The boys were shocked by this verdict. They had been through so many adventures with Bart, he had been such a loyal and dependable comrade, that it seemed as though he had become a part of themselves. Army life without Bart with them seemed almost unthinkable. “Of course,” the nurse hastened to reassure them, as she saw their clouded faces, “it may not prove as serious as the doctor fears. It will be a day or two before he can predict with some degree of certainty.” There was nothing to do but hope, and the boys left the hospital with downcast faces and heavy hearts. They knew that they were carrying a burden that would not be lightened until Bart was once more at their side. On their way back, they passed a prison pen where a large number of Germans captured in the previous day’s fighting were confined. Most of these were out in the open, but there were some small structures in the enclosure where those who were charged with serious offenses were imprisoned under guard of sentries who were pacing up and down before the huts. “There’s Fred Anderson,” remarked Tom. “Hello, Fred,” called out Billy. “How are you, Billy?” responded Fred, coming to a pause as they drew near. “I see you fellows are coming from the hospital. Been over to see Bart, I suppose. How’s the old scout getting along?” “He’s in a bad fix,” responded Frank sadly. “The doctor doesn’t know whether he’ll pull through or not.” “That’s too bad,” said Fred with genuine regret, for Bart was a general favorite with the members of the Thirty-seventh. “I hope he’ll come around all right.” “We all hope that,” responded Billy. “All the boys of the old regiment will be rooting for him. How comes it that you’re on sentry duty, Fred?” “Just my hard luck,” grumbled Fred. “Whom do you think I’m guarding in here?” “Oh, some old Hun, I suppose, with an unpronounceable name,” said Billy carelessly. “Bad guess,” grinned Fred. “It’s Nick Rabig.” The name acted like an electric shock on the three comrades. “Rabig!” they exclaimed in the same breath. “That’s what,” said Fred. “Seems to be popular with you fellows, I don’t think.” “The yellow dog!” exclaimed Billy. “The traitor!” growled Frank. “Why haven’t they settled his case long ago?” gritted Tom. “He ought to have been stood up before a firing squad the day after they captured him the last time.” “That’s what he deserved all right,” agreed Fred. “He’s the only fellow that ever disgraced the colors of the old Thirty-seventh. The fact is, I suppose, that we’ve been so busy chasing the Huns out of France that a court-martial hasn’t had time to attend to his case. But it’s a dead open and shut case and he’ll get his all right when the time comes.” “It’s a long time coming,” grumbled Tom, who, as our readers will remember, had especial cause to despise the man whom he had caught in the very act of dealing with the enemy.