“Oh, pretty good.”
“Well, they’ll need to be,” was the answer. “Toting seventy pounds on your back, through mud puddles, over rough country, uphill, downhill, isn’t any picnic. Just wait!”
[CHAPTER XXI]
CROOKED NOSE AGAIN
“Forward—march!”
Snappily the command rolled out and it set in motion hundreds of khaki-clad figures, each one with a rifle and a pack on his back.
The hike, or practice march, from Camp Dixton had started. After days of preparation, the laying out of a route, and the sending forward of supplies to meet the small army of men at different places along the way, the start had been made.
Ned, Bob and Jerry recalled the rather direful prediction of the soldier who had told them a marcher was only as good as his feet, but they were not worried.
“I guess we can keep up as long as the next one,” Jerry had said.