"That's a lie, Hinkey, and you know it!" broke in the deep, indignant voice of Private Dietz. "Overton's a man, first, last and always. He's worth a million of your kind."
"Good!" added Private Johnson valiantly. "And true, too! I never realized it until to-day, either."
"Oh, you both hold your tongues," ordered Hinkey, glaring over at the pair of bound soldiers who lay beyond. "You fellows are no good, either. No man that'll stay in the Army is any good."
"I'm glad to know why you left, Hinkey," jeered Dietz. "I've wondered a lot about that."
"Oh, have you?" snarled Hinkey. "Nobody but a boot-lick would stay in the Army, and I don't lick any man's boots, not for the whole Army."
"Come, hurry up, Hink, and have your grudge satisfied, and come along. We don't want to be caught by a lot of soldiers. All the shooting we've done here will be sure to attract the hunters."
"No it won't," rejoined Hinkey. "We trailed the hunting parties, and they went out in three squads, in three different directions. Now, any of the hunters that hear a lot of firing will only think that one of the other parties has run into a lot of game."
This was true. Hal Overton hadn't thought of it before in that light. And, in addition, it was rather unlikely that any of the hunters had chanced to see his mirror-thrown signals in the short time that had passed before the glass had been shot from his hands.
The rascal floored by the revolver which the sergeant had thrown was now coming to, for one of the crew had been dashing water in his face.
Not far away sat the man whose jaw Hal had damaged. He was groaning a bit, despite his efforts to make no fuss.