rs and shirt, eh?" questioned
Captain Reynolds. "Sentry, were the two or three men who got
away from you of the same composition?"

"I don't know, sir," Dick answered, with mortification. "All I know,
sir, is that those who got away ran pretty fast, and made so little
noise that they doubtless wore rubber-soled shoes."

"You've been hoaxed, sentry," commented the officer of the day
dryly. "Corporal, have your men of the guard bring the prisoner up
to the guard tent. Sentry, if any more straw men attempt to cross
your post, bring them down as well as you did this one. The straw
men who got away from you made their way into camp, didn't
they?"

"Whoever escaped, sir, got into camp all right."

As the guard-house party returned, Dick resumed the pacing of
number three. He felt his face still blazing, from the quiet ridicule
of the officer of the day.

"I'll catch it to-morrow from everyone who thinks me worth
noticing," growled the plebe to himself. "However, though I tried
to do my full duty, I'm glad that was what I caught. I wouldn't care
to march a comrade in, a prisoner."

When the midnight relief came around, and Prescott's relief was
posted in his place, the young plebe knew the ordeal ahead of him.

As soon as the relieved squad was halted at the guard tent, and
Dick entered to get himself a cup of coffee and a sandwich or two,
his glance fell upon the stuffed figure, which reposed on the floor
at the back of the tent as though it had been a veritable prisoner.

"Did you shoot it, Prescott?" asked Derwent, the man who had just
been relieved on number four.

"No; he lassoed it with his neck-tie," jeered another man of the
guard.

"Wonder if the prisoner is hungry!" pursued Derwent. "Prescott,
the prisoner is yours. Attend to his feeding. And the poor fellow
should have some proper bedding, too, a chilly night like this."

"A merciful soldier wouldn't eat until he had seen his prisoner
fed," tantalized another.

Dick had his cup of coffee at his mouth.

"Prescott, old man," commented fat Smith, "you'll be commended
in general orders for distinguished bravery."

That was enough, in itself, to make Dick choke, but Smith
emphasized his remark by slapping Dick on the back. An ounce of
hot coffee, at least, "went down the wrong way." Choking and
gasping for breath, trying to expel the coffee from his windpipe,
and all the while obliged to lean well forward so as not to expel
any of the coffee over the