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[Illustration: "SEE HERE, YOU," RAPPED OUT THE DISGUSTED "NON-COM."]
THE KHAKI BOYS AT CAMP STERLING
Or
Training for the Big Fight in France
by
CAPT. GORDON BATES
Author of "The Khaki Boys on the Way,"
"The Khaki Boys at the Front," etc.
Illustrated
New York
Cupples & Leon Company
* * * * *
THE KHAKI BOYS SERIES
By CAPT. GORDON BATES
12mo. Cloth. Frontispiece
Price per Volume, 50 Cents
THE KHAKI BOYS AT CAMP STERLING
or Training for the Big Fight in France
THE KHAKI BOYS ON THE WAY
or Doing Their Bit on Sea and Land
THE KHAKI BOYS AT THE FRONT
or Shoulder to Shoulder in the Trenches
_Other Volumes in Preparation_
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, New York
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE KHAKI BOYS AT CAMP STERLING
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE GLORY ROAD TO FRANCE 1
II OFF TO CAMP STERLING 10
III THE BEGINNING OF COMRADESHIP 17
IV ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK 28
V THE BEAUTY OF GOOD ADVICE 39
VI THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE 50
VII CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP 57
VIII A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE 65
IX THE CROWNING INSULT 76
X NO LONGER "JUST ROOKIES" 89
XI THE RESULT OF STAYING AWAKE 97
XII AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND AT COURT 109
XIII A CORPORAL AT LAST 121
XIV ADVENTURE 131
XV THE TWINKLE TWINS 137
XVI UNKNOWN, UNGUESSED 148
XVII THE WORK OF A FIEND 154
XVIII THE CLUE 164
XIX A FRUITFUL RUBBISH CAN 172
XX A LEAP IN THE DARK 178
XXI THE FIGHT 184
XXII THE ROUND-UP 191
XXIII IGGY TURNS SLEUTH 195
XXIV CONCLUSION 202
CHAPTER I
THE GLORY ROAD TO FRANCE
"You, over there in the crowd, and _you_ and _you_, why don't you get
busy and help Uncle Sam? What are you hanging back for? Now's your
chance to show that you're a real American, and ready to fight for your
country. What's the use of waiting for the draft to get you? You're just
wasting time! The sooner you enlist, the sooner you'll be ready to do
your bit in France. It's up to good old Uncle Sam to jump into the big
war and win it. But he can't do it alone. It needs a lot of brave, husky
fellows to lick the Boches off the map. Are you going to be one of 'em?
Every little bit helps, you know!
"Now we're going to sing you one more song. While we're singing it, get
on the job and think hard. We want to take a bunch of you back with us
to the recruiting station. All right, boys. Give 'em 'The Glory Road to
France!'"
Standing in the middle of a big recruiting wagon, lavishly decorated in
red, white and blue, the orator, a good-looking young soldier of perhaps
twenty years, bawled out, "Let 'er go!"
From one end of the wagon rose the strains of a lively air,
enthusiastically hammered out on a small, portable piano by another
khaki-clad youngster, seated on a stool before it. Gathered about him,
half a dozen clean-cut soldier boys immediately took it up. The sheer
catchiness of the melody, tunefully shouted out by the singers, had its
effect on the crowd. The sturdy quality of the words, too, brought a
flash of newly aroused patriotism to more than one pair of eyes
belonging to the throng of persons closely packed about the big wagon.
It appeared to deepen with the lustily given chorus:
"Take the Glory Road for France,
Hike along to join the fray,
With the Sammies take a chance
'Neath the Stars and Stripes to-day.
At the front brave men are falling,
Now's your time to do and dare.
Don't you hear your Uncle calling,
'Boys, I need you "Over There"!'"
At the extreme edge of the crowd, a gaily painted roadster had come to a
full stop, its progress temporarily checked by the mass of persons
about the wagon. It was a four-cylinder car, built low, with one
gasoline tank behind the seat and still another behind it, a small
reserve. The body of the roadster, painted a bright green, stood out
sharply by reason of the red wire wheels. The doorless entrance at one
side formed a neat "U," while the extra tires, also mounted on red wire
wheels, strapped on at the rear, gave it a last additional touch.
Plainly it was built for speed and had a mischievous, runaway air about
it that accorded curiously with its driver, a gray-eyed, sunny-haired
young man of perhaps eighteen, whose clean-cut features bore an
expression of reckless good humor that immediately stamped him as one of
those wide-awake, restless lads in whom the love of mischief is
ingrained.
Forced to slow down and halt his car by the ever-waving arm of a traffic
policeman, he now leaned forward over the wheel, his attention fixed on
the singers. He had come upon the scene at the moment when the youthful
orator had commenced his harangue. Further, he had been one of those
whom the latter had addressed as "you." From a good-humored grin, his
boyish mouth had gradually grown grave as he listened. First sight of
the recruiting wagon had recalled to Jimmy Blaise a matter which had
been troubling him ever since the United States had declared war against
Germany. The only son of an intensely patriotic father and mother,
despite his love of fun Jimmy had done some serious thinking about the
big war.
At the last ringing line of appeal, "Boys, I need you 'Over There,'"
involuntarily Jimmy spoke his mind aloud. "I guess that's right," he
agreed, with a vigorous wag of his head.
A boy standing close to the roadster caught the remark and glanced
levelly at the speaker. In his dark blue eyes there was an answering
flash which the other lad caught and read aright. For an instant the two
stared at each other in silence.
"How about it?" demanded Jimmy genially.
"I guess Uncle Sam needs us all right enough," the blue-eyed boy
replied, his sober face lighting into a singularly sunny smile. "I've
thought a lot about it. I'd like to go."
"Put her there!" The youth in the car leaned down and shot out a
friendly hand. "I've been thinking about it myself. I can go to-morrow,
that is, if I get accepted. I asked my folks the other night what they'd
do if I enlisted. I'm not twenty-one, you see. Quite a long way from it.
Won't be nineteen until next November."
"What did they say?" questioned the other eagerly.
"They both said it was up to me. They're not slackers. I can just tell
you that. Of course, my mother looked kind of sad for a minute; then
she braced up and said she'd be proud to have a soldier son. My father
said if he was young enough he'd enlist himself. That shows pretty
plainly what sort of stuff they're made of."
"I should say so," emphasized the blue-eyed boy. "I was nineteen last
month. My father and mother are both dead. I take care of myself. So you
see there isn't anyone to care----"
"Gee whiz, that's tough," sympathized Jimmy. "Say, I like you. You're
all right. What do you say? Let's enlist. Yes? No ride in that
recruiting wagon for me, though. Look! They've got four fellows already!
That Glory Road song waked 'em up, _I_ guess. Tell you what you do. Jump
into my roadster and we'll get away from here and be at the station
ahead of those fellows. This car can certainly go some. I call it 'Old
Speedy.' If we were out in the country on a good smooth road I'd give
you a fast ride, all right. Course I have to go easy in the city. But
climb in and let's beat it. Those Sammies in the wagon are getting ready
to move on. What's the matter? You're not going to back out, are you?"
Quick to note a trace of hesitation in his new acquaintance's manner,
the gray-eyed boy's straight brows drew together in a disappointed
frown.
"Back out? Well, I _guess_ not." With this the other boy hopped nimbly
up to a seat beside the driver. "It's fine of you to do this," he burst
forth impulsively. "Why, you don't even know my name or----"
"Oh, can it," grinned Jimmy. "I took a good look at you. That's enough.
I always know when I first see a fellow whether I'm going to like him or
not. I don't change my mind about him, either. Now I'm going to back out
of here in a hurry. I'll turn around up the street, then cut down a side
street and hit it up for the recruiting station."
With this Jimmy busied himself with his car and soon had it backed far
enough to make the turn. As it glided into the side street, his
companion glanced over one shoulder at the crowd they had left behind.
"It looks as if they were going to start," he commented.
"Let 'em start. We'll beat 'em to it," predicted Jimmy. "I'll run as
fast as I dare. Say," he continued, as they spun along over the smooth
pavement, "as long as we enlist together, we'll probably be sent to the
same training camp. Then we'll be pals. How's that? My name's James
Sumner Blaise. My folks call me Jimmy and the fellows call me Jimmy
Blazes."
His companion smiled at this funny nickname. He was already under the
spell of Jimmy's careless, happy-go-lucky manner.
"I'd like to be pals," came his hearty response. "My name's Roger
Barlow. I've been working in a munitions plant ever since the war in
Europe began. I used to be in the shipping room of a big hardware place.
I didn't make very good wages, so I left it for munitions. This is the
first Saturday afternoon I've had off for three months. I've earned
quite a lot of money and I've got almost a hundred dollars saved up," he
added confidentially.
"_I_ haven't a hundred cents," confessed Jimmy cheerfully. "My father
gives me an allowance on the first of every month. I'm always broke
before the tenth. I just came home from Langley--that's a prep
school--in June. I'd be in Harvard next fall if this hadn't happened.
Maybe I will be anyhow. Hope not. I'd hate to be turned down. I don't
believe I will be, though. I'm pretty husky. I've never taken a drink of
anything stronger than ginger ale, and I hardly ever smoke. I've never
been sick, either, since I had the measles. That was long ago. I played
quarterback on the football team at Langley, and I hold the record there
for the hundred-yard dash."
"My, you've done a lot of things, haven't you?" admired Roger. "I've
always wanted to play football, but never had a chance to learn how. I'm
good and strong, though. Hard work's made me so."
"When we get to camp, maybe we'll meet some nice fellows that want to
organize a football team. Then you'll get a chance to play. It's a
great old game, all right."
"That would be fine," glowed Roger.
The two lads whom Chance had so curiously thrown together were beginning
already to plan as if their enlistment were an assured fact. Judging
from outward appearances, Uncle Sam would be only too glad to number
them among the khaki-clad host of young patriots, so soon to receive in
a foreign land their baptism of fire and steel. Of almost the same
height, about five feet ten inches, their clear eyes, healthfully tinted
cheeks and straight, spare boyish figures showed the admirable result of
clean living.
"Here we are." Jimmy had brought his roadster to a full stop before a
tall, rather dingy brick building. The huge plate-glass front of the
ground floor was filled with large placards of soldiers, resplendent in
the becoming uniform of the United States Army. Straight across the top
of it a white banner stretched from one side to the other. It bore in
large black letters the pertinent legend, "Do Your Bit for Your Country:
Enlist NOW!"
"That's us." Jimmy leaped from his car and nodded jovially at the sign.
Roger landed on the sidewalk only a second behind him. "Forward march
and mind your step, Roger, old pal! We're going to do our bit, all
right, if Uncle Sam'll take us."
Side by side, their boyish faces illumined by the light of patriotism,
the two swung up the short flight of steps, splendid examples of sturdy,
buoyant young American manhood. Yes, there was little doubt that Uncle
Sam would take them.