There was nothing to do but hope, and the boys left the hospital with downcast faces and heavy hearts. They knew that they were carrying a burden that would not be lightened until Bart was once more at their side.
On their way back, they passed a prison pen where a large number of Germans captured in the previous day’s fighting were confined. Most of these were out in the open, but there were some small structures in the enclosure where those who were charged with serious offenses were imprisoned under guard of sentries who were pacing up and down before the huts.
“There’s Fred Anderson,” remarked Tom.
“Hello, Fred,” called out Billy.
“How are you, Billy?” responded Fred, coming to a pause as they drew near. “I see you fellows are coming from the hospital. Been over to see Bart, I suppose. How’s the old scout getting along?”
“He’s in a bad fix,” responded Frank sadly. “The doctor doesn’t know whether he’ll pull through or not.”
“That’s too bad,” said Fred with genuine regret, for Bart was a general favorite with the members of the Thirty-seventh. “I hope he’ll come around all right.”
“We all hope that,” responded Billy. “All the boys of the old regiment will be rooting for him. How comes it that you’re on sentry duty, Fred?”
“Just my hard luck,” grumbled Fred. “Whom do you think I’m guarding in here?”
“Oh, some old Hun, I suppose, with an unpronounceable name,” said Billy carelessly.