"Fine fellow, that Wilson," remarked Frank.

"He's all of that," agreed Billy, who having been with him when the regiment was on the Mexican border knew him better than his companions did. "That fellow could lick his weight in wildcats. There isn't anything he's afraid to tackle. I heard a story about him once that you fellows wouldn't believe if I told you."

"Let's hear it," said Bart.

"Shoot," chimed in Tom. "We'll see about believing it after we've heard what it is."

"It happened down in Nicaragua," went on Billy. "Caribtown, I think it was, or some place near there. There was some little d.i.n.ky revolution going on and Wilson it seems had gone down there on some filibustering expedition. He drank pretty freely in those days though he doesn't touch a drop now.

"It seems he was in one of the town resorts when he heard talk about a boa constrictor that had recently been captured and confined in a big cage. The snakes down there don't measure more than ten or twelve feet, but they can easily crush a man if they get their coils around him.

"Wilson just then had got into a condition where he was ready to fight a regiment, and he sneered at their fear of the snake. They egged him on until he boasted that he would be willing to meet the snake in a close room with nothing but a knife. The riffraff there called his bluff and it was arranged that the fight should take place the next morning."

"Some contract!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom.

"Is this straight goods, Billy, or are you getting us on a string?"

asked Bart suspiciously.

"On the dead level," answered Billy. "I had it from a fellow who was down there at the time and knew all about it."

"Stop chinning, you fellows, and let Billy get on with his story,"

commanded Frank. "He's just getting to the creepy part now and I want to know how the thing turned out."

"Well," continued Billy, "when Wilson woke up the next morning he realized what he was up against. But he was as game as a pebble, and though he knew the odds were against him he wouldn't back out.

"The snake, that had been teased and irritated until it was bursting with rage, was dumped from its cage into a back room of the resort.

Then Wilson, armed only with a long knife that they had lent him, went in and shut the door behind him, while the natives crowded around the windows to see the fight.

"The instant the snake saw Wilson he reared up almost to the ceiling and flung himself at the man's throat. Wilson dodged and the fangs caught him in the shoulder. Wilson slashed savagely at the coils that were trying to coil themselves around his body and they staggered around the room. But the knife failed to reach a vital spot and finally one of the folds got around Wilson's legs and he fell to the floor, still stabbing savagely. The snake had won the first round, and it promised to be the last."

There was a gasp from Billy's listeners but their interest was too tense to permit of any interruption.

"Just then," continued Billy, "something happened. One of the natives who had a little more humanity than the rest of the crowd had sculled off to an American gunboat that was lying in the harbor, and told of the sc.r.a.p that was going to be pulled off. The captain sent over a squad of marines with a rush and they got there just in time to break in the door and hack the snake to pieces with their cutla.s.ses. Another minute and it would have been all over. As it was, Wilson was unconscious, and it was some weeks before he came around ship-shape."

"What a daring thing that was to do!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Frank.

"He certainly was there with the nerve!" exclaimed Bart.

"I'll bet he hasn't had any use for snakes since then," added Tom.

"In one way it was a good thing," said Billy, "for it made Wilson swear off from drinking and he's never touched liquor since. You see how he is now, as steady as a church."

"Well," commented Bart, "he'll have all the fighting he wants from now on."

"Yes," agreed Frank with a laugh, "with snakes that wear helmets."

"Look who's here, boys!" exclaimed Tom suddenly, as they saw four soldiers approaching with a prisoner under guard.

"Why, it's Nick Rabig!" they exclaimed in unison as they recognized the burly figure that slouched sullenly along between the quartette guarding him.

"What has he been up to, now, I wonder?" questioned Billy curiously as they sauntered forward to intercept the party.

Rabig favored them with a scowl that had rarely been absent from his face since he had been caught in the draft.

"What's the trouble?" asked Frank of the leader of the file, whom he happened to know.

"Insubordination," was the terse response. "Refused to salute an officer."

"Putting him in the jug on general principles," volunteered another, who was more communicative. "He's been shirking ever since he got here."

"A bad egg," added the third. "It's lucky there aren't many of his type among the boys. The Huns would have an easy job if they were all like him."

They pa.s.sed on to the building that served as a guardhouse, and which, be it said to the credit of the boys in France, had very few inmates.

For the discipline of the camp was strict and the spirit of the men was good. They felt that they stood to the French for what America was and they tried to live up to the high standards laid down for them by generations of American ancestors.

"I think that's the best place for Nick," commented Tom as the doors closed behind the prisoner. "He's a surly brute and he might affect others. One rotten apple in a barrel can spoil the whole barrelful."

"He's no good," said Bart. "Remember how he used to talk on the other side? I'll bet at this minute he'd rather be wearing a Prussian helmet than an American uniform."

"Sure thing," said Billy. "'_Die Wacht am Rhine_' is the only music he cares to hear."

At this moment Corporal Wilson returned with a paper in his hand upon which he had been noting down the a.s.signments of the day.

"Two of you fellows are in for guard duty," he said, consulting his list. "You, Sheldon, and Raymond will serve till after mess."

He pa.s.sed on and Bart made a wry face when his back was turned.

"Sweet job!" he muttered.

"Orders are orders," replied Frank, as they shouldered their guns and marched down to the guardhouse.

They began to pace back and forth, exchanging a word now and then at the point where their beats adjoined.

Nick Rabig was lounging at the barred window in an evil temper. If anything could have added to his anger it was the fact that the two young soldiers he most detested had been chosen to stand guard over him and witness his humiliation.

Frank's generous nature sensed the prisoner's feeling, and he studiously avoided catching his glance or taking any notice of him.

But Rabig, incapable of appreciating Frank's motive, chose to interpret this as studied contempt, and his rage flamed forth in a coa.r.s.e epithet that Frank only half caught but that brought him up all standing.

"What's that you said?" he demanded quickly.

"None of your business!" snarled Rabig, but before the glint in Frank's eyes he did not venture to repeat the insult.

"Now look here, Rabig," said Frank, sternly. "Cut out that sort of stuff. I heard what you said and if you were outside here and weren't in uniform I'd thrash you within an inch of your life."

"Talk is cheap," sneered Rabig. "Why didn't you do it when you were on the other side? You had chance enough."

"I had my reasons," replied Frank, "but they're reasons that a fellow like you couldn't appreciate. As it was, you came within an inch of getting what was coming to you. Some day you will get it, Rabig, and when I cut loose you'll know there's something doing!"