No one admitted it.

"Then we've been having visitors in the night," continued Hyman. "No less than four of them, either, for the prints are right under that tree over there, and they lead down to the trail."

"Moccasins? Indians, then?" thrilled Private William Green, who was one of the hunting party.

"Sorry to spoil your dream of glory in an Indian fight, Green," laughed the lieutenant, "but the last Indian in these parts died years ago."

"But what can the moccasins mean?" pondered Sergeant Hal aloud. "If there have been visitors about, and honest ones, they would naturally let themselves be announced. Dietz, you had the last trick of watch?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Did you see or hear any prowlers?"

"Nary one, Sergeant."

"Corporal Hyman, take me over to the moccasin prints. Lieutenant, do you mind taking a look at them, too, sir?"

Mr. Prescott stepped over in the wake of Hyman and Overton.

"There are the prints," declared the corporal, pointing. "On account of the hard ground they're not very distinct, but there were four of the fellows."

"More likely five," supplemented Lieutenant Prescott, pointing to still another set of footmarks.

"Here are other prints over here," called Sergeant Overton. "Aren't these still a different set?"

"Yes," agreed both the lieutenant and Corporal Hyman.

"Then there were at least six men prowling about here while we slept in the night," concluded Hal.

"And here is one of the trails," called the lieutenant, "leading toward camp."

"Suppose we follow the trail?" suggested the young sergeant.

They did so, halting at the end of the trail.

"From here I can see where the stool of the guard rested near the fire,"

continued Overton. "From that it would seem fair to conclude that one of the prowlers got this far, found our guard awake, and then retired."

"It would be interesting to know who our visitors were," nodded Lieutenant Prescott.

"I've changed my mind about going hunting to-day," went on Sergeant Hal.

"While the rest of you are out after game I am going to remain right here."

"The camp is guarded by two reliable men," remarked Mr. Prescott.

"True enough, sir, but they're not real guards, for both will have their hands full with camp housework," objected the boyish sergeant. "They can't do real guard duty, or else we'd all have to turn to get the evening meal in a rush. So I've decided to remain behind to-day."

"And, on the whole, I think you're wise to do it, Sergeant," approved the lieutenant.

So, while the main party hied itself away soon after, Hal Overton remained behind with the two camp duty men.

Having a couple of good books in his tent, Sergeant Hal donned his olive tan Army overcoat, spread a poncho and a pair of blankets on the ground and lay down to read.

But his rifle and ammunition belt rested beside him.

The morning pa.s.sed without any event, other than two or three times Sergeant Overton paused long enough in his reading to do some brief scouting past the camp.

Nothing came of it, however. At noon Hal ate with Dietz and Johnson.

"The chuck is better back in camp," laughed the young sergeant. "But I've heard a gun half a dozen times this morning, and each time I've been curious to know how the hunting luck is running."

"n.o.body will beat the haul you made yesterday, Sarge," offered Private Dietz.

"Oh, I'd like to see several of the fellows beat it," rejoined Overton.

"I certainly hope to see both wagons go back loaded to the top with game. I don't want to have the only military command I ever enjoyed being the head of go back stumped."

"We're not stumped, with five bear carca.s.ses," hinted Private Johnson.

"Those carca.s.ses might afford two meat meals to the garrison,"

speculated Sergeant Overton. "But what we want to do is to take back so much game flesh that no man in Fort Clowdry will want to hear game meat mentioned again before next spring."

"Huh! By that time the old Thirty-fourth will probably be in the Philippines," retorted Dietz, forking eight ounces more of wood-broiled bear steak to his tin plate.

"I wonder!" cried Hal, his eyes blazing with eagerness.

"Crazy to get out to the islands, Sarge?"

"Humph! I put in three years there with the Thirty-fourth," grunted Dietz. "I'll never kick at a transfer to another regiment whenever the regiment I'm in gets the islands route."

"What have you against the Philippines?" Hal wanted to know.

"Well, Sarge, don't you enjoy this cool, crisp, bracing air up here in the hills?"

"Certainly. Who wouldn't? This air is bracing--life-giving."

"Nothing like it in the Philippines," answered Dietz. "It's hot there--hot, you understand."

"Yet I've been told that a soldier always needs his blankets there at night," objected Hal.

"Yes; if you have to sleep outdoors, then you need your full uniform on, including shoes and leggings, and you wrap yourself up tight in your blanket. But that isn't to keep warm; it's to keep the mosquitoes from eating you alive. So, after you get done up in your blanket, you put a collapsible mosquito net over your head to protect your face and neck.

Then there's a trick you have to learn of wrapping your hands in under your blanket in such a way that the skeeters can't follow inside. After you've been in the islands a few weeks you learn how to do yourself up so that the skeeters can't get at your flesh."

"Then that ought to be all right," smiled Hal hopefully.

"Yes; but you never heard a Filipino skeeter holler when he's mad. When they find they can't get at you then about four thousand settle on your net and blanket and sing all night. You've got to be f.a.gged out before you can sleep over the racket those little pests make."

"I guess the whole trick can be learned," predicted Overton.

"The night trick can be learned after a while," agreed Dietz. "But, in the daytime, there's nothing that can be done to protect you. You simply have to suffer. Then the hot days! Why, Sarge, I've marched north up the tracks of the Manila & Dagupan railroad, carrying fifty pounds of weight, on days when the sun sure beat down on us at the rate of a hundred and forty degrees Fahrenheit."