"Oh, yes. Here's some dog biscuit for you, and—"
"Dog biscuit?" exclaimed Hippy.
"Hardtack. You ought to know what that is," chuckled the stranger.
Hippy groaned. It revived painful memories of France in wartime, but he accepted the hardtack and began biting it off in large chunks. Hippy did not concern himself about how long the mysterious friend remained away so long as the biscuit held out, unpalatable as it was.
"I shall be listening for shells to burst first thing I know. Army food! How did I ever eat it for nearly two years and live?"
It was full two hours later when the welcome whistle signal sounded somewhere down stream, which Lieutenant Wingate answered as directed.
"Come! We will head for your camp now," announced the man a few moments later, as he stepped up before Hippy.
"Did you learn anything on your little excursion?" questioned Hippy thickly, for his mouth was well filled with hardtack.
"Yes, Lieutenant. I learned a great deal. I was there when the crowd came in to put you on the rack. The two fellows who let you get away had a hard time of it, and it looked for a time as if there was going to be shooting. Cooler heads, however, headed it off. When you get back to your party I should advise you to pull up stakes and get out. Those fellows will be after you and you'll have to look alive or you won't be alive long."
"I know I am thick, old man, but tell me why they are so eager to blow my light out," begged Hippy.