A CAVE-IN
Momentary confusion followed Ned’s cry and his fall, and those nearest
him, when they saw the blood, felt a good deal of alarm. But efficient
officers were in charge of the drilling squads, and a few sharp orders
sufficed to bring the men back in line, while an examination was made
of the injured lad.
He was bleeding freely, but when his shirt was taken off it was seen
that a bayonet had struck him a glancing blow, cutting a long, but not
deep, gash in the fleshy part of his back.
“How did this happen? Did any one see it?” asked the officer in charge
of the instruction.
“It was----” began a lad who had been standing next to Ned.
“I did it!” growled out the unpleasant voice of Pug Kennedy. “But I
didn’t mean to.”
“I should hope not,” commented the officer, rather sharply. “But how
did it happen?”
“He leaned over and got right in my way just as I was making a lunge,”
explained the fighter. “I tried to hold back my gun but it was too
late.”
The officer looked sharply at Kennedy, but there seemed to be no good
reason why his word should be doubted.
“Very well,” said Captain Reel, who was giving the bayonet instruction.
“Only be more careful after this. Save such strokes for the Germans. We
can’t afford to lose any of our soldiers. This will be all for to-day.”
Ned had been carried to the infirmary, and thither, having received
permission to do so, went Bob and Jerry. They were met by an orderly
who, on hearing their inquiries, told them that Ned’s wound was not at
all serious, and that he would be kept in his bed only long enough to
make sure there would be no infection from the steel and to enable the
wound to heal slightly.
Later in the day they were allowed to see their chum. Ned was on a cot
in the infirmary, and he smiled at Jerry and Bob.
“Oh, I’m not out of the game for long,” he said, in answer to their
inquiries. “I’ll be a bit stiff for a day or so, the doc says, but
it’ll soon wear off.”
“How did it happen?” asked Jerry. “Did you really get in his way as he
says you did?”
“I didn’t know it if I did,” answered Ned. “I was just making a lunge
myself, and I’d been doing it right along, so I knew my distance.”
“He did it on purpose,” insisted Bob. “I was talking to the fellow who
was on the other side of Pug Kennedy, and he says there was plenty of
room. He did it on purpose to get even with you, Ned, for the way he
was caught the other night, when he tried to run the guard.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” objected Jerry. “Pug Kennedy
is a scrapper, and he doesn’t like us. But I don’t believe he’d
deliberately try to bayonet a chap.”
“Well, I don’t know what to believe,” returned Ned. “I thought I had
plenty of room on each side of me, but my foot may have slipped. Or
maybe Pug’s may have done the same thing.”
“He made it slip!” declared Bob. “He wanted to get square with you and
he took that way.”
“If he did it’s a pretty serious way,” said Jerry, “and he ought to
be dismissed from the service. But it’s going to be as hard to prove
that as it would be to prove that he had some plot on foot when he met
that man at midnight. I don’t believe we can do anything unless we get
better proof.”
“Oh, drop it all!” exclaimed Ned. “It’s only a scratch, anyhow, and it
won’t kill me. There’s just as much chance that it was an accident as
that he did it on purpose. I’m not going to make any accusation against
him.”
“No, I don’t believe it would be wise,” agreed Jerry. “But, at the
same time, we’ll keep watch on him. He may try something like it again.”
Ned’s prediction as to the lightness of his injury proved correct. In
two days he was out of the infirmary, and though he was not allowed to
go in for violent drill for a week afterward, he said he felt capable
of it.
Pug Kennedy made a sort of awkward apology for his share in the
accident.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” he said to Ned. “But either you leaned
over too far toward me, or else I slipped. You may think I did it on
purpose, on account of you giving me away to the corporal that night,
but I didn’t.”
“I had nothing to do with your getting caught when you went out from
barracks that night,” said Ned. “It was your own fault. As for getting
square--you’re welcome to try.”
“Who says I was going out of barracks?” asked Pug vindictively.
“Weren’t you?” Ned asked.
“No. Course not. I was coming in, and I sort of got lost in the dark.
I didn’t know my way and I asked a fellow I met. He was one of the
teamsters, I guess. I was talking to him, when I was caught--I mean you
saw me and then the corporal came.”
“We didn’t send for him,” declared Jerry “He just happened to come at
that moment.”
“Well, it looked as if you’d sent for him,” growled Pug. “I’d be glad
to think you didn’t. And I’m sorry you’re hurt,” he added to Ned.
“Oh, I’m not hurt much,” was the easy answer. “Next time I’ll give you
plenty of room when there’s bayonet drill.”
Whether Pug liked this or not, he did not say. But he went away
muttering to himself.
Ned was soon back with his chums again, drilling away, and dreaming of
the time when he and they could go to France to fight the Huns. But
much preliminary work was necessary. It was, as has been said, drill,
drill, drill from morning until night.
Meanwhile the boys were beginning to appreciate what the army life was
doing for them. They were becoming better physically, every day; as
hard as nails and as brown as berries.
They wrote enthusiastic letters home, and received letters in reply,
giving the news of Cresville. Matters there were about the same.
There had been no more “peace” meetings, though it was said that
Mr. Schaeffer and his fellow pro-Germans were contemplating another
big meeting as a protest against the draft, which had been put into
operation.
The place where the fire had been was still a heap of ruins, Mrs.
Hopkins wrote Jerry, and it had not been cleared because of a dispute
over the insurance money. Mr. Cardon, the Frenchman, had recovered
from his experience, though he still talked about the loss of his
money, which, he insisted, a man with a crooked nose had stolen.
“I think his story is true,” wrote Mrs. Hopkins. “But nobody
has seen the man with the crooked nose, and there is positively
no trace of Mr. Baker’s watch nor of my diamond brooch. Mr.
Martley’s creditors have found his affairs in such a mess that
there will be next to nothing coming to them--so if the watch
and brooch are not recovered we will have to stand the loss
ourselves.”
“Isn’t that the limit!” cried Jerry, as he read this portion of the
letter to his chums.
“It sure is,” remarked Ned.
“I’ll bet my dad feels sore,” put in Bob.
Professor Snodgrass wrote to the boys, telling them he hoped soon to
pay them a visit. He was finishing cataloging the bugs he had caught on
his last trip to Cresville, he stated, and would soon be on the lookout
for more.
It was two weeks after Ned’s injury by a bayonet in the hands of Pug
Kennedy, and he was fully himself again, that, one afternoon as he and
his chums were getting ready for hand grenade drill, a cry came from
a section of the camp near the artillery unit. There was a series of
shouts following a salvo of heavy guns.
“There’s been an accident!” exclaimed Jerry, as he saw a number of
officers and men running.
“Cannon exploded, maybe,” said Bob.
“It didn’t sound so,” remarked Ned. “The noise wasn’t any louder than
usual. But it’s something,” he added. “There go the ambulances!”
As he spoke a number of the vehicles dashed across the parade ground
toward the place that seemed to be the center of excitement.
“Come on!” cried Ned. “We’ve got to see what this is!”
The motor boys started to run, followed by several of their new chums,
and on all sides there were questions.
“What is it? What happened?”
A sentry, who did not leave his post, gave the first information.
“A line of trenches caved in!” he said. “A lot of the men are buried
alive!”