Moreover, they were both so staunch in their principles that they could enter such places--on duty--without being degraded thereby. But, though both soldier boys searched saloon after saloon, they did not seem destined to find any of the delinquents. Private Hyman was standing out in the street, with nothing to do. "Some one must have spread the alarm," thought Private Overton. "Or else the men are really not in any of these vile places. I hope the last guess is the true one." At last Soldier Hal came to the last resort of the kind on his side of the street. As he started to push open the door of this place a big, broad-shouldered, red-faced man stepped into the doorway. "Nothing doing here, soldier kid," leered the fellow. "Pardon me, but I didn't ask you," was Hal's quick retort. "Clear out! Hear? You can't come in here, I told you." "You're dealing with the United States Army now, my man," Hal retorted coolly. "Out of my way, if you please. I'm going inside." "No, you're not." "Out of my way was what I said." "An' I said----" The red-faced man didn't finish. Private Hal Overton had drawn his service revolver from its holster without the loss of another instant. It rested now with its muzzle poking against the big fellow's belt line. Gasping, he looked into the clear, cool eyes of the young soldier boy. Then, with an oath, the bully sprang aside, and Hal stepped inside as though no interruption had occurred, at the same time slipping his weapon back into its holster. The man who had stopped him was not, sometimes, much afraid of revolvers. But he had seen something in the glint of Private Overton's eyes which had made him realize that the young soldier would not tolerate any nonsense whatever. As Hal stepped inside the place his gaze swept around through the fog of the smoke-laden atmosphere. It was a saloon of the worst description, as was amply testified by the appearance of the rough-looking customers there. Overton was the only man in sight who wore the United States uniform. However, the soldier boy walked down the length of the room, for it was within the range of possibilities that a soldier starting in on a carouse might first exchange his uniform for a suit of civilian clothing. Not a face in the assemblage was that of a B Company man. "The sneak!" Hal heard a voice say, and knew that the epithet was applied to himself. But he paid no heed. "Club him," advised another. "No wonder soldiers desert," growled still another sodden fellow, "when they send anything like that, with a gun, after another soldier that's out for a good time." To not one man in the place did the clean-cut face, the evident manliness and fine soldierliness of Private Overton appeal. Hal was not of their kind, and these creatures could not appreciate the higher kind of manhood in this young soldier. "Ye may jest as well get out of here, kid in brass buttons," jeered a voice behind the bar. "None of yer crew are in here."