"Wonder how he knows we're boys!" asked Bob.

"Oh, that's a general term--he'd call us that if we were forty years
old," declared Jimmy. "And no matter how old a man is, if he's in the
army, he's a boy. But I wish he'd hurry. It's getting hot here!"

It certainly was! The fire was gaining rapidly, and, every now and
then, with a shift in the wind, the hot, choking gases from the
flames, together with rolling clouds of smoke, would be blown into the
rude chamber where the boys were imprisoned.

When the smoke-clouds blew away the Khaki Boys could look out and see
their rescuer, still hunting frantically about for some object to use
as a lever. In spite of the danger of their situation they could not
help observing the man. He was tall, and well formed, and unmistakably
a military character. He appeared to be above the general type of
captain or lieutenant.

"If he's any less than a general I'll eat my gas mask!" Roger declared
afterward.

Clearly the man was born to command, or he had acquired that right in
some manner. There was an indefinable air of authority about him, even
though now he was hurrying about almost frantically, looking for some
weapon with which to attack the barrier that held the boys prisoners.

"That sure is a queer uniform he has on," remarked Jimmy, as he tried
in vain to move some of the beams from his side of the mass of timber
that had fallen when the mill was blown up. "It's mostly American, but