Now, a series of hails began, starting down at the guard house and running rapidly around the sentry posts until the sentry pacing near barracks caught it up and called lustily:
"Post number six. One o'clock, and all's well!"
One man in especial had been stirring on his cot as though trying to throw off some phantom of dread. Now instantly after the sentry's hail this stirring sleeper emitted an excited yell.
"Wow! Turn out the guard—post number six!"
Instantly Sergeant Hupner awoke, sitting up on his cot.
"What's the matter with you, you idiot?" growled the disturbed sergeant.
"I've been touched!" wailed the excited voice.
It was the voice of Private William Green, the joke of the squad room, the man who hoarded his money and carried much of it about with him.
"Go to sleep, William," ordered the sergeant in a more soothing voice. "I've often told you that one so young shouldn't drink coffee at supper."
"I've been touched, I tell you!" insisted William Green, now out of his bed and feeling with frantic hands under the head of the mattress. "Don't I know? I tell you, my buckskin pouch is gone. Some one was in this room and got it!"