But Jerry pressed on again, “following his nose,” and trying to dodge shell fragments; tried a short cut among the dunes, rounded one of the numerous lagoons or marshes, where soldiers off duty were washing their socks; and sooner than he had expected he had entered the camp of the Regulars, once more. He could tell it by the looks of it. The men were better “set up” than average, seemed well cared for, acted business like; their older officers were brusque, the younger were stiff-backed and slim-waisted, and as a rule they all sat or stood apart from the soldiers. The hour was after noon; he knew this by the sun, dimly shining through the drifting smoke cloud, and by his empty stomach――amazingly empty now that he thought about it. But he had not laid eyes upon Hannibal, yet, nor anybody else that he ever had seen before. He happened to stop for a moment near a young officer. The officer was composedly standing by himself, his hands in his pockets as if he were not at all concerned about the racket at the front. He had a smooth-shaven, rather square face, dark brown hair and blue-grey eyes, and was stocky but not large. In fact, was scarcely medium. He had a thoughtful, resolute look, however――a quiet way, that is, which might make anyone hesitate to tackle him for trouble. He gave Jerry a slow, quizzical smile. “Well, my lad, what do you want here?” “Will you please tell me if this is the Eighth United States Infantry?” Jerry asked. “No. That’s in the Second Brigade. This is the Fourth Infantry, First Brigade.” “Then where is the Eighth Infantry?” asked Jerry. “The Eighth is posted with the Second Brigade, farther on. You’ll see the regimental flag. What do you want with the Eighth Regiment?” “I know a boy there. He promised to get me a job.” “What kind of a job?” “He didn’t say, but he’s a drummer boy.” “You reckon on being a drummer boy? Better not. There’s one with his arm shot off, already.” “Not Hannibal!” Jerry exclaimed. “Hannibal who?” “Hannibal Moss. He’s the boy I mean.” “Oh, no; not that young rascal of the Eighth. Another boy by the name of Rome, over in the Twiggs division. Now he’ll be a cripple for life.” “Will he have to go home?” “Yes.” “Well,” said Jerry, “I’d hate to have my arm shot off, but I’d hate worse to have to go home and miss all the rest of the fighting. Could I get his job, do you think?” The officer laughed. When he laughed, his face lighted up. “I don’t believe that this army can wait until you learn to drum. We’re liable to be busy from now on. Where did you come from? Where are your folks?” “Haven’t any. I’ve been in the naval battery.” “You have! Belong to the navy, do you?” “No, sir. I don’t seem to belong anywhere. I ran away from Vera Cruz last night. I’m an American.” “So I see. Well, how do you like the naval battery?” “It’s pretty lively,” said Jerry, shaking his head. “They didn’t want me, there, so I came back to the army.”