Harold came home for dinner that night. He was serving in the ninth infantry as a private until such a time as he should pass his examination and receive his commission.

"Bob has seen active fighting sooner than you have, Harold," laughed Mr.
Cook glancing at his younger son's battered eye.

"Yes, and he won the battle too," said Bob warmly.

"All I can say is," remarked Harold, "that Frank Wernberg must be an awful looking sight if he's worse than you."

"He is," said Bob. "You ought to see his nose."

"Don't talk about it," urged Mrs. Cook. "I hate it."

"All right," laughed her husband. "Tell us what you have to do down at the armory, Harold. You were lucky to get off to-night."

"Oh, I've got to go back," said Harold. "We'll probably be ordered out for guard duty to-night. I may be guarding your plant for all I know."

"I hope we'll need no guards," said Mr. Cook earnestly. "In spite of all
I said last night I can't believe that many people will be disloyal."

"Some German got on our wire by mistake again to-day," said Louise. "He wanted Mr. Wernberg just as that man did last night."

Mr. Cook shook his head slowly. "I don't like that man Wernberg," he said.

"Oh, the secret service must be watching him," said Bob. "They seem to be ready for anything," and he related what had taken place in the trolley that morning when he was on his way to school.

The telephone rang and Bob answered it to find Hugh Reith on the wire. He wanted Bob to go down to the armory that night and see the soldiers. Bob readily agreed.

A short time after supper Hugh arrived at the Cooks', and the two boys accompanied by Harold set out. They felt very proud to be walking with a real live soldier, a man in the olive drab uniform of the American Army. Harold carried a rifle, with an ugly looking bayonet affixed to the barrel, the whole thing being nearly as tall as he was.

The roll call had been started at the armory and Harold took his place in line just in time to answer to his name. Bob and Hugh looked on from the gallery and were greatly impressed by the business-like appearance of the men, and the curt, crisp orders of the officers. The soldiers were divided into squads and presently were marched out of the building to unknown destinations.

"I guess it's all over,'' remarked Hugh.

"Looks so," Bob agreed. "It's early yet though and I don't want to go home."

"Nor I. What do you say to a walk down by the river? My canoe is in Brown's boathouse and I'd like to take a look at it. It has been laid up all winter and I'll want to get it out pretty soon."

"All right," said Bob. "How shall we go?"

"We can take a short cut down over the railroad bridge."

"Come ahead."

They set out through the streets of High Ridge. Few people were stirring and nowhere were any signs of war. The soldiers had disappeared and the quiet town seemed far removed from the strife of conflict. It seemed incredible that even at that moment some one might be plotting to overthrow the law and order of the little city. It was a far cry to the crimson-stained battlefields of France.

"No school to-morrow," said Hugh finally.

"That's true," exclaimed Bob. "I had forgotten that this is Friday."

"Nothing to worry about," said Hugh. "No lessons to prepare and as far as
I am concerned I'd just as soon stay up all night."

"We ought to have baseball practice to-morrow," said Bob. "Somehow I've lost all interest in it though; this war is more exciting to me."

"If we could only do something," sighed Hugh bitterly.

"Where do you suppose those soldiers went?"

"Out for a hike probably. They looked fine, didn't they?"

Bob said nothing; both boys were busy with their thoughts and walked along in silence for some distance. Presently the steel span of the great bridge across the Molton River loomed ahead of them in the darkness.

"There's the bridge," Bob exclaimed.

It appeared ghostly in the dark, the big steel girders taking on weird and fantastic shapes. A train rushed across its span, roaring and throwing a shower of sparks high into the air.

"Come on," urged Hugh and scrambled up the embankment.

Bob followed close at his heels and together they made their way towards the bridge itself. They soon found themselves picking their way on the open ties above the water; as they were headed west they of course took the east-bound track. The walking was precarious and they had to pay close attention to what they were doing, for a misstep might prove fatal.

Suddenly a sharp command to halt startled the two boys. They stopped short and peered intently about them in the dark.

"Who are you?" demanded a curt voice, and Hugh and Bob saw the figure of a man in khaki outlined against the skyline. A faint flicker of light showed a keen-edged bayonet affixed to the gun he carried.

"Who are you!" repeated the voice, strangely familiar in tone to both of the boys. "Come over here, and keep your hands over your head."

"Harold!" exclaimed Bob suddenly. "Is that you?"

"That you, Bob?" queried Harold, for the guard proved to be Bob's older brother. "Who's that with you?"

"Hugh."

"Well, it seems to me you two are pretty nervy," said Harold testily.
"What are you doing down around here anyway?"

"We were going down to Brown's boathouse to see Hugh's canoe," Bob explained. "We thought we'd take the short cut over the bridge."

"And stand a good chance of getting shot," said Harold. "All bridges are guarded by soldiers with rifles, and we're not supposed to wait forever before we shoot either." Hugh and Bob had advanced to the spot where Harold was standing, and the three young men were grouped in a small circle.

"We never thought of that," said Bob sheepishly.

"Don't you know the United States is at war?"

"Of course we do."

"Well, then—. Sssh!" hissed Harold suddenly.

He peered intently down the railroad track. The figure of a man could be seen approaching. "Get back, quickly," whispered Harold, and the two boys flattened themselves against one of the big steel girders.

Nearer and nearer came the man. Harold stood motionless, his gun half raised and ready for instant action. Hugh and Bob looked on, fascinated. When about thirty yards distant the man stooped and appeared to be fumbling with something at his feet. Only for a moment, however, for he soon straightened up again and proceeded on his way.

"Halt!" commanded Harold sharply.

The man started, and then came to an abrupt stop.

"Come over here," Harold ordered.

His order was obeyed somewhat slowly, but without question.

"What's your name?" queried Harold, as the man came up to him.

There was no answer.

"What's your name?" repeated Harold shortly.

"John Moffett," said the man sullenly.

"Where do you live?"

"High Ridge."

"Where in High Ridge?"

"Elm Street."

"What number?"

"Twelve eighty-two," said the man after a moment's hesitation.

"What are you doing on this bridge?"

"I been across the river to see my brother."

"Why didn't you take the passenger's bridge then, instead of this?"

"This one is shorter for me."

"Oh, no, it isn't," said Harold quickly. "The other one takes you right into Elm Street."

The man offered no comment.

"Why did you bend over down there a minute ago?" Harold asked.

No answer was forthcoming.

"Answer my question," ordered Harold curtly.

The man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "My shoe lace came undone," he muttered finally. All the time he was talking he kept looking behind him and over the route he had just come. He seemed to be intensely nervous about something.

Harold looked at him up and down from head to foot, as best he could in the poor light. He appeared undecided as to what he should do.

"You'd better come along with me," he said finally. "I guess the captain might like to talk to you for a few minutes."

"Where is the captain?" demanded the man.

"That's nothing to you," said Harold. "You do as you're told. You walk on ahead of me and don't try any funny business; I'll be right behind you and my gun is loaded."

"Which way?" the prisoner asked.

"That way," directed Harold, indicating the High Ridge end of the bridge with the point of his bayonet. "As long as you live in High Ridge I'll see you part way home," he added drily.

"Yes, sir," exclaimed the man, it seemed almost joyously. He set out immediately, Harold following close at his heels.

"You two better go home," Harold called to Bob and Hugh as he walked off down the track.

"All right," called Bob, and then he turned to his friend. "We'll take our time," he announced.

"Sure," agreed Hugh. "Who do you think that man was?"

"I don't know, but he did act sort of queer I thought. Probably Harold was wise to arrest him."

"What'll they do with him?"

"Oh, lock him up probably," said Bob carelessly. "I guess some officer will question him and if he's all right he'll be let go; otherwise I don't know what will happen to him."

"How about the canoe?" suggested Hugh.

"You mean, shall we go on to the boathouse?"

"Yes."

"The other end of the bridge is probably guarded too," said Bob. "We would be held up there and maybe be arrested ourselves." He peered earnestly down the track which led over the bridge to Rivertown on the opposite bank. Suddenly he started violently and clutched Hugh by the arm.

"What's that?" he gasped in a terror-stricken voice.