Jimmy wheeled, to see the two soldiers he had noticed in the dugout confronting him. At least, he was almost certain they were the same ones, though, as he admitted later, he might have been mistaken. But there was no mistaking the fact now that the two Bixtons were ugly-looking chaps. They scowled at Jimmy and Roger, and Aleck advanced threateningly.
"Did you say your name was Blaise?" he asked Jimmy.
"Yes," was the quiet answer.
"And his name is Barlow?"
"That's me," admitted Roger cheerfully.
"Well, we heard what you were saying just now to Anson," went on Aleck Bixton. "Did you mean what you said, or was it just a stall? Did you two send our cousin Mike to jail?"
"If your cousin was Mike Bixton, of Camp Sterling, we certainly did!" said Jimmy calmly.
"Well I'll be—gassed!" ejaculated Wilbur Bixton. "Say, you fellows certainly have your nerve with you!"
"Here, let me settle with these dubs!" broke in Aleck, with a voice like the growl of an angry bear. "I'll just tell 'em where they get off."
He strode forward, his fists clenched, his under jaw shot out, his eyes half closed. He bore every mark of the bully and fighter. Thrusting his face almost into the countenance of Jimmy Blaise, Aleck Bixton snarled: