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Updated: June 11, 2025
How the regiment sailed to France for intensive training behind the firing lines; how their transport narrowly escaped being sunk by a submarine and how the tables were turned; the singular chance by which Frank met a French colonel and heard encouraging news about his mother's property; how he thoroughly "trimmed" Rabig in a boxing bout; how the Camport boys took part in the capture of a Zeppelin; how the old Thirty-seventh finally reached the trenches; Frank's daring exploit when caught in the swirl of a German charge; these and other exciting adventures are told in the first book of this Series, entitled: "Army Boys in France; Or, From Training Camp to the Trenches."
They saw Rabig frequently, and though they all disliked him heartily, he was still a soldier like themselves in the service of Uncle Sam, and they strove to disguise their feeling for the good of the common cause.
Ye see he bed got the game outen the steel, an' was tryin' to sot the trap again so as I wouldn't know it. That proves he was sent up here by that sneakin' Bud Rabig; fur what would the boy know about fixin' a trap if he didn't git guided?" Jerry picked up the drowned muskrat and examined it. "Pretty soft fur it has. Lots of it used nowadays I understand," he observed.
Nick had come out of the court-martial that investigated the escape, not with flying colors, but with bedraggled feathers. The cut on his head had proved so slight as to arouse suspicion that it might have been self-inflicted. Still the motive for this did not seem adequate, and the upshot of the inquiry was that Rabig was confined a few days in the guardhouse and then restored to duty.
There his story, especially as it related to Nick Rabig, was listened to with much interest. When the fighting began again it was not trench work. That was already in the past. Of course the armies took advantage of whatever shelter was offered them, and there were times when shallow trenches were dug with feverish haste.
They could talk together in German through that closed door and nobody be wise to what they were saying." "I don't suppose the officers know Rabig as well as the rest of us do," said Billy. "But say, fellows, look at that bit of white under the door of the hut. What do you suppose it is?" "Oh, just a scrap of paper," laughed Bart. "Just like the Belgian treaty."
"On the other hand," replied Tom, "if we let him go on, we may wake up some time to find that Rabig has done the regiment more harm than a German battery could do." "We'll simply have to keep our eyes peeled," was Billy's solution of the problem, "and watch that fellow like hawks. But if he makes one more bad break I don't think we ought to keep silent any longer.
Among the missing was one whose loss did not greatly grieve the boys of the old Thirty-seventh. Nick Rabig did not answer to his name when the roll was called. They did not find his body on the field, nor was he among the wounded that were brought in and tenderly cared for in the hospitals.
"Your eyesight's mighty good," replied Nick sullenly. "Yes," Bart came back at him, "I can see a bit of white paper from quite a distance." Rabig gave a sudden start. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded. "Nothing special," replied Bart carelessly. "What should I mean?" "By the way," put in Tom, "you'd better tuck your handkerchief in a little more tightly or you'll lose it.
That may make him think that we're on to something, and if he's planning to do anything crooked it may scare him off. It won't do any harm anyway, and we'll take a chance." They left the clump of trees and strolled down carelessly in the direction of the hut. Rabig saw them coming, and the surly look that was habitual with him became more pronounced than usual.
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