"Make it two," grinned Billy. "But there's no use grizzling about it. We'll have time anyway to write a letter to the girls telling them all about it. Then, ho! for the mountains and the tricky Huns! I'll be just in the humor to make it hot for them if they don't toe the scratch." "We'd better get a move on," counseled Frank. "The corp is a hustler, and he'll have that squad together before we know it." "Hello, what's this?" exclaimed Bart, as they came to a part of the barrack grounds where they caught a glimpse of the road beyond. Two men were engaged in a heated conversation. One was poorly dressed and had a decided limp, as he tried to keep up with the other, who looked like a professional man of some kind. The former was evidently pleading with the latter, who shook off impatiently the hand that had been placed on his arm. "Scrapping about something," remarked Tom carelessly. The lame man still persisted, and suddenly his companion swung around and aimed a blow at him with his cane. The other dodged and the cane was lifted again, but before it could fall, Frank had reached the man's side and wrenched the cane from his hand. The owner turned with a glare of fury, which changed however to a look of apprehension as his eyes fell on the American uniform. He mumbled something that might have been an apology or an explanation, but Frank cut him short. "Hitting a lame man doesn't go around here," said Frank curtly. "If you had actually hit him, I'd have done the same thing to you." The man was cowed and made no reply. The lame man meanwhile had hobbled away. Frank handed back the cane, turned his back upon the owner and rejoined his companions. "True Prussian brutality," commented Bart. "Good work, old boy. But now let's hurry or we'll be late." They scattered to their quarters, and in a short time were fully equipped for the coming journey. When a little later they had assembled at the place the corporal had appointed, they found there a group of their comrades selected from the old Thirty-seventh bent on the same errand as themselves. Lieutenant Winter was in command of the detachment, which numbered about half a hundred. "Mighty good name for the leader of this trip," Bart whispered jokingly to Frank, as they stood drawn up in line awaiting the command to start. "It certainly is," agreed Frank, drawing his coat a little closer. "This is about as bitter weather as I've ever stacked up against." "Looks to me as if a snow storm were coming," murmured Billy. "Attention!" came the sharp command. "Forward, march!" The lines moved forward as one man, the lieutenant riding ahead on horseback and two motor trucks loaded with supplies bringing up the rear. The road led at first along the bank of the river and was fairly level. After two miles had been traversed the line of march swerved sharply toward the right and the men began to climb.