"The post commissary sergeant would be that mad he'd poison the grub, sir, before shipping it."
"I believe he would," agreed Mr. Prescott thoughtfully. "For the men back in barracks are looking for at least four tons of game food."
Bang! Bang!
"Hello! What's that?" cried Noll, starting up and listening.
"Queer question for a soldier to be askin'," mocked Private Kelly.
Bang-bang-bang!
"Wirra, but that feller can't stop to take breath between his shooting," remarked Private Kelly.
"Those shots," declared Lieutenant Prescott, "sound out in the direction where I left Sergeant Overton."
"He's struck something," declared Noll gleefully.
"Some of us had better go out there," hinted Lieutenant Prescott, rising from the campstool that he had brought out from his tent. "Either the sergeant is in trouble, or else he's bagging a wagonload of game."