For some time after the train had started the spirits of the men were subdued. All were thinking of the dear ones they had left behind and might never see again. They were thinking too of the new life—or was it, perhaps, death?—that they were facing.
But it was not in the nature of things that this feeling should long persist amid such a buoyant, boisterous gathering of young fellows and before long the cars of the train were resounding with jests and laughter.
"How far off is this Camp Boone?" asked Bart, who had secured a seat at Frank's side.
"I haven't exactly figured it out," replied the latter, as he stretched his long legs comfortably, "but in the rough, it's about three hundred miles. The way the tracks are crowded now, I don't think we'll get there much before to-morrow morning."
"I don't suppose they'll have it half ready for us," continued Bart. "The Government's had to put it up in an awful hurry."
"We can't expect to find all the comforts of home," returned Frank. "But as long as we have a place to sleep and three square meals a day I guess there won't be much kick coming."
"There will be no discount on the grub," put in Billy Waldon. "Uncle Sam's a good provider and he'll see that his boys have plenty to eat."
Frank's prediction was fulfilled, for it was early the next morning when the train stopped at the little town from which Camp Boone was about three miles distant.
It was a glorious morning for a hike and after the commissary department had done its duty and each man had tucked away a good breakfast under his belt the regiment fell into line and covered the intervening miles in quick time. All were filled with eagerness to see the place that was to be their home during many months of training.
It was a busy scene that met their eyes when at last they came within view of the camp. A small army of workmen was swarming all over the place and the sounds of hammers and groaning of derricks and hum of machinery filled the air with a deafening din.