“Here’s hoping I live to see Mock hanged!” grumbled Private Riley, as Sergeant Kelly moved away.

Kelly, who had served as sergeant with Dick in other regiments, had followed him into the Ninety-ninth.  Prescott rejoiced that he had this excellent fellow with him, as capable first sergeants are always looked upon in the light of prizes.

Yet, in a—–­to him—–­new man Greg Holmes had an almost equally good top in Lund, a Swede who had put in ten years in the Army.

When Greg dropped into the company office that forenoon, Lund handed him a list of men who had put in application for pass that afternoon.  It was to be a visitors’ afternoon, and there would be no drills.

“Nineteen, and all good conduct men, Sergeant Lund,” commented Greg, glancing over the list and reaching for a pencil with which to O.K. the list.

“And two more put in application, but I didn’t put their names down, sir,” Lund explained, as he stood at the side of the young captain at the desk.

“Who were they?”

“Mock and Wilhelm.”

“Have they behaved themselves since they got out of arrest?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Then we’ll let them off this afternoon,” proposed Holmes amiably, as he wrote time two names down on the list.  “Perhaps they’ll turn out better for a bit of considerate treatment.”

Though Lund frowned as he received the list back in his own hand he made no comment.

Immediately after the noon meal Mock and Wilhelm exhibited their passes to the guard and walked briskly out of camp.

“Look at that now—–­the pair of traitors!” muttered Private Riley, as he spat vengefully on the ground.  “Me, I knew better than to ask for it, and me so lately out of the pen.  But those bir-rds with dir-rty feathers get their chance to go off the reservation and plot more mischief.”

Had Private Riley been able to follow the pair unseen he would have been even angrier.  Mock and Wilhelm, stepping briskly along the road over which Dick had ridden that eventful evening, kept on for some three miles, then turned abruptly off into the forest.

For another half mile they kept on, going further and further from the road.

“Here’s the spot,” said Mock, after some hunting under the trees.  “It must be the place, for it has the nail driven into the tree trunk.”

“Sure, it’s the place all right,” Wilhelm agreed.

Mock emitted a shrill whistle that would not, however, carry very far.  Instantly there came an answering whistle.

“And here we are!” spoke up the stoop-shouldered stranger, coming out of a. jungle of bushes.  “I’m glad to see that you’re on time.  And to-day I hope you’ve more sand than you had that night.”

“Forget it,” said Mock shortly.

“You’re ready now?”

“To do anything,” Mock agreed.

“Sure!  He’s all right!” Private Wilhelm nodded.  “I’ve attended to that.”