They were passing through the country districts now and the villages at which they stopped at night could not accommodate the men in their houses. These were occupied by the officers, while the men stayed in their tents.
The weather was getting colder, and the men had extra blankets served out to them. These were ample to keep them warm, but one morning Frank awoke shivering. Reveille had not yet sounded, and he turned over for another “forty winks” and drew his blankets closer. But he was still chilly, and on investigation he found that one of his blankets had disappeared.
At first he thought that either Tom or Billy must have played a joke on him. He went over to where they lay, but they only had their regular quota, and they protested so vigorously against being disturbed that he let them alone. Later when he questioned them about the matter, they denied knowing anything about it.
“It must have been one of the fellows from another tent,” suggested Billy. “He’s felt cold in the night and has come in and swiped yours. Pretty small potatoes, I call it.”
“I’d like to catch him doing it,” growled Frank. “I’d make it so warm for him that he wouldn’t feel any need of blankets.”
“He’s got his nerve with him to swipe things from the best boxer in the regiment,” remarked Tom.
“You’d better bone the quartermaster for another blanket,” counseled Billy.
Frank got another blanket in the course of the day and that night he tucked it in around him with unusual care. It would take some tugging to get that away from him.
It must have been considerably after midnight when he was conscious of something that disturbed him. But he was very tired, and after a moment he turned over to go to sleep again. Then came a distinct tug at the blanket that had him awake in an instant.
It was very dark in the tent, but he could discern dimly the figure of a man standing beside him.