"How about that, Captain Pierce? You are an expert shot, I believe."
"Not that expert!" The officer addressed waved his hand at the targets. "Perhaps the reason is that I shut one eye. But the best marksman I ever knew, excepting present company of course, an old fellow in the West, used to open both eyes; he said no man could shoot excellently with one eye shut. And yet, general, our physical examiners condemn a bad right eye and admit a bad left one."
"That's a question for them to settle at Washington. Well, gentlemen, have these scores all turned in for a general conference on the subject and we shall pick our quota of men for this new formation and recommend officers. I shall name Whitcomb in ours, for one squad, and as an instructor until they leave. Come, there is much else to do."
"Fine, fine, fine business, old scout!" caroled Roy when the two were alone. "I knew you'd catch the boss."
"But, Roy, it isn't fair. I couldn't get in a word—but you also deserve to be made a corporal."
"Cor-nothing. A corpse, mebbe. And if you don't have me in your squad, then, me for a deserter, by cracky! Say, I wonder what they are going to do with us as lead slingers, anyway."
But this query was to remain unanswered for many a long day, during which time the business of the camp, that of making expert soldiers, went on through the summer months, the boys seeing many changes take place in the make-up of the troops.
After a time some were sent to the South; others came: regiments of rookies, National Guardsmen, regulars or some companies made up of all of these, the purpose being for the experienced men to set the greenhorns an example.
But almost unchanged, though increasing in numbers, the marksmen's platoon, at first so called, but growing at last under instruction into a full provisional company, went bravely on perfecting itself in the art of getting ready to knock over individual Germans at long range, or to pot a low-flying enemy airplane.