ssed, in a half-aggrieved tone.

"I will admit, for you both," smiled Dick, "that you're in danger
of starting something all over again unless you shut up and make
a fresh, better start. So we won't refer to personal matters
again, but we come to your company's barracks first, Cartwright,
and when we get there we will shake hands and agree to remember
that we're all engaged in a fierce effort to make the Ninety-ninth
the best American regiment."

In silence the three pursued their way to C company's building.
Here they halted.

"To the Ninety-ninth, best of 'em all," proposed Prescott, holding
out his hand to Cartwright, who took and pressed it.

"To the best officers' crowd in the service," quoth Greg.

"Amen to that!" assented Cartwright, though he strode away with
a dull red flush burning on either cheek.

Half an hour later Dick's business took him past the regiment's
guard-house. As carpenters were everywhere busy in camp putting
up more necessary buildings the place officially known as the
guard-house was more of a bullpen. Posts had been driven deeply
in the form of a rectangle, and on these barbed wire had been
laid to a height of nine feet. Within the rectangle guard-house
prisoners could take the air, retiring to either of two tents
inside the enclosure whenever they wished.

As he passed Dick noted, vaguely, that four or five men stood by
the nearer line of barbed wire fence. He held up his left hand
to glance at his wrist watch. Just as he turned the hand, to let
it fall at his side, something dropped out of the air, falling
squarely in his hand. Instinctively Prescott's fingers closed
over the missile. He glanced, quickly, at the enclosure, but not
one of the men on the other side of the wire was looking
his way.

Then the young captain, keeping briskly on his way, opened his
hand to glance down at his unexpected catch. It was a piece of
manila paper, wrapped around a stone.

Waiting only until he was some distance from the bull-pen, Dick
unwrapped the paper.

In printed characters, used undoubtedly to disguise handwriting,
was this message:

"Watch for all you're worth the carpenter who talks with Mock!"

"Now, why on earth should I interest myself in the affairs of
Greg's busted sergeant?" Dick wondered. "And what possible interest
can I have in any carpenter unless he's a friend of mine, or has
business with me?"

On the whole Prescott felt that he was lowering his own dignit