"Open your magazine," commanded Lieutenant Prescott.
Hal obeyed.
"Draw your bolt."
Hal did so, after a hard tug, holding the bolt in his hand.
"Let me look at that bolt," ordered Prescott, gazing at the piece of steel mechanism in astonishment. He took it from the young soldier's hand and looked thunderstruck.
"Don't replace your bolt until ordered, Private Overton. Fall out to the rear."
Overwhelmed with amazement, his face flushing hotly with shame, Private Hal Overton gave his officer the rifle salute, then obeyed.
Noll Terry's face went white with anxiety over his bunkie's misfortune.
When inspection had been completed, Lieutenant Prescott made his report to Captain Cortland, who immediately followed his young second lieutenant to where Hal stood.
"What's this, Overton?" asked the captain coldly. "I thought you were one of our model young soldiers. Why, your rifle-bolt must have been in the fire. The end is out of shape, the temper is drawn—and here are file-marks on the bolt. It's unserviceable. I don't believe you could fire the piece."