“Well, you want to be sure of it,” remarked Fred, who was making the round of the tents. “You don’t want that canvas to be sailing skyward or out into the bay.”
As was usual with them, Gabe Werner and Bill Glutts growled when ordered to look to the fastenings of the tent they and their cronies occupied. But as the wind increased Glutts pulled Gabe to one side and whispered something into his ear.
“All right—I’m with you,” answered Werner promptly. “Let’s do it at once. Got your pocketknife handy?”
“Yes. Have you?”
“I have. And it’s as sharp as a razor. All we’ll have to do is to cut the ropes about half way through. The wind will do the rest,” announced Gabe gleefully.
“What’s the matter with fixing up both tents?” went on the wholesale butcher’s son. “You can slide over to the officers’ quarters while I attend to the tent down in the Company C line.”
“All right! But hurry up. And come back as soon as you’re through,” cautioned Werner.
He reached the vicinity of the tent occupied by Jack and Fred just as the first of the rain drops began to come down. The wind was now blowing half a gale, and the canvases of the encampment were flapping and slapping loudly.
Werner had his pocketknife open, and it did not take him long to begin operations. Five of the ropes which held the tent to the pegs were all but severed, and then he began work on the next.
“Stop that! What do you mean, you rascal?”