CHAPTER XI
NICK RABIG TURNS UP
"What is that? Shrapnel?" asked Bart, one morning, as he opened hiseyes after the reveille and heard the rain beating a tremendous tattooon the roof.
"Hardly as bad as that," laughed Frank. "If it were, I bet you'd beout of that cot more quickly than you're doing it now. But it sure iscoming down."
"So much the better," said Bart, as he jumped out and hastily began todress. "That'll cut out the drill to-day and I'll have time to answersome of my letters and darn my socks."
But such roseate dreams were quickly dispelled. The storm increased inviolence after breakfast and the wind blew great guns.
The Y.M.C.A. building was being erected for the use of thatorganization but was not yet completed. In the meantime, theAssociation had put up for temporary use a canvas tent, and as thestorm increased in fury the flimsy structure gave every evidence oftaking to itself wings and flying away.
The captain ordered a detail of men to go out and surround the tent andhold the tent pins down by main force if necessary.
There was nothing alluring about the prospect, for it meant a thoroughdrenching for the entire detail.
But the boys had already learned the first great rule of militarylife--to obey instantly any command given by a superior officer.
So Frank and Bart, who happened to be among those chosen for the work,jumped at the word. But they also had the soldiers' immemorialprivilege of grumbling among themselves, and Bart chose to exercise itas they made their way in the teeth of the storm to the threatened tent.
"Just our luck to catch the captain's eye," he muttered.
"Stop your grumbling," adjured Frank. "Think how much worse it wouldbe if we were plowing through the mud in No Man's Land. Let's make alark of it."
"We'll be up among the larks all right," returned Bart, "if this thingever gets away from the tent pins." They laid hold of the strainingropes and hung on for dear life. "An aviator would have nothing on us."
It was hard work while it lasted and their sturdy muscles were put tothe test, but they had the satisfaction of keeping the tent in itsplace and after a while the storm subsided and the danger was over.
"Isn't it about time for those drafted men to get down here?" askedFrank, as they were on their way back to the barracks.
"I heard yesterday from Billy Waldon," returned Bart, "that two orthree regiments were expected to-day. Up to now all the fellows herehave been volunteers. I'm curious to see how the drafted men will taketo the life."
"I suppose some of them will be sore at having had to come whether theywanted to or not," replied Frank. "Still there will be lots of goodfighting material in them. I've heard Peterson say that the draftedmen in the Union Army fought as well as the volunteers. They'll all begood Americans when they face the Huns."
Even as they spoke they heard the far-off music of a band and saw themen who were off duty hurrying toward the great gate of the camp.
"I shouldn't wonder if some of them were coming now," remarked Frank."Let's leg it to the gate and see them come in."
They reached a favorable position just as the first of the advancingtroops entered the camp. The boys studied them critically and in asomewhat patronizing spirit, for they already felt like veterans andwere inclined to look down a little upon the "rookies."
There was, of course, a good deal to criticize about the newcomers.Most of them, up to a few days before, had never touched a gun in theirlives, many of them were in civilian clothes, and although they triedto keep in line and step briskly to the music of the band, theirmarching was ragged.
Some of them, used to a sedentary life, were winded, even by that shorthike of three miles to the camp. They were raw material in the fullestsense of the word. But the officers who led them and the men whowatched them, knew perfectly well what wonders could be wrought in thatoutfit by a few weeks or months of training.
The regiment broke ranks as soon as they were fairly within theprecincts of the camp.
"Look there!" cried Frank suddenly, as his eyes fell upon one of thenear recruits. "If that isn't Tom Bradford, I'll eat my hat."
"Sure thing!" shouted Bart, as he looked in the direction Frank hadindicated. "Hi there, Tom!" he yelled, and they both made a break forthe place where Tom was standing.
In a moment they each had one of his hands and were shaking it asthough they would wrench it off.
"Good old scout!" ejaculated Frank. "How in the name of all that'slucky did you get here?"
"Oh, I'm like a postage stamp?" grinned Tom, delightedly. "I stickuntil I get there."
"But I thought they wouldn't take you when you tried to enlist," saidFrank, a little bewildered.
"Can you beat it?" returned Tom. "When I wanted to enlist theywouldn't have me. Then when I was moping along and raving against fateI was called up in the draft. The doctors there passed me withoutletting out a peep. Say, maybe I wasn't tickled to get in on anyterms. It makes me sore though, to think I can't be in the oldThirty-seventh along with the rest of you fellows."
"Never mind," said Frank. "The main thing is, you're here. We'll bein the same camp and in the same division and we'll be able to see alot of each other."
"I'm not the only Camport fellow that's here," chuckled Tom.
"Is that so?" said Frank with interest. "Who is it?"
"Give you three guesses," grinned Tom.
"Hal Chase!"
"Wrong," said Tom.
"Will Baxter!"
"Come again."
"Dick Ormsby!"
"You're all off," replied Tom. "But you'd never guess in a thousandyears and so I'll put you out of your misery. It's Nick Rabig."
"Nick Rabig!" they yelled, in unison.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," laughed Tom, enjoying the amazementof his comrades.
"Nick Rabig, in a Yankee uniform!" chortled Frank.
"And going to fight the Huns!" crowed Bart. "Say, isn't it rich?"
"How does he feel about it," asked Frank, surprise and glee giving wayto curiosity.
"Like a bear with a sore head," responded Tom. "Of course he doesn'tdare to say much, but what he's thinking isn't fit for publication!"