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How the Army Boys were trained to be soldiers both at home and later in France; their adventures with submarines on the way over; how Rabig got what he deserved at the hands of Frank; what adventures they met with and how they showed the stuff they were made of when they came in conflict with the Huns all this and more is told in the first volume of this series, entitled: "Army Boys in France; Or, From Training Camp to Trenches."
It looks as though it were almost ready to drop out." "What if it does?" snarled Rabig. "I could pick it up again, couldn't I?" "Of course you could," said Tom, "but you might pick up something else with it. Dust, or a bit of paper, or something like that." "Say, what's the matter with you guys anyway?" demanded Rabig, glowering at them.
"What he tried to do to Raymond yesterday shows that he's a desperate character. But I guess that by this time to-morrow he won't need any one to watch him." The sergeant passed on and the boys looked at each other with speculation in their eyes. "What do you think of it?" asked Frank thoughtfully. "Think?" snorted Tom. "I think that Rabig is a bad egg. What else is there for any one to think?"
"He's a bad egg, all right," declared Tom, who stuck obstinately to his belief that Rabig had had some part in the escape of the German corporal, "but as long as we can't prove it, we'll have to give him a little more rope. But sooner or later he'll come to the end of that rope, and don't you forget it!"
Leastwise I heerd ole Bud Rabig complainin' thet he never did hev a show wen Jesse he was around, 'cause the annermiles they jest seem ter hanker arter Jesse's traps. Folks do say he hes a kinder scent he uses ter jest coax 'em like," replied the cook, not above hoping these sons of Centerville rich people might think it worth while to toss him a generous tip for any information he gave them.
No one was in sight. From the slope below came the hum of the camp, but no helmets were visible. If Rabig had come through the German lines he had done so by means of a pass. That pass would take him back just as it had brought him through. He must have it in his pocket now. Tom measured the distance between himself and the figure sitting beneath him.
"Hello, Nick!" he said. "See you've got back." "That's plain enough to see," responded Nick surlily. "Papa's little sunshine," murmured Billy under his breath. "Huns seem to have fed you pretty well," remarked Frank. Rabig only grunted and looked at Frank suspiciously. "Did you see anything of Tom Bradford over there?" asked Frank. A look of surprise came into Rabig's little eyes.
"Nick Rabig!" the others exclaimed in one breath. "Right," grinned Billy. "I knew that would get you. Nick seems to be as popular with you as poison ivy at a church picnic." "What cat dragged it in?" groaned Bart. "Our unlucky day," growled Frank. "I knew something would happen when I picked up the wrong shoe this morning."
"I hear that one of the Germans was killed close to our lines last night," said Billy, shifting the attack. "Right inside our lines," corrected Tom. "And here's the fellow who shot him," pointing to Frank. "Frank has nerve," drawled Billy. Rabig shot a glare of hate that was not lost by the onlookers, who kept their eyes steadily on his face. "He nearly got another one, too," observed Bart.
Then he went through the pockets of the coat. As he had expected he found the pass that had admitted Rabig to the German lines. Opposite the word "Losung," which Tom knew meant "countersign," was scribbled the word "Potsdam." "I guess this thing that brought you over will take me back," Tom remarked. "Now, Rabig, I'm going to leave you here with your German friends.
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