“We have got to prove ourselves men, no matter if we do get some bad conduct marks by so doing. And, besides, these things that have happened to us may be the result of a mistake. For instance, you remember that rifle on account of which I was ordered to do extra duty?”
“Yes,” nodded Hickey.
“Well, that wasn’t my gun at all. It was some one else’s Krag.”
“Then some one else took yours?” questioned Sam, with rising color.
“Yes, but I think perhaps that was a mistake.”
“It wasn’t any mistake at all,” snapped Sam, “and I’m going to keep my eyes open. I’ll get even with the fellow who is trying to get us into trouble—I’ll get even with him before we leave the station, if I lose my job doing it.”
That afternoon there was to be a battalion drill, and, after the morning’s work, all hands hurried to quarters to get into their bright, clean white uniforms. It was the one time in the week when the apprentices were given an opportunity to show themselves at their best. Many people came out from town for this regular Thursday afternoon drill, when every apprentice at the station appeared on parade, with flags waving, bands playing, the sunlight glistening on polished weapons.
“This will be our last drill here, I hope,” glowed Dan, as all preparations having been made, the lads hurried out and falling in, started for the drill ground, marching by fours.
All went well until the company in which the two boys were marching had swung into line. Then there came a sudden command:
“Halt!”