"We'll be up among the larks all right," returned Bart, "if this thing ever gets away from the tent pins." They laid hold of the straining ropes and hung on for dear life. "An aviator would have nothing on us." It was hard work while it lasted and their sturdy muscles were put to the test, but they had the satisfaction of keeping the tent in its place and after a while the storm subsided and the danger was over. "Isn't it about time for those drafted men to get down here?" asked Frank, as they were on their way back to the barracks. "I heard yesterday from Billy Waldon," returned Bart, "that two or three regiments were expected to-day. Up to now all the fellows here have been volunteers. I'm curious to see how the drafted men will take to the life." "I suppose some of them will be sore at having had to come whether they wanted to or not," replied Frank. "Still there will be lots of good fighting material in them. I've heard Peterson say that the drafted men in the Union Army fought as well as the volunteers. They'll all be good Americans when they face the Huns." Even as they spoke they heard the far-off music of a band and saw the men who were off duty hurrying toward the great gate of the camp. "I shouldn't wonder if some of them were coming now," remarked Frank. "Let's leg it to the gate and see them come in." They reached a favorable position just as the first of the advancing troops entered the camp. The boys studied them critically and in a somewhat patronizing spirit, for they already felt like veterans and were inclined to look down a little upon the "rookies." There was, of course, a good deal to criticize about the newcomers. Most of them, up to a few days before, had never touched a gun in their lives, many of them were in civilian clothes, and although they tried to keep in line and step briskly to the music of the band, their marching was ragged. Some of them, used to a sedentary life, were winded, even by that short hike of three miles to the camp. They were raw material in the fullest sense of the word. But the officers who led them and the men who watched them, knew perfectly well what wonders could be wrought in that outfit by a few weeks or months of training. The regiment broke ranks as soon as they were fairly within the precincts of the camp. "Look there!" cried Frank suddenly, as his eyes fell upon one of the near recruits. "If that isn't Tom Bradford, I'll eat my hat." "Sure thing!" shouted Bart, as he looked in the direction Frank had indicated. "Hi there, Tom!" he yelled, and they both made a break for the place where Tom was standing. In a moment they each had one of his hands and were shaking it as though they would wrench it off. "Good old scout!" ejaculated Frank. "How in the name of all that's lucky did you get here?" "Oh, I'm like a postage stamp?" grinned Tom, delightedly. "I stick until I get there."