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Then, too, I'd know Tom's gait among a thousand just as you would. No, it wasn't Tom, worse luck." "Who was it, then?" "I think it was Nick Rabig," replied Frank. "Nick Rabig!" the others cried together. "Mind, I only say I think," repeated Frank, looking around to see that no outsider was within hearing. "I wouldn't be willing to swear to it.
"A little too cool to be out in the woods, but just right for the trench." Rabig seemed to be trying to think up a reply, but nothing came to him and he simply stood still and glowered at them. He appeared to be speculating. What significance was there in these apparently careless questions? Why should they be asked at all? How much did these cordially hated acquaintances of his really know?
It would be easy enough to slip across while the lines are so near each other." "But Rabig seemed to be pretty badly hurt," said Billy. "You saw him faint." "Which only proves that he is a good actor," retorted Tom dryly. "Don't think me hardhearted, fellows, because I'm not. I'm always ready to give everybody his due.
How did you come to lose your prisoner?" Rabig looked about him in a helpless sort of way. "I don't know," he mumbled. "My head is swimming so that I can't remember." "Try to think," said the officer patiently. Rabig seemed to make an effort, but did not succeed and fell back in a swoon that put an end for the present to the questioning.
But the motions were Nick's you know he runs like a cart horse and you know that Nick has been togged out in a new uniform since he came back from that queer captivity of his among the Huns." "Nick Rabig there," mused Bart perplexedly, as he began to pace up and down. "What on earth could he have been doing there?" "Say," put in Billy with agitation, "could he have done anything to Tom?
He could explain his going around the hut by saying he wanted to be especially vigilant in guarding the prisoner." "Yes," agreed Frank, "we haven't proof enough against Rabig to hang a yellow dog. And I wouldn't want to get him in bad with his officers on mere suspicion." "That note might be proof if we could only get hold of it," suggested Tom. "Swell chance!" returned Bart.
"You can bet that note is chewed up and swallowed by this time. The first thing the Hun thought of, when he was tipped off that some one was coming, was to get rid of the evidence that might queer his chance of escape." "I'll tell you what we'll do," said Frank. "We'll just go down and see Rabig and ask him casually about the prisoner.
The four were the closest kind of friends and stuck by each other through thick and thin. There had been one notable exception to the loyalty of the office force. This was Nick Rabig, a surly, bullying sort of fellow, who had been foreman of the shipping department. He was a special enemy of Frank, whom he cordially hated, and the two had been more than once at the point of blows.
Then he looked stealthily about him. The nearest sentry was some distance away, and the boys were well hidden by the trees. Then Rabig made a complete circuit of the little hut, as though to make sure that no one was lurking about. Having apparently satisfied himself on that point, he returned and resumed his pacing until he was directly in front of the door.
"This time luckily it didn't matter. The prisoner didn't escape. But if Rabig is a traitor, how do we know but what the next time he might do something that might cause a defeat?" "It does make one uneasy," agreed Bart. "Nick in the regiment is like a splinter in the finger. It makes you sore. But we'll keep our eyes open and the very next crooked move he makes it will be curtains for him."
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