Uncle Sam's Boys as Sergeants: or, Handling Their First Real Commands

"I certainly do expect you to believe it," replied Corporal Hal, his face flushing.

"Well, I don't," came the ugly response, accompanied by another scowl. "It's a lie, and – "

"Be careful, Hinkey!" warned Corporal Overton, his fine young face paling slightly. "Passing the lie, you know, don't go in the Army!"

"I don't care a hang what goes in the Army," snarled the private, who was a man some twenty-eight years of age, dark of complexion and forbidding of feature. "You've had it in for me all along, Corporal Overton. Only yesterday morning you scorched me at drill."

"You needed it," was the quiet reply. "And I used no abusive language."

"Good thing you didn't," flashed Hinkey. "And the day before – "

"Stop your whining and let me look at your head," advised Corporal Overton. "Whew, what a bump! Hinkey, I'm truly sor – "

"Get away from me, and never mind my head," snapped the other.

"But man, the flesh is cut, and the bump is already the size of a hen's egg, and growing. You must have that attended to at hospital."

"I'll do what I please about that," retorted Hinkey.

"No; you'll do as you're told. You will report to First Sergeant Gray at once, and ask his permission to report at hospital without delay."

"Perhaps you think I will," came the disagreeable retort.

"I know you will," said Corporal Overton more sternly, "for it's a military order and you have no choice but to obey. And, if you think I did that purposely – "

"I don't think, Overton. I know you did."

"Then I'll post you as to your rights in the matter, Private Hinkey. When you report to Sergeant Gray for hospital permission, which you will do at once, you can also state that you believe I assaulted you purposely. Then Sergeant Gray will arrange for you to go to Captain Cortland and make regular complaint against me."

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" jeered Hinkey.

"On that point I decline to commit myself."

"Fine to go and complain against an officers' pet and boot-lick," laughed Hinkey sullenly. "No, sir! I'll go to no officer with a charge against a favored boot-lick!"

"That's the only way in which you can get redress."

"Is it?" demanded Private Hinkey, with a sudden, intense scowl that made his ill-featured face look satanic. "Well, you wait and see, my fine young buck doughboy!"

"Don't fail to report to Sergeant Gray for hospital permission," Corporal Hal Overton called after the fellow. "If you do, you'll be up against disobedience of orders."

Private Hinkey, moving away, made a derisive gesture behind his back, but the boyish young corporal turned on his heel, stepping off in another direction.

"If that kid thinks he can lord it over me," snarled Private Hinkey under his breath, "he's due to wake up before long."

Nevertheless Private Hinkey had already learned enough of Army life to feel certain that he was obliged to go to Sergeant Gray.

"Sure thing! Go over to hospital and have that head dressed at once," ordered the first sergeant. "How did it happen?"

"The fellow who did it said it was an accident," replied Hinkey, with an ugly leer.

"Then report him," urged the first sergeant of B Company. "I can take care of the offender if it was done on purpose."

"That's all right," snapped Private Hinkey. "So can I."

"If Hinkey is telling the truth, then there's the start of a nice little row in that sore head," thought Gray, glancing after the man headed for hospital.

And, indeed, Sergeant Gray was wholly right.

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST BREATH AGAINST A SOLDIER'S HONOR

THE night was so quiet, the air so still, that the single, distant stroke of the town clock bell over in the town of Clowdry was distinctly audible.

Dong! boomed the bell, the vibration reaching the ears of two or three of the lighter sleepers, and causing them to stir lightly in their sleep in Sergeant Hupner's squad room.

Out on the post, not far away, a dog chose to bark at that town-clock bell.

Some one gliding swiftly through the squad room upset a stool with a loud crash. Yet few of the soundly sleeping soldiers bothered their heads about such a series of trivial noises.

Now, a series of hails began, starting down at the guard house and running rapidly around the sentry posts until the sentry pacing near barracks caught it up and called lustily:

"Post number six. One o'clock, and all's well!"

One man in especial had been stirring on his cot as though trying to throw off some phantom of dread. Now instantly after the sentry's hail this stirring sleeper emitted an excited yell.

"Wow! Turn out the guard – post number six!"

Instantly Sergeant Hupner awoke, sitting up on his cot.

"What's the matter with you, you idiot?" growled the disturbed sergeant.

"I've been touched!" wailed the excited voice.

It was the voice of Private William Green, the joke of the squad room, the man who hoarded his money and carried much of it about with him.

"Go to sleep, William," ordered the sergeant in a more soothing voice. "I've often told you that one so young shouldn't drink coffee at supper."

"I've been touched, I tell you!" insisted William Green, now out of his bed and feeling with frantic hands under the head of the mattress. "Don't I know? I tell you, my buckskin pouch is gone. Some one was in this room and got it!"

In a jiffy Sergeant Hupner was out of bed. His groping right hand found the switch and turned on the electric lights. Then Hupner jumped for his uniform trousers and drew them on.

"What's wrong, squad room?" called the voice of the alert sentry outside.

But Hupner first went to the door of the squad room, locked it and dropped the key in his trousers' pocket. Then the sergeant ran to an open window.

"I don't believe it's anything worse than a nightmare of one of the men, sentry. Don't call the guard until I look about a bit."