescott caught sight of the strangers he dropped everything, rushing forward with outstretched hands.

"By all that's wonderful! Dave Darrin! Dan Dalzell!"

Then the soldiers were treated to the unexpected spectacle of their lieutenant embracing the two young men in corduroy.

Soon after, however, Mr. Prescott wheeled about, one friend on either side of him.

"Attention! Men, the gentleman on my right is Midshipman David Darrin, United States Navy, and the gentleman on my left, Midshipman Daniel Dalzell, also of the Navy. They are to be treated with all the respect and courtesy due to their rank."

Readers of the "HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' SERIES" and of the "ANNAPOLIS SERIES" will recall these two splendid young Naval officers, first as High School athletes, and later among the most famous of the midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy.

"But how on earth did a lucky wind come up to blow you out this way?" asked Lieutenant Prescott.

"Good fortune ruled it that we should be assigned to duty on the China station," replied Midshipman Darrin. "So we're journeying across the continent to San Francisco, on our way. But our orders allowed us time enough to stop over a fortnight on the way. Dick, did you imagine we'd go through Colorado without stopping to see you?"

"Of course not," glowed Lieutenant Prescott. "When did you arrive at Clowdry?"

"Day before yesterday. Ever since then we've been on the way. As soon as we reached the end of the rail part of the journey here we engaged Mr. Sanderson as our guide. While coming along this afternoon we saw something like helio signals flashing in the air. The message was one for help, so we hustled along, our guide piloting. And, from some things I've heard and observed since arrival, Dick, I imagine we got here just about in time."

"As you always did," laughed Lieutenant Prescott. "But, now that I've got my breath back from my delight—Sergeant Overton, what is the meaning of prisoners in camp? And where did you find Hinkey?"

"Didn't you hear quite a lot of firing, sir?" asked Sergeant Hal.

"Firing? Considerable, but I thought some party nearer in had struck such a haul of game as you landed last night, Sergeant. Go on and tell me about it."

This Hal did, and it was all news to the lieutenant, for neither he nor any member of his hunting party had seen the helio signals.

Just as the brief spirited tale was finished the remainder of the hunting party came in, one of them being a private of hospital corps. To this man was entrusted the attending of the injured invaders.

Hinkey fairly cowered before the scorn that was apparent in the eyes of all his former comrades.

The evening meal was now nearly ready. By Hal's direction another table was set up for Lieutenant Prescott and his guests.

Then came the early, cool night. Prescott and his Naval friends sat apart for an hour, talking over the old times. Then, at last, they came over and joined the soldiers.

"May I ask a question, Lieutenant?" inquired Sergeant Hal, saluting.

"Certainly, Sergeant."

"What is to be done with the prisoners?"

"You are in command here, Sergeant."

"But isn't this a greater military matter, sir, than the mere command of a hunting camp?"

"I don't believe I need to take command, Sergeant. But I will offer you a suggestion, if you wish."

"If you will be so kind, sir."

"Why, this general group of prisoners belong to the civil authorities. You will find a jail and a sheriff very near the point where we left the train."

"Yes, sir. And Hinkey?"

"He is a prisoner of the United States Army. You can put him in charge of the same sheriff, asking him to hold Hinkey until a guard from Fort Clowdry arrives to take him. A wire to the post can be sent from the station."

"Very good, sir. Then I think I will detail Sergeant Terry, a driver and a guard of six men to escort the prisoners to the sheriff. The hospital man had better go along, too, and the injured men can travel in the wagon."

"That disposition will do very well, Sergeant. But Sergeant Terry and his men will very likely be away four days altogether."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Saluting, and including the young Naval officers in his salute, Sergeant Overton went over to explain the plan to Noll.

"What very boyish youngsters those two sergeants are," remarked Midshipman Darrin.

"Young, yes, but as seasoned and good men as we have in the company or the regiment," replied Lieutenant Prescott.

"They certainly look like fine soldiers," agreed Midshipman Dalzell.

"They'll look very much like fine young officers, one of these days, or I miss my guess by a mile," answered Prescott. "Colonel North is very proud of these two boys, and so are Major Silsbee and Captain Cortland."

In the morning the three wounded men were placed in one of the two wagons belonging to camp. Though their hands were left free, all three had their feet shackled to staples inside the wagon.

The other five prisoners stood sulkily behind the wagon. Noll assembled the guard at the side of the trail.

"Climb up on the wagon, hospital man," called Noll. "Start ahead, driver. Squad, by twos, right, forward march."

Then the party started out.

Two of the remaining soldiers were detailed for camp, as usual. The other enlisted men went off in a hunting party by themselves.

All except Sergeant Hal. He had been invited to go with Lieutenant Prescott and the latter's friends, and had gladly accepted.

Sanderson, the guide, having been paid by his Naval employers, had already taken the trail.

"I hope you bring us luck, Dave and Dan," announced Lieutenant Prescott, as the party started. "We are still far shy of the amount of game we want to take back to the post."



CHAPTER XXIII

THE UNITED STATES SERVICES FIGHT TOGETHER

FOR more than an hour Midshipman Darrin and Sergeant Overton had been away from the rest of the party, seeking tracks or other signs of wild game.

"Sergeant," spoke Midshipman Darrin, at last, "I hope you won't be offended by the opinion I have formed of you."

"What is that, sir?" asked Hal Overton.

"I've been watching you a bit, and I've come to the conclusion that you're an uncommonly fine and keen soldier."

"Not much chance in that for offense, sir," laughed the boyish sergeant.

"But you're of the Army," said Mr. Darrin, "and I don't know whether you believe that a sailor is a judge of a soldier."

"Quite naturally, sir," laughed Hal, "I am wholly willing to believe in the value of your judgment. And I have another reason."

"What is that, Sergeant!"

"Why, sir, you're a very particular friend of Lieutenant Prescott's, and we men of B company are ready to believe in any one whom Lieutenant Prescott likes."

"You have another very fine fellow for an officer in your regiment," Mr. Darrin went on. "And that is Greg Holmes—pardon me, Lieutenant Holmes. He's as fine, in every way, as Mr. Prescott himself."

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Holmes is as popular with the men as any officer in the regiment can be."

"You see," smiled Mr. Darrin reminiscently, "when Dalzell, Prescott, Holmes and myself were youngsters—or smaller youngsters than we are now—we were all chums together in the same High School."

Then, finding a ready and appreciative listener Midshipman Darrin plunged into the recounting of many of the former adventures of that famous group of schoolboys once known as Dick & Co., whose doings were fully set forth in the "HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' SERIES."

Sergeant Hal heard, also, of Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton, the two remaining members of Dick & Co., whose adventures, after leaving school, are now being set forth in the "YOUNG ENGINEERS' SERIES."

But Overton did not hear about the sweethearts of these former High School chums. Sweethearts were too sacred to be discussed with comparative strangers.

"Now, Prescott informs me that you two young sergeants intend to work for commissions from the ranks," said Mr. Darrin, after a while.

"Yes, sir; that was our idea in entering the service."

"I hope, heartily, Sergeant Overton, that both you and your friend win out with your ambitions."

"Thank you, sir."

"I have a very particular reason for wishing you that luck," smiled Midshipman Darrin, "and you are at liberty, Sergeant, to ask me what it is."

"Very good, sir."

"I want to see both yourself and Sergeant Terry succeed because I don't believe the service can afford to be without two such unusually good officers as you and Sergeant Terry would make."

Hal flushed, tried to utter his thanks, and found himself confused, for Midshipman Darrin, who was taller, was gazing down at him with a very friendly look in his eyes.

"My hand has been itching for something all day," the young Naval officer went on. "Sergeant, I want to shake hands with you, if you don't mind."

Their hands met in hearty clasp.

"I shall have Prescott keep me posted regarding you two young men," went on Dave Darrin. "And, when you two are officers, if you are ever near any craft on which I'm on duty I want you to promise me that you'll come to visit me."

"You know how much delight that would give both Sergeant Terry and myself, sir."

"Attention—to the job!" suddenly muttered Dave Darrin, in a low voice.

Their long tramp had taken them alongside a low ledge.

As Darrin spoke in that low voice he raised his hunting rifle quickly, bringing the butt to his shoulder with a jerk.

He fired—straight at a bear, not more than five feet over their heads and at a total distance of only about ten feet.

But in that same instant the big, brown brute moved, and the bullet intended for his heart merely clipped away a bit of hair at the bottom of the animal's belly.

Bruin's first move had been to get away from danger, but now, at the shot, he became very much angered.

A second, swift leap, and the big animal jumped downward, landing on Midshipman Darrin's chest and bearing him to the earth.

"Lie still, sir!" gasped Sergeant Hal.



There was but a single cartridge in Overton's rifle. He clicked the bolt, then aimed all in a flash.

In his agitation Hal succeeded only in grazing the top of the animal's back.

But bruin, crouched on Darrin's body, raised his head and turned it snarlingly toward Hal.

Everything that was to be done must be done in a moment. Fortunately, the young sergeant wore his bayonet in scabbard at his belt.

Like a flash Sergeant Overton fixed that bayonet to the muzzle of his rifle, bruin regarding him with a hostile glitter in his eyes, while Midshipman Darrin, whose rifle had been hurled just out of his reach, had the presence of mind to lie utterly still.

"Now, we'll see what you'll do, bruin!" quivered Hal, making a swift lunge for the animal's side.

What bruin did was to leap away from the midshipman's prostrate body. Despite the bear's lumbering body and shambling gait he can be spry enough at need.

Hal's thrust, therefore, failed to land directly, but merely ripped along the animal's coat.

The momentum that followed the miss caused Sergeant Hal Overton to fall forward to his knees. And now the enraged bruin made straight for him.

There was time to do but one thing. Sergeant Hal made a lunge direct at the bear's eyes.

With that menace of cold steel before his eyes the bear dodged to one side, then rose to his hind feet.

Rising, Hal took his stand on the defensive, for now bruin was determined on a finish fight.

Straight at Bruin's heart lunged Hal, but it was a game at which two could play.

Bruin's massive left paw, backed by prodigious strength, swept the bayoneted rifle aside, fairly wrenching it from Overton's grasp.

So now the bear was ready, either for embrace or pursuit of this now helpless enemy.

Midshipman Dave Darrin, U. S. N., at the instant when he found the weight of the bulky animal removed from his body, had crawled noiselessly away for a few feet.

Now Darrin dropped to one knee, the rifle at ready. Aiming with the utmost coolness, the young Naval officer fired.

Straight and true went the bullet this time into Bruin's heart.

The big mass swayed, then fell. There was barely a gasp to signal the bear's end of life.

"Sergeant," remarked the midshipman coolly, "your conduct just now fully confirmed what I said about your being a valuable man for the Army."

"I probably wouldn't have been in the Army much longer, sir, if you hadn't got your rifle and fired just as you did," retorted the boyish sergeant.

"And I couldn't have reached my rifle if you hadn't shown the very unusual nerve to try to whip a bear in a bayonet charge."

"I know a good deal better, now, Mr. Darrin, how useless a bayonet attack is against a bear. Though Sergeant Terry and I once made a good haul of bear's meat with bayonets when at too close quarters with bears."

"You'll have to tell me about that as you go along," remarked the young Naval officer.

Noting the locality well, they left the bear where it had fallen, to be taken up a little later.

"Hello, sir. There are other shots from our party," cried Overton, as three rifle reports rang out not far away. "That seems to show, sir, that they're meeting with luck, too."



CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

AFTER that, through the days to come, the luck seemed to boom.

At the end of four days young Sergeant Terry and his guard returned, having turned over all the prisoners to the sheriff of Blank County.

Noll had also wired the post at Fort Clowdry, and had received the post adjutant's answer that a guard would be sent to bring Private Hinkey back for trial on the charge of desertion.

"The sheriff knew all the prisoners at once, all except Hinkey," Sergeant Noll reported back to his chum and to Lieutenant Prescott. "The leader of the gang is a half-popular fellow with some classes here in the mountains. Despite the fact that he's a desperado, he is often surprisingly good-natured, and always game when he loses. His name is Griller—Butch Griller, he's called. His crew are called the Moccasin Gang, because Griller has always preferred that his men wear moccasins instead of shoes. Shoes may give out in the wilds, but moccasins can always be made whenever an antelope is killed."

"The Moccasin Gang?" repeated Lieutenant Prescott. "Why, I've heard stories about that desperate crowd. But what were they doing around our camp?"

"Griller told me about that before we reached town," Sergeant Noll continued. "Griller and his men, it seems, were being pursued by the sheriff of the next county. He trailed them to a cabin where they had stopped and made such a complete surprise that Griller and his gang got away only by jumping through the windows without their arms. Then they traveled fast. When they found that there were soldiers here, the Moccasins hoped that they could get some of our arms and ammunition. Thus provided, they hadn't much doubt of being able to provide themselves with more fighting hardware. And they'd have gotten away, too, if it hadn't been that Butch Griller had promised Hinkey a chance for revenge on Sergeant Overton."

"But how did Hinkey come to be with them?" broke in Lieutenant Prescott.

"Griller told me about that, sir," Noll replied. "Griller said he was standing on the stoop of a house in Denver, near the ball grounds, at the time when Hinkey deserted and made his break to get away. Griller was in Denver, on the quiet, to get more men together. When he saw Hinkey running, he sized him up as a man just deserted, and felt that Hinkey would be useful to him. So he called to Hinkey, shoved him inside the house, and then, when——"

"Say, but I remember that! And now I recall where I saw Griller before. He told me that Hinkey had rushed on and turned the next street corner below. That threw me off the track," muttered Sergeant Hal.

"Well, his new man Hinkey brought him no luck," laughed Lieutenant Prescott. "And the Moccasins won't do much more harm, unless they manage to break jail."

"I don't believe they'll get away from that sheriff, anyway, sir," remarked Sergeant Noll grimly.

Noll Terry and the members of his guard were in time to do some more hunting before the happy soldiers' holiday came to an end.

When the expedition set out on its return both of the big transport wagons carried all the wild game meat that could be packed into them, and officers' and enlisted men's messes at Fort Clowdry celebrated in joyous fashion.

Ex-Private Hinkey, the deserter, was soon tried by general court-martial, and sentenced to be dismissed from the service, to forfeit all pay and allowances and to serve two years at a military prison.

It was Lieutenant Prescott who gave one of the crowning sensations just toward the close of Hinkey's trial.

Just before the battalion had left Fort Clowdry to go to the military tournament at Denver, First Sergeant Gray had asked every soldier in B Company to turn in a slip on which was written the name and address of his nearest relative or friend.

As such data was already on file, the men had wondered not a little at the request, but they had complied. And now Lieutenant Prescott informed the members of the court that it had been a ruse of his.

These slips, together with the clumsily printed note that had accompanied the return of Private William Green's money, and also the envelope addressed to Green, which latter Hal had admitted as his writing—all, just before the start of the hunting trip, had been forwarded by Lieutenant Prescott to a famous writing expert in the east.

Word had finally come from the expert to the effect that the envelope had really been addressed by Sergeant Hal, as that young soldier admitted. The printed note to Green, however, had been fashioned, the expert stated positively, by the same man who had turned in the written name and address of the "nearest friend" of ex-Private Hinkey.

With this report the expert had sent a curiously drawn chart showing resemblances between Hinkey's admitted handwriting and the printed note to Green. There were also photographs, made with the aid of the microscope, showing pronounced similarities of little strokes and flourishes that were alike, both in Hinkey's admitted handwriting and in the turns given to some of the letters of the printed note.

Summing up all the evidence, the expert's report stated positively that Hinkey was the one who had fashioned the note to Green.

Finding that he could no longer deny his guilt, Hinkey was finally driven to confession before the court.

He had hated Sergeant (then Corporal) Overton with such an intensity, Hinkey confessed, that he had found himself willing to stop at nothing that would damage the young soldier in any way.

The envelope that Hal had addressed in his own handwriting, it now turned out, was one that he had so addressed at the request of Sergeant Gray to enclose an official communication that Gray had delivered to Private Green some weeks before.

On finding this envelope, and realizing how it would implicate Hal Overton, Hinkey had even gone to the extreme of returning Green's money, when he might safely have kept and spent it.

The reason why the money had not been found during the search that had immediately followed the discovery of the robbery in the squad room was equally simple. Hinkey, the afternoon before the robbery, had made the discovery of a secret hiding place under the floor beside his cot. That hiding place had been made, at great trouble, by some soldier formerly living in the squad room, and Hinkey's discovery of it had been accidental.

Now that he was in the mood for confessing, Hinkey also described how he had slipped the revolver lightly under Sergeant Hal's blanket in passing Overton's cot.

So the mystery was wholly cleared up at last, and when ex-Private Hinkey departed to begin his term of imprisonment the Army was well rid of one who was in no sense fit to be the comrade of any honest man wearing Uncle Sam's soldier uniform.

Late in the fall the Colorado courts sent Griller and his crew to the penitentiary for long terms.

Immediately after Hinkey's trial, Lieutenant Prescott, who had gone to all the trouble to secure the evidence, drew up a brief statement, setting forth Sergeant Hal Overton's complete innocence of the squad-room robbery and declaring who the scoundrel was.

This statement was published, by direction of Colonel North, in the orders of the day.

Then, of course—human nature always works this way—even those of the soldiers who had most honestly believed in young Overton's guilt, now swarmed around him to assure him that they had never for an instant believed it possible that he could be otherwise than a most honest and wonderful soldier. Not they! Oh, no! Now that they knew who the real culprit was, these victims of human nature were ready to cross their hearts that they had known all along that Overton was absolutely guiltless; and they had even suspected, all along, who would turn out by and by to be the villain.

As has been said, this is human nature, and therefore not to be sneered at. In fact, nearly all of the men who protested so loudly to Hal Overton had the actual grace to believe themselves—as is always the case.

Private William Green, however, had been cured, ever since the return of most of his money, of the bad habit of carrying so much around with him. Seldom after that was he to be caught with more than a hundred dollars.

To Sergeant Hal it seemed impossible to thank Lieutenant Prescott sufficiently.

For, though the young soldier, even if he had not been vindicated so handsomely, would have lived down most of the suspicion in time, yet all of the stain would never have vanished had it not been for Lieutenant Prescott.

Soldiers, from the very fact of living in isolated little communities of their own, are somewhat prone to gossip over purely garrison and regimental affairs. So some of the story would always have clung about Sergeant Overton's reputation among his own kind.

"But you've stopped all of that forever, Lieutenant," protested Hal gratefully when calling, by permission, at Mr. Prescott's quarters.

"I am glad I have then, my lad," smiled back the young lieutenant. "I'm glad for your sake, Sergeant, and, if you wish, you may consider that I took much of the trouble on your account personally. But I had also a still greater motive in doing what I did."

"What was that, sir, if I may ask?"

"My own love of the service," replied Lieutenant Dick Prescott impressively. "What would the service ever amount to, Sergeant, if we allowed our best, brightest and most loyal men to be downed by suspicions against them that clearly had no base? What honest man would care to enter or to stay in the ranks of the Army if he did not feel sure that his officers would work to see him righted and enjoying his proper place in the esteem of his comrades. So, Sergeant, don't try too hard to thank me. Whatever I did for you personally, I did it ten times more for the good of the tried, old, true-blue United States Army."