At first he thought that either Tom or Billy must have played a joke on him. He went over to where they lay, but they only had their regular quota, and they protested so vigorously against being disturbed that he let them alone. Later when he questioned them about the matter, they denied knowing anything about it. “It must have been one of the fellows from another tent,” suggested Billy. “He’s felt cold in the night and has come in and swiped yours. Pretty small potatoes, I call it.” “I’d like to catch him doing it,” growled Frank. “I’d make it so warm for him that he wouldn’t feel any need of blankets.” “He’s got his nerve with him to swipe things from the best boxer in the regiment,” remarked Tom. “You’d better bone the quartermaster for another blanket,” counseled Billy. Frank got another blanket in the course of the day and that night he tucked it in around him with unusual care. It would take some tugging to get that away from him. It must have been considerably after midnight when he was conscious of something that disturbed him. But he was very tired, and after a moment he turned over to go to sleep again. Then came a distinct tug at the blanket that had him awake in an instant. It was very dark in the tent, but he could discern dimly the figure of a man standing beside him. “Now,” thought Frank grimly to himself, “my fine fellow, here’s where you get the shock of your young life.” He gathered himself for a spring, leaped to his feet and grappled with the intruder. The latter tried to escape, but Frank launched himself into him with such impetus that they both went down together. The head of the unknown struck the ground hard and he lay still. Frank was alarmed. “Quick!” he called, as Tom and Billy, aroused by the fracas, rushed toward him. “Strike a match, one of you.” Billy did so, and as the light flashed upon the face of the prostrate man they gave a shout. “Bart!” CHAPTER XXII A JOYOUS REUNION “Bart!” Frank repeated with a groan. “And perhaps I’ve killed him!” Tom lighted a candle while Billy rushed for his canteen. They dashed some of its contents into Bart’s pallid face and chafed his hands and wrists. In a few minutes their vigorous efforts had results. Bart moved uneasily, his eyes opened and rested vacantly at first and then intelligently upon the faces of his friends. “Hello, fellows!” he murmured weakly. “What’s up?” Their joy was beyond measure. Even while they were seeking to restore him to consciousness they had been tormented by the fear of seeing only an insane gleam in his eyes when he should open them. “Bart, old man!” cried Frank, in a voice that broke despite all efforts to control it. “You know us, then?” “Know you?” repeated Bart wonderingly and trying to raise himself, a movement which they gently checked. “Of course I know you. Are you kidding me?”