CHAPTER I

A JOYFUL REUNION

"I suppose we might as well be hiking along," announced Roger Barlow regretfully, as he consulted his watch. "We've lots of time yet, but we'd better be early than late back to camp. We are strangers in a strange land and we've quite a long way to go."

"I'm satisfied to go. I came up here to see Paris and I've seen it. That is, a scrap of it. I guess it would take a long while to get really wise to it. I sure would like to use up a little time poking around _la belle_ Paree. My, but this hash house is a dead place, though! Nobody alive here but us."

Bob Dalton glanced disapprovingly about the unassuming little café in which he and his four Brothers had elected to dine. Its hushed atmosphere oppressed him.

"Oh, Paris is altogether different from what it used to be," informed Sergeant Jimmy Blaise. "It's lost a lot of pep since this war began. Can you wonder?"

"It's lost more than pep," cut in Franz Schnitzel. "It's lost a whole lot of its best citizens. Almost every woman one sees is dressed in black. That tells its own story."

"So think I no many Franche solder more," sighed Ignace Pulinski. "Mos' is died."

"Oh, there are probably a dozen or two left," was Bob's cheering reassurance. "I guess they need the Khaki Boys over here all right enough, though."

"I wish we'd get orders to move on," grumbled Jimmy. "I'm dying to take a ride in one of those 'Eight Horses' affairs--not."

"We've been in training here longer than I expected." This from Roger. "I guess we needed it. When the war began, before the U. S. got into it, they used to rush the Tommies to the front pretty fast. They got about ten days' or two weeks' training and that was all."

"The war game's been systematized a lot since then," commented Bob. "We have fared better than those fellows did. They had to put up with most any old thing. So far we've led a peaceful, happy life over here."

Several weeks had passed since those of the Khaki Boys who had come safely through the disastrous sinking of the _Columbia_ had been landed "somewhere in France."

Readers who have followed the fortunes of the quintet of Khaki Boys, known among themselves as the five Brothers, will at once remember them as old friends. What happened to these young soldiers during the period in which they were in training at an American cantonment has already been set down in "THE KHAKI BOYS AT CAMP STERLING."

It was while on the way to Camp Sterling that Jimmy Blaise, Roger Barlow, Bob Dalton and Ignace Pulinski met and instantly became friendly. From being merely friendly they soon grew to be bunkies, loyal to one another through thick and thin.

Later they took into their little circle a young German-American, Franz Schnitzel, who had had the misfortune to be entirely misunderstood by his comrades. Suspected of being in sympathy with Germany, Schnitzel was accused of poisoning a number of men in his own barracks.

Due to the untiring efforts of the four Brothers, his innocence was proven, and his good name restored. Afterward Schnitzel himself was responsible for bringing the real poisoner, a German spy, Johann Freidrich, to justice.

Their fortunes firmly linked to Schnitzel's by trouble, he had become a real brother to the four Khaki Boys, who decided that thereafter they would call themselves the five Brothers.

After an exhaustive course of training at Camp Sterling, the five Brothers had been sent with a large detachment of their comrades to Camp Marvin, a southern cantonment. While at this camp they met with at least one exciting adventure, which was the forerunner of a series of amazing events.

In "THE KHAKI BOYS ON THE WAY" will be found the details of that adventure, which had to do with an attempt made by an unknown man to blow up a bridge near the camp. Readers of this story will recall Jimmy Blaise's fight with the miscreant under the bridge, and his narrow escape from death.

This narrative also contains a full account of the Khaki Boys' journey to the seacoast, where they boarded a transport for France, and of the hazardous voyage over, which ended in the torpedoing, by a U-boat, of their transport the _Columbia_.

Though many of their comrades perished at sea, the five Brothers were spared. Briefly separated by the catastrophe, they were re-united in Ireland. From there they had gone on to a rest camp in England, from which, re-uniformed and re-equipped, they had at last set sail across the channel for France.

Landed in France, they had gone directly to a training camp, there to receive the final necessary instruction which would fully prepare them for the strenuous life of the trenches.

Since arriving in the French town where a concentration camp had been established, they had been kept constantly busy learning new things about trench warfare.

At Camp Sterling and Camp Marvin they had undergone considerable instruction along this line. Compared to the experience they were daily gaining, their past training seemed a trifle rudimentary to the Khaki Boys.

Under the competent direction of French officers who had seen service at the front, the Khaki Boys were rapidly acquiring fresh knowledge concerning bomb-throwing, reconnoitering, listening posts, methods in attack and defense, wiring parties, mass formation, and the proper procedure for poison gas attacks.

They had learned to construct and repair barbed wire entanglements. They had now become familiar with the intricate inner construction of the trenches. They knew how best to shelter themselves when in these trenches. They had learned trench cooking and sanitation, and were now beginning to feel that they were really ready to live at the front.

Their camp being situated in a village not many miles from Paris, the five Brothers had been most eager to spend a few hours in the beautiful city. Although they had seen much to interest them since coming to France, their minds were set on seeing Paris.

For one reason or another, however, they had put off the trip until Roger had declared that if they didn't "make a break" at seeing Paris soon, they were not likely to see it until the end of the war, if ever.

The upshot of the matter was a concerted request for passes on the part of the five Sammies. Mid-afternoon of a cold, though gloriously sunshiny day, saw them invading the city they had so earnestly wished to visit. Strangers in a strange land, they had, nevertheless, hugely enjoyed poking about the French metropolis, constantly drawing comparisons between it and their own "big town" in America.

Long familiar with the French language, it fell to Jimmy to do most of the talking. For once Bob did not take the lead in this respect. Both he and Roger were able to carry on a halting conversation in French and that was about all. Schnitzel knew even less of it than they, while Ignace had added but little to the "six word by Franche," of which he had earlier admitted as being his entire French vocabulary.

Content to follow their own bent, the five bunkies had asked few questions of the friendly passersby, who invariably beamed on them in passing. The Sammies were at any time a very welcome sight to the French people, but the five Brothers were an especially striking example of stalwart young American manhood, and attracted an amount of attention of which they were quite unaware.

Toward six o'clock steadily growing hunger had prompted them to drop into one of the many excellent restaurants of which Paris boasts. Having ordered a most delectable dinner, they had taken their time about eating it. In consequence, it was now after seven o'clock and, as Roger had reminded, "time for us to be hiking along."

"There's always a calm before a storm, you know."

It was Jimmy who spoke. The remark followed Bob's assertion regarding the peacefulness of the life they had been leading since their arrival in France.

"Yes, it's the last lull before we get into the real thing," nodded Roger. "We'll soon be getting up in the morning and turning in at night to the music of the big guns."

"I hope it'll be Allied artillery that'll make the most of that music," put in Schnitzel.

"Yes, and _I_ hope a Fritzie trench gets it in the neck with every blamed tune our fellows hammer out," was Bob's vengeful rejoinder. "What I've heard since I came over here about the way those Boche brutes have treated the Belgians makes me hot under the collar."

"They say the Fritzies have it in for us Sammies," shrugged Roger. "They're crazy to take us prisoners. They want to make an example of us. Think they'll scare the U. S. into putting up a big yell for peace. Wonder what they'll do if they do manage to grab any of our men?"

"Hard to tell. Crucify some poor fellow, maybe." Bob's dark brows drew sharply together. "That's one of their pleasant little methods of getting even." Bob's tones quivered with loathing. "If it ever came to that with me, I'd die game. I'd never let 'em think they'd got my goat."

"Oh, can the croak!" exclaimed Jimmy impatiently. "We came out to enjoy ourselves. What's the use in dragging up the horror stuff?"

"So think I," agreed Ignace, who had been listening round-eyed to Bob's dire surmising. "We ver' smart, so then we don' be it that prisonar. I no like."

"You _don't_? I'm surprised," bantered Bob. "I thought you were just aching to be run in by a Boche patrol."

"Now you mak' the fon to me," snickered Ignace. "Only you wait. Som' day I mak' the fon to you."

"Go as far as you like," challenged Bob, grinning benevolently at his Polish Brother.

"Come on," urged Jimmy. "Let's settle with the _garcon_, and beat it. Where did he go to, anyhow? He was standing right over there a minute ago."

Five pairs of eyes immediately busied themselves in an effort to locate the waiter.

"He's in the kitchen, I guess. Don't see him. He'll show up in a minute."

Leaning back in his chair, Roger continued idly to survey the few diners scattered about the café. His eyes rested amusedly upon a pair of elderly Frenchmen, who appeared to be conducting a vigorous argument. Their wagging heads, shrugging shoulders, and the almost continual play of their hands entertained him immensely.

"Look at those two old grandpas over there near the door," he said to Bob, who was seated beside him. "I'll bet you most anything they're arguing about the war. They're not a bit huffy with each other; just dead in earnest."

Bob's gaze obediently traveled toward the two ancients. It interrupted itself on the way, however, to take stock of three men who were just entering the café.

"For the love of Mike!"

His shrewd, black eyes widening with amazement, Bob leaped to his feet.

"_Look_ who's here!" he exclaimed so loudly that his voice reached the entering trio. "Oh, you Twinkle Twins!"