illustration: our little brown house. (cover)] our little brown house. our little brown house; a poem of west point. written for the new year's festival at the cadets' sabbath-school of the methodist episcopal church, january 1, 1879, and read on that occasion by the authoress, (m. l. s.) * * * * * new york: published by f. kalkhoff, jr. 1880. copyright, by maria l. stewart, 1880. the moss engraving co., engravers and printers, new york. preface. _these poems were prepared merely with the hope of interesting the members of the sabbath-school before whom they were read, and were not intended for publication. at the urgent request of many friends, however, i have been induced to present them to the public in their present form._ _m. l. s._ contents our little brown house. supplement. grand celebration. [illustration: our little brown house. (drawn by william erwin.)] our little brown house. there's a little brown house just under the hill; it's not by the river, nor yet by a rill; it's not on the green-sward where the gay and proud meet, but it stands on the corner of bandbarrack's street. this time-honored veteran, in armor complete, has stood many winters the storm and the sleet-the early spring rains and the long summer heat, the wear and the tear of a great many feet. it's a very small building, and plain in its way; no high-toned paintings, not a thing that is gay; it was built of the gun-house of col thayer fame, during the years of the delafield reign. then came captain b.--he thought it all wrong that such a small house should hold such a throng; so out went the walls, up went the roof, and thus it was altered and made large enough. then again it was altered, with the door to the south, which did very well in time of a drought; then lieutenant g., he thought it to better-he changed it a little, but not to the letter. it was painted without and papered within; the roof now is shingles, then it was tin. next came colonel b., a thrifty man-he too had to lend a helping hand. so down went the stove and up went a heater, a thing which, indeed, was very much neater. again it's been altered, just right, it's confess't, for the door has gone back again into the west. [illustration: presenting "spooney button." (sketched by cadet cameron. class of '83.)] the east end's been paneled, and looks very good; the door has been covered with a very nice hood; and thus it's been altered again and again; this time it was altered to keep off the rain. this little brown house, so dear to each heart, so famous in history, so free from all art-our hearts with emotion always will thrill when we think of the chapel under the hill. but where are the loved ones we met here of yore? their forms and their faces we'll see nevermore; their loud, cheery laugh and swift-coming feet no more in the sabbath-school ever to greet. some have launched out on the world's busy tide, some have got married, some have died, some on the frontier, wading through strife, with the musketry's rattle and the wild scalper's knife. some by the camp-fires, with their minds on the rack, eating salt pork with a little hard-tack, wading through snow or fording a river, or asleep on the ground without any cover. from the falls of missouri, with its loud, maddening roar, to the slopes of pacific, an ever-green shore, to the atlantic ocean, with a coast sand-bound, there some of my boys are sure to be found. to the northward, to the westward, and fair, sunny south, like the dove with the olive-branch of peace in its mouth, thus they've gone forth their garlands to weave, when they get through they'll return with the sheaves. some on the lone star, quite at their ease, eating their rations, doing just as they please, basking in sunshine among the sweet flowers, whiling away the long, tedious hours. [illustration: kosciuszko garden.] from the st. lawrence river to the rio grande, from puget's sound to maine's cold sand, o'er the hilltops, through the valleys, never to lag, not a spot on this land but they've planted the flag. * * * * * the old village people--where are they, that in the chapel met to pray? the stalwart man and maiden mild, the matron and the little child, the son and sire side by side, as to the village church they hied- some are gone and sweetly rest, with their white hands folded on their breast. under the violet and the rose, the autumn leaves and winter snows, on the banks of the hudson there to sleep, while the moon and stars their vigils keep. the man of god, with modest mien, with faltering steps and looks serene, as to the sacred desk they knelt and poured forth what their spirits felt, their hearts went up with pure desire, while on the altar burned the fire; a few still linger on the shore. veterans of a holy war. may this little brown house, of good constitution, built on the classic grounds of the old revolution, the stars and the stripes, the blue and cadet grey, be the last things to perish when time's passed away. supplement. _lines addressed to the fourth class of '78-'79._ to the young gentlemen that are here with us now-to you and the rest i make my best bow. now listen, young men; take heed what i say; your time is coming, it's not far away. be true to your trust and your old alma mater; lean firm on that arm, you'll need nothing better: and to the young gentlemen of the tenth section, flee to the fourth--in it there's protection. perhaps that will do, but the ninth, i am told, will send the young gentlemen out in the cold. there are three honest men of old cadet fame-phil, math and chem, i think is their name. [illustration: flirtation path. (photographed by g. w. pack.)] these three honest fellows are all very bold, and are sure to kick somebody out of the fold; then off goes the trimmings, and away goes the grey, and then you are told to get out of the way. then you'll think of flirtation and old gee's rock, and the place where you sat with your sweet four o'clock; then you'll think of the taffy made over the gas, of the butter and sugar you hived from the mess. now when to the blackboard for trial you stand, keep steady, be ready, your chalk in your hand. don't think of failing; stand well on your ground; don't let it be said--a man has been found. * * * * * this poem is respectfully dedicated to the corps of cadets, by their maternal friend. [illustration: the barracks. (photographed by g. w. pack.)] grand celebration. _with pyrotechnic lights, at the military academy, by santa claus, 12 o'clock, 1880._ hark! what's that that bursts on the midnight air? "the cadets are loose," said a lady fair. "cadets loose?" echoed her puzzled spouse, as he rose in haste and donned his clothes. from "siege gun battery" came a roar that echoed back from shore to shore, rumbling along under old cro' nest, and sunk in the far-off hills to rest. just at this juncture came pouring forth from every window in the north of the barrack building grim and gray, and chased the moonbeams out of the way, the grandest sight that ever was seen, or ever will be again, i ween,-rockets, roman candles and blue lights clear, to welcome in the glad new year. with the booming of cannon and grand "fish-horn" eighteen hundred and eighty was born; this fine little fellow was ushered in with rocket's roar and fish-horn's din. what means this noise and running around, looking for something that's not to be found? for every door was relieved of its handle by some friend, of course, surely not by a vandal, to keep intruders who were stalking around from wakening the boys who were sleeping so sound, dreaming of fish-horns and other such things that santa claus always to the children brings. [illustration: the color guard. (by cadet cameron, class of '83.)] just at this moment came a loud crash-a window is broken in with a smash, and a voice calls out, "bring me an axe!" and on his near neighbor he levied the tax. i'll let him see, thought the neighbor, who'll lift the latch, as he handed him out the innocent match; the reason was this, st. nick had been busy an hour or more, and that was the reason he'd fastened the door. 'tis the midnight hour; the long roll has beat, and brought every boy in a jiff to his feet, in the area of the barracks, on the cold, damp ground, and not a delinquent is to be found, except the little fellow who was locked in his room by some naughty boy, and of course could not come. from the hall-ways came running, all loose to be sure, every boy, in a hurry his place to secure, and there on the cold ground, in the night air to stand, while the searchers were looking for things contraband. in a room two rockets were picked up by a scout, that santa claus dropped as he made his way out. while up in the cockloft, so cosy and snug, lay the old brass cannon, like a "bug in a rug," where santa claus left it to be raised up higher, and then, after all, the old thing hung fire. what can be the matter? what's all this about? that every boy from his bed is turned out in the night air to shiver and freeze, with nought on his feet but his old reveilles? there to wait for a long half hour still as the bell in the old clock tower; the scouts and the searchers have all done their best, and the boys are allowed to return to their rest, [illustration: making taffy after taps. (sketched by cadet hall, class of '83.)] and all tumble into their little cot beds, while visions of "calling day" float through their heads, sleeping and snoring like other good boys, for santa claus had filled all their stockings with toys. but lo! from the roof comes a thundering noise, loud enough to waken all of the boys; that old brass cannon had crept out of its lair, in the grand celebration determined to share. from the roof of the barracks dark and gray the old brass cannon blazed away, waking the neighbors far and near, to let them know there was nothing to fear; for old st. nick had done his work, and into his sleigh had skipped with a jerk; and calling by name each tiny reindeer, as he rode out of sight he cried "happy new year." * * * * * dedicated to all the "boys" who took part in the "grand celebration," by santa claus. * * * * * transcriber's notes: minor typographical errors have been corrected. added contents. dick prescott's third year at west point or standing firm for flag and honor by h. irving hancock contents chapters i. on furlough in the old home town ii. brass meets gold iii. dick & co. again iv. what about mr. cameron? v. along a "dangerous" road vi. the surprise the lawyer had in store vii. prescott lays a powder trail viii. a father's just wrath strikes ix. back to the good, gray life x. the scheme of the turnback xi. brayton makes a big appeal xii. in the battle against lehigh xiii. when the cheers broke loose xiv. for auld lang syne xv. heroes and a sneak xvi. roll-call gives the alarm xvii. mr. cadet slowpoke xviii. the enemies have an understanding xix. the traitor of the riding hall xx. in cadet hospital xxi. the man moving in a dark room xxii. the row in the riding detachment xxiii. the degree of "coventry" xxiv. conclusion chapter i on furlough in the old home town "my son, richard. he is home on his furlough from the military academy at west point." words would fail in describing motherly pride with which mrs. prescott introduced her son to mrs. davidson, wife of the new pastor. "i am very glad to meet you, mr. prescott," said mrs. davidson, looking up, for up she had to glance in order to see the face of this tall, distinguished-looking cadet. dick prescott's return bow was made with the utmost grace, yet without affectation. his natty straw hat he held in his right hand, close to his breast. mrs. davidson was a sensible and motherly woman, who wished to give this young man the pleasantest greeting, but she was plainly at a loss to know what to say. like many excellent and ordinarily well-informed american people, she had not the haziest notions of west point. "you are learning to be a soldier, of course?" she asked. "yes, mrs. davidson," replied dick gravely. neither in his face nor in his tone was there any hint of the weariness with which he had so often, of late, heard this aimless question repeated. "and when you are through with your course there," pursued mrs. davidson, "do you enlist in the army? or may you, if you prefer, become a sailor in our--er--navy?" "oh, i fear, mrs. davidson, that you don't understand," smiled mrs. prescott proudly. my son is now going through a very rigorous four years' course at the military academy. it is a course that is superior, in most respects to a college training, but that it is devoted to turning out commissioned officers for the army. when richard graduates, in two years more, he will be commissioned by the president as a second lieutenant in the army." "oh, i understood you to say that you were training to become a soldier, mr. prescott," cried mrs. davidson in some confusion. "i did not understand that you would become an officer." "an officer who is not also a good soldier is a most unfortunate and useless fellow under the colors," laughed dick lightly. "but it is so much more honorable to be an officer than to be a mere soldier!" cried the pastor's wife. "we do not think so in the army, mrs. davidson," dick answered more responsibility, to be sure, but we feel that the honor falls alike on men of all grades of position who are privileged to wear their country's uniform." "but don't the officers look down on the common soldiers?" asked mrs. davidson curiously. "if an officer does, then surely he has chosen the wrong career in life, madam," the cadet replied seriously. "we are not taught at west point that an officer should 'look down' upon an enlisted man. there is a gulf of discipline, but none of manhood, between the enlisted man and his officer. and it frequently happens that the officer who is a graduate from west point is called upon to welcome, as a brother officer, a man who has just been promoted from the ranks." mrs. davidson looked puzzled, as, indeed, she was. but she suddenly remembered something that made her feel more at ease. "why, i saw an officer and some soldiers on a train, the other day," she cried. "the officer had at least eight or ten soldiers with him, under his command. i remember what a fine-looking young man he was. he had what looked like two v's on his sleeve, and i remember that they were yellow. what kind of an officer is the man who wears the two yellow v's?" "a non-commissioned officer, mrs. davidson; a corporal of cavalry." "was he higher that you'll be when you graduate from west point?" "no; a corporal is an enlisted man, a step above the private soldier. the sergeant is also an enlisted man, and above the corporal. above the sergeant comes the second lieutenant, who is the lowest-ranking commissioned officer." "oh, i am sure i never could understand it all," sighed mrs. davidson. "why don't they have just plain soldiers and captains, and put the captains in a different color of uniform? then ordinary people could comprehend something about the army. but in describing that young soldier's uniform, i forgot something, mr. prescott. that young soldier, or officer, or whatever he was, beside the two yellow v's, had a white stripe near the hem of his cuff." "just one white stripe?" queried dick. "just one, i am sure." "then that one white stripe would show that the corporal, before entering the cavalry, had served one complete enlistment in the infantry." "oh, this is simply incomprehensible!" cried the new pastor's wife in comical dismay. "i am certain that i could never learn to know all these things." "it is a little confusing at first," smiled dick's mother with another show of pride. "but i think i am beginning to understand quite a lot of it." mrs. davidson went out of the bookstore conducted by dick's parents in the little city of gridley. dick sighed a bit wearily. "why don't americans take a little more pains to understand things american?" he asked his mother, with a comical smile. "people who would be ashamed not to know something about st. peter's, at rome, or the london tower, are not quite sure what the purpose of the united states military academy is." yet, though some people annoyed him with their foolish questions, he was heartily glad to be back, for the summer, in the dear old home town. so was his chum, greg holmes, also a west point cadet, and, like prescott, a member of the new second class at the united states military academy. both young men had now been in gridley for forty-eight hours. they had met a host old-time friends, including nearly all of the high school students of former days. readers of "_dick prescott's first year at west point_" and of "_dick prescott's second year at west point_," are familiar with the careers of the two chums, prescott and holmes, at the united states military academy. the same readers are also familiar with the life at west point of bert dodge, a former gridley boy, but who had been appointed a cadet from another part of the state. our old readers are aware of the fact that dodge had been forced out of the military academy for dishonorable conduct; that it was the cadets, not the authorities, who had compelled his departure, and that dodge resigned and left before the close of his second year. readers of these volumes of the _high school boys' series_ know all about bert dodge in the course of his career at gridley high school. dodge, back in the old days in gridley, had been a persistent enemy of dick & co., as prescott and his five chums had always been called in the high school. of those five chums greg, as is well known, was dick's comrade at west point. dave darrin and dan dalzell were now midshipmen at the united states naval academy at annapolis. their adventures while learning to be united states navel officers, are fully set forth in the annapolis series. tom reade and harry hazelton had chosen to go west, where they became civil engineers engaged in railway construction through the wild parts of the country, as fully set forth in the _young engineers' series_. just after mrs. davidson left the bookstore there were no customers left, so dick had a few moments in which to chat with his mother. "what has become of the fellow dodge?" asked the young west pointer. "oh, haven't i told you?" asked his mother. a shade of annoyance crossed her face, for she well knew that it was dodge who, while at west point, had nearly succeeded in having her son dismissed from the service on a charge of which dodge, not dick, was guilty. "no, mother; and i haven't thought to ask." "bert dodge is here in gridley at present. the dodge family are occupying their old home here for a part of the summer." "do people here understand that dodge had to resign from west point in order to escape a court-martial that would have bounced him out of the military academy?" dick inquired. "no; very few know it. i have mentioned dodge's disgrace to only one person beside your father." "you told laura bentley?" "yes, dick. she had a right to know. laura has always been your loyal friend. when she reached west point, last winter, expecting to go to a cadet hop with you, she remained at west point until you had been tried by court-martial and acquitted on that unjust charge. laura had a right to know the whole story." "she surely had," nodded dick. "as to gridley people in general," went on mrs. prescott, "i have not felt it necessary to say anything, and folks generally believe that bert dodge resigned from the corps of cadets simply because he did not find army life to his liking." "he wouldn't have found it to his liking had he chosen not to resign," smiled prescott darkly. "are you going to say anything about dodge while you are home?" inquired his mother, glancing up quickly. "not a word, if i can avoid it," replied dick. "i hate tale-bearers." at this moment the postman came in, blowing his whistle and rapidly sorting out a pile of letters, which he dropped on the counter. "there are probably a lot here for me, mother," smiled dick. "shall i separate then from the business mail?" "if you will, my boy." some dozen of the envelopes proved to be addressed to young prescott. of these two were letters frown west point classmates. three were from old friends in gridley, sending him congratulations and expressing the hope of meeting him during his furlough. the remainder of the letters were mainly invitations of a social nature. "odd!" grinned the young soldier. when i was merely a high school boy i could go a whole month without receiving anything resembling a social invitation. now i am receiving them at the rate of a score a day." "well, a west point cadet is some one socially, is he not?" smiled mrs. prescott. "i suppose so," nodded dick. "the truth is, a cadet has so much social attention paid to him that it is a wonder more of the fellows are not spoiled." "are you going to accept any social invitations while you are home?" asked his mother. "that depends," dick answered. "if invitations come from people who were glad to see me when i was a high school boy here, then i shall try to accept. but i don't care much about meeting who didn't care about meeting me two years ago. here is a note from miss clara deane, mother. she trusts that greg and i can make it convenient to call at her home next saturday afternoon, and meet some of her friends. when i attended gridley miss deane used to look down on me because i was a poor man's son. i believe her set referred to me as a 'mucker.' at least, the fellows of her set did. so i shall send miss deane a brief note of regret." dick continued to examine his mail while carrying on a running fire of talk with his proud and happy mother. "oh, here is a very nice note from susie sharp," he murmured, opening another epistle. "she is having quite a few friends at the house this afternoon, and she begs that greg and i will be present. miss sharp was a very nice girl in the old days, although she and i never happened to be very particular friends. now, i want to have all the time i can for my real friends of the old days." "miss sharp would be very proud to entertain two men from west point," suggested his mother. "that's just the reason," dick answered. "miss sharp invites us not because she was ever much a friend of ours, but simply because she is anxious to entertain two cadets. she probably reasons that it may give distinction to her afternoon tea, or whatever the affair is." "then you are not going?" asked mrs. prescott. "i hardly think so. not unless greg wishes it." the next envelope that dick picked up was addressed in laura bentley's handwriting. dick read for a moment, then announced: "i have changed my mind. i shall go to call on miss sharp. laura urges me to, saying that miss sharp has been very kind to her in the last year. if laura wishes it, i'll go to call on any one." at this moment greg holmes, tall, muscular, erect and looking as though he had just come from the tailor's iron, stepped cheerily into the store. "morning, old ramrod," hailed the other cadet. "i know you don't mind that kind of talk, mrs. prescott. it's our term of affection for dick at west point. going through your invitations, are you? aren't they the bore, though. especially as we had very few invitations when we were high school boys in this same old town." "you received one from susie: sharp, of course?" "yes," greg assented. "and i'm going---not!" "you are going---yes!" dick retorted. "oh!" nodded greg. "am i entitled to any explanation?" "laura wishes it." "that's a whole platoon of reasons boiled down into one file-closer," grinned greg. "yes; i am going to visit miss sharp this afternoon." "have you heard that bert dodge is in town at present?" "no!" muttered greg. then added tersely: "the b.j.(fresh) rascal! i wonder what folks here think of a sneak who was forced to resign by a cadet committee on honor?" "folks here don't know that dodge was forced out of the academy." "thank you for telling me," nodded greg. "then i shall know how to keep my mouth shut. laura will be a miss sharp's this afternoon, of course?" "naturally. and belle meade, also." "then," proposed greg, "suppose we 'phone the girls and ask if we may call this afternoon and escort them to miss sharp's. we must do something to show that we appreciate their loyalty in remaining at west point last winter until your name was cleared of disgrace." "yes; we'll 'phone them," nodded dick. on both days, so far, that he had been home, dick had called at dr. bentley's to see laura. in fact, that was the only calling he had done, though he had met scores of friends on the street. both young ladies were pleased to accept the proffered escort. "by the way," proposed greg, "what are you going to do this morning?" "going out for a walk, for one thing," replied dick. "i've talked to mother until she must have ear-ache on both sides, and feel tired of having me home." "what do you saw if we trot around and extract handshakes from some of the follows we used to pack schoolbooks with?" hinted holmes. "for instance, ennerton is down at the bank, in a new job. foss is advertising manager in curlham & peck's department store. i know he'll be glad to see us if we don't take up too much of his employer's time. then ted sanders-----" and so greg continued to enumerate a lot of the old gridley high school boys of whose present doings he had gotten track. dick and greg left the bookstore and started on the rounds to hunt up the best remembered of their old schoolmates. and a pleasant morning they had of it. thought the sun poured down its heat over the little city, these two cadets, who had drilled for two summers on the blistering plain and the dusty roads at west point, did not notice the warmth of the day. in the afternoon, in good season, dick called for laura, waiting there until belle meade arrived under the escort of greg. "these west pointers make the most correct and attentive escorts imaginable," laughed belle. "but there's just one disadvantage connected with them." "i hadn't noticed it," smiled laura. "why, when greg walks beside me, and holds my parasol, i feel as though i were in the street with my parasol tied to the methodist steeple. where's your rice powder, laura? i'm sure the sun has made a sight of my nose and neck." laughing merrily, the young people set off for miss sharp's. the home was a comfortable one, with attractive grounds, for the elder sharp was a well-to-do merchant. some three score of young people were present, and of these nearly two thirds had belonged to the high school student body in the old high school days of dick and greg. naturally, the young ladies outnumbered the young men by more than four to one. "oh, i am delighted that you two have come," cried susie, moving forward to greet her cadet visitors. this was wholly true, for miss sharp had planned the affair solely in order to have the distinction of entertaining the young west pointers. had dick and greg remained away, susie, without doubt, would have been both disappointed and humiliated. through the connecting drawing rooms dick and greg moved with a grace and lack of consciousness greatly in contrast with their semi-awkwardness in their earlier high school days. many pleasant acquaintances were renewed here. suddenly, susie, catching a glimpse of the front walk, hastened out into the hallway. then she came in, smiling eagerly, a well-dressed, pompous-looking young man at her side. "mr. prescott! mr. holmes!" called susie. "here is an old comrade whom you both may be surprised to meet!" dick and greg turned, and indeed, they were astonished. for the latest arrival was bert dodge! "howdy, fellows!" called dodge carelessly, though inwardly he was quaking with alarm. how would these two decent cadets treat the fellow who had been kicked out of west point for dishonorable acts? prescott bowed, but did not speak. greg's line of conduct was identical with his chum's. bert turned white, at first, with mortification. then a red flush set in at his neck, extending to his face and temples. but dodge possessed "brass," if not honor, so he decided to face it out. turning to a young woman standing nearby, bert spoke to her, and they laughed and chatted. from her, bert passed through the room nodding here, chatting there. dick and greg, after the first look of amazement, followed by their cold bows, had turned to the old friends with whom they had been chatting. in the course of a few minutes bert dodge had got along close to the two cadets. "how are you, prescott?" called bert. "how is good old west point? and you, holmes---how are you?" dodge held out his hand with all the effrontery of which he was capable. turning, dick gave the sneak only a cold, steady look. chapter ii brass meets gold neither dick nor greg took the trouble to answer the greeting. dodge's outstretched hand both cadets affected not to see. as it happened, few of the others present noted this brief little scene. a natural break in the crowd left dick alone for the moment, with holmes standing not far away and looking coldly in the direction of the ex-cadet, yet not appearing to see him at all. "well, what's the matter?" hissed dodge in an undertone that the other guests did not hear. "are you going to make a fool of yourself, prescott?" "you'd better execute a right-about face and make double-time away from here," replied dick in a freezing undertone. "otherwise i don't believe the guests will fail to observe how west pointers regard a convicted sneak." "are you going to open your mouth and do a lot of talking?" whispered dodge menacingly. "or are you going to keep your tongue behind your teeth?" "i can't undertake to lower myself by making any promises to a sneak," retorted dick, still in an undertone. "but i warn you that any further conversation i have with you will be carried on in ordinary conversational tones. and if you undertake to remain, we shall be obliged to inform our hostess that we regret our inability to stay any longer." conscious that others were probably looking their way, bert dodge tried to make his face as expressionless as possible. "see here, prescott-----" the fellow began coaxingly. but dick turned and walked away. greg, very stiff and straight, moved at his friend's side. afraid of what others might notice, dodge passed on. he presently reached a door leading into the hallway. here he remained briefly. then, when he believed himself to be unobserved, he slipped out, took his hat and got away. a few minutes later, as dick and greg passed the door of a little reception room, susie sharp called them in quietly. they found her there alone. "oh, mr. prescott! mr. holmes! have i made any mistake, i thought it would be a pleasant surprise to you both if i had mr. dodge here to meet you, as you all three were classmates at west point. but i should have remembered that in the old high school days you two and mr. dodge were not the best of friends." there was an agitated catch in susie's voice. their young hostess was worried by the thought that she had invited jarring elements to meet. "why, to be candid, i don't believe dodge ever admired either greg or myself very much, replied cadet prescott evenly. "but did i make a fearful mistake?" pleaded susie. "one cannot make a mistake who aims at the pleasure of others," dick answered smilingly. somewhat reassured, susie asked her cadet guests to return with her to the drawing rooms. there they joined a little group, and were chatting when a girl's voice reached them from a few feet away. the girl who was speaking did not realize that her tones carried as far as the ears of dick and greg as she explained to two other young women: "mr. dodge said he resigned from the military academy because he could not stand the crowd there." "i guess that's true," muttered dick inwardly. "the crowd couldn't stand dodge, either." but sam foss made the conversation general by calling: "how about that, dick! i always thought west point was a very select place. bessie frost says dodge left west point because he thought the fellows there rather below his grade socially." "perhaps they are," nodded dick gravely, but in even tones. "i have heard it stated that about sixty per cent. of the cadets are the sons of wage-earners. indeed, one of the cadets whom i most respect has not attempted to conceal the fact that, until he graduates and begins to draw officer's pay, his mother will have to continue to support herself at the washtub. that young man is now in the first class, and i can tell you that we are all mighty anxious to see that man graduate and find himself where he can look after a noble mother who has the misfortune to be unusually poor in purse." "then as an american, i'm proud of west point, if it has fellows with no more false shame than that," cried foss heartily. "why, i always thought west point a very swell place, extremely so," murmured bessie frost. "in fact--pardon me, won't you---i have always heard that the young men at west point are very much puffed up and very exclusive." dick laughed good-humoredly. "of course, miss frost, the cadet is expected to learn how to become a gentleman as well as an officer. yet why should any of us feel unduly conceited? we are privileged to secure one of the best educations to be obtained in the world, but we obtain it at public expense. not only our education, but all our living expenses are paid for out of the nation's treasury, and that money is contributed by all tax-payers alike. if we of the cadet corps should get any notion that we belong to a superior race of beings, to whom would we owe it all? are the cadets not indebted for their opportunities to all the citizens of the united states?" "did bert dodge have any especial trouble at west point?" asked another girl. "mr. dodge did not make us his confidants," evaded dick coolly. "what do you say, mr. holmes?" persisted the same girl. "about the same that dick does," replied greg. "you see, there are several hundred cadets at west point, and dick and i were not in the same section with dodge." "was he one of the capable students there?" "why, he was in a much higher section than either dick or myself," admitted greg truthfully; but he did not think it necessary to explain the trickery and cribbing by which dodge had secured the appearance of higher scholarship. at this point the tact and good sense of miss susie sharp caused her to use her opportunities as hostess to break up the group and to start some new lines of conversation. but susie was uneasy, and presently she found a chance to whisper to laura bentley: "tell me, dear---what lies back of the fact that mr. dodge does not seem to be on good terms with mr. prescott and mr. holmes?" "did bert dodge know that dick and greg were to be here!" asked miss bentley. "no; i wanted it to be a surprise on both sides." "it must have been, my dear," smiled laura "the fact is that dick and greg are not on friendly terms with mr. dodge." "oh!" murmured susie, moving away. "i am glad that it was no worse." a large tent had been erected on one of the lawns. to this tent, later in the afternoon, miss sharp invited her guests. here a collation had been served, with pretty accessories, by a caterer, and several waiters stood about to serve. when the guests returned to the house they discovered that the rugs had been removed, and that an orchestra was now at hand to furnish music for dancing. given music and a smooth floor, young people do not mind exertion on a hot june afternoon. dancing was at once in full swing. nor did the young people leave until after six o'clock. greg escorted belle meade home, dick walking with laura. the two cadet chums met on main street a little later. they stood near a corner, chatting, when bert dodge came unexpectedly around the corner. he saw the two cadets, changed color, then halted. neither dick nor greg checked their conversation, nor let it be known that they were aware of the ex-cadet's presence. but dodge, after looking at the chums sourly for a moment, stepped squarely in front of them. "see here, you fellows-----" he began, his voice sounding thickly. "have you the impudence to address us," asked prescott coolly. "don't talk to me about impudence!" snarled dodge. "what did you two say about me, after i left this afternoon?" "oh, i assure you we didn't discuss you any more than was necessary," replied dick frigidly. "what did you say?" insisted dodge. "we couldn't say much about you," greg broke in icily. "you know, you're hardly a fit subject for conversation." "see here, you two fellows," warned bert angrily, "you want to be mighty careful what you say about me! do you understand? a single unfriendly word, that does any injury to my reputation, and i'll take it out of you." prescott would not go to the length of sneering. he allowed an amused twinkle to show in his eyes. "on your way, dodge that's the best course for you," advised greg coldly. "we're not interested in your threats of fight, and you ought to know better, too, after some of the thumpings you've had." "fight?" jeered dodge harshly. "you fellows seem to think you're still in cadet barracks, and that all you have to do is to call me out, and that my only recourse is to put up an argument before a class scrap committee. but you fellows aren't at west point just now, and cadet committees don't run things here. you're back in civilization, where we have laws and regular courts. now, if i find that you fellows are saying a single word against me i'll have you both arrested for criminal libel. i'll have you put through the courts, too, and sent to jail. then, when you get out of jail, you can find out what your high and mighty west point friends think of that!" dodge finished with a harsh, sneering laugh, then turned on his heel. "the cheap skate!" muttered greg, looking after the retreating fellow. "humph! i'd like to see him make any trouble for us!" "he may try it," muttered prescott, gazing thoughtfully after their ancient enemy. "how?" demanded greg. "we don't think him worth talking about among decent people, so we'll give him not the slightest chance to make any trouble." "we won't give dodge any real cause, of course," nodded dick gravely. "but a scoundrel like dodge doesn't need real cause. that young man has altogether more spending money than is good for his morals. why, with his money, greg, dodge would know how to find people, apparently respectable, who would be willing to accept a price for perjuring themselves." "humph!" uttered greg. "if dodge could get such testimony, and his perjurers would stick to their yarns," continued dick, "then the young scoundrel might be actually able to carry out his threats." "he wouldn't dare!" "if it were anything high-minded and dangerous, dodge wouldn't dare," admitted dick. "but minds like his will dare a good deal to put through anything scoundrelly against people who try to be decent." chapter iii dick & co. again "hey, there, you galoot! you thin, long-drawn-out seven feet of tin soldier!" after having been home a week, dick prescott flushed as he wheeled about to meet this jeering greeting. in another instant every trace of his wrath had vanished. "tom reade!" hailed dick in great delight, turning and rushing at his old high school chum. "and good little harry hazelton!" it was, indeed, the young engineer pair, reade and hazelton, old-time members of dick & co., the great high school crowd of gridley. reade and hazelton, after finishing at the high school, had gone out to colorado to serve under the engineer in charge of a great piece of railway construction work. the adventures of tom and harry, in the wild spots of the west, are fully set forth in the volumes of the _young engineers series_. "the last fellow i expected to meet in gridley!" cried dick, overflowing with delight as he stuck out both hands at once and grasped theirs. "well, we are, aren't we?" demanded reade. "you are---what?" "the last fellows you've met in gridley. but where's greg?" "if he's out of bed," grinned prescott, "he's in cit. clothes." "carrying a rifle and marching the lock-step---the route-step, i mean---has dulled your brain," growled tom reade. "is greg in gridley?" "what scoundrel is taking my name in vein?" demanded holmes, coming upon the trio. then there were hearty greetings, all over again. but in the end reade looked greg over from head to foot. "do they make you sleep on a stretcher at west point?" tom wanted to know. "or what do they do, to pull a pair of galoots out to the length that you two have attained." "it's the physical training and the military drills," explained prescott, laughing. "but my! you fellows look like the indian's head on a copper cent!" tom and harry were, indeed, highly bronzed by the hot southwestern sun. harry, in fact, was well on the way to being black, so burned had he become by his last few months of work. "i hope, if you fellows are ever allowed to go forth into the army, you'll get your first station down in arizona," teased tom. "i don't," retorted greg, "if it will make us look like you two." "oh, it won't," broke in harry mockingly. "you see, we have to work down in arizona. but you fellows wouldn't. we've seen some thing of the soldiery down in that part of the world, and they're the laziest crowd you ever saw. why, the army officers in arizona sleep all day and grumble about the heat all night. they have tame apaches to do their work for them. oh, no, you wouldn't suffer down in arizona!" "but how do you fellows come to be home at this time?" asked dick. "homesick!" sighed tom. "the fellows in our engineer corps are entitled to some leave. so harry and i waited until we had enough leave piled up, and then we started back for gridley." "well, it's hot on this corner," muttered greg, "and there's an ice cream place down the block, where the electric fans are going. let's make a raid on the place. do you fellows remember when we were happy if we could buy a ten-cent plate and then get by ourselves with six spoons to dip into the ice cream? come on! let's get good and square for those days." "yes; it is hot here on this corner," assented dick. "hot?" demanded reade impatiently. "humph! harry and i were just regretting that we hadn't worn our top coats today. we came to gridley to cool off, and this old town seems like a heaven of coolness after the baked-brown alkali deserts of arizona." "double orders for each one of us," explained harry, after the quartette of one time high school chums had seated themselves under a buzzing fan. now, the chums of old days had time to look each other over more closely. tom and harry were taller than in the old high school days, but they had not quite reached the height of dick and greg. both of the young civil engineers, besides being heavily bronzed, were thin and sinewy looking. thin as they were, both looked the pictures of health. though tom and harry did not "advertise" their tailors as well as did the two west point cadets, nevertheless the pair of young civil engineers looked prosperous. they had the general air of being the kind of young men who are destined to succeed splendidly in life. before the ice cream---the first double order, that is---reached the table, all of the young men were plunged into stories of their adventures during the last two years. readers of these two series are familiar with the adventures that the young men discussed. "you've been getting a heap more excitement out of life, you two," prescott admitted frankly. "still, from my point of view, i wouldn't swap with you." "just as bughouse on west point and the army as ever, are you?" quizzed hazelton. "just as much, and always will be," dick nodded, beaming. "i can't share your enthusiasm," laughed hazelton. "we've seen the army in the west, and they're a lazy, little-account lot." instead of getting angry, however, dick and greg laughed outright. "i wish we had you at west point for forty-eight hours, right in barracks and academic building," declared greg, his eyes dancing. "whew! but you'd be able to view real world from a new angle!" "oh, maybe at west point," nodded hazelton teasingly. "but afterwards, in the army, it's just one dream of indolence." "well, what do the army officers actually do, out your ways" challenged greg. "why, they---well, they-----" "you don't know a blessed thing about it, do you?" dared greg. "i thought not. you see, we do know something about what army officers do with their time. that's what we're learning at west point." "don't let's fight," pleaded tom pathetically. "fellows, we may never meet again. before another year rolls around hazelton and i may have been scalped and burned by the apaches, and you fellows may have died at west point, from nervous prostration brought on by overeating and lack of exercise. so let's be good friends during the little time that we may have together." "when you get time," put in dick dryly, "you might as well tell us when you reached gridley." "after ten o'clock last night," supplied harry. "of course, we had to go home first. but this morning we set out to find you. we knew, of course, that any place would be likelier than your homes, so we tried main street first." "many folks were glad to see you?" asked tom. "too many," sighed dick. "that remark doesn't apply to any old friends, but there are a good many who always turned up their noses at us in the old days. now, just because we're cadets, and because half-baked army officers are supposed to be somebody in the social world, greg and i are getting so much social mail that we fear we shall have to hire a secretary for the summer." "nobody will bother _us_, i guess," grimaced tom. "most people here probably think that, because we're engineers, we run locomotives. that's what the word 'engineer' suggests to ignoramuses. now, the man who runs a locomotive should properly be called an engine-tender, or engineman, while it's the fellow who surveys and bosses the building of a railroad that is the engineer. you get a smattering of engineering work at west point, don't you?" "we've been at math. and drawing, so far," dick explained. "that all leads up to the engineering instruction that we shall have to take up in september." "oh, i dare say you'll get a very fair smattering of engineering," assented tom. "it's nothing like the real practice that we get, though, out in the field with the survey and construction parties. i guess you fellows, after your grind in the high school, found west point math. pretty easy, didn't you?" dick laughed merrily before he answered. "tom, the math. that a fellow gets in high school would take up about three months at west point. how are you on math., now?" "oh, not so fearfully rotten," replied reade complacently. "harry and i have had to dig up a lot of new math. since we've taken on with an engineering corps in the field. harry, trot up some of the kind of mathematics that we have to use." "wait a moment," put in dick. "greg, sketch out an easy one from the math. problems we have to dig into at west point. give 'em something light from conic sections first." cadet holmes sketched out, on the back of an envelope, the demonstration of a short problem. tom and harry looked on laughingly, at first. then their eyes began to open. "do you really have to dig up that sort of stuff at west point," demanded reade. "yes," nodded dick. "and now i'll show you another easy one, belonging to descriptive geometry." the two young engineers looked on and listened for a few moments. "stop!" commanded hazelton, at last. "my head is beginning to buzz!" "if that's the sort of gibberish you have to learn, i'm more than ever glad that i didn't go to west point," proclaimed reade. the old-time chums had eaten their fill of ice cream some time before, but they still sat about the table, chatting gayly. "there's one thing you never really told us about in your letters," muttered tom. "you wrote us that bert dodge had resigned from the military academy, but you didn't tell us why. now, that fellow, dodge, never gave up anything good that he didn't have to give up. was he kicked out of the academy?" "that story isn't known in gridley," replied prescott, lowering his voice. "dodge tells people that he left because he didn't like the crowd or the life there. we haven't changed the story any since our return. we'll tell you fellows, for we never used to have any secrets from you in the old days. but you mustn't pass the yarn around." "no," grimaced greg. "you mustn't tell the story around. dodge has threatened to have us imprisoned for life, for criminal libel, if we allow his secret to reach profane ears." "just why did dodge leave west point?" asked reade. "he was invited to," replied prescott, "by a class committee on honor." "i thought it was something like that," grunted reade. then, in low tones that could not be overheard by other patrons of the ice cream place, dick prescott told the story of dodge's cribbing at west point, and of the way that bert nearly succeeded in palming his guilt off on to prescott. "i'd believe every word of that yarn, even if a plumb stranger told it to me," declared hazelton. "it has all the earmarks of truth. it's a complete story of just what bert dodge would do in one form or another, in any walk of life." "but you fellows won't repeat insisted dick. "and thereby have us consigned to prison cells for the balance of our unworthy lives?" mocked greg. "you know us better than to think that we'd blab," retorted tom half indignantly. "you had a right to know, though," prescott went on. "dick & co. always were a close corporation," laughed hazelton. "and i hope the time will never come when we can't tell our secrets to each other." "i am sorry you fellows have so short a leave," murmured dick. "why, what would you want us to do!" queried tom. "greg and i would be tickled to death if you were going to be here all summer," dick answered. "in the first place, just for the sake of having your company. in the next place, we'd think it great if you could go back to west point with us when our furlough is over. if you could be there, over a saturday and a sunday, we'd have time to show you a lot about the life there. you'd feel acquainted from the start, for lots of the fellows of our class have heard about you. you'd get a great reception." "gridley must seem dull, after your life in the west," mused cadet holmes. "oh, i don't believe there's any place where you get excitement all the time," declared tom. "and there's no place so dull that it doesn't have a little excitement once in a while." bang! bang! bang! sounded several sharp explosions of firearms out in the street. "there's some, right now!" muttered greg, jumping up. "come along!" bang! bang! bang! as they ran forward toward the door of the ice cream place the young men saw people fleeing in frantic haste along main street. five or six of these fugitives darted into the ice cream place. as they did so, chief of police simmons backed into the same doorway. he had his revolver in his right hand, while he called back over his shoulder to the owner of the store: "granby, telephone the station for my reserves. the indians and cowboys of the wild west show are on a rampage, and shooting up gridley. tell sergeant cluny, from me, to bring the reserves on the run!" bang! bang! bang! up the street came a picturesque, dangerous looking group. three men in cowboy hats, flannel shirts and "chaps," with revolver holsters dangling from their belts, and each with a pair of automatic revolvers in his hands, came along. just behind this trio were two indians, painted and wearing gaudy blankets. the indian were armed like the cowboys. it was evident that all the members of the wild band were partially intoxicated. bang! bang! bang! "get back into the store, you young men!" ordered chief simmons crisply. "these heathen are pie-eyed and they'll shoot you up quicker than a flash!" "who, that lot of freaks?" demanded tom contemptuously. "dick! greg! indians are the specialty of the army. you go after the redskins, while harry and i tame these bad men!" like a flash, ere chief simmons could interfere, the four young men were off. straight up to the "raiders" dashed the former high school boys. one of the indians wheeled, firing a fusillade just over prescott's head. "oh, stop that noise!" ordered dick dryly. before the indian could guess it, prescott had leaped in, had grabbed the redskin by a famous old gridley football tackle and had sent the rampaging indian to the ground greg, equally reckless, floored the other indian and sat on his chest. tom reade made a bolt for the fiercest-looking cowboy. "stop spoiling the pure air on a hot day, and give me those guns!" commanded reade, going straight at the fellow. the big cowboy wheeled, aiming both weapons at reade. "get back!" ordered the shooter. "if ye don't i'll pump ye full of hole-makers! i'm bad! i'm a wolf, and this is my day to howl. i'm a wolf---d'ye catch that, partners?" "then back to the menagerie for yours!" muttered reade dryly. "and first of all fork those guns over. you're making the air smell of sulphur." "get back! i'm bad, i tell ye!" "you, bad; you cheap piute from rhode island!" sniffed tom contemptuously. reaching forward, quick as a flash, reade twisted a revolver from the fellow's left hand. "now, pass me the other," continued tom. "if you don't i'll wring that wooden head of yours from your neck! i'm coming, now!" having tossed the captured revolver in the street behind him, reade made a sudden leap at the "bad wolf." "hold on!" cried the fellow sheepishly. "don't get excited. here it is; take it!" seeing how readily their companion had surrendered, the other two headed hazelton's demand for their weapons. from the doorway chief simmons had looked on at this brief, bloodless battle like one dazed. from up and down main street at respectful distances, crowds of gridleyites gazed in stupefied wonder. "come on out, chief, and talk to these naughty boys!" called tom good-humoredly. "they didn't mean to be troublesome, but fourth of july had got into their blood." the police reserves came running up now. first of all, the revolvers of the five wild ones were gathered up. then the officers turned to the prisoners that had been captured by the west point cadets and the young engineers. "these fellows are only medicine-show cowboys," tom explained, with a grin, to the chief of police. "i know the real kind---and these sorry specimens are not it. probably these fellows have never been west of ohio." "you're an indian, i'm pretty sure," said cadet prescott to the painted redskin whom he now held by one arm. "but you're a tame indian. what part of maine do you come from?" "yes, i'm an indian," grinned dick's captive "i own a farm on the east end of long island." "humph! you've been through the pubic schools, too?" demanded dick. "yes, sir." greg's indian was quite as docile. the police now had the weapons of all the party, except one automatic weapon that greg was examining. "yah!" grinned holmes. "this gun is loaded with blank cartridges. i guess all the others were, too." the guess was a wholly correct one. by this time the main street crowd, wholly over its fright, was crowding about the police and their captives. "say, this seems like old times!" called sam foss, laughingly. "dick & co. right in the thick the excitement." "there hasn't been any," grinned prescott. at this instant a new actor arrived on the scene. wild charlie, the indian medicine "doctor," immaculate in black frock suit and patent leather shoes, with a handsome sombrero spread over the glistening black hair that hung down over his shoulders, rushed up. "let these people go, chief," begged the picturesque quack doctor. "i'll pay for any damage they've done." chief simmons looked the long-haired "doctor" over with a broad grin. "you're wild charlie, are you?" demanded the chief. "yes, partner." "what part of vermont do you come from! or is germany your hailing place, wild charlie?" "don't josh me too hard, chief," pleaded the medicine fakir "will you let my people go, if i settle?" "these terrors," retorted chief simmons, "are about due for thirty days for disturbing the peace." "but that would bust my summer season, chief," pleaded "wild charlie." "oh, don't run these innocents in, chief," urged tom reade. "they aren't really bad, and they admitted it as soon as we told 'em so. these people are not dangerous---only a bit nervous." "see here, wild charlie," grinned the chief of police, "i don't want to do anything to make you wilder. i'll let these human picture books go on condition that you take your show at once and clear on out of town." "i may just as well go," sighed the long-haired one. "this job has ruined my business here. and say, chief, won't you break the guns and knock the cartridges out, and then let me have the guns, too? they cost a lot of money!" but on this point chief simmons was firm. "no, sirree! you can take your infant terrors and load them on the first train away from here. but the revolvers are confiscated, wild charlie, and they'll stay here. you can try to recover the revolvers by a civil suit, if you want to risk it in court. otherwise, make your get-away as fast as you can. i'll admit that your outfit had the josh on me, and had me tickling the wire for the reserves. but just now the town holds two west point cadets, and two young engineers from the real west, which makes gridley no place to turn a vaudeville powder-play loose in." "wild charlie" and his band fled as fast as they could, for the crowd was jeering loudly and talking of taking all six to the nearest horse-trough for a ducking. "is that the best the old town can do for excitement in these days?" laughed reade, as soon as our young friends had separated themselves from the laughing crowd and had started on a stroll. "why, that little episode was doing well enough for any town," smiled dick. "a laugh is better than a fight, any day." "queer text for a soldier to preach from," grinned hazelton. "not a bit," dick retorted. "the soldier, above all men, hates a fight, for the soldier knows he's the only one that's likely to get hurt." "oho!" "yes; and moreover," broke in greg, "armies aren't organized, in the first place, for fighting, but for preserving peace." "just as railroads are built to keep people from traveling," jeered reade. "if we don't look out the greatest excitement that we'll find today will be starting a fight among ourselves," warned harry dryly. "rot!" scoffed tom. "the old chums of dick & co. couldn't fight each other, any more that they can avoid joshing each other." though none of the chums guessed it, excitement enough for two of them, possible, was brewing in another part of gridley at that moment. bert dodge was talking almost in whispers with a young fellow named fessenden, who had discharged from the bank in which bert's father was vice president. "you do my trick---put it through for me, fessenden---and i'll do my best with my father to get you back in the bank," bert promised. "even if i fail in that, i'll pay you well, in addition to the money i've just given you." "oh, it won't be a hard job to put through," nodded young fessenden, understandingly. "i can find two fellows who have nerve enough, and who will go into court and swear to anything i want them to." "that's the talk!" glowed young dodge. "you will testify that dick prescott was talking with you, and that he told innumerable lies to blacken my name that he libeled me!" chapter iv what about mr. cameron? one place that dick prescott made it a point to visit early in his furlough was the office of the morning "blade," for which paper, in his old high school days, the cadet had worked as a local reporter "on space." a "space writer" is one who is paid so much per column for all matter of his that is published in the paper. had it not been for the "blade" dick prescott would not have been as well supplied with pocket money as he had been during his high school days. everyone about the "blade" office, in the old days, had expected that prescott, at the end of his high school course, would join the "blade" staff as a "regular." but dick had had his own plans about west point, although he had kept his intentions a secret from nearly every one but his chums. early one bright june afternoon dick strolled into the "blade" office. "why, hullo, my boy!" cried editor pollock, jumping up out of his chair and coming forward, hand outstretched. bradley, the news editor, and len spencer, the "star" reporter, now growing comically fat, rushed forward to meet the cadet. "sit down, dick, and let's hear all about west point," urged mr. pollock, placing a chair beside his own, while the other members of the staff crowded about. "what sort of a place is west point, and how do you like it there?" dick smilingly gave them a lively account of life at the united states military academy. "i hope you're keeping track of all this, len," nodded the editor to reporter spencer. "tell us plenty more, too dick. we want to give you and holmes at least a bully two-column write-up." dick's cheery look suddenly changed to one of mild alarm. "do you want to do me a big favor, mr. pollock?" "anything up to a page, my boy, and you know it," replied the editor heartily. "we still regard you as one of the 'blade' family." "the favor i'm going to ask, mr. pollock, is that you don't give greg and myself a write-up." the editor looked so hurt that prescott made haste to add, earnestly: "please don't misunderstand me, mr. pollock. but you simply cannot imagine the trouble that a fine write-up in a home paper may make for a cadet. if i were a plebe, now, the upper classman would get hold of the write-up, somehow, and they'd make me read it aloud, at least a hundred times, while upper classmen stood about and congratulated me on being such a fine fellow as the paper described. as greg and i are now second classman, we couldn't be hazed in quite that way. but the other fellows would find some other way of using that home-paper write-up as a club for pounding us every now and then. mr. pollock, believe me, cadet is mighty lucky whose home paper doesn't say anything about him." "what is the matter?" asked the editor gravely. "are the other cadets jealous?" "no; it isn't that," prescott answered. "that sort of thing is done, at west point, to keep from getting the 'big head.' probably your memory goes back easily to the spanish war days. you will remember that mr. hobson, of the navy, sank the merrimac in the harbor at santiago, so that the spanish ships, when they got out, had to come out in single file. mr. hobson has a younger brother then at the military academy. well, the story still runs at west point that military cadet hobson was forced to read aloud all the best things about his brother in the navy that the other cadets could find in the newspapers. besides that, cadet hobson, so we are told today, had to 'sail' chips on a tub of water, at the same time bombarding the chips with pebbles and cheering for his brother. at west point it doesn't pay a cadet to be famous, even in the light of reflected glory. now, that is why i beg you, not to give greg and myself the write-up that you propose." "all right, then," sighed the editor. "on the other hand, mr. pollock, i'll tell you all manner of lively and printable facts about west point, if you won't mention greg or myself or even mention the fact that gridley has any cadets at the military academy." "that will have to answer," nodded mr. pollock. "but we wanted to do something big for you, dick." "and you'll be doing something very big for us, if you don't mention us at all," smiled prescott. so the "blade" had a good deal of interesting reading about west point the next morning. many gridleyites were not satisfied because neither prescott nor holmes was mentioned in connection with the military academy. the second time that mr. pollock met his former reporter was on the street. "i've been kicking myself, dick, because i forgot something the other day," declared the editor. "i have one of the nicest, gentlest little trotting mares in this part of the state, and a very comfortable light buggy with top and side curtains. i hardly ever use the rig in hot weather. now, won't you often have use for a horse and buggy while you're at home? if so, just ring up getchel's livery at any time, day or night, and tell 'em to hitch up against your coming. will you?" dick tried hard to find words in which to thank mr. pollock for the generous offer. first of all, prescott took holmes out driving, one forenoon, to "try out" the mare. the little animal proved speedy but tractable---a wholly safe driving horse. "i'm not a betting man," quoth greg, "but i'll lay a wager that i can guess who gets the next drive behind this horse. "post your wager," laughed dick gayly. "lau-----" "wrong! my mother gets the next drive." and so she did, that same afternoon. but the following afternoon prescott, after a good deal of attention to his personal appearance, walked to getchel's and drove away from there behind the mare. the next stop was at the house of dr. bentley. yet, when cadet prescott caught his first glimpse of the broad, cool veranda of the doctor's house, the young man felt a sudden throb of the heart. another young man---he looked to be somewhat under thirty---was seated in a big rocker, close to laura. both young people were laughing gayly before miss bentley caught sight of dick. "you're occupied, i see," called prescott lightly, though the tone cost him an effort. "come right up, dick," called laura, so the cadet leaped from the buggy, hitching the horse. the he turned into the broad walk and gained the veranda, where he was presented to mr. cameron. mr. cameron greeted the cadet pleasantly, yet didn't seem overjoyed at his presence. nor did mr. cameron seem in the least inclined to take himself away. usually most self-possessed, dick prescott fidgeted a trifle, and felt uncomfortable now. he wondered if good taste did not call for him to take himself away after a brief conversation. it was laura who finally came to the rescue. "dick," she laughed, "there's something on your mind. i'm afraid i shall have to help you out. did you come to ask me to go driving?" "yes," dick nodded. "but of course i realize that some other time will be better." "oh, don't let me spoil fun," begged mr. cameron, half rising, as though hoping to be asked to seat himself again. "mr. cameron," miss bentley replied sweetly, rising also as her caller completed the act of getting upon his feet, "i know you will excuse me now, rude as it seems in me to ask it. but mr. prescott's time in gridley is very limited, and we are all anxious to see as much of him as possible." "say no more, miss bentley," begged mr. cameron, forcing a genial smile. "mr. prescott, i congratulate you on having such a good champion. good afternoon, laura. good afternoon, mr. prescott; i am very glad indeed to have had the pleasure of meeting you." "i am most happy to have met you, sir; if it were not for my own great good fortune, and my natural selfishness, i would feel most regretful over being the means of distracting miss bentley's attention." laura, as soon as she had extended her hand to mr. cameron, had run inside to get her hat. by the time that mr. cameron had reached the front gate laura came out again, adjusting a wonderfully becoming bit of headgear. "i am almost ashamed of myself for having spoiled another's call," prescott told her. "oh, don't mind about mr. cameron," laughed laura lightly. "he has plenty opportunity, if he enjoys it, to call at other seasons of the year." "oh! does he?" muttered dick. he began to feel a most unwarrantable dislike for mr. cameron. chapter v along a "dangerous" road "oh, yes," smiled laura. "mr. cameron is a frequent visitor." this information had the effect of making prescott almost feel that he would enjoy kicking that other young man. "you are old friends, then?" he asked lightly, as he tucked the thin carriage robe about laura, then picked up the lines. "no; quite recent acquaintances. we met about four months ago, i think it was." though she spoke with apparent indifference, prescott covertly caught sight of a slight flush rising to the girl's face. "after all," muttered dick inwardly, "why not? laura isn't a schoolgirl any longer, and it certainly most be difficult for any young man who has the chance to call to keep away from her!" so cadet prescott tried to persuade himself that it was all very natural for mr. cameron to call and for laura to be glad to see mr. cameron. dick even tried to feel glad that laura was receiving attentions---but the effort ended in secret failure. then dick, as he drove along, tried to tell himself that he didn't care, and that he hadn't any right to care---but in this also he fell short of success with himself. so he fell silent, without intending to. laura, on her part, tried to make up for his silence by chatting pleasantly, but after a while she, too, found herself out of words. then, for a mile, they drove along almost in complete silence. yet cadet prescott found plenty of chance to eye her covertly. what he saw was a beautiful girl, so sweet and wholesome looking that he had hard work, indeed, to keep ardent words from rushing to his lips. "she grows sweeter and finer all the time," he muttered to himself. "why shouldn't men be eager to call, often and long?" at last the mare stumbled slightly, and prescott jerked the animal so quickly and almost savagely on the lines that miss bentley looked at him with something of a start. "dick," spoke laura at last, turning and looking him frankly, sweetly in the eyes, "have i done anything to offend you?" "you, laura?" "i wondered," she continued. "you have been so very silent." "i am afraid i was thinking," muttered dick. "and that's a very rude thing to do when it makes one seem to ignore the lady who is with him," he added, forcing a smile. "i beg your pardon, laura, ten times over." "oh, i don't mind your being abstracted," she answered simply, "so long as i am not the cause of it." "you-----" dick checked himself quickly. he had been right on the point of admitting that she had been the cause of his abstraction, and such a statement as that would have called for an abundance of further explanation. so he forced himself into a peal of laughter that sounded nearly natural. "if i were to tell you what a ridiculous thing i was thinking about, laura!" he chuckled. then his west point training against all forms of deceit led him to wondering, at once, whether mr. cameron could truthfully be defined as "a ridiculous thing." "tell me," smiled the girl patiently. "not i," defied prescott gayly. "then you would find me more ridiculous than the thing about which i was thinking." "oh!" she replied, and the cadet fancied that his companion spoke in a tone of more or less hurt. but, at least, dick could look straight into her face now, as they talked, and every instant he realized more and more keenly how lovely miss bentley was growing to be. they were driving down sweet-scented country lanes now. the whole scene fitted romance. the cadet remembered flirtation walk, at west point, and it struck him that there was danger, at the present moment, of flirtation drive. "i wonder what the dear girl is thinking about at this present moment?" pondered dick. "i wonder what it was that made him so abstracted, and then so suddenly merry?" was the thought in miss bentley's mind. "that was a very pretty road we came through before we turned into this one," commented dick at a hazard. "i didn't notice it," replied laura. "where are we now? oh, yes! i know the locality now." "you have driven out here before---with mr. cameron?" the words were out ere cadet prescott could recall them. he felt indescribably angry with himself. in the first place, the question he had asked was really none of his business. in the second place, his inquiry, under the circumstances, was a rude one. "mr. cameron was in the party," laura replied readily. "there was quite a number of us; it was a 'bus ride one may afternoon. we came out to gather wild flowers." "if i had the right," flamed up within the cadet, "i'd soon make mr. cameron my business, or else i'd be some of his. but it wouldn't be fair. i'm not through west point yet, and i may never be. until my future is fairly assured i'm not going to ask the sweetest girl on earth to commit her future to my hands. even if i felt that i could, a cadet is forbidden to marry and a two years' engagement is a fearfully long one to ask of a girl. and a girl like laura has a chance to meet hundreds of more satisfactory fellows than i in two years." it required all the young soldier's will power to keep silent on the one subject uppermost in his mind. and even dick realized that some very trivial circumstance was likely to unseat his firm resolve. what he was trying to act up to was his sense of fairness. hard as it was under the circumstances, he was more anxious to be fair to this girl than to any other living being. "i mustn't spoil her afternoon, just because my own mind is so dizzy!" he thought reproachfully. so, a moment later, he became merrier than ever---on the surface. it was laura's turn to take a covert look at his face. she wondered, for she felt that prescott's assumed gayety had an almost feverish note. "how much further are you going to drive?" she asked presently. "the only pleasure i recognize in the matter, laura, is yours. so i am wholly at your command." he tried to answer lightly and gallantly, yet felt, an instant later, that his words had had a strained sound. the same thought had struck the girl. yet, instead of asking him to turn the horse's head about, laura ventured: "gridley must be pleasant, as your home town, yet i fancy you are already looking forward to getting back to your ideals at west point?" "is she tired of having me around?" wondered cadet prescott, wincing within, as though he had been stabbed. "i'm keener for west point, every day, laura," he answered quietly. "yet, even in the case of such a grand old place as the military academy, it is worth while to get away once in a while. if it were not for this long furlough, midway in the four years' course, many of us might go mad with the incessant grind." "oh, you poor dick!" cried laura bentley, in quick, genuine sympathy. "yes; i think i can quite understand what you say." and then a new light came into her eyes, as she added, very softly: "we in gridley, who hope for you with your own intensity of longings, must take every pains to make this furlough of yours restful enough and full enough of happiness to send you back to west point with redoubled strength for the grind." "the same laura as of yesterday!" cried dick with sincere enthusiasm. "always wondering how to make life a little sweeter for others!" "thank you," she half bowed quietly. "yes; i want to see your strength proven among strong men." again she looked frankly into prescott's eyes, and he, at the same moment, into hers. his pulses were bounding. what was to become, now, of his resolution to hold back the surging words for at least two more years? yet resolutely he stifled the feelings that surged within him. he was a boy, though the training at west point was swiftly making him over into a man. "i may lose her," groaned cadet prescott. "i may have lost her already---if i ever had any chance. but a soldier has at least his honor to think of, and no honorable man can ask a woman to give herself to him, and to wait for years, when he isn't reasonably certain he is going to be able to meet the responsibility that he seeks." never had prescott been more earnest, more serious, nor more attentive than during the remainder of that drive. yet he studiously refrained from giving the girl any hint of the thoughts that were surging within him. was he foolish? dick felt, anyway, that he was not, for he was waging a mighty fight to stand by his best sense of honor. chapter vi the surprise the lawyer had in store the days went by swiftly, merrily. dick continued to see all that was possible of laura bentley, without seeming to try to monopolize her time. as for careless, good-humored, nearly heart-free greg, that young man divided his time almost impartially among several very pretty girls. cadet holmes had no thought of arousing baseless hopes in any young woman's mind. he simply had not yet reached the age when he was likely to be tied closely by any girl's bright-hued ribbons. tom reade and harry hazelton were much with the young west pointers. had dave darrin and dan dalzell been able to be home from annapolis at this time, the cup of joy would have been full for all the old chums of dick & co. but that was not to be. even reade and hazelton were home only on limited leave, for they were still very young engineers, who could not sacrifice much time away from their work lest they lose the ground already gained. so just after the fourth of july, tom and harry left, on a morning train, the two young west pointers going to the station to see them off with many a handshake, many a yearning wish for the two dear old chums of former days. "the blamed old town will seem a bit empty, won't it?" demanded greg, as the cadet pair strolled back from the railway station. "what'll it be in after years," sighed dick, "with you up at some fort on the great lakes, say, with me in boston, tom and harry somewhere out west, with dave on the european station and dan, perhaps, on the china station? oh, well, chums who want to stick together through life should go in for jobs in the same factory!" "i suppose we'll get more used to being apart, as the years roll on," muttered greg. "but i know it would be mighty jolly, this summer, if all the fellows of dick & co. could be here in gridley." "there's bert dodge," whispered prescott. "it was hardly worth the trouble to tell me anything about him," retorted holmes, not taking the trouble to look at their ancient enemy. "but what a scowl the fellow is wearing," smiled dick, half in amusement. "scowling is his highest pleasure in life," returned greg. "he looked at me," continued dick, as though he had discovered some new reason for hating me." "if he knew how little thought you gave to him he wouldn't really take the trouble to hate you. dodge has far more reason to dislike himself. where are you heading now?" "home and to the store," replied dick. "i just saw the postman leaving. come along." as dick and his chum entered, both his father and mother were behind the counter. "dr. davidson and his wife are in the back room," announced mrs. prescott. "they would like to see you, dick." "oh, your new pastor and his wife? will you excuse me, and wait for me a few minutes, greg?" asked dick. holmes, nodding, picked up a magazine and seated himself. it was twenty minutes ere dick came out from that back room. then the chums started out for another stroll. "where are you going now?" asked greg, suddenly, realizing that his chum was walking at an almost spurting gait. "in looking over my mail," replied dick grimly, "i found a letter from lawyer griffin." "what does he want, you don't owe any money, here or anywhere else." "griffin wrote me that he wanted to see me about a case that has been placed in his hands," replied prescott quietly. greg started, then changed color. "dick," he demanded, "do you know what the lawyer's business is about?" "the lawyer's letter doesn't state any more than i have told you." "dick, that hound dodge must be up to some trick!" "i imagine that's the answer," replied cadet prescott quietly. "and you're going to see the lawyer?" "yes." "humph!" muttered greg. "i know what i'd do. i'd make the lawyer come to see me." "but i prefer going to his office." "right away?" "as soon as i can get there." "and you want me with you?" "most decidedly, greg. i don't care to go into the lawyer's office without a competent witness." "then i'm yours, old fellow." "i know that, greg." despite himself holmes began to feel decidedly uneasy. "what on earth can dodge be up to?" muttered greg. "he threatened a libel prosecution one day last month. can it be that he has found people who can be bribed to perjure themselves, and that he is going to make his hint good?" "it half looks that way," assented dick. "then may a plague seize the cur!" cried greg, vehemently. "why, if the fellow can buy other people into making out a case of libel against you-----" "i might be convicted, and that conviction would cut short my army career," replied prescott as quietly as ever. greg stopped short in his walk, staring aghast at his chum. "why, can dodge be scoundrel enough for that?" he gasped. "the best way to judge a man, like a horse, is by the record of his past performances," responded prescott as quietly as ever. "so that unutterable cur, since he couldn't remain in the army, is determined that you shan't, either! dick, old ramrod, i'm shaking all over with indignation and contempt, and you're as cool as an old colonel going under fire again for the thousandth time!" "if there's any real danger i guess i'd better remain cool," spoke prescott slowly, though there was a flash of fire in his eyes. "there's bert dodge again!" quivered holmes, glancing along the street. "hurry up! let's meet him. just on general principles one of us ought to thrash him, and i most joyously volunteer." "don't you do anything of the sort," begged dick quickly. "we don't want to make any matter worse. here's the building where griffin has his offices. come; we'll go up and see him." the two west pointers were soon in the lawyer's office. mr. griffin was disengaged, and saw the young men at once. this attorney was rather a new-comer in gridley. dick and greg met him for the first time. prescott rather liked the man's appearance. "do you want the whole affair discussed before your friend, mr. prescott?" demanded griffin. "by all means, sir," dick responded. "very good, then," replied the lawyer, who was still engaged in studying the faces of both cadets. then, while the two west pointers sat before him, their faces impassive, mr. griffin continued. "when i was retained on this case i was asked to put the whole matter before the grand jury at its next sitting. it is so very unusual, however, to have criminal cases against west point men that i insisted with my clients that i would not take a decisive step, mr. prescott, until i had first seen you." "thank you, sir," nodded cadet prescott. "in brief then," went on the lawyer, "mr. dodge and his son bert have placed a good deal of sworn evidence in my hands, and they have instructed me, prescott, to procure your indictment on a charge of uttering criminally libelous statements against bert dodge!" chapter vii prescott lays a powder trail greg holmes turned very white for an instant. then a flush rose to his face. he leaped to his feet, his hands clenched. "this is an infamous, outrageous, lying-----" "thank you, greg," prescott broke in coolly. "but will you let me question mr. griffin?" "yes," subsided greg, sinking back into his chair. "i don't know that i could say any more. it would be merely a change in the words." cadet prescott turned back to the lawyer. "mr. griffin, will you tell me why you sent for me?" "because," replied the man of law, "i have some knowledge of the average west point material. frankly, i couldn't wholly credit this charge against you. i wanted to see you and have a talk with you, and i so informed the elder dodge. unless you can satisfy me that this is a ridiculous case, or a wholly malicious prosecution, then i shall feel obliged, as a lawyer, to take up the charges with the district attorney, after which we shall proceed in the usual way. but, first of all, i want to have a talk with you." "that is very fair, sir," replied dick. "and i want to be fair," replied the lawyer with emphasis. "i want to make sure that i am not taking part in a case needlessly malicious, and one which, pushed to a needless conclusion, might rob the army of a valuable future officer." "i appreciate your courtesy and fairness, and i, thank you, sir," dick acknowledged. "now, mr. prescott, do you mind telling me, in a general way, at least, just what you have said to others about young dodge since you have been home on your furlough?" "i would rather, sir, tell you something else instead," replied cadet prescott, with the ghost of a smile. "you have some affidavits, mr. griffin---or, at least, you have some witnesses, and they have very likely furnished you with affidavits. the names of your witnesses, or of your most important witnesses, are fessenden, bettrick and deevers. fessenden was a bank clerk, discharged from the bank by the elder dodge. bettrick is a truck-driver, and deevers is---well, i understand he has no more important occupation than lounging about drinking places." "i am sorry that you know the names of my witnesses," replied lawyer griffin gravely. "i am beginning to be impressed with the idea that you know their names so readily because you recall having said something in their presence or hearing against young dodge." "that is hardly likely," replied dick, smiling coolly, "because i do not believe that i know either of the three young men by sight." "then why," demanded the attorney, eyeing the young west pointer keenly, "do you know so much about their occupations or lack of occupation? and why do you know that they are all young men?" "i will tell you," replied dick. "in the first place, you know dr. carter, do you not?" "yes." "he is a reputable physician, isn't he?" "i believe dr. carter to be a very honorable man." "do you know dr. davidson?" "i understand that he is one of the new pastors in town," admitted the lawyer. "you imagine he would make a creditable witness, don't you?" "jurors generally accept the testimony of a clergyman at its face value," replied attorney griffin. "down in one of the tenements of gridley," pursued prescott, rising and leaning one elbow upon the corner of the top of the lawyer's roll-top desk, "is a young man named peters. he is a mill hand who has been away from his work for weeks on account of illness. dr. carter has been attending him, probably without charging much if any fee. last night peters had a small boy rush out and telephone in haste for dr. carter. as it happened, the physician was at his office, and answered quickly. after dr. carter had been in peters's room, perhaps a minute, the physician hurried out into the street, stopping the first man whom he met. that man happened to be dr. davidson. the two men returned to peters's room. now, all three of them listened." lawyer griffin was eyeing prescott curiously. "yesterday afternoon," continued dick, changing the subject with seeming abruptness, "fessenden, bettrick and deevers were all here, and signed affidavits before a clerk of yours, who is a notary public." "proceed," requested mr. griffin, without either denying or admitting the truth of dick's statement. "since he lost his bank position," dick went on, "fessenden has been compelled to live in a wretched room next to that occupied by the sick man peters. two nights ago, as you will remember, there was a heavy rain. now, the roof leaked at that tenement house, and the dripping water washed away some of the plaster covering the none-too-thick partition between the room of fessenden and the room of peters. so our sick man heard much of the conversation between fessenden and the fellow's confederates. now peters, the physician and the clergyman are all willing to swear to the statement that bert dodge hired fessenden, bettrick and deevers to testify against me. young dodge, according to the overheard conversation, met and drilled all three in their parts. that was before the three came here yesterday afternoon, with the dodges, and supplied you with the affidavits that you now hold. for this service, dodge is believed to have paid each young loafer the sum of twenty dollars, with a promise of eighty more apiece after they had told their tales in court. that, mr. griffin, is the other side of the story. bert dodge has deliberately hired three men to swear falsely against me." as he finished dick dropped carelessly back into the chair. he appeared wholly cool. not so greg holmes, whose face, during this recital, had been a study. now greg was upon his feet in a flash. "how long have you known this, old ramrod?" he demanded. "dr. davidson told me this, in the back room at the store, just before we came here," prescott replied. "and you never told me---didn't even give me a hint?" cried holmes reproachfully. "why, i thought i'd tell mr. griffin first," answered dick. "i have seldom heard anything that interested me more," admitted the lawyer. "yet, why didn't you bring dr. davidson and dr. carter here with you?" "one good reason," replied dick bluntly, "was that i didn't know anything about you, mr. griffin. i am glad to say that i have found you most fair minded. but, not knowing you, i wanted to see you and judge for myself whether there was any chance that you were in league with my enemies. had i made up my mind that you were anywhere nearly as bad as young dodge, i would have let this matter get as far as the courts, when i would have overwhelmed you all with charges of perjury, and would have proved my charges at least against bert dodge and his three tools." "mr. prescott, of course i don't mean to throw any doubt over the truth of what you have just told me. at the same time, as counsel for the dodges, i shall have to satisfy myself on these particulars. "do you know dr. carter's voice well?" asked prescott. "very well." "then kindly allow me to use your telephone." pulling the desk instrument toward him, and hailing central, dick called for "33 main." "hello, is dr. carter in," called dick after a moment. "this is prescott. do you recognize my voice? very good, sir; will you now talk with lawyer griffin, who is beside me, and tell him what you heard last night in the room of one peters? here is dr. cater waiting for you mr. griffin." lawyer and physician talked together for some minutes, the attorney's excitement increasing. greg, in the meantime, was executing a silent jig over near the door of the room. "now, you can call up dr. davidson," suggested cadet prescott. "i don't need to," replied the lawyer. "dr. carter has substantiated all that you told me, and has informed me that dr. davidson is ready to be called upon for the same information. instead, i shall call upon some one else." an instant later the attorney called up another number. "hello," he said presently. "connect me with mr. dodge. hello, is that you, mr. dodge? can you reach your son readily? oh, he is there at the bank with you, is he? this is mr. griffin. i shall expect you both at my office within five minutes. yes; about the prescott matter. no; i can't tell you over the 'phone. both of you come here. goodbye!" as though to wind up the conversation abruptly, lawyer griffin rang off and hung the receiver on its hook. "now, we'll wait and here the other side," remarked the lawyer grimly. "if the other side dares make its voice heard!" laughed cadet dick prescott. there being now no need of silence, greg holmes relieved himself of some noisy enthusiasm. chapter viii a father's just wrath strikes a very few minutes later a knock sounded at the door. then bert dodge entered very abruptly, his tongue starting with the turning off the knob. "well, have you seen the mucker prescott?" called bert airily. "was he scared to-----" here bert caught sight of the two west pointers and stopped short, while his father entered behind him. "no," broke in holmes, dryly, "prescott wasn't even scared silly." "oh, you shut up, you two!" growled bert. "mr. griffin, what are these pieces of airy nothing doing here?" "that advice about preserving silence will very well apply to you, also, mr. bert dodge," rejoined the lawyer. "take a seat in the background, please. i want to talk with your father." "what's the matters" demanded bert, not taking a seat, but advancing and leaning against the top of the lawyer's desk. "has this fellow won you over with a lot of his smooth talk?" "mr. griffin i warned you that prescott is a most accomplished liar." instead of flaring up at this insult, dick merely turned to exchange amused smiles with holmes. at this moment the attorney was paying no heed to bert, but was placing a chair courteously for the elder dodge. "now, mr. dodge," began the lawyer, speaking rapidly and paying heed only to the father, "i am very glad that i insisted on seeing mr. prescott before going further in the case that you placed with me. i expected only a denial. i have, instead, been astounded. now, listen, sir, while i tell you the all but incredible story." thereupon lawyer griffin launched into a swift narration of the story told by dick prescott and dr. carter. as soon as bert dodge began to get wind of what it was all about, his face became ghastly. "stop right here, griffin!" commanded bert. "this is all a tissue of lies that have been sprung upon you." "silence, young man!" commanded the lawyer sternly. "this talk is between your father and myself. as for you, young man, remember to what you have sworn, and bear in mind that the upshot of it all for you may yet be a term of years in the penitentiary." as the lawyer went on talking there could not be a moment's suspicion that the elder dodge had been concerned in the plot of perjury. mr. dodge had been guilty only of believing his son and of sharing the latter's feigned indignation. "now, dr. carter has confirmed all of this over the 'phone, and he assured me that dr. davidson stood ready to add his testimony," wound up lawyer griffin. "mr. dodge, what is to be done?" "why," stammered bert's father, "we---we shall have to drop the whole case." "what?" raged bert, his face going purple with anger. "drop the case on any such stacked-up mess of lies? father, are you losing all the nerve you ever had?" "young man," broke in lawyer griffin severely, "you do not appear to have the slightest idea of values. i do not for a moment imagine that your father will go any further in this matter. if he does, it will be necessary for him to get another attorney." "why!" challenged bert, glaring at the lawyer. "because the outcome of this case, if it reached court, would be your indictment for conspiracy and the subornation of perjury. the latter is one of the most heinous crimes known to the law." "but i tell you this is all a tissue of lies trumped up against me!" stormed young dodge. while this conversation was going on dick and greg remained silent in their seats. they had no need to talk. they were enjoying it all too much just as it was going. "do you expect, dodge, that a court and a jury would take your unsupported word against the testimony of two such men as dr. carter and the rev. mr. davidson? do you imagine, for a moment, that fessenden and your other tools wouldn't become utterly frightened and confess to everything against you? do you imagine that anything you could do or say would save you, dodge, from going to the penitentiary for ten or fifteen years?" the attorney's cool, incisive manner brought bert dodge to his senses. a deathly fear assailed him. his knees began to shake. "the case is too well fixed against me," he replied hoarsely. "ye---es, i guess you had better drop it all." the elder dodge now sprang to his feet. "drop it, you young scoundrel?" he yelled at his son. "why did you ever drag me into any such infamous piece of business? i went into this believing that you told me the truth." "i---i did, sir," stammered bert. "bah, you are a perjurer, you young villain!" raged his father. "griffin, this matter cannot go a step further. you will destroy those miserable affidavits before my eyes!" "i am sorry, mr. dodge," replied the lawyer, "but i am not at liberty to do that." "you can't destroy the affidavits?" howled bert, his voice breaking. "why not! aren't you our lawyer?" "i am even more an officer of the court than i am anyone's attorney," replied mr. griffin gravely. "a lawyer has no right to conceal a crime when he knows one has been committed not even to save his own clients." "wh---what do you propose to do, griffins?" demanded the elder dodge, shaking. "why, i hope to save your worthless son from prosecution, mr. dodge," returned the lawyer. "but a crime has been committed, in that your son procured others to swear to false affidavits true, the affidavits have not yet been presented in court, and on that i base my hope that the matter will not have to go further. but i feel in honor bound to submit the facts to the district attorney, and to be governed by his instructions." "you are going to try to send me to jail?" gasped dodge, clutching at the ledge of a bookcase to save himself from falling. "i am going to try to persuade the district attorney to let the matter drop," replied griffin. "it will be the district attorney's decision that will govern the matter." "then what are you doing fooling around here, governor?" screamed bert hoarsely. "don't you see that it's your job to hurry to the district attorney as fast as you can go? use your money, your political influence---" in his extreme terror young dodge seemed to forget that he was providing amusement for his enemies. but mr. dodge cut in quickly. advancing a step or two, he brought his uplifted stick down sharply, once, across his son's shoulders. with a snarl bert wheeled, crouching as though to spring upon his father. prescott and holmes jumped up, prepared to step in. but the banker was not cowed by the evil look in his son's face. "begone, you young villain!" quivered the old man. "get out of my sight. never let me see you again. don't dare to go to what was once your home, or i'll have you thrown out. i disown you! you are no blood of mine!" "i guess you forget," sneered bert cunningly that you are responsible for me, and that you will have to pay my bills." "not a penny of them," retorted the banker sternly. "it is you who forget that you reached the age of twenty-one just three days ago. you are your own master, sir---and your own provider! now, go---and never again let any of your family hear from the scoundrel who has disgraced us all." vainly bert opened his mouth, trying to speak. the words would not come. his father again advancing threateningly, bert edged towards the door. "this looks like your fun, as it is your work, dick prescott!" snarled the wretch. "wait! if it takes me ten years i'll make you suffer for this!" crash! mr. dodge had again raised his cane to strike the young man. but bert had pulled open the door, closing it after him as he fled, and only the plate-glass panel stopped the fall of the cane. "i'll pay for the damage done to your door griffin," promised the banker. "don't worry about that, sir," nodded the attorney. "i feel that we've been here long enough, gentlemen," broke in cadet prescott, as he and greg rose. "mr. dodge, i can't begin to tell you how sorry i am that this scene was necessary." "i feel sure of your sympathy. prescott, and of yours, too, holmes. thank you both," replied the banker. "you are both fine, manly young fellows. i wish i had been favored with a son like either of you. now, i have no son!" dick and greg got away as unobtrusively as they could. bert dodge did try to go home to see his mother, but, by his father's orders, he was put out of the house by two men servants. immediately after that bert vanished from gridley. at first he tried the effect of writing whining, penitent, begging letters home. receiving no replies, bert finally drifted off into the space of the wide world. later on in the course of these chronicles he may reappear. lawyer griffin consulted with the district attorney, and it was decided not to make perjury cases out of the affair. fessenden, bettrick and deevers, however, were all three warned and the district attorney filed away the lying affidavits, in case a use for them should ever come up. by degrees the story of bert dodge's latest infamy leaked out. the news, however, did not come through any word spread by either of our young west pointers. chapter ix back to the good, gray life a glorious summer it was for the two second classman on furlough! yet, like all other things, good and otherwise, it had to come to an end. one morning near the end of august, dick and greg, attended by a numerous concourse of friends, went to the railway station. the proud parents were there, of course, and so were the parents of dave darrin and dan dalzell, the latter happy in the knowledge that their boys would soon be home for the brief september leave from the united states naval academy at annapolis. "why, you haven't seen dave since you youngsters all left home, have you, dick?" asked mr. darrin. "no, sir. greg and i hoped to, this last summer, when the army baseball nine went down to annapolis and defeated the navy nine," dick replied. "but both greg and i found ourselves so hard pressed in our academic work that we didn't dare go, but remained behind and boned hard at our studies." "you don't forget the fact that the army nine did defeat the navy nine, do you?" laughed dan's father. "no, sir; of course not," smiled dick. "the army and navy teams exist mainly for the purpose of beating each other. i am glad to say that the army manages to win more than its share of games." "that's because the west point boys average a little older than the annapolis boys," broke in mrs. dalzell pleasantly, though warmly. even she, as the mother of a midshipman, felt her share in the rivalry between the nation's two great service schools. "you will bring laura and belle up to some of the hops this winter, i hope, mrs. bentley," dick begged. "oh, she's pledged to take us to west point, and to annapolis," broke in belle meade, smiling. "you don't think we are going to lose the hops at either academy while we have friends there, do you?" "i should hope not," dick replied earnestly. five minutes before train time leonard cameron appeared. he greeted the two cadets with great cordiality. "i couldn't help coming to see you off, prescott," cameron found chance to say in an undertone. "laura is so deeply interested in your success that i, too, am longing to hear every possible good word as to your future career. laura couldn't be more interested in you if she were truly your sister." that was the sting that made dick's going away bitter. cameron's manner was so easy and assured that dick saw the crumbling of one of his more than half built castles in spain. the train carried the two cadets away. the parents of both young men had seen to it that the cadets went away in a parlor car. dick and greg, after leaving gridley behind, swung their chairs around so that, while they looked out of the window, their heads were close together. "cameron had a nerve to show up, didn't hey" demanded greg indignantly. "i don't know," dick replied very quietly. "he tried to be very kind and cordial." "shucks!" uttered greg, disgustedly. "doesn't he know that laura bentley is your girl, and that he's only a b.j. hanger-on there?" "i'm afraid laura herself doesn't know that she's my girl," sighed dick. cadet holmes swung about so that he could gaze straight into his comrade's face. "dick, didn't you tell her?" demanded greg aghast. "you have to do something more than tell a girl," smiled prescott patiently, though wearily. "you have to ask her." "well, thunder and bomb-shells, didn't you?" "i didn't, greg." "oh, pardon me, old ramrod. i don't mean to pry into your affairs-----" "i know you don't." "-----but i thought you were deeply interested in laura bentley." "i think i am, greg. in fact, i'm sure i am." "then why-----" "greg, i'm not yet sure of my place in life. i'm not going to ask any girl to tie her future up in my plans until i feel that i have a fair start in life." "army officer's pay is enough for any sensible girl." "i'm not an army officer yet." "oh, rot! you're going to be! you're half way through west point now. you're past the harder half, and you stand well enough in your class. you're sure to graduate and get into the army." "greg, within ten days of getting back to west point i may be injured in some cavalry, or other drill, and become useless for life. a cadet hurt even in the line of duty gets no pension, no retired pay. if he is a wreck, he is merely shipped home for his folks to take care of him. when i graduate, and get my commission in the army, it will be different. then i'll have a salary guaranteed me for life; if i am injured, and become useless in the army, i still have retired pay enough to take care of a family. if i am killed my wife could draw nearly pension enough to support her. all these things belong to the army officer and his wife. but the cadet has nothing coming to him if he fails, for any reason, to get through." "well, cadets don't marry," observed greg. "they're forbidden to. but a cadet can have things understood with his girl. then, if he fails to make the army, or to get something else suitable in life, he can release the girl if she wants to be released." "but if a girl considers herself as good as engaged to a cadet she lets other good chances go by, and the cadet may never be able to make good," objected dick. "it's good of you to be so thoughtful for that fellow cameron," jibed greg. "i'm not thoughtful for him, but for laura," retorted prescott staunchly. "confound it," growled greg to himself, "dick is such a stickler for the girl's rights that he is likely to break her heart. hanged if i don't try to set laura straight myself, when i see her! no; i won't either, though. dick would never forgive me if i butted into his own dearest affairs." "i know, greg," prescott pursued presently, "that some of the fellows do become engaged to, girls while still at the military academy. but becoming engaged to marry a girl is a mighty serious thing." "then i'm in for it," muttered holmes soberly. "i'm engaged to the third girl." "what?" gasped his chum incredulously. "you engaged to three girls?" "oh, only one at a time," greg assured his comrade. "the first two girls, each in turn, asked to be released, after we'd been engaged for a while. so, now, i'm engaged to my third girl." holmes spoke seriously, and with evident truth. dick leaned back, staring curiously at his chum, though he did not ask the latest girl's name. "at least, i was engaged, at latest accounts," greg went on, after a few moments. "by the time i reach west point, just as likely as not, i'll get a letter asking me to consider the matter as past history only." "greg, greg!" muttered prescott, shaking his head gravely. "i'm afraid you're not very constant. "i?" retorted cadet holmes indignantly. "dick, you're harboring the wrong idea. it's the girls who are not constant. though they were all nice little bits of femininity," greg added reminiscently in a tone of regret. late in the afternoon the chums arrived in new york. after putting up at a hotel they had time for dinner and a stroll. "somehow, i don't feel very sporty tonight," sighed cadet holmes, as they waited, at table, for the evening meal to be served. "yet, in a week, i suppose i'll be kicking myself. for tomorrow we're due to get back into our gray habits and re-enter the military convent life up the river." after a late supper and a short night's rest, the two young men found themselves, the morning following, on a steamboat bound up the hudson river. "after all these weeks of good times," muttered greg, "it doesn't seem quite real." "it will, in a couple of hours," predicted prescott, smiling. "and, now that home is so far behind, i'm really delighted to think that i'll soon be back in gray old barracks, donning the same old gray uniform." "oh, it will be all right. there are a lot of fellows that i'm eager to see" greg admitted. "is the---er---er-----" "out with it!" "is miss number three likely to be at the point when we get there?" "i don't know," holmes admitted. "i haven't heard from her in four days. i hope she'll be there." all in due time the two cadets worked their way forward on the boat. now they encountered nearly a dozen other members of their class, all returning. yet none of the dozen were among their warmest friends in class life. "look, fellows!" cried dick at last. "there's just a glimpse of some of the high spots of west point through the trees!" it was all well enough for the cadets to claim that the life at west point was a fearfully hard and dull grind, and that they were little better than cadet slaves. as they picked out, one after another, familiar glimpses of west point, these young men became mostly silent, though their eyes gleamed eagerly. they loved the good old gray academy! they rejoiced to find themselves so near, and going back! then at last the boat touched at the pier. some moments before the gangplank was run aboard from the wharf everyone of the more than dozen cadets had already leaped ashore. "whoop!" yelled greg, tossing his hat in the air. "mr. holmes!" growled cadet dennison with mock severity. "report yourself for unmilitary enthusiasm!" "yes, sir," responded greg meekly, saluting: his fellow classman. "fall in!" yelled dennison. "where?" inquired dick innocently. "in the hudson? i decline, sir, to obey an illegal order." amid a good deal of laughter the returning cadets trudged across the road, over the railroad tracks and on up the steep slope that led to the administration building. across the inner court of the administration building walked the second classman briskly, and on up the stairs. there was no more laughter. even the talking was in most subdued tones, for these young men were going back to duty---military duty at that! in one of the outer offices on the second floor the cadets left their suit cases. dick, being one of those in the lead, stepped into the adjutant's room, brought his heels together, and in the position of the soldier, saluted. "sir, i report my return to duty at the military academy." "very good, mr. prescott. report to the special officer in charge at the cadet guard house, and receive your assignment to your room. the special officer in charge will give you any further immediate orders that may be necessary." again saluting, prescott wheeled with military precision and left the adjutant's office. as he was going out dick was passed by greg coming in. for a moment prescott waited outside until greg had joined him. "it would be a howling mess if we didn't have a room together this year, old ramrod, wouldn't it?" muttered cadet holmes as soon as they were clear of the administration building. "oh, that isn't one of our likely troubles," dick answered. "we asked for a room together, and second classmen generally have what we want in that line." on reporting to the special officer in charge, the two chums found that they had been given quarters together. moreover, their room was one of the best assigned to second classman, and looked out over the plain and parade ground. "we ought to be jolly happy in here this year, old ramrod," predicted greg. "especially as we haven't any fellow like dodge in the class." "nor in the whole military academy," rejoined prescott. "i hope not," murmured cadet holmes thoughtfully. boys at boarding school would have needed at least the rest of the day to get themselves to rights. trained to soldierly habits, our two cadets had quickly dropped the furlough life. citizen clothes, in dress-suit cases, were deposited at the cadet store, and the two cadets, back in "spooniest" white duck trousers and gray fatigue blouses, were soon speeding along the roads that led across the plain to where the other three classes were having their last day of summer encampment. "greetings, old ramrod!" called a low but pleasant voice, as first classman brayton hurried up, grasping dick's hand. then greg came in for a hearty shake. brayton, who had been a cadet corporal when the two boys from gridley were plebes, now wore the imposing chevrons of a cadet captain. "my, but i'm glad to see you two idlers return to a fair measure of work," laughed another voice, and spurlock, whom dick, as a plebe, had thrashed, pushed his right hand into the ceremonies. spurlock, too, was a cadet captain. other first classmen crowded in for these returning furlough men were popular throughout the upper classes. "may a wee, small voice make itself heard?" dick and greg half wheeled to meet another comer. little briggs, a trifle less plump and correspondingly longer, stood before them, grinning almost sheepishly. "hullo, briggsy!" cried prescott, extending his hand, which the third classman took with unusual warmth. "being no longer a plebe, i enjoy the great pleasure able to address an upper classman before i'm addressed," went on briggs. "that's so, briggsy," affirmed greg. before going off on their furlough both had been compelled to regard briggs as an unfortunate plebe, with whom it was desirable to have as little to do as possible. then it had been "mr. briggs"; now it was "briggsy"; that much had the round little fellow gained by stepping up from the fourth class to the third. "have you found any b.j. beasts among the new plebes, briggsy!" dick wanted to know. "plenty of 'em," responded briggs with enthusiasm. "any that were b.j.-er than mr. briggs?" inquired greg. a shade annoyance crossed the new yearling's face. "i never was b.j., was i?" he murmured. "think!" returned dick dryly. "however, you're briggs, now, with all my heart---no longer 'mister.'" "we've had a busy, busy summer," murmured briggs, "licking the new beasts into shape." greg laughed heartily at memory of some of the hazing stunts through which he had once helped to rush briggs. furlong, griffin and dobbs, of the second class, hurried over to greet prescott and holmes. "where's anstey?" dick inquired. "not back yet, i'm sure," replied briggs. "oh, well, he'll be back before the day's over," dick went on confidently. "that youth from virginia is much too good a soldier to fail to report on time." soon after the instruction parties of the first, third and fourth classes came marching back into camp. it seemed, indeed, like old times, to see the fellows all rushing off to their tents to clean up and change uniforms before the dinner call sounded. then the call for dinner formation came. dick and greg fell in, in their old company, and marched away at the old, swinging soldier tread. most of the afternoon the returned furlough men spent in their new rooms. during that afternoon anstey pounced in upon them. the virginian said little, as usual, but the length and fervor of the handclasp that he gave dick and greg was enough. with evening came the color-line entertainment. dick and anstey walked on the outskirts of the throng of visitors. cadet holmes, having discovered that the especial girl to whom he was at present betrothed was not at west point, played the casual gallant for a fair cousin of second classman mcdermott. the night went out in a blaze of color, illumination and fireworks just before taps. in the morning the cadet battalion marched back into barracks, and on the morning after that the daily grind began in the grim old academic building. cadets prescott and holmes were thus fairly started on their third year at west point. there was a tremendous grind ahead of them, the very grind was becoming vastly easier, two years of the hard life at west point taught them how to study. chapter x the scheme of the turnback "i must be getting back to my room," murmured anstey. "i haven't had a demerit so far this year, and i don't want to begin." "if you must go, all right," replied dick, though he added, with undoubted heartiness: "whether in or out of proper hours, anstey, your visits are always too short." "thank you, old man," replied the virginian gratefully. the time had worn along into october. during the first month of academic work, neither dick nor greg had stood as high in their class as they had wished. this is often the case with new second classmen, who have just returned from all the allurements and excitements of their furloughs. "are you studying very hard, anstey?" asked greg, turning around, as the virginian entered the door. "not very," drawled the virginian. "i never did like haste and rush. i'm satisfied if i get through. i did hope to stand high enough to get into the cavalry, but now i think i'm going to be pleased if i get the doughboy's white trousers stripe." the "doughboy" is an infantryman. "i think i'm going to find it all easy enough, now, after i once get my gait. thank goodness, we're past the daily math. grind." "we'll all find plenty of math. in its application to other studies," sighed prescott. "but what gets me is for an army officer to have to be roundly coached in philosophy, as regards sound and light." "and chemistry," groaned greg, "with heat, mineralogy, geology and electricity. and how the instructors can draw out on the points that a fellow hasn't been able to get through his head!" "don't!" begged the virginian. "it makes my temples throb. i've written mother, asking her to send me some headache powders. unless our third-year science instructors let up on us, i see myself eating headache powders like candy." as anstey turned the knob, and started to go out, another cadet, about to enter, pushed door open and stepped inside. "howdy fellows," was the greeting of the newcomer. "how do you do, haynes?" asked dick, though not over impressed by the newcomer. haynes was a former second classman, who, on account of illness in the latter half of his third year, had been allowed to "turn back" and join the new second class. it often happens that a "turnback" is not extremely popular with the new class that he joins. not less often does it happen that the turnback wonders at the comparative lack of esteem shown him. the reason, however, is very likely to be found in the fact that the turnback considers himself a mile or so above the new class members with whom circumstances have compelled him to cast his lot. it was so in this instance. haynes felt that he was, properly, a first classman. true, the members of the first class, which he had fallen behind, did not take that view of the case. "you fellows busy?" asked haynes, as he took a seat across the foot of prescott's cot bed. "oh, no more busy than cadets usually are," smiled dick pleasantly. "we are finding the new grind a hard one---that's all." "now, there's nothing very hard about the first half of the year in this class," replied haynes knowingly. "i've been through it you know." "you're lucky," rejoined greg. "we haven't been through it---yet." hayes, however, chose to regard what was meant as a slight hint. "don't bone too hard at this first-term stuff, fellows," he went on. "save your energies for the second half of the academic year." "i wonder whether we shall have any energies left by that time," replied greg, opening one of his text-books in philosophy with a force that made the cover bang against the desk. "oh, go ahead and bone 'sound,' then, if you want," permitted mr. haynes. "i'll talk to prescott. old ramrod, i haven't seen you at any of the hops this year." "haven't had a femme to drag," replied dick, as he picked up a sheet of notes and began to scan it. "why don't you turn pirate, then, as i do," yawned haynes, "and get the fellows to write you down on the cards they're making up for their femmes?" "i hadn't thought of that," replied dick. "i don't believe, when i have no femme to drag to the hops, that it would make me any more popular with the fellows, either. a fellow who pirates at all should drag a spoony femme pretty often himself." "why," asked hayes, opening his eyes rather wide, "are you boning bootlick with any but officers?" "boning bootlick" means to curry favor. occasionally a cadet who wants cadet honors resorts to "boning bootlick" with the tactical officers stationed at the academy. "i'm not boning bootlick with cadets or with officers either," retorted dick rather crisply. "i've never had the delight of wearing chevrons, you know." haynes flushed a trifle. the year before he had worn a sergeant's chevrons. this year, for some reason, he did not have the chevrons. "wearing chevrons isn't the only sign of bootlick," replied haynes. "is it one of them?" smiled prescott good-humoredly. again haynes flushed. he had meant to take down this new member of the second class, but found prescott's tongue too ready. "i don't know," replied haynes shortly. "i've never been one of the authorities on bootlick." "nor i, either," laughed prescott quietly. "so we won't be able to come to the point of any information on the subject, i'm afraid." greg, with his back turned to the visitor as he bent over the study desk, had been frowning for some time. holmes wanted to study; he knew how badly he needed the time. but haynes showed no sign of leaving the room. suddenly, holmes closed his book, perhaps with a trifle more noise than was necessary. "what you going to do, greg?" inquired his chum, as cadet holmes rose stiffly, holding himself very erect in his natty gray uniform. "i believe i'll get out for a while," replied greg. "i---i really want to think a little while." "oh, i'll go, if you say so," volunteered cadet haynes, though without offering to rise. "not necessary," replied greg briefly, and stepped over to the door, which he next closed---from the outside. "your roommate cocky?" asked haynes, with a short laugh. "holmes!" inquired dick. "one of the best fellows in the world." "guess he didn't want visitors, then," grinned: haynes. "he's a chump to bone hard all the time. really, prescott, you don't get any further with an excess of boning." "i always try to get as high in my class as i can," sighed dick. "true, that has never been extremely high yet. but a fellow wants to be well up, so he can spare a few numbers, in case anything happens, you know." "i'd just as soon be anywhere above the three fellows at the bottom of the glass," replied haynes, stifling another yawn. "well, i hope you at least attain to your ambitions in the matter," replied dick, regretfully eyeing two of his text-books that he wanted to dig into in turn. there was not a heap of study time left now, before the call came for supper formation. "my ambitions run along different lines," announced haynes. "along different lines than class standing?" inquired dick. "yes; if you mean the kind of class standing that comes from the academic board," went on haynes. "why, i didn't know there was any other kind, except standing in drill, and believe nearly all of the men here stand well in drill." "oh, there are some other kinds," pursued haynes. "personal standing, for instance?" "thank heaven personal standing is rather easily reached here," replied dick. "all a fellow has to do is to be courteous and honorable and his personal standing just about takes care of itself." "oh, there are some other little matters in personal standing. take the class presidency, prescott, for instance." "yes?" queried dick. "what about it?" "well, you've been president of your class for two years." "yes; thanks to the other fellows of the class." "now, prescott, do you intend to go right along keeping the presidency of the class?" "why, yes; if the fellows don't show me that they want a change." "maybe they do," murmured haynes. dick wheeled and regarded the turnback rather sharply. "you must mean something by that, haynes. what do you mean?" "are you willing to resign, if the class wants someone else?" "of course," replied prescott, with a snap. "i'm glad to hear you say that," murmured haynes. "see here, haynes, have you been sent here by any faction in the second class?" "no," admitted the turnback promptly. "have you heard any considerable expression of opinion on the subject of a new class president being desired." "no," admitted haynes, coloring somewhat under the close scrutiny of his comrade in the class and the corps. "you're speaking for yourself only?" "that's it," assented the turnback. "why don't you want me for class president?" cadet haynes looked a trifle disconcerted, but it was always dick's way to go openly and directly to the point in any matter. "why, perhaps i don't know just how to put it," replied haynes. "but see here, prescott, wouldn't it be better for any class---say the second class, for instance---to have a man as president who has been longer at the military academy than the other members of the class?" "do you mean," pursued dick relentlessly, "that you want to be elected president of the present second class, haynes?" "why, i think it would be a nice little courtesy from the class," admitted the turnback. "you see, prescott, you've held the honor now for two years." dick smiled, looking straight into the eyes of his visitor, but he made no other answer. "now, what do you think about it, prescott?" insisted the turnback. "i don't like to tell you, haynes." "but i wish you would." "you'd be offended." "no; i would---see here not trying to be offensive with me, are you?" "certainly not." "oh, that's all right then. go ahead and tell me what you think." "i was a good deal astonished," went on prescott, "when back in plebe days, the other fellows chose me for their president. i wasn't expecting it, and i didn't know what to make of it. but the fellows of the class gave me that great honor. i stand ready to step down from the honor at any time when the class feels that it would like another president." "i'd like the honor, prescott. but, of course, i didn't know that you held to it so earnestly. if you don't want to give it up, of course i'll go slow in asking you to do so. but i thought that both you and the class would appreciate having as president a man who has been longer at the military academy than any of the others." "if i were to resign the presidency," replied prescott bluntly, "i don't believe you'd stand a ghost of a show of getting it." cadet haynes sprang to his feet, cheeks crimson, his eyes flashing. "why not?" he insisted. "steady, now," urged dick. "don't take offence where none is meant, haynes. the class would want its president to be one who has been with the class all along, and who knows all its traditions. now, in experience, you're a first classman, and you've all the first-class traditions. now, if the class were dissatisfied with me, and wanted a new president, i'm pretty certain the fellows would choose someone who had been in our class from the start. now with you a turnback-----" haynes's flush deepened, and he took a step forward, his fists clenching. "prescott, do you use that word offensively?" "no," replied dick quietly. "do you intend your question or manner to be offensive?" "not unless you're trying to start it," sniffed the other cadet. "i'll tell you what i'll do, haynes," proposed dick pleasantly. "i can see your point of view---from your side. i don't believe it would be the view of the class. but, if you wish, i'll call a class meeting and lay the whole proposition before them." "you mean that you'll try out class feeling by resigning and suggesting me for your successor?" asked haynes eagerly. "no; i'll state the substance of our conversation this afternoon, and then you can say any thing you may have to say on the subject. then i will put it to the class whether they want me to resign so that you can be elected in my place." haynes turned several shades more red. "that would make a fool of me!" flashed the turnback. "it would be a statement of your own proposition, wouldn't it?" asked dick, with another smile. "stop your laughing at me, you-----" "careful!" warned dick, but he threw a lot of emphasis into the single word. "prescott," choked the turnback, "you're trying to make my idea and myself ridiculous!" "haven't i stated your proposition fairly?" challenged prescott. "you think that, because you are a turnback, you have more right than i to the class presidency. if that isn't your attitude, then i shall be glad to apologize." "oh, pshaw, there's no use in trying to make you see the matter with my eyes," muttered haynes in disgust. "i'm afraid not, haynes. if the fellows don't want me as president i would insist on resigning. but i am sure the class would rather have almost anyone than a turnback. i hope, however, there is no hard feeling?" prescott held out his right hand frankly. "i hope there will be, as you say, no hard feeling," mumbled haynes, accepting the proffered hand weakly. then the turnback left the room. down the corridor, however, he strode heavily, angrily, muttering to himself: "the conceited puppy!" chapter xi brayton makes a big appeal for a moment or two dick stood looking out of his window, across the far-stretching plain that included the parade ground and the athletic field. in the near distance the football squad was finishing up its practice in the last moments of daylight. brayton was captain of the army eleven, and was a good deal discouraged. "queer idea haynes had!" muttered dick to himself. then he turned back to his desk and to the neglected chapter on "sound" in natural philosophy. dick, however, was not fated to study much. first of all, back came greg, opening the door and looking in inquiringly. "haynes has gone, i see," murmured cadet holmes. "yes." "to stay away?" "i rather think so," nodded cadet prescott, without looking up from the pages of his textbook. "then there'll be some show for a poor, hard-working goat," muttered greg, closing the door behind him and falling into his chair. "the goat," at west point, is one who is in the lowest section or two of his class. greg was not yet a "goat," this year, though he lived in dread of becoming one. hearing a yell from the plain beyond, however, holmes went over to the window and looked out. "dick, old ramrod," exclaimed cadet holmes wistfully, "i wish we stood well enough to be out on the football grill." "so do i," muttered dick. "but what's the with the goat section overtaking us at double time?" greg sighed, then went back to his books. for fifteen or twenty minutes both young men read on, trying to fasten something of natural philosophy in their minds. now there came a quick knock, immediately after which the door was flung open and brayton marched in. "see here, you coldfeet," began the captain of the army eleven sternly, "what do you two mean by staying in here and boning dry facts?" "just to avoid being drowned in goat's milk," smiled dick, turning a page and looking up. brayton, regardless of these heroic efforts to study, threw one leg across the corner of the study table. "you two fellows came out, in the first work of the squad, and did stunts that filled us all with hope," pursued brayton severely. "then, suddenly, you failed to show up any more. and all this, despite the fact that we have the poorest eleven the army has shown in six years." "only men well up in their academic work are allowed to play on the eleven, replied dick. "you fellows are well enough up to make the team." "but we're nervous about our studies," rejoined prescott. "nervous about your studies!" cried brayton sharply. "yet not a whit anxious for the honor of the army that you hope to serve in all your lives. now, you fellows know, as well as any of us, that we don't much mind being walked over by a crack college eleven. but we want to beat the navy, year in and year out. why, fellows, this year the navy has one of the best elevens in its history. all the signs are that the middies are going to walk roughshod over us. and yet you two fellows, whom we need, are sulking in quarters, poring over books---nervous about your studies!" scorn rang in brayton's heavy tones. "if i really thought you needed me-----" began dick. "of course, if you did actually need two duffers like-----" broke in cadet holmes. "need you!" retorted brayton. "i'm almost ashamed to be sitting here with two such cold-blooded duffers. but do you know why i'm here? because lieutenant carney, our coach, told me to come here and actually beg you to turn out---if i had to beg. now, am i going to be submitted to that humiliation by two fellows i've always liked and considered my friends?" "is the football situation as bad as that?", asked dick seriously. "bad?" repeated brayton gloomily. "man, it's _rotten_! today is thursday. saturday we have to meet lehigh. that's a team we can usually beat. lieutenant carney is so blue that i believe he'd like to compromise by giving lehigh the game at a score of twelve to nothing! and the navy! think of the fun of having annapolis strutting around with the army scalp tied to an anchor!" "if you really mean what you've been saying," said dick slowly, "then we're going tomorrow afternoon. i'm taking the liberty of speaking for greg." "that's straight and correct," affirmed holmes hastily. "but i'm not sure, brayton, that you'll find us such bang-up material as you appear to think." "oh, bother that!" cried the football captain jubilantly. "i know what lieutenant carney can do with you. so, for the glory the army, then, you'll come out, after this, and stand by us for the rest of the season?" "for the glory of the army, if we have anything to do with it," cried dick heartily, "we'll 'fess' cold in every confounded study on the third-year list. for the glory of the army we'll consent to being 'found' and kicked out of the service!" "hear, hear!" came rousingly from cadet holmes. "fellows---thank you!" gasped brayton, grasping both their hands and shaking them hard. "lieutenant carney will be delighted. so will all the fellows. mr. carney has had a hard, up-hill time of it as couch this year. but now---!" there could be no question that brayton's joy was real. he was a keen judge of football material, and he had been deeply chagrined when dick and greg had withdrawn from the early training work of the squad. "it has been fearful work trying get the interest up this year," continued brayton with a reminiscent sigh. "so many good man have been dodging the squad! even haynes, who is the best we have at left end, ducked this afternoon. caesar's ghost may know what haynes was doing with his time---i don't. but i don't believe he was boning." prescott smiled quietly to himself as he recalled how cadet haynes had been employing his leisure in this very room. "well, i'm happy, and lieutenant carney will be," muttered brayton, turning to go. "a whole lot of us will feel easier." "any idea where you'll try to play us?" asked dick, as the captain of the army eleven rested his hand on the knob. "not much; we'll find out during tomorrow afternoon's practice. be sharp on time, won't you?" "if we're able to walk," promised dick. just after brayton had gone the orderly came through with mail. "you got something, eh?" asked greg. "yes; a letter from grand old dave darrin," cried dick, as he broke the seal of the envelope. "let me know the news," begged holmes. "whoop! dave is on the navy football team. so is dan dalzell! both have gone in at the eleventh hour." "great scott!" breathed greg, rising to his feet. "i wonder if we're going to be placed on the line where we'll have to bump 'em in the army-navy game?" "we may be, if we get on the line," uttered prescott, as he finished the epistle. "here, greg, read it for yourself. that will be quicker than waiting for me to tell you the news from our old chums." the next afternoon both prescott and holmes turned out on the gridiron practice work. both proved to be in fine form. lieutenant carney, the army coach, devoted most of his attention to them. after some preliminary work the army eleven was lined up against a "scrub" team of cadets. "mr. prescott, go to left end on the team," directed coach carney. "mr. haynes, take the right end on scrub. mr. holmes, you will be left tackle on the army team for this bit of work. the captains of both teams will now line their men up. scrub will have the ball and make the kick-off. make all the play brisk and snappy. work for speed and strategy, not impact." with that, lieutenant carney ran over to the edge of the gridiron, leaving another officer, of the coaching force, to officiate as referee. the ball was placed in play. at the kick-off the ball came to greg, who passed it to dick. the interference formed, backed by brayton. "put it around their right end!" growled brayton, the word passing swiftly to prescott. haynes was darting in, blood in his eye, backed the whole right flank of scrub. greg and the rest of the available interference got swiftly and squarely in the way of haynes and the others. there was a scrimmage. out of it, somehow---none looking on could tell just how it was done---prescott emerged from the mix-up, darting swiftly to the left and around. he had made twenty-five yards with the ball before he was nailed and downed. lieutenant carney looked, as he felt, delighted. the spectators, all of them crazy for the army's success, broke into yells of joy. dick had done the spectacular part of the trick, but he could not have succeeded without the swift, intelligent help that holmes had given. playing together, they had sprung one of the clever ruses that both had perfected back in the old gridley days. haynes was furious. he was panting. there was an angry flash in his eyes as both teams lined up for the snap-back. "that fellow has come out into the field just to spite me," snarled haynes to himself. at the signal, the ball was snapped back, and passed swiftly to dick. haynes fairly leaped into the scrimmage, as though it were deadly hand-to-hand conflict. but dick and greg, with the backing of their comrades on the army eleven, bore haynes down to earth in the mad stampede that passed over him. fifteen yards more were gained, and scrub's half-backs were feeling sore in body. "that man prescott is a wonder," muttered lieutenant carney to a brother officer of the army. "or else holmes is. it's hard to say which of the pair is doing the trick. i think both of them are." "how on earth, carney, did you come to overlook that pair until now?" "i didn't overlook them," retorted the army coach. "i had them spotted when the training first began. but both dropped out on the claim that they feared for their standing in academy work." "a pair like that," muttered captain courteney, "ought to be excused for any kind of recitations during the football season. jove! look at that---prescott has made a touchdown" "prescott carried the ball," amended lieutenant barney, "but holmes certainly had as much to do with the touchdown as prescott did." "they're wonders!" cried captain courteney joyously. "and to think that you didn't have that pair out last year." "both refused even to think of going into training last year," retorted the army coach. "both were keen on the bone. but, bone or no bone, we've got to have them on the eleven the rest of this season." by the time that the afternoon's practice was over fully fifty army officers were on the sides, watching the work, for word had traveled by 'phone and the gathering had been a quick one. "prescott! holmes!" called brayton sharply, after the practice was over. "you'll play on the army team tomorrow. lieutenant carney says so. prescott, yours is left end; holmesy, you'll expend your energies as left tackle. haynes, you'll be in reserve, as a sub." the message to cadet haynes was delivered without the suspicion of a snub in it. almost any other man in the battalion would have accepted this wise decision without a murmur, delighted that the army had found a better man. not so with cadet haynes. he turned cold all over. not a word of reply did he offer, but turned on his heal, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands. "now, what do you think of that?" demanded haynes to himself. "turned down for that fellow prescott---that shifty dodger and cheap bootlick! and i shook hands with you yesterday, prescott! i never will again! confound you, you turned out in togs at this late hour, just to put me out of the running!" chapter xii in the battle against lehigh before noon the next day lehigh turned up---team, subs., howlers and all, and as many as could crowded into the conveyances that had been sent down to the railway station to meet the team and coaches. the cadet corps, busy to a man with saturday morning recitations, did not see the arrival of the visiting team. but the lehighs and the afternoon's game were the only topics for talk at dinner in the cadet mess hall. "they've sent over a race of giants," growled brayton down the length of the table at which he sat, while a poor little plebe cadet, acting as "gunner," was serving the roast beef. "sergeant brinkman, of the quartermaster's detachment, told me that the weight of the team sprung the axles on two of the stoutest quartermaster wagons. every man that lehigh sent over weighs a good part of a ton. what do you think of that, prescott?" "glad enough to hear it," smiled dick, nodding. "i believe it's the light, lithe, spry fellows who stand the best show of getting through the enemy's line." "if all our smaller men were like you, i'd believe it, too, muttered brayton. "but we haven't any more light men like you and holmes, prescott," broke in spurlock from the adjoining table. "i'm going to duck the team and quit playing," protested dick, "if holmesy and i are to be twitted about being wonders." "but, honestly, prescott" began brayton, "you two are-----" "average good army men, i hope," interposed dick. "nothing more, i hope. at least. i speak for myself. if holmesy wants to star-----" "i'll call you out, ramrod, if you carry the joke too far!" warned greg. seeing that both of the chums were in earned and didn't want to hear their merits sung, the others near them desisted. but, at many a table further removed, the whole trend of prediction was that, with prescott and holmes now definitely on the eleven, the army stood its first chance of defeating navy that year. the navy! it is the whole hope of west point to send annapolis down to defeat. the middies of the navy on the other hand, can smile at many and many a defeat, provided the army trails behind the navy at the annual football game. as the cadets marched out of mess hall and back along the sidewalk to barracks, those who allowed their gaze to stray ever so little across the roadway in the direction of the administration building noted that the holiday crowd had already begun to gather. there were girls down from vassar for the afternoon, and from half a dozen choice schools along the river. there were many out-of-town visitors from every direction. we're going to three or four thousand people here to see the game," murmured greg to dick, in the undertone that cadets know so well how to use in ranks without being detected in conversing. "think so?" inquired prescott. "i'm sure of it." in the groups that were strolling up and down the roads leading across the plain were young ladies whom many of the cadets wanted badly to see and exchange greetings with. first of all, however, saturday afternoon inspection had to be gone through with. from this, not even the members of the army football squad were privileged to be absent. when inspection was over many of the cadets hastened forth for brief converse with popular fair ones. none of the football men, however, had time for this. as soon as might be, they reported at the gymnasium, there to receive much counsel from coach and captain. "keep yourself in good shape, haynes," called dick, laughingly, when, after getting into togs, he met the turnback similarly attired. "going to funk?" asked haynes rather disagreeably. "not intentionally, anyway," dick smiled back at the "sore" one. "but i hear that we young davids are going to be pitted against goliaths this afternoon. it may be just my luck to go down in one of the scrimmages and get a furlough in hospital." "i hope so!" muttered haynes, but he said it under his breath. out over on the side lines officers and their families, and hordes of visitors, were filing toward the seats. across at the east side of the gridiron, lehigh's few hundred sympathizers were already bunched, and were making up with noise for their smallness of numbers. among the army "boosters" the uniforms of the officers brightened the picture. from time to time squads or detachments of cadets arrived and passed along to the seats reserved for them in the center. below the cadets, the band was stationed, and was already playing lively airs. out ahead of the band stood a megaphone on a tripod. this was to be used, later on, by the cheer-master, one of the cadets, who must call for the yells or the songs that were to be given. a rousing cheer ascended from the lehigh seats when the visiting college team trotted out on the field. hearty, courteous applause from the army seats also greeted the visitors. the band played as soon as the first lehighs were seen coming on to the field. "team fall in!" shouted brayton, at last "substitutes to the rear. forward!" out of the gym. stepped these young champions of the army. across the roadway they strode, then broke into a trot as they reached the edge of the field. and now a mighty cheer arose. yesterday, the army's friends had feared a defeat, but now word had gone the rounds that prescott and holmes had made the team strong in its weakest spot, and that a cyclonic game might be looked for. for the next few minutes the army eleven indulged in practice plays and kicks. during this period, the cheer-master cadets and the corps of cadets were busied with the various army yells and songs that promised victory for the young soldiers. nor were the lehigh "boosters" anything like idle. every time an army cheer ceased, the lehigh sympathizers cheered their own team. then game was called, with kick-off for the army. the ball was passed to lehigh's right end, who, full of steam, dashed on with it. dick and greg were foremost in the obstruction that met the lehigh runner. but the lehigh man was well supported. through dick, greg and ellerson dashed the runner, backed splendidly by his interference. it took quarterback and one of the halfbacks of the army to put the runner down some eight yards further on. "humph! i don't see that prescott and holmes are doing so much for us," muttered haynes to the sub. at his right, as both watched from the side lines. "look at what they have to stop," returned the other cadet. "don't be sore, haynes; you couldn't do any better. "humph!" grumbled the turnback. it soon developed, however, that lehigh felt especially strong on its right end. hence, much of the work seemed to devolve upon dick and greg. for twenty yarns down into army territory that ball was forced. then, after a gain of only two more yards, lehigh was forced to surrender the ball. army boosters stood up and cheered loudly. "you've got a tough crowd to get by, prescott," muttered brayton. "but look out for signals." as brayton bent over to snap-back, quarterback boyle's cool voice sounded: "fourteen---eight---nine---three!" in another instant boyle had made a running pass with the ball to greg, who passed it on to dick prescott. now all the army boosters were up in their seats, eager to see how the much-lauded prescott would serve with the pigskin. ball clasped, head down, dick settled for a run, his whole gaze on the on-coming lehigh right line. they met in a clash. dick had planned how to slip out of the impact, but the stronger lehigh right end had both arms around prescott, and down went the army left end. "humph!" grunted haynes, though his tone did not sound displeased "i hope that isn't a sample of prescott's skill," muttered one army captain to another. "no matter how good a man he is, prescott should have been in the squad from the outset of the training," replied the other. boyle was calling the signal. breathlessly the larger part of the spectators watched to see dick redeem himself. but again he failed to make much of an advance with the ball. after the second "down," with barely anything gained, brayton ordered boyle to throw the ball over to the right of the army line. so, in the next dash, prescott and holmes had but little to do. the army lost the ball. immediately it looked as though ennis, captain of lehigh, had heard all about the new army left end and left tackle, for lehigh's own sturdy right end came forward with the ball. dick and greg both dashed furiously at him, but greg was hurled aside by lehigh's interference. dick, however, held lehigh's right end dragged the army man for a yard; then others joined in the melee, and the ball was down. lehigh advanced some twenty yards before being compelled to give up the ball. it became more and more plain that the visitors intended forcing the fighting around the army's left end. at last, however, the army balked the game, and returned to the attack, trying to regain some of the lost army territory. "they're going to pound us, greg," whispered dick in one of the pauses of the game. "we were all right in the high school days, but we're playing with tremendously bigger men now." even brayton began to question his judgment having taken these two men so recently on the team. "if i had been able to train them from the first, they'd have been all right," muttered the captain of the army eleven. to ease up on prescott and holmes, brayton directed, as often as possible, charges through the center, or right-end rushes. but almost half of the time lehigh seemed bent on bearing down the army's left end. the hard work was beginning to tell on both dick and greg. yet it was a long tine, after all, before lehigh managed to score a touchdown. when the time came, however, the visitors also made their kick for goal, and the score was lehigh, 6; army, 0. "humph!" remarked cadet haynes, for the dozenth time. all his fellow subs. had moved away from him. they were disappointed, but they realized that prescott and holmes had entered the game under brilliant promise, yet without training. dutifully the cadet cheer-master kept at his work, but now the responses came with less volume from the corps of cadets, who were truly sitting on anxious seats. in the interval of rest, lieutenant carney talked anxiously with brayton. "have we made a mistake in prescott and holmes?" asked the coach. "what do you think, sir!" asked brayton. "if we had had that pair in training from the outset," replied the army officer, "i'm satisfied that they would have made a better showing. lehigh isn't a particularly strong team, but they have one of the best right-end assaults that i've seen in some time. it's really too bad that prescott and holmes, in their first game, are put against such a strong, clever assault." "well, we can't put haynes in now, unless prescott should be injured," replied brayton. "haynes?" repeated the army coach. "i'm glad he's not on your line today. training and all, haynes isn't the man to match prescott, even without training." haynes heard, and his face was convulsed with rage as he turned swiftly away. "queer how folks take so much stock in that fellow prescott!" muttered the turnback. "why can't a man like lieutenant carney see that prescott is nothing but a dub, while holmes is only a dub's helper?" all through the army seats it was beginning to be felt that the late placing of prescott and holmes in the army had probably been an error. there were even many who rated haynes higher than he deserved to be rated, and who believed that the turnback might have done much to save the day. as it was, the army had about given up hope. lehigh was stronger than usual; that was all, except that the army team appeared to be weaker than in the year before. the band still played at appropriate moments; the corps of cadets answered every signal for a yell, but army spirits were drooping fast. "greg," muttered dick, with a rueful face, "you can wager that we're being roasted by everyone out of earshot!" chapter xiii when the cheers broke loose fifteen minutes left to play. by this time even the most hopeful spectators had settled down to the conviction that the army was to lose the game. the most sanguine hoped that the score would not exceed 6 to nothing. "we're done for on this trip!" muttered lewis, the army's right guard. "no, we're not," retorted dick, his eyes flashing. "we can't lose; that's all there is to it!" "who told you that," demanded lewis. "that used to be our motto, our fighting principle on the old gridley high school team in the days when it never lost a game," replied prescott. "hm!" returned lewis. "i wish we had some more of your old gridley players on the team today, then." then they scurried to their places, leaving dick in wonder as to whether lewis' last remark had been intended for sarcasm. "greg." whispered dick, his pulses throbbing, "you see those fellows on the lehigh right flank?" they're the fellows we've got to down. we've got to down them, if we get killed!" "that's the word!" gritted the army left tackle. "dick, i'd about as soon be killed as let the army be walked over!" this had all been whispered rapidly. the army had just got the ball again, and was only ten yards over into lehigh territory. now boyle's signal was sounding: "twelve---seven---six---three!" dick straightened. greg squirmed. both knew that their chance had come again. making an oblique dash, boyle himself passed the pigskin to dick prescott. then all of the army line that could do so stiffened in and surged behind prescott and holmes. lehigh's bigger right end was making like a cyclone for dick. the lehigh man was backed finely. just as they were on the point of dashing together, greg, as by previous arrangement, gave dick a prodigious shove, at the same instant himself leaping forward. so quickly was the thing done that lehigh's right end, ere he realized it, had grappled with greg---and dick was around the end, racing! with a muttered growl of rage lehigh's man let holmes go. for a second or two, the college men were badly rattled. greg, with the agility of a squirrel, ducked low and got through, racing with all his might after prescott. twenty-four yards were covered ere prescott went down. when he did so, greg was standing back, saving himself that he might help dick the next time. once more the ball was snapped back. this time some brilliant faking was done. the whole of the first movement looked as though the ball were to be pushed somewhere through the army's right flank, and lehigh wheeled accordingly. but it was a left-end pass, after all. dick and greg got through by a very slight variation on their last ruse eighteen yards more gained! in an instant, now, those in the army seats were wild with enthusiasm. the band crashed out joyously, a dozen measures, while the cadets sang one of their songs of jubilant brag. then all was suddenly still for the next bit of play. while the men of both teams were hurrying to the line-up, a signal was noticed by hundreds that caused excited comment. brayton made some slight signal to prescott both dick and greg shook their heads sullenly. "confound brayton!" shivered lieutenant barney. "what does he mean by that? he has signaled prescott and holmes asking them if they can put one more by lehigh, and they have refused. ennis and all the lehighs have tumbled. brayton-----" "seven---two---nine---eight!" voiced quarterback boyle. instantly coach carney's face cleared. it was an emergency signal, not yet used in the game. as if unconsciously, all the men of the army eleven had turned toward right guard. the ball was snapped back. boyle took three steps of a plunge toward right guard, then suddenly dodged, passing the ball to greg, who swiftly passed it to prescott---and the race was on. lehigh's right end made a gallant dash to stop dick. there was a mix-up in an instant. all happened so swiftly that the spectators were not certain how the thing had been done. but dick prescott, with cadet greg holmes almost at his side, was charging across the lower field, past one of the halfbacks, and with only fullback really in their way. there was a tackle. but dick was seen to come out of it, while greg rolled on the grass with the fullback. "_touchdown!_" the air trembled with the vibration of that surging yell as cadet prescott raced across lehigh's goal line. "humph!" ejaculated haynes. but he, too, was on his feet, watching the lively performance. then the pigskin was carried back for the kick for goal, and the goal was made. lehigh was tied! after the early discouragements of the game that seemed luck enough. lieutenant carney was the personal embodiment of joy as he recalled the signal of brayton and the sullen headshakes of prescott and holmes. "that was a ratty and clever piece of acting, to throw the visitors off their guard!" chuckled the army coach. no time was lost in lining up again. only seven minutes of playing time were left. it seemed too short in which to do anything in the faces of the army players there glowed the light of determination. within three minutes the ball was well down in lehigh territory. the college men fought grimly now. they were becoming rattled; the army players seemed more confident and more full of spirit than at time in the day. now there came another play. again the army's left wing was used. there was a short, desperate scrimmage. the army had gained four yards, yet lost---what? for, out of that scrimmage came dick and greg, each limping enough to be noticed. one of the army "rainmakers" (doctors) even started out from the side lines, but brayton waive the medical officer back. "is it a trick, this time, or real?" wondered conch carney, who did not care to be caught napping again. "five---nine---seven---two---eighteen!" the last numeral called for a fake kick. so well was the strategy carried out that lehigh was even trapped into spreading out a trifle. it was a left-end play again, however, and dick and greg, backed by all the rest, fought to put it through. lehigh's halfback caught prescott this time---caught him fair and full, and prescott went down. yet this had been intended. so well was it done that greg, close in, was away with the ball by the time that prescott touched the earth. there was a yell of dismay from the visitors. they started to bear down holmes, but all of the army team had been prepared for this move from the instant the last signal; had been called. so it was the full force of the charging army line that pushed cadet holmes through and over the goal line. over all the cheering that followed this manoeuvre came the call for time at the end of the game's playing time. yet, under the rules, the kick for goal was tried. the kick failed---but who cared? the finishing score was: army, 11; lehigh, 6. gone were all the doubts concerning prescott and holmes. now they were the most sensational players in the army team. justly brayton received his full share of credit both for taking on prescott and holmes at the eleventh hour, and also for carrying out so cleverly his own captain's part of the strategy that had won. lehigh's team went off the field dejected. the visitors had counted on victory as theirs. there was a noticeable silence among the lehigh "boosters" as they clambered down from their from their seats and strolled moodily away. only one man had any adverse commend. that man was turnback haynes, and all he said was: "_humph!_" chapter xiv for auld lang syne after that dick and greg turned out every day for practice with the team. both lieutenant carney and team captain brayton speedily learned that they had made no mistake in getting prescott and holmes on to the line. a number of smaller colleges were defeated, and with rattling good scores. dick and greg seemed to improve with every game. true, yale walked off with the honors, though the score, ten to six, had been stubbornly contested throughout. harvard was played to a tie that year; princeton was beaten by six to two, the two standing for a safety that princeton forced the army to make. lieutenant carney was one of the happiest men on the station. from having a team rather below the average, he had produced an army eleven that was destined to go down as famous in american military life. as thanksgiving drew near all interest centered in what was, after all, to be the real game of the year---that between the army and the navy, which is always played the saturday after that holiday. haynes, during the season's good work, had not been able wholly to keep his tongue back of his teeth. he had made several disparaging remarks. for of these remarks lewis, of the army eleven, chose to take he turnback to account. hot words followed, ending in a fight. haynes, roundly beaten, withdrew altogether from the eleven. "that fellow prescott has wonderful luck, or he'd have had his neck broken long ago, considering all the hard packs that he has bumped into in the games," growled the turnback disgustedly to himself. in fact, haynes was forced to do a large share of his talking with himself. he hadn't been "cut" by the other cadets, but he had succeeded in making himself generally unpopular through his too evident dislike of prescott. "funny, but that's the man who wanted me to resign the class presidency so that he could run for it," laughed dick to his chum. dick had told greg of that laughable interview, but it had gone no further. greg could be trusted not to talk too much. "going over to philadelphia to see the navy anchored to a zero score, haynes?" asked carter, of the second class. "yes; i reckon i'm going over," replied haynes. "but i'm not so sure that we'll see the navy sunk," replied the turnback. "i know you don't care much for prescott," smiled carter. "yet how can you be blind to the wonderful work that he and holmes are doing? is it because prescott is playing the position for which you were cast?" "no, it isn't," retorted haynes, his face red with passion "if our team wants prescott, let it have him. i don't care. but i've a notion prescott won't be strutting about with such lordly airs-----" "prescotts? lordly airs?" broke in cadet carter, grinning broadly. "whew, but that would make a hit with the fellows! why, prescott is anything but a lordly chap. he's one of the most modest fellows in the corps. he had to be fairly dragged on to the eleven. he believed it would be better off without him." "so it would, sure!" rasped the turnback. "now, see here, haynes, don't get so sore as to warp your own judgment," expostulated carter. "well, you just wait and see how much we do to the navy! have you heard about the navy's new, lightning right end?" "darrin, you mean?" "yes," nodded haynes. "a friend of mine, who saw darrin play the other day, writes me that darrin is an armor-clad terror on the grid iron. if he is, he'll pulverize prescott, unless brayton shifts prescott to some other position." "pooh! i'm not afraid," laughed carter, turning to walk away. "darrin, no doubt, is good, but he can't do anything to prescott." neither of the speakers was aware that dave darrin, midshipman, united states navy, was one of the oldest and dearest friends that dick prescott had. few at west point knew that darrin and prescott had ever met. "am i going over to philadelphia to see the game?" muttered haynes to himself, as he strode away from the game. "i want to see prescott go up against the real star darrin, and get his neck broken!" anstey was one of the few at west point who knew anything about the friendship between prescott, holmes, darrin and dalzell. dan dalzell had also made the annapolis eleven, playing right tackle. that was bound to bring him into hard grip with greg. "anstey, i hope there's time for you to make the acquaintance of dave and dan," dick said earnestly while the virginian was visiting greg and himself. "dave and dan are two of the real fellows, if there are any left in the world. "they must be, old ramrod," replied the virginian quietly, "if they hold such place in your affections, and in old holmesy's." great was the rejoicing, on the eventful morning, when the two "army specials" pulled out from the station down by the river's edge. the first section of the train pulled out ahead, carrying the officers of the post, their families and closest friends. on the second longer section traveled the corps of cadets---with the exception of a few of the young men who, under discipline, were not allowed to take this trip. with the cadets went the tactical officers and the coaching force. at jersey city the first real stop was made. then the journey was resumed to philadelphia. franklin field was crowded with somewhere between thirty and thirty-five thousand people when the corps of cadets, headed by the band, marched on to the field and thence to the seats reserved for the band and the corps. the whole progress of the corps across the field was accompanied by lusty cheering, by applause and by the mad waving of the gray, black and gold army pennants. most of the spectators who carried the navy's blue and gold pennants so far forgot their partisanship as to cheer and wave for the army's young men. hardly was the corps of cadets seated when another loud strain of joyous music was heard. the brigade of midshipmen, from annapolis, behind the naval academy band, was now entering the field. all the cheering and all the other frantic signs of approval were repeated, the corps of cadets from west point lending heavy additional volume to the rousing send-off. in the meantime rival football squads had been hustled off to dressing quarters. as the army squad made quick time to the dressing rooms, dick and greg had their eyes on the alert for even the briefest glimpse of any of the navy eleven. it was two years and a half since dick and greg had had even a glimpse of dave or dan. how the two west pointers yearned for even an instant's look at the chums of old days! but no such exchange of glimpses was possible at this time. the army players and substitutes got into their togs, then waited. "all ready?" called brayton at last. "then fall in and out on to the field in double time!" another wild outburst of cheering was let loose when the army eleven trotted in into view. the military academy band began playing. an instant later the naval academy band fell in, playing the same air by ear. the ball was turned loose, and after it went the players. the practice work was brisk and warm. hardly had the combined bands stopped playing when another great yell broke loose. young men in the blue and gold striped stockings of the navy were trotting on to the field. the navy band turned itself loose, followed in an instant by the army band. the din was something bewildering. those in the further seats could not hear the music of the bands at all. dick and greg watched covertly as they saw the navy team come on at the other end of the field. which was dave, and which was dan? hang it, how disguising these football suits were! both teams went on with their practice. there came a moment when the army and navy teams came closer to each other. then the eager spectators saw something that was not on the programme. the chums of the old gridley days had made each other out in the same moment. there was a rush. in mid-field dick prescott and dave darrin gripped hands as if they could never let go again. across their outstretched arms greg and dan found each other in a right-hand clasp. so delighted were the old chums that they fairly hugged each other. over it all, while the spectators gazed in silent wonder, came the strains from the army band, for the leader, more with a sense of the fitting than from any knowledge of facts, waved his men into the strains of "auld lang syne." "should auld acquaintance be forgot-----" the band was playing softly. as the spectators took up the fine old words the band music died down. there came a rolling rattle from the drum section of the navy band, and then high over all the voices rose the triumphant measures of "columbia, the gem of the ocean." that crowd forgot to cheer. it was a moment for song, as thousands, catching the full spirit of the air, gave voice to--"the army and navy forever!" not a word, so far, had been spoken by any one of the chums. they had not intended to bring about a scene like this, making themselves the central figures in the great picture. but it was too late to retreat. "it seems as though an age had gone by, dave," spoke cadet prescott. "it surely does, dick," returned midshipman darrin. "and we've got to beat you today, too," said midshipman dalzell dolefully. "what? beat the army?" gasped cadet holmes. "the navy is the only crowd that can really do it," admitted dalzell. "foes in sport today, dave!" declared prescott ardently. "but in nothing else, ever!" "never mind either the army or the navy, just for the minute," begged dave darrin. "but it's great, isn't it, just to be in the service at all?" then, becoming suddenly aware that they had demoralized the practice work of both elevens, cadets and midshipmen parted. "but do your best to beat me today, dave!" begged dick. "i surely will!" came back the retort. "and don't you falter for the army, dick!" "old friends, prescott?" demanded brayton as the two cadets ran back to their own forces. "we four learned football together, on the same team," confessed dick. "is that man darrin as big a wonder as we've heard?" queried brayton. "bigger, i'm afraid," returned prescott. "he opposes you today. can he get away with you?" "he may be able to batter me down. but i'll give him all the trouble i can, brayton. darrin is for the navy, but i'm equally for the army!" "it will be all right, as long as friendship doesn't break up your work," warned brayton. "that very friendship will make all four of us fight harder than ever we did in our lives before," spoke prescott seriously. at almost the very same moment dave darrin was saying about the same thing to the captain of the navy team. "humph! do those fellows think they're posing before a moving-picture machine?" the one who uttered that remark was turnback haynes. he had come on to the field with a scowling face, and the scowl was likely to deepen steadily. anstey, from his seat, had been "all eyes" for the pair whom he now knew to be the heard-about darrin and dalzell. all anstey's further speculation was cut short. the army and navy elevens were lining up to start play. chapter xv heroes and a sneak turnback haynes watched the game closely, darkly. he wanted to note and to remember every play near the army's left end today. should the navy win the day's battle, then cadets haynes felt sure he could make a large number of men in the second class at the military academy believe that prescott had allowed his ancient friendship to stand in the way of an army victory. "great caesar, i might even succeed in getting to be president of the class yet!" muttered the turnback. "there they go again!" a second or two later the wild cheering began again. for the army was charging with the ball, well down in navy territory, and prescott, with the pigskin safely tucked, was using his most wily tactics to get by dave darrin. and dick succeeded, too, though only for eight yards, when dave had the satisfaction of helping to pull his old-time chum down to the ground in the interests of the navy. for a little while the ball had been over on army ground. now, however, it was going steadily toward the navy's goal line, and the interest of the spectators was intense. the time of the game was more than half gone. once the navy had been forced to carry the pig skin behind its own line, gaining thus a fresh lease of life in the game. but, of course, the safety scored two against the navy. for a while afterward it had looked as though that, would be the score for the game---two to nothing. "if brayton uses prescott just right, and doesn't call on them too often, they'll get the ball over the navy's goal line yet," confided lieutenant carney to a brother officer who stood at his side. "the navy line-up is a great one this year," replied his comrade. "for myself i'd be satisfied to see the score end as it stands---two to nothing." "without a touchdown on either side!" questioned lieutenant carney, with a trace of scorn in his voice. "that wouldn't be real sport, old fellow!" "i know; but it would be at least a safe finish for the army," responded the other. just then quarterback boyle's voice was heard giving the signal: "eight---seventeen---four!" lieutenant carney gave his friend's arm a slight nudge. by way of greg the ball came to dick, who, already in fleet motion, was none the less ready for the pass. with the ball under his arm, prescott started. almost in an instant dave and dan piled upon him, ere greg could get in for effective interference. two more downs and the navy had the ball. now darrin, with dalzell's close elbow-touch throughout, started a series of brilliant plays. to be sure, dave didn't make all the runs, but he made the larger part of them. turnback haynes's eyes began to snap. dave darrin was playing with fire in his eyes. prescott was fighting back, doggedly, sullenly it almost seemed, but darrin was putting on his best streak of the day. ere the navy was obliged to give up the ball once more it had crossed the line, and was twelve yards down in army territory. nor did the army succeed in getting the ball back over the center line. once more the navy took the ball and began to work wonders with it. within fifteen yards of the army goal line the middies carried the ball, by easy stages. dan dalzell, for an instant, caught greg's glance and sent him a look of comical warning. holmes stiffened, though he returned the look in all personal friendliness. "don't let dave do it---whatever he'll be up to next," begged greg, in an appealing whisper. "dick, i'll stay beside you---to the death!" it was another right-end pass for the navy, backed by a solid charge. worse, in the impact that followed dave succeeded, somehow, in outwitting even prescott's stern vigilance. dick prescott gave vent to a gasp. he felt his heart thumping as he wheeled, dashing after dave. but darrin was in his element now, neither to be stopped, nor overtaken. dodging with marvellous agility and craft three army men who sought to bar his way, dave went pantingly over the army goal line---scoring a touchdown! what a fearful tumult ascended from the seats of the navy's sympathizers over on the stands! the navy had proved itself, by scoring the only touchdown. lieutenant carney groaned inwardly. two to five now---and the army coach saw no more hope of scoring for this day. flushed, happy, the midshipmen ran back to form their line for the try for goal. that kick missed fire. no matter! five to two for the navy, anyhow! at the signal the army and navy lined up to fight out what was left of time to play the game. naval academy band and the whole navel crowd were having the jubilation all their own way. the midshipmen, having proved slight superiority over the army, could doubtless prevent more scoring in this game. in fact, the navy captain had just passed this wood to the members of his team: "score, of course, if we can. but, above all, keep the army from scoring!" it was the navy's turn to make the kick-off. this gave the army at least the chance of starting the running with the ball. prescott and holmes had shown as yet no signs of cave in. every player on the navy team looked to see this swift, tricky army pair make the first effort of the new series. he carried it ten yards, too, ere he was obliged to go to the ground with the pigskin under him. the next play was made at the center of the army line. what was the matter? wondered many of the army watchers. was brayton becoming dissatisfied with his left wing? "humph!" rejoined haynes sourly. but the third time that the ball was put in play it went swiftly to prescott. instead of trying to make his way around the end, dick suddenly sped some what to the right. darrin had gone in the opposite direction, yet, thoroughly familiar with his old chum's tricky ways of play, dave had his eyes wide open. so he wheeled, rushing at prescott. but he bumped, instead, with greg, a fraction of a second before dalzell could reach the spot and take a hand. then the whole army line charged down on the endangered spot. dick was through, and the navy men were having all they do. in a twinkling prescott had sped, on, now was he caught and downed until he had the ball within twelve yards of the navy's goal line. right off the army cheer-master was on the job. the corps yell was raised with prescott's name and holmes's. brayton looked flushed and happy. he hoped yet to show these over-confident middies something. again the line-up was made for the snapback. the midshipmen players were now justifiably nervous, though they gave no sign of the fact. again the signal was given. holmes received the ball and started. the whole army line veered to the left. the navy moved to mass in support of darrin and dalzell. yet, just as the navy men thought they could stop greg, it turned out that prescott carried the pigskin. nor did cadet prescott lose any time at all in trying to buck the line. ere the attention of the navy had been drawn away from holmes, prescott was off on a slanting line around the navy's right end. even dave darrin was properly fooled this time. dick had only to shake off a halfback and the fullback and he was over the goal line, holding down the ball. never before had franklin field heard a greater din than now arose. the army band was now playing furiously, yet the musicians barely heard themselves. the black, gold and gray pennants of the army were waving frantically over half the field. the noise of cheering must have been heard a mile away. from the cadets themselves came some army yell for which the cheer-master had signaled, but no one heard what it was. the noise continued until the line-up had been effected for the kick for goal. brayton, flushed with delight, chose to make the kick himself. the pigskin soared, describing a beautiful curve. between the goal posts it went, dropping back of the line. gloom had fallen over the middies, who realized that but three minutes time was left. swiftly as could be, the line-up was made for the kick-off. it was the army's turn to start the ball, the navy's to come back with it, if possible, into army territory. the navy soon succeeded in getting the pigskin a trifle over the middle line. but the time was too short in which to do anything decisive. the army was strictly on the defensive, taking no chances. time was called. the army had won, eight to five! when it was all over the middies cheered the victors as lustily as anyone, though sore hearts beat under the blue uniforms of annapolis. west points cadets, on the other hand, were wild with joy. again and again they sent up the rousing corps yell for prescott and holmes, with brayton's name added. turnback haynes, finding no one to listen to him now, in anything he might have to say against prescott, turned to stare at the heaving lines of gray. to himself, haynes muttered curiously: "humph!" that one word did not, however, do justice to haynes's frame of mind. he was wild with jealousy and hatred, but dared not show it. that fellow prescott will have his head fearfully swelled and be more unbearable than ever! growled haynes to himself. confound him, he has no business at all in the army! why should he be? then, after a pause, a cunning look crept slowly into the eyes of the turnback, as he throbbed under his breath: if i can have anything to do with it, he wont be much longer in the army! for just a moment, ere the teams left the field, the old gridley chums had a chance to rush over to each other. "i was afraid of you, dick," dave confessed. "not more than i was of you, dave, laughed prescott." "did you find the army such easy stuff to use as a doormat, dan?" queried greg dryly. "oh, it--it--it was the fault of the new rules," retorted midshipman dalzell, making a wry face. "you know, greg, you never could play much football. but the new rules favor the muff style of playing." only a few more words could the quartette exchange. there was time, however, for a few minutes of talk before the west pointers were obliged to leave for their train. greg, sighed dick, if we only had dave and dan playing on the same team with us, such a game would be great! "oh, well," murmured greg, "whether annapolis or west point lugged off the actual score, the service won, anyway. for the army and navy are inseparable units of the service." it was a very orderly and dignified lot of cadets who filed aboard the cadet section of the train to leave for home. once the train was well on its way out of philadelphia, however, the pent-up enthusiasm of the happy sons of the army broke loose, nor did the tactical officers with them make any effort to restrain the merry enthusiasm. some of the cadets went from car to car, in search of more excitement. dick prescott soon became so tired of hero-worship that he slipped along through the rear car a few feet at a time until, at last, unobserved, he managed to make his way out on to the rear platform. unobserved, that is, by all save one. turnback haynes, who had been watching dick with a sort of wild fascination, noted dick's latest move. the train, which had been traveling at high speed, now slowed down to some twenty-five miles an hour in order to pass over a river. while the attention of all the rest was turned toward the front end of the car, haynes, with lowered eyes and half-slinking manner, made his way toward the rear of the car. peering through the glass in the door, the turnback could make out cadet prescott standing outside. dick's back was toward the door. a diabolical light flashed in haynes's eyes for a moment. he shook from head to foot, but, by a strong effort of will, he stayed his quivering. one stealthy look over his shoulder haynes took, then suddenly opened the door, stepping outside. cadet prescott half turned. there was no time to do more, when he felt himself seized in a strong clutch. there was hardly any struggle. it all seemed to be over in a second or so. cadet prescott plunged headlong through the darkness of the night into the dark river below! chapter xvi roll-call gives the alarm for an instant haynes leaned far out. now his eyes were filed with a terror that overcame the wild fascination of his wicked deed. his anger had died down in a flash. turnback haynes would have given worlds to be able to recall the felonious deed he had just committed. but it was too late. he had seen prescott's flying figure sink beneath the waters, which came up to within a few feet of the railroad trestle. haynes turned back with a sobbing groan. then he cast a terrified look into the car. some of the fellows must have seen both of us come out here, he quavered. they'll see only one of us come back. i'll have to stand the whole fire of questions. ugh! c-c-can i stand it without breaking down and giving myself away? the train was over and off of the bridge by now. warned by a light burning between the rails, the engineer brought the train to a standstill. his heart bounding with a cowards hope, turnback haynes leaped down to the roadbed. breathlessly he rushed along the side of the train. he succeeded in gaining the platform of the third car ahead. though his knees shook under him, the turnback swung up on to the steps. in another moment, after noting that the cadets were not looking particularly towards the door, haynes turned the knob, stepping inside and dropping, with feigned carelessness, into an empty seat. "hullo, haynesy," was lewis's easy greeting. been up ahead? "yes," lied the turnback. anstey heard, though he did not pay much heed to the statement at the time. there were many, of course, who asked for dick. greg had not seen his chum for some time. in his own heart holmes felt sure that dick, tired of being congratulated, had sought retirement---in the baggage car, probably. so greg had little to say, and did not go in search of his chum. it was not, in fact, until the corps reached west point, and roll-call by companies was held, that the absence of cadet richard prescott, second class, was discovered. then there was a good deal of curiosity among a few comrades, wild excitement and useless speculation. an hour later, however, greg's fevered imaginings were cut short by word that was brought over to him from the cadet guard house. prescott had reported by wire. he had fallen from the rear car of the train into a river. the telegram merely stated that he had made his way to the nearest village, where a clergyman had provided him with the funds needed for his return to west point. he would report at the earliest hour possible. from room to room in cadet barracks flew the news. "now, how could a fellow be so careless as to fall off a moving train?" demanded lewis. "old ramrod may have been shaken up a heap in the game," hinted anstey. "prescott isn't the sort of chap to tell us every time he feels a trifle dizzy or experiences a nervous twitch. he may have felt badly, may have gone out on the platform for a whiff of fresh air, and then may have felt so much worse that he fell." "depend upon one thing," put in brayton decisively. "whatever prescott does there's some kind of good reason for." "it's enough, for to-night, declared greg, to know that the royal old fellow is safe, anyway. to-morrow, well have the story, if there is any story worth having." turnback haynes received the news with mingled emotions. his first sensation was one of relief at knowing that he was not actually a murderer---one who had wickedly slain a fellow human being. it was not long, though, before haynes became seized with absolute fright over the thought that prescott must have recognized him. "in that case, all i can do is to stick out for absolute and repeated denial," shivered the turnback. "there's one great thing about west point, anyway---a cadets word simply has to be taken, unless there is the most convincing proof to the contrary. i guess lewis will remember that i came in from the car ahead or seemed to. but i wonder if anyone, officer or cadet, saw me running along at the side of the train?" it was small wonder that cadet haynes failed to get any sleep that night. all through the long hours to reveille the cadet tossed and tumbled on his cot. fortunately for him, his roommate was too sound a sleeper to hear the tossing. heavy-eyed, shuddering, haynes rose in the morning. through the usual routine he went, and at last marched off to section recitation, outwardly as jaunty as any other man in the corps, yet with dark dread lurking in his soul. it was about noon when prescott reported at the adjutant's office, next going to the office of the commandant of cadets. by both officers dick was congratulated on his fortunate escape from death. each officer asked him a few direct questions. prescott stated that he had remained over night with the village clergyman, giving his wet, icy clothing a chance to dry. it was when asked how he came to fall from the rear platform of the car that the cadet hesitated. "i thought i was thrown from the platform, sir," dick replied in each case. "who was on the platform with you?" "no one, sir, an instant before." "did you see any one come out of the car?" "no, sir." "did you recognize any assailant?" "no-o, sir." "have you any good reason to suspect any particular person?" "no _good_ reason, sir." "could any one have come out of the car, unless it had been a tactical officer, a cadet or a railway employee?" "no, sir." that was as far as the questioning went, for both the adjutant and the commandant of cadets believed that dick had been pitched from the rear platform by some sudden movement of the car. no other belief seemed sane enough to be considered. it was the commandant of cadets who suggested: "if you feel the slightest need of it, mr. prescott, you may go at once to cadet hospital, and be examined by one of the surgeons. we don't want you coming down with illness later, on account of a neglected chill." "i am very certain i don't need a medical officers attention, sir," replied cadet prescott, with just the trace of a smile. "the rev. dr. brown and his wife were about the most attentive people i ever met. i was pretty cold, sir, when i reached their house. but inside of five minutes they had me rolled up in warm blankets and were dosing me with ginger tea. afterwards they gave me a hot supper. i slept like a top, sir, last night." "you feel fit then, mr. prescott, to return to full duty? asked the k.c. "wholly fit, sir." "very good. then i will so mark you. go to your quarters, mr. prescott, and wait until the next call, which will be the call for dinner formation." saluting the commandant, prescott left the cadet guard house, hastening to his own room. a few minutes later cadet holmes burst in upon his chum. to him dick told the whole story of his striking the water, of his swimming to shore, and of hurried trip through the cold night to the nearest house. "and you're sure you were pushed?" questioned greg thoughtfully. "either i was pushed, or it was all a horrid dream," replied dick fervently. "then why didn't you so tell the k.c.?" "i answered the k.c. truthfully, greg. i told him all that i really know. i didn't feel called upon, and wasn't asked, to tell him anything that i guessed." "what is your guess?" insisted holmes, with the privilege of a friend. "greg, as far as i can be sure of anything without knowing it, i am absolutely certain that a cadet came out of the car, behind me, and that he pushed me off the platform." "a cadet?" demanded greg, turning pale. to holmes it seemed atrocious to couple the word cadet with any act of dishonor. "greg, as i plunged through the air, i succeeded in turning a trifle. i am convinced, in my own mind, that i saw the gray cape overcoat of a cadet i am also certain that i got a glimpse of his face. the only limit to my certainty is that i wouldn't want to name the man under oath." "who was he?" demanded holmes. advancing, placing his lips against one of greg's ears, prescott whispered the name: "haynes! but you mustn't breathe this to a living soul! remember, i wouldn't dare swear to the truth of what i've hinted to you." greg holmes, wholly and utterly loyal to the cadet corps of which he was himself an honored member, went even paler. he leaned back against the wall, clenching his fists tightly. "haynes?" he whispered. "i don't like the fellow, and i never did. he's no friend of yours, either, dick. but he wears the staunch old cadet uniform and has had more than three years of the west point traditions. it seems impossible, dick. had anyone else but you told me this, even against haynes, i would have turned on my heel and walked away." "i hope it isn't true---i hope it is all a hideous nightmare, born of my dismay when i found myself going through space!" breathed dick fervently. "what are you going to do about this?" asked greg huskily. "nothing whatever." "you are not going to mention haynes to anyone else?" "no, sirree! i shall keep my eyes open a bit when haynes is around; that is all." "i hope it isn't true---oh, i hope it isn't true," breathed greg fervently. "but i know you're no liar, dick, and you're no dreamer of dreams! confound it, i almost wish you hadn't told me this. but i asked you to." greg's face was a queer ashen gray in color. at that moment the call for dinner formation sounded. "you're all ready, dick, so hustle along. i've clean forgotten to get myself ready. you hustle, and i'll try not to be late in the formation." as cadet prescott hastened along through the lower corridor, he came face to face with the turnback. haynes stopped short, his jaw drooping. for just a second he stiffened his arms as though to throw himself in an attitude of defence. halting, without speaking or raising a hand, dick prescott looked squarely into the other man's eyes. haynes turned ghastly pale, his jaw moving nervously as though he would speak and could not. a smile of scorn flashed into prescotts face. haynes fairly writhed beneath that contemptuous look. then, still without a word or a sound, prescott passed on. "he did it!" muttered dick to himself. yet, with the certainty of the turnbacks guilt, prescott did not wish haynes any personal harm. the only greatly perturbed thought that ran through dick's mind was: "that fellow is not fit for the army. must he be allowed to go on and graduate?" thrice during the dinner period dick allowed his glance to rove over to the turnback. not once did he catch haynes's eye, but that young man was making only a pretence at eating. "if he really pushed me from the train," muttered prescott to himself, "i hope haynes worries about it until he fesses cold in some study and so has to leave the military academy. for he'll never be fit to be an officer. he couldn't command other men with justice." chapter xvii mr. cadet slowpoke despite the fact that he had been through the first half of the year before, haynes actually did go somewhat stale in some of the studies. some of the cadets who lived near enough were permitted to go home at the christmas holidays, and the turnback was among this number. yet haynes came back. in the january examinations he stood badly, getting place rather near the foot of the second class. yet he pulled through and retained his place in the corps. dick and greg, who did not go home over the holidays, both did fairly well in january. each secured a number not far above the bottom of the second third of the class. on washington's birthday, the cadets had a holiday after dinner. the day, however, was ten-fold joyous for dick, because mrs. bentley, laura and belle meade were expected on the afternoon of that day, the girls to attend the cadet hop at cullum hall in the evening. dick and greg, in their spooniest uniforms, were at the railway station to meet the visitors. "quick!" cried mrs. bentley, after the greetings were over. "there's the stage, and its about to start. we'll all get seats in it." "if that is the programme, mrs. bentley," laughed dick, "greg and i will have to overtake you, later on, on foot. cadets are not allowed to ride in the stage. "can't you telephone for a carriage, then?" inquired mrs. bentley. "certainly, and with pleasure, but cadets may not ride in a carriage, either." "oh, you poor cadets!" cried mrs. bentley. "to think of your having to climb that steep road ahead. and its ever so long, too!" "you get in the stage, mother, and belle and i will walk up the road with dick and greg," proposed laura bentley. so the two cadets busied themselves with assisting mrs. bentley into the stage, after which they returned to their fair friends. "now, i have trouble in store for you two young men," declared belle meade, frowning. "why did you young men conspire to beat the navy at football?" "for the honor and glory of the army," replied dick, smiling. "to put humiliation over your old chums, dave and dan," flashed belle. "laura and i were down at annapolis, at a hop last month, as you may have heard. poor dave hasn't yet recovered from the blow of seeing the navy lose that game to the army!" "but i'll wager he didn't blame us," retorted prescott, his eyes twinkling. "he said that, if it hadn't been for you and greg, the navy would have won the game," retorted belle. "i hope that's true," declared dick boldly. "oh, you do, mister prescott? and why?" asked belle. "because i belong to the army, and i want always to see the army win." "if west point defeats annapolis next thanksgiving, and if its because of you and greg, then i'll never speak to either of you again," asserted belle. "come along, dick," laughed laura. "belle's positively dangerous when she talks about the navy!" "the navy is the only real branch of the service," declared belle, with a toss of her head. "everybody says so. the army is merely nothing---positive zero!" "laughing good-humoredly, greg piloted belle up the long, winding walk that leads to the west point plain. dick and laura soon fell in behind, at some distance, walking very slowly. "did you have a tiresome trip here?" inquired dick. "no; a very pleasant one," laura replied. "i should think a long journey would be tedious to women traveling without male escort," dick went on. "we had escort as far as new york," laura replied promptly. "oh, you did?" inquired prescott, feeling a swift sinking at heart. "yes; mr. cameron had to make a flying trip to new york. he had to come at about this time, so he put it off for three or four days in order to travel through with us. wasn't that nice of him?" "extremely nice of him," admitted the cadet rather huskily. "i---i suppose he will return with you from new york." "we expect him to," laura admitted. "but what a great game that must have been, dick! how i wish belle and i had gone over to philadelphia to see it." "it was an exciting game, and a hard-fought one." laura chatted on gayly, and at the same time displayed much enthusiasm over the life at west point. yet dick, though he strove to conceal the fact, was low spirited over the attentions of mr. cameron. the two cadets had permission to visit at the hotel, so went into the parlor until the girls joined them there. later, as there was no snow on the ground, a stroll about the post was proposed and enjoyed. dick made out laura's card for the dance that night, while greg attended to belle's. many were the cadets who glared at dick and greg for not having inscribed their names on the dance cards of these two very "spoony femmes." (pretty girls.) after one of her dances with dick, belle asked him to lead her out into the corridor, where the air was cooler. "shall i go after your wrap?" asked dick solicitously. "goodness, no," replied belle. "i'm not as sensitive as that." then, abruptly changing the subject, miss meade asked: "what do you think of mr. cameron?" "i saw very little of him," dick replied. "but what do you think of him?" belle insisted. "i think that, if he is laura's friend, he must be a fine fellow," dick replied with enthusiasm. a slight shudder of disappointment passed over belle. "are you beginning to feel chilly, belle?" asked dick anxiously. "if i am, its nervously, not because i am really cold," replied miss meade dryly. "why did you ask me what i think of mr. cameron?" "because i am interested in knowing," belle answered. "mr. cameron is with laura a great deal these times." "is he?" asked dick, with another sinking at the heart. "oh, yes," belle replied. "some folks in gridley are nodding their heads wisely, and pretending they can guess what is going to happen before long. but i'm very certain that there is nothing quite definite as yet. indeed, i'm not quite sure that laura really knows her own mind as yet." soon after that, miss meade requested to be conducted back into the ballroom, to find greg, who was to be her next partner. "now, good gracious, i hope i've really given cadet slowpoke a broad enough hint," thought belle. "if he doesn't go ahead and speak to laura now, it'll be because he doesn't care. and leonard cameron isn't a bad fellow, even if he does prefer the yardstick to a sword!" as for dick, his evening was spoiled. his sense of honor prevented his "speaking" to laura until he felt that his future in the army was assured. yet spoiled as his evening was, prescott did his best to make it a bright occasion for laura bentley. the next morning, while the members of the cadet corps were grinding at recitations, or boning over study desks in barracks, mrs. bentley and the girls rode down the slope in the stage and boarded a train for new york. dick had not "spoken." chapter xviii the enemies have an understanding after that february hop, cadet prescott appeared to give himself over to one dominating ambition. that ambition was to secure higher standing in his class. he became a "bone," and tried so hard to delight his instructors that he was suspected of boning bootlick with the academic board. for prescott had dropped laura out of his mind. that is to say, he had tried to do it, and prescott was a young man with a strong will. belle's words, instead of spurring him on to do something that his own peculiar sense of honor forbade, had killed his vague dream. after all, dick reasoned, it was laura's own good and greatest happiness that must be considered. leonard cameron, a rising and prosperous young merchant in gridley, would doubtless be able to give laura a much better place in the world. in the matter of income, cameron doubtless enjoyed three or four times as much as the annual pay of a second lieutenant ($1,700) amounts to. besides, cameron was not much in the way of risking his life, while an army officer may be killed at any time, even in an ordinary riot. a lieutenants widow received only her pension of a comparatively few dollars a month. "it would have been almost criminal for me to have thought of tying laura's future up to mine," dick told himself savagely, as he took a lonely stroll one march afternoon. "i'll have nothing but my pay, if i do graduate. a fellow like cameron can allow his wife more for pin money than my whole years pay will come to. really, i've no right to marry any but a rich girl, who has her own income. and, even if i fell in love with a rich girl, i wouldn't have the nerve to propose to her. i'd feel like a cheap fortune hunter." having made up his mind to put laura bentley out of his inner thoughts, prescott did not write her as often as formerly. he wrote often enough, and pleasantly enough to preserve the courtesies of life. yet keen-witted belle meade was not long in discovering, from what laura thought were chance remarks, that dick was "dropping away" as a correspondent. so, too, laura's letters were fewer and briefer. "dick didn't really care for her, i guess," belle decided, almost vengefully. "then the bigger idiot he is, for there aren't many girls like laura born in any one century! but dick sees a good many girls at west point, and perhaps he has grown indifferent to his old friends. there are a good many very 'swell' girls who visit west point, too. horrors! i wonder if dick and greg think that we are too countrified?" after the first few weeks, with his resolute nature triumphing over anything that he set his mind to, prescott found himself thinking less about cameron. it was practically a settled matter, anyway, between laura and cameron, so dick thought, and cadet prescott had his greatly improved standing in his class to console him for any losses in other directions. yet dick would not have dared to confess, even to himself, how little class standing did console him. so hard had been study in the last few weeks that prescott had all but forgotten the existence of turnback haynes. they were not in the same section in any of the studies, nor did the two mingle at all in barracks life. neither went to the hops now, either. "is prescott afraid of me---or what?" wondered haynes. "perhaps he hopes i have forgotten him, but i haven't. one thing is clear he doesn't intend to do anything about that train incident, or he'd have done it long ago. if he thinks i have forgotten my dislike of him, he may be glad enough to have it just that way. bah, as if i could ever get over my dislike for a bootlick like prescott! i'd like to get him out of the army for good! i wonder if i can't, between now and june? i'd like my future in the army a whole lot better with prescott out of it." so haynes began taking to moody, lonely walks when he had any time for such outlet to his evil, feelings. it is one of the strangest freaks of queer human nature that one who has once done another an injury ever after hates the injured one with an added intensity of hatred. turnback haynes was quite able to convince himself that dick prescott, who avoided him, was really his worst enemy in the world. so, one saturday afternoon, in early april, it chanced that dick and cadet haynes took to the same stretch of less-traveled road over beyond engineers' quarters. suddenly, going in opposite directions, they met face to face at a sharp bend in the road. "oh, you?" remarked haynes, in a harsh, sneering voice. prescott barely nodded coldly, and would have passed on, but haynes stepped fairly in his path. "prescott," cried the turnback, "i don't like you!" "then we are about even in our estimate of each other," responded dick indifferently. "were you following me up, just now?" "why, as i have a memory, i might more properly suppose that you had been prowling on my trail," retorted dick, eyeing his enemy sternly. "humph! what do you mean by that?" demanded haynes bristling. "do you deny, haynes, that on the night when we were returning from the army-navy game you pushed me from the rear platform of the train?" cadet prescott spoke without visible excitement, but gazed deeply into the shifty, angry eyes of the other. haynes swallowed hard. then he replied gruffly: "no; i don't deny it." "why did you do that, haynes?" "i haven't admitted that i did do it." "you know that you did, though." "humph!" "why did you do it?" "i'll tell you, then," hissed the turnback. "it was because neither west point nor the army is going to be big enough for both of us!" "when do you intend to resign?" demanded prescott coolly "re-----" gasped haynes "resign? i?" then you imagine that i am going to quit, or that you're going to force me to do so? retorted prescott. "haynes, even up to this hour i have hesitated to believe the half evidence of my own eyes. i have tried to convince myself that no man who wears the honored gray of west point could do such a dastardly piece of work. and you have as good as admitted it to me." "well," sneered the turnback, what do you think you're going to do about it?" "if i knew," glared dick, "i wouldn't tell you until the time came." "it will never come," laughed haynes harshly. "that is, your time of triumph over me will never come. what else may happen it is yet a little too early to say." cadet prescott felt all the cold rage that was possible to him surging up inside. "haynes," he went on, "it may seem odd of me to ask a favor from you." "very odd, indeed!" sneered the turnback. "it is a very slight favor," continued prescott, "and it is this: don't at any time venture to address me, except upon official business." with that prescott stepped resolutely around the cadet in his path, and went forward at a stiff stride. haynes remained for some moments where he was, gazing after dick with a curious, leering look. "prescott is a coward---that's what he is!" muttered the turnback. "if he weren't, i said enough to him just now to cause him to leap at my throat. humph! anyone can beat a coward, and without credit. prescott, your days at the military academy are numbered! you, an army officer? humph!" though it would be hard to understand why, haynes felt much better after that brief interview. perhaps it was because, all along, he had feared cadet prescott. now the turnback no longer feared his enemy in the corps. how would the feud end? how could it end? chapter xix the traitor of the riding hall if dick gave no further outward attention to haynes, he was nevertheless bothered about the fellow. "haynes isn't fit to go through and become an officer; to be set up over other men," prescott told himself often. this slighting opinion was not on account of the personal dislike that prescott felt for the turnback. there were other cadets at west point whom dick did not exactly like, yet he respected the others, for they themselves respected the traditions of honor and justice that are a part of west point. with haynes the trouble was that he was certain, sooner or later, to prove a discredit to the best traditions of the army. such a fellow was likely to prove a bully over enlisted men. now, the enlisted men of the regular army do not resent having a strict officer set above them, but the officer must be a man whom they can respect. such an officer, who commands the respect and admiration of the enlisted men under him, can lead them into the most dangerous places. they will follow as a matter of course; but an unworthy officer, one whom the enlisted men know to be unfit to command them, will demoralize a company, a troop, a battery or a regiment if he be given power enough. every cadet and every officer of the army is concerned with the honor of that army. if he knows that an unworthy man is obtaining command, it worries the cadet or officer of honor. had he been able to offer legal, convincing proof of haynes's dastardly conduct in pushing him off the train on the return from the army-navy game, prescott would have submitted that proof to the authorities, or else to the members of the second class in class meeting. "but haynes would only lie out of it, of course," dick concluded. "as a cadet, his word would have to be accepted as being as good as mine. so nothing would come of the charges." a class meeting, unlike a court-martial, might not stand out for legal evidence, if the moral presumption of guilt were strong enough; but cadet prescott would not dream of invoking class action unless he had the most convincing proof to offer. class action, when it is invoked at west point, is often more effective than even the work of a court-martial. if the class calls upon a member to resign and return to civil life, he might as well do so without delay. if he does not, he will be "sent to coventry" by every other cadet in the corps. if he has the nerve to disregard this and graduate, he will go forth into the army only to meet a like fate at the hands of every officer in the service. he will always be "cut" as long as he attempts to wear the uniform. "its a shame to let this fellow haynes stay in the service," dick muttered. "and yet my hands are tied. with my lack of evidence i can't drag him before either a legal or an informal court. the only thing i can do is to let matters go on, trusting to the fact that, sooner or later, haynes will overstep the bounds less cautiously, and that he'll find himself driven out of the uniform." on going to his quarters for a study period one afternoon further along in april, haynes found himself unable to concentrate his mind on the lesson before him. he was alone, his roommate being absent with a section at recitation. as he sat thus idle at the study table, haynes toyed with a little black pin. how the pin had come into his possession he did not even recall. it was a pin of ordinary size, one of the kind much used by milliners. having nothing else to do, haynes idly thrust the head of the pin repeatedly in under the sole at the toe of his right boot. somewhat to his surprise the head went well in, then stopped at last, fitting snugly and stiffly in place. "if i had a fellow sitting in front of me, what a startling jab i could give him with the toe of my boot," grinned the turnback. then, suddenly, there came a very queer look into his face. "why, i reckon i could jab something else with a pin, beside the flesh of another cadet," he muttered. then, trembling slightly, the turnback bent down and carefully extracted the pin. his next act was to fasten it very securely on the inside of the front of his fatigue blouse, where the black uniform braid prevented its being seen. of late the second class cavalry drills had been in the open. that day, however, it was raining heavily, and the order had been passed for the squads to report at the riding hall. soon after haynes's roommate had returned from recitation the signal sounded for the squad that was to report at the riding hall. haynes rose, drawing on his uniform raincoat. "what's the matter with you, haynesy?" inquired his roommate. "why do you ask, pierson?" "there was a very queer look on your face," replied cadet pierson. i couldn't tell whether it were a diabolical look or merely a sardonic grin." "i was just thinking of a story i heard told years ago," lied haynes glibly. "i don't believe i'd care to hear that story, then," returned pierson dryly. "i'm not going to tell it to you. 'bye, old man. i'm off for riding drill." dick and greg were in the same squad. those who were going for drill at this hour fell in at the command, of their squad marcher, and strode away to the riding hall. once inside, the cadets disposed of their uniform raincoats. the squad marcher reported to captain albutt, who was their instructor for the afternoon. "to horse!" came the crisp order. each cadet stepped to his mount, untying the animal and standing by. haynes's heart gave a quick jump when he saw that to dick's lot had fallen satan, a fiery black, the worst tempered and most treacherous horse in the lot. "my chance is coming sooner than i had thought for", quivered the turnback. dropping his handkerchief, haynes bent over and quickly slipped the black pin in at the toe of his right boot. "when we get into column of fours i have prescott on my right, muttered the turnback. he had straightened up again, in almost no time, tucking the handkerchief again inside his blouse. his act had attracted no attention. "prepare to mount!" rang captain albutt's voice. each cadet took hold of mane, bridle and saddle in the way prescribed and stood with left foot in stirrup. "mount!" jauntily each man swung up, passing his right leg over his mounts back, then settling easily into saddle. for the first few minutes the squad walked, trotted, cantered and galloped around the tanbark in single file. then their instructor, riding always near the center of the floor, threw them into platoon front at the west end of the hall. now he gave them some general instruction as to the nature of the evolutions they were to perform. the next command came by bugle, and the platoon broke into column of fours, moving forward at the trot, captain albutt riding at the left flank near the head of the column. as the horses fell into column of fours haynes saw his chance. nearly always, in this formation, some of the horses bump their neighbors. haynes, by a slight twist of the bridle, threw horse over against prescott's. the thing was so natural as to attract no notice. just as the horses touched flanks, however, haynes, with his right foot swiftly withdrawn from its stirrup-box, gave satan a vicious jab with the pin-point protruding from the toe of his boot. there was a wild snort. satan seemed instantly bent on proving the appropriateness of his name. lowering his head, satan kicked out viciously with his hind feet, throwing the horses just behind into confusion. almost in the same instant satan bit the rump of a horse in front of him. then up reared prescotts mount. dick was a good horseman, but this move had caught him unawares. a horse at a trot is not usually hard to manage, and prescott had not been on his guard against any such trick. by the time that satan came down from his plunge dick had a firm seat and a strong hand on the bridle. but satan was a tough-mouthed animal. his unlooked-for antics had caused the horses just ahead to swerve. through the scattering four in front plunged satan, fire in his eyes, his nostrils quivering. captain albutt took the situation in at once. "squad halt!" he roared. be cool, mr. prescott! bring your mount down with tact, not brute force. satan, having taken the bit between his teeth, went tearing around the tan-bark, not in the least minding the tight hold that his rider had on the bridle, or the way that the bit cut into his mouth. satan blamed his own rider for that sharp, stinging jab, and he meant to unseat that rider. dick kept perfectly cool, though he realized much of his own great peril with this infuriated beast. captain albutt, watching closely, became anxious when he saw that the cadet was failing in bringing down the temper of the infuriated beast. satan was more than furious; he was crafty. master of many tricks, and with a record for injuring many a rider in the past, the animal dashed about the tan-bark, seeking some way of throwing his rider. his uneasiness increasing, captain albutt put spurs to his own mount and went after satan. "steady, mr. prescott," admonished the cavalry officer, riding close. i'll soon have a hand on your bridle, too. yet every time that captain albutt rode close, satan waited until just the right instant, then swerved violently, snatching his head away from the risk of capture. so villainous were these swerves that dick had several narrow escapes from being unhorsed. a man of less skill would have been. at first the other members of the squad looked on only with amused interest. when, however, they caught the grave look on the captain's face, they began to comprehend how serious the situation was. satan, finding other devices for throwing his rider to be useless, soon resorted to the most wicked trick known to the equine mind. he reared, intent on throwing himself over backward, crushing his rider beneath him. captain albutt reached the spot at a gallop, just in the nick of time. standing in his stirrups, he caught one side of the bridle just in time to pull the horse's head down. but, foiled in this attempt, satan allowed his front feet to come down. close to the ground the brute lowered its head, kicking up high with his hind heels. this, accompanied by a "worming" motion, sent prescott flying from his saddle. he made an unavoidable plunge over the animal's head. "let go your bridle!" roared captain albutt. in the same instant the cavalry officer leaped from his own saddle. over came cadet prescott, turning a somersault in the air. albutt had jumped in order to catch the cadet. it all happened so quickly, however, that the cavalry officer had chance only to catch the cadets shoulders. had it not been for that, prescott would have struck fully on his back. having thrown its rider, satan cantered off to the far end of the riding hall, where he stood, snorting defiance. captain albutt allowed prescott's head and shoulders to sink easily to the tan-bark. "are you badly hurt, mr. prescott?" inquired the officer. "the small of my back is paining me just a little sir, from the wrench," replied prescott coolly. "if it hadn't been for you, sir, my neck would have been broken." "i think it would," replied the cavalry officer, smiling. "but this is one of the things i am here for. do you feel as if you could rise, mr. prescott, with my help?" "i'd like to try, sir." dick did try, but watchful captain albutt soon let him down again. "you may not be much hurt, mr. prescott, but i want one of the medical officers to take the responsibility for saying so. just lie where you are until we get a medical officer here. mr. haynes, pass your lines to the man at your left and run to the telephone. ask for a medical officer and two hospital corps men with a stretcher." the turnback leaped quickly to obey. this gave him the coveted chance to get away by himself, where he could secretly remove from his boot the little black pin that had been responsible for this excitement. surgeon and hospital men came on the run. the surgeon declined to make an examination there, but directed his men to lift the injured cadet to the stretcher and take him to the hospital. in the meantime some enlisted men had caught and quieted satan, leading him from the tanbark. "that brute never will be used again, if i have my way," muttered captain albutt, loudly enough to be heard by most of the cadets of the squad. then the drill proceeded as though nothing had happened. "i fixed my man that time, and easily enough," growled haynes to himself. "he's out of the service, from now on. he can nurse a weak back the rest of his days." when the drill was dismissed a party of three ladies, who had seen the whole scene from one of the iron balconies, came down to meet the cavalry officer. "your conduct was just splendid, captain, cried one of the women, her face glowing. but i feared you would be killed, or at least badly hurt, when you put yourself in the way of that somersaulting cadet. why did you take such chances?" "in the first place," replied the cavalry officer quietly, "because it was simple duty. there was another reason. if i am hurt, in the line of duty, i have my retired pay, as an officer, to live on. but a cadet who is hurt so badly that he cannot remain in the service has to go home, perhaps hopelessly crippled for life---and a cadet injured in the line of duty has no retired pay." "why is that?" asked another of the ladies. "i do not know, replied captain albutt simply, unless it is because congress has always been too busy to think of the simple act of justice of providing proper retired pay for a cadet who is injured for life." "has mr. prescott been injured so that he'll have to leave the army?" "i don't know. but, if you'll excuse me, ladies, i am going over to the hospital now and find out." chapter xx the cadet hospital cadet prescott lay on one of the operating tables at cadet hospital. without a murmur he submitted to the examination. at times the work of the medical officer's hurt a good deal, but this was evidenced only by a firmer pressing together of the young soldiers lips. at last they paused. "are you through, gentlemen?" dick asked, looking steadily at the two medical officers. "yes," answered captain goodwin, the senior surgeon. "may i properly ask what you find?" "we are not yet quite sure," replied the senior surgeon. "none of the bones of the spine are broken. there has, of course, been a severe wrenching there. whether your injury is going to continue into a serious or permanent injury we cannot yet say. a good deal will depend upon the grit with which you face things." "i am a soldier," replied dick doggedly. "even if i am not much longer to be one." "we will now have you removed to your cot. we are not going to place you in a cast as yet, anyway. it is possible that, after a few days, you may be able to walk fairly well." "in that case, captain, is it then likely that i shall be able to return to duty?" "yes; the quicker things mend, and the sooner you are able to walk without help, the greater will be your chance of pulling through this injury and remaining in the service." "then i'd like to try walking back to barracks right now," smiled cadet prescott, wistfully. "you are not to think of it, mr. prescott! you must not even attempt to put a foot out of bed until we give you permission. if you take the slightest risk of further injury to your back you are likely to settle your case for good and all, so far as the army is concerned." "i told you i was a soldier, sir," dick replied promptly. "for that reason i shall obey orders." "good! that's the way to talk, mr. prescott," replied the senior medical officer heartily. "the better soldier you are, the better your chances are of remaining in the army." "there won't be any need, will there, captain, to send word to my father and mother of this accident until it is better known how serious it is?" coaxed dick. "if you wish the news withheld for the present, i will direct the adjutant to respect your wishes." "if you will be so good, sir," begged the hapless cadet. hospital men were summoned and dick was skillfully, tenderly transferred to a cot in another room. the steward stood by and took his orders silently from captain goodwin. hardly had this much been accomplished when a hospital service man entered, passing a card to captain goodwin. "admit him," nodded the surgeon. in another minute captain albutt stepped into the room, going over to the cot and resting one of his hands over the cadet's right hand. "how are you feeling?" asked captain albutt. "fine, sir, thank you," replied dick cheerily. "i'm glad your pluck is up. and i hear that you have a good chance." "i hope so, sir, with all my heart. the army means everything in life to me, sir. and captain albutt, i want to thank you for your splendid conduct in risking your own life to save me." "surely, prescott," replied the captain quietly, "you know the spirit of the service better than to thank a soldier for doing his duty." captain albutt had called him simply "prescott," dropping the "mister," which officers are usually so careful to prefix to a cadet's name when addressing him. this little circumstance, slight as it was, cheered the cadet's heart. it was a tactful way of dropping all difference in rank, and of admitting prescott to full-fledged fraternity in the army. "i shall inquire after you every day, prescott, and be delighted when you can be admitted to the riding work again;" said the captain in leaving. "and i think you need have no fear of seeing satan on the tan-bark again. if i have any influence, that beast will never be assigned to a cadet's use after this." when captain albutt had gone greg came in, on tiptoe. "out the soft pedal, old chap," smiled dick cheerily, as their hands met. "i'm not a badly hurt man. the worst of this is that it keeps me from recitations for a few days. if it weren't for that, i'd enjoy lying here at my ease, with no need to bother about reveille or taps." greg's manner was light-hearted and easy. he had come to cheer up his chum, but found there was no need for it. then the superintendent's adjutant dropped in on his way home from the day in the office at headquarters. having talked with captain goodwin, the adjutant agreed that there was no need, for a few days, to notify prescott's parents and cause them uneasiness. "we'll hope, mr. prescott," smiled the adjutant, "that you'll be well able to sit up and send them the first word of the affair in your own hand, coupled with the information that you're out of all danger." had it not been for his natural courage, cadet prescott would have been a very restless and "blue" young man. he knew, as well as did anyone else, that the chances of his complete recovery to sound enough condition for future army service were wholly in the balance. but captain goodwin had impressed upon him that good spirits would have a lot to do with his chances. so strong was his will that prescott was actually almost light-hearted when it came around time to eat his evening meal of "thin slops." over in cadet barracks interest ran at full height. greg had to receive scores of cadets who dropped in to inquire for the best word. one of the last of these to come was cadet haynes. greg received him rather frigidly, though with no open breach of courtesy. "it's too bad," began haynes. "of course it is," nodded holmes. "prescott has very little chance of remaining in the corps, i suppose?" "the surgeons don't quite say that," rejoined greg. "oh, the rainmakers (doctors) are always cagey about giving real information until a man's dead," declared the turnback sagely. "they seem to believe that prescott has an excellent chance," insisted greg. "no bones broken?" "not a one." "what is the trouble, then?" "the rainmakers can't say exactly. they're waiting and watching." "humph! that sounds pretty bad for their patient." "they say that if prescott is able to walk soon, then his return to duty ought to be rather speedy." "i'd like to believe the rainmakers," grunted haynes. "would you?" inquired greg very coolly. "of course." "what is your particular interest in my roommate?" demanded cadet holmes. he looked straight into the other's eyes. "why, prescott is one of the best and most popular fellows in the class. i've always liked him immensely, and-----" "humph!" broke in cadet holmes, using the turnback's own favorite word. to just what this scene might have led it is impossible to say, but just at that instant anstey and two other second classmen came into the room, and the turnback seized the opportunity to get away. though cadet prescott was so cheerful over his injury he was in a good deal of pain as the evening wore on. every hour or so goodwin or the other surgeon came in to see him. though prescott could hardly be expected to understand it, the surgeons were pleased, on the whole, with the pain. had there been numbness, instead, the surgeons would have looked for paralysis. later in the night dick asked captain goodwin if he could not administer some light opiate. "you are willing to be a soldier, i know, mr. prescott," replied the surgeon. "be sure of that, sir," replied the young man, wincing. "then try to bear the pain. it is the best indication with which we have to deal. it is one of the most hopeful symptoms for which we could look. besides, your descriptions of the pain, and of its locality, if you are accurate, will give us our best indication of what to do for you." "then i don't want any opiate, sir," replied dick bluntly. "i don't care whether i'm kept here a day or a year, or what i have to suffer, only as long as i don't have to lose an active career in the service!" "good for you, my young soldier," beamed the surgeon, patting the cadet's hand. "the superintendent telephoned over, a little while ago, to ask how you were. i told him that your grit was the best we had seen here in a long time." "thank you, sir." "and the superintendent replied, dryly enough, that he expected that from your general record. the superintendent sent you his personal regards." "thank you, sir, and the superintendent, too." "oh, and a lot of others have been inquiring about you, too---the k.c. and all of the professors and most of the instructors. and at least a small regiment of cadets have tramped down as far as the office door also. i've been saving the names of inquirers, and will tell you the names in the morning. all except the names of the cadets, that is. there was too big a mob of cadets for us to attempt to keep the names." it was a painful, restless, feverish night for prescott. he slept a part of the time, though when he did his sleep was filled with nightmares. the surgeons won his gratitude by their devotion to his interests. the first half of the night captain goodwin was in at least every hour. the latter half of the night it was lieutenant sadtler who made the round. by permission cadet holmes came to the hospital office just after breakfast. it was a gloomy face that poor greg wore back to barracks with him. the surgeons had spoken hopefully, but--"brains always work better than brute force," haynes told himself, struggling hard to preserve his self-esteem. chapter xxi the man moving in a dark room may came, and, with the gorgeous blossoms of that month, dick prescott left the hospital. he was able to walk fairly well, and was returned to study and recitations, though excused from all drills or any form of military duty. not quite all the old erectness of carriage was there, though dick hoped and prayed daily that it would return. he had been cautioned to take the best of care of himself. he had been warned that he was still on probation, so far as his physical condition was concerned. "a sudden bad wrench, and you might undo all that has been done for you so far," was the surgeons' hint. so prescott, though permitted to march with his sections to recitations, and to fall in at the meal formations, was far from feeling reassured as to his ability to remain in the service. he was to have a physical examination after the academic year was finished, and other examinations, if needed, during the summer encampment. and well enough the young man knew this meant that, if he was found to be permanently disqualified in body, he would be dropped from the cadet corps as soon as the decision was reached. "do you know," muttered greg vengefully, "haynes had the cheek to come here and ask after you?" "did he?" inquired dick. "yes; he pretended to be sorry about your accident." "perhaps he really was," returned prescott. "what? after his trick in pushing you from the train?" "i hope he has lived to regret that," said dick quietly. "you're not quite a lunatic, old ramrod, are you?" asked greg wonderingly. "oh, i've heard of fellows being bad, and then afterward repenting," murmured dick. "perhaps this has been the case with haynes. you see, greg, lying there in hospital, day after day, i had time to do a lot of thinking. perhaps i learned to be just a trifle less severe in judging other fellows." anstey visited as often as he could. he and greg did all they could to coach prescott over the hard work that he had missed. "there isn't going to be anything in the academic work to bother you," promised anstey. "you'll have lots of chance to pull through in the general review." "it's only the physical side of the case that gives me any uneasiness," replied dick. "and i'm not worrying about that, either." "i should say not, suh!" replied the virginian with emphasis. "i had a chance to talk with captain goodwin, one day, without being too fresh, and he told me, old ramrod, that your work in athletics did a lot to save your back from faring worse. he said you were built with unusual strength in the back, and that many a hard tug in the football scrimmages had made you strong where you most need to be strong now." "now let's get back to work with our old ramrod, anstey," cautioned greg. "surely, suh, with all my heart," nodded anstey. "but by day after to-morrow he'll have caught up with us, and be coaching us along for the general review." the hard work that dick had done through march and in early april now stood him in excellent stead. he had, really, only to make sure of the work that he had missed while at hospital. as to reviewing the earlier work of the second term, there was not the slightest need. by the time that the general review was half through it was plain enough that dick prescott's class standing was going to be better than it had ever been before. in fact, he was slated to make the middle of this class. "i'll be above the middle of the class next year, if the fates allow me to remain on with the corps," dick promised himself and his friends. "oh, you'll be in the army, suh, until you're retired for age, suh," predicted anstey with great gravity. the latter part of may passed swiftly for the busy cadets. the first class men were dreaming of their commissions in the more real army beyond west point; the present third classmen were looking forward with intense longing to the furlough that would begin as soon as they had stepped over the line into the second class. the new plebes were looking forward to summer encampment with a mixture of longing and dread---the latter emotion on account of the hazing that might come to them in the life under the khaki-colored canvas. as the days slipped by, prescott began to have more and more of his old, firm step. he began to feel sure, too, that the surgeons would have no more fault to find with his condition. "why, i could ride a horse in fine shape to-day," declared prescott, on one of the last days in may. "could you?" demanded cadet holmes quizzically. "perhaps i had better amend that bit of brag," laughed dick. "what i meant was that i could ride as well, to-day, as i ever did." "don't be in a hurry to try it, old ramrod," advised greg with a frown. "be satisfied that you're doing well enough as it is. don't be in a hurry to joggle up a spine that has had about as much as it could stand." "i'll bet you i ride in the exhibition riding before the board of visitors," proposed prescott earnestly. "i shall be mightily disappointed in your judgment if you attempt it without first having received a positive order," retorted greg. "don't be a chump, old ramrod." the exhibition before the board of visitors to which dick had referred is one of the annual features of west point life. the board is appointed by the president of the united states. the board goes to west point a few days before graduation and thoroughly "inspects" the academy and all its workings. the board of visitors impressively attends graduation exercises. afterwards the board writes its report on the military academy, and suggests anything that occurs to the members as being an improvement on the way things are being already conducted by army officers who know their business. one man in the second class was going badly to pieces in these closing days of the academic year. that man was turnback haynes. his trouble was that he had allowed a private and senseless grudge to get uppermost in his mind. he lived more for the gratification of that grudge than he did for the realization of his own ambitions. "this confounded prescott has escaped me, so far, though his last experience was a narrow squeak. i've had two tries---and, by the great blazes! the third time is said never to fail. he's in such bad shape now that it won't take much of a push to put him over the edge of physical condition. but how can i do it?" so much thought did the turnback give to this problem that he fell further and further behind in general review. he was moving rapidly toward the bottom of the class. worse, he began to dream of his grudge by night. in his dreams haynes always reviewed his hopes of successful villainy, or else found himself trying to put through some new bit of profound rascality. always the turnback awoke from such dreams to find himself in a cold sweat. "i'll hit the right scheme---the real chance---yet!" the plotter told himself, as he tossed restlessly at night, while his roommate, cadet pierson, slept soundly the sleep of the just and decent. "haynesy, what's the matter with you?" demanded pierson one morning, as he watched his roommate going toward the washstand. "what do you mean?" demanded haynes, with the pallor of guilt on his face for a moment. "why, you always look so confoundedly ragged when you get up mornings. you used to wake up looking fresh and rosy. now, you look like the ghost of an evil deed." "huh!" growled haynes, plunging his hands into the water. "i'm all right." "i wish i could believe you!" muttered the puzzled pierson under his breath. "it's near time to get prescott, if i'm going to," haynes told himself a dozen times a day. in fact, the matter preyed so constantly on his mind that the turnback walked through each day in a perpetual though subdued state of nervous fever. the next night pierson awoke with a start. at first the cadet couldn't understand why he should feel so creepy. he was a good sleeper, and there had been no noise. hadn't there, though? it came again. and now cadet pierson rubbed his eyes and half rose on his cot, leaning his head on one hand. now, with intense interest, he watched the proceedings of his roommate, turnback haynes, who was up and moving stealthily about the room, every action being clearly revealed in the bright moonlight that was streaming through the windows. chapter xxii the row in the riding detachment "wow, what on earth is the fellow doing?" muttered the puzzled pierson. haynes had gone over to his fatigue blouse, the left front of which he was examining very closely. then the turnback began to mutter indistinctly. "why, haynesy is walking and talking in his sleep!" decided pierson. "queer! i never knew him to do anything like that before. he must have something on his mind." pierson had read, somewhere, that it is never wise to disturb a sleepwalker, there being a risk that the sleepwalker, if aroused too suddenly, may suffer collapse from fright. "i wonder what on earth old haynesy can have on his mind?" pondered pierson. "oh, well, whatever it is, it is no business of mine." with that pierson let his head return to his pillow. "that did the trick for prescott---ha! ha!" muttered the turnback. "what on earth did the trick, and what trick was it?" muttered watching pierson, curious despite the admitted fact that it was all none of his business. after a few moments more haynes went back to his cot, pulled the sheet and a single blanket up over him, and became quiet. "it wouldn't do any good to ask haynesy anything about this," decided pierson. "he won't remember anything about it in the morning." so pierson went to sleep again. when he awoke in the morning he was more than half inclined to believe that he had dreamed it all. the general reviews were drawing toward their close. in two studies haynes was making a poor showing, though he believed that he would pass. riding drills were being held daily now. preparations were being made for the stirring exhibition of cavalry work that was to be shown before the board of visitors. on the afternoon of the day before the visitors were due, greg started up at the call for cavalry drill. so did dick. "where are you going?" challenged cadet holmes. "to cavalry drill," responded cadet prescott. "who said you could?" "the k.c. for one; captain albutt for another." greg looked, as he felt, aghast at the idea, but he managed to blurt out: "what about the rainmakers?" "captain goodwin has examined me again." "surely, he doesn't approve of your riding yet, dick?" "he didn't say whether he did or not." "then-----" "but he certified that i was fit to ride." "dick, you didn't have to do this-----" "no; but i want to be restored to full duty. captain albutt has informed me that the horse assigned to me will be a dependable, tractable animal, and i shall be on my guard and use my head." "i don't like this," muttered greg, as he fastened on his leggings. "i didn't suppose you would, so i didn't tell you anything about it." by the time that the second call sounded both young men were prepared, and joined the stream of cadets pouring out of barracks. other cadets than greg expressed their astonishment when they saw prescott in the detachment. "is this wise, old ramrod?" asked anstey anxiously. "a soldier shouldn't play baby forever," returned dick. "and i have permission, or i wouldn't be here." "i don't like it," muttered anstey. furlong, griffin and dobbs all had something to say. haynes didn't let a word escape him, but his eyes lighted with evil joy. "now, i can finish the job, i guess," throbbed the evil one. the detachment to which prescott and some of his friends belonged was formed and marched through one of the sally-ports. just beyond, a corporal and a squad of men from the regular army cavalry sat in saddle. each enlisted man held the bridle of another horse than the one he rode. as the corporal dismounted his men, the cadets, at the word from their marcher, moved forward and took their mounts. at the command, the detachment rode forward, by twos, at a walk, down the road that led to the cavalry drill ground below the old south gate. it was greg who rode beside his chum. in the drill, later, when in platoon front or column of fours, it would be haynes who would ride on dick's left. the turnback had already made sure that his useful black pin was securely fastened inside his fatigue blouse. arrived at the drill ground, the cadets dismounted, standing by their horses in a little group until captain albutt should ride out of one of the cavalry stables and take command. haynes, with a rapid throbbing of his pulses, bent forward and down, pretending to examine his horse's nigh forefoot. as he did so, with an expertness gained of practice, haynes slipped the head of the black pin in under the front of the sole of his right boot. then he straightened up again, chatting with pierson. "i say, haynes," drawled anstey, a few moments later, glancing at the turnback's right foot, "that's a dangerous-looking thing you have in your boot." "what's that?" demanded haynes, losing color somewhat, yet pretending to be surprised. "that long pin, sticking out of the front of your right boot," continued anstey, pointing. haynes glanced down, saw the thing, and pretended to be greatly astonished. "how did i get that thing in my shoe?" he cried. then, with an appearance of indolent indifference that was rather overdone, the turnback stooped low enough to extract the pin. but his fingers trembled in the act, and half a dozen cadets noted the fact. "that's a reckless bit of business, haynes," continued anstey in a voice that did not appear to be accusing. "reckless?" gasped greg holmes. "it's criminal!" "what do you mean?" demanded haynes, straightening himself and glaring coldly into holmes's eyes. but greg was one of the last fellows in the world to permit himself to be "frozen." "i mean what i say, haynes," he retorted plumply. "with that thing in the toe of your boot something would be likely to happen when some other horse's flank bumped you on the right. and, by george, it's prescott who rides at your right in platoon or column of fours!" greg shot a look full of keen suspicion at the turnback. "and it was prescott who rode on your right the day he was thrown from satan!" flashed greg, his face going white from the depth of his sudden feeling. "haynes, did you have that pin in the toe of your boot the day that prescott was thrown in the riding hall?" "you-----" haynes began, at white heat, clenching his free fist. "answer me!" broke in greg insistently. "i did not!" "i don't believe you!" shot back cadet holmes "confound you, sir, do you mean to call me a liar?" hissed the turnback. "yes!" replied greg promptly. haynes dropped his bridle, stepping toward greg holmes, who, however, neither flinched nor looked worried. "hold my lines, dobbs," urged pierson, passing his bridle over to a fellow classman. then pierson sprang in front of greg, facing his roommate. "softly, haynes!" cried pierson warningly. "what is this to you?" demanded the turnback hotly. "i am under the impression," replied pierson, "that this is not a personal matter so much as it is a class affair." but haynes, feeling that he was almost cornered, became reckless and desperate. "this is a personal matter, pierson. stand aside until i knock that cur down." "from any other man in the detachment," spoke greg bitterly, "i would regard the use of that word an insult. haynes, if you hit me, i shall knock you clean into the hudson river. but i will not accept any challenge to fight until the class has passed on this matter." "the class has nothing to do with it," insisted haynes. "i think the class has," broke in pierson. "when the time comes i shall have considerable to say." "then say it now!" commanded haynes, glaring at his roommate. "i will," nodded pierson. "the other night, haynes, i was awakened to find you walking about the room in your sleep. you also talked in your sleep. at the time i could make nothing of it all. now, i think i understand." then cadet pierson swiftly recounted what he had seen and what he had heard that night in the room. "you were fingering something on the left front of your blouse, and while doing so, you made the distinct remark that this was what had done the trick for prescott," charged pierson. "i did not see what it was that you were fingering, but the next day, the first chance i got, i, too, examined the left front of your blouse. i found a small, black pin fastened there. it has been fastened there every time since when i have had a chance to look at your fatigue blouse hanging on the wall." "i am not responsible for what i say when i'm sleepwalking," cried haynes in a rage. "and, besides, pierson, you're lying." "i'll wager that not a man here believes i'm lying," retorted pierson coolly. "no, no! you're no liar, pierson!" cried a dozen men at once. "is there a black pin inside your blouse at this moment?" challenged greg. "none of your business," cried the turnback hoarsely. "i demand that you show up, or stand accused," insisted cadet holmes. "i'll show up nothing, or take any orders from anyone who tries to lie my good name away," retorted haynes. "but at least two of you will have to fight me mighty soon." "i won't fight you," retorted greg bluntly, "until the class declares you to be a man fit to fight with." "nor i, either," rejoined pierson decisively. "stand aside, you hound, and let me get at that cur behind you!" cried haynes hoarsely. "attention!" called the detachment marcher formally. "the instructor for the day!" captain albutt rode out of the nearest cavalry stable, mounted on his own pure white horse. at the order of the marcher each cadet fell back to the lines of his own mount. when captain albutt reached the detachment he saw nothing to indicate the disturbance that had just occurred. chapter xxiii the decree of "coventry" "prepare to mount! mount!" some preliminary commands of drill were executed. then the serious work of the hour began. never had captain albutt commanded at a better bit of cavalry work than was done this afternoon by members of the first and second classes. the wheelings, the facings and all the manoeuvres at the different gaits were executed with precision and dash. all the movements in troop and squadron were carried out to perfection. to the instructor, it was plain that the most perfect esprit de corps existed. the cadets were acting with a singleness and devotedness of purpose which showed plainly that the perfect trooper was the sole subject of thought in their minds. at least, so the instructor thought, from the results obtained. even haynes's face was inexpressive as he rode. greg was as jaunty as though he had not an unkind thought toward anyone in the world. cadet prescott did not betray a sign of any thought save to do his duty perfectly. yet, every time that his horse was brought close to haynes's, prescott had his eyes open for any foul play that might be attempted by the turnback. "if the young men do as splendidly to-morrow before the board of visitors," thought captain albutt, "i shall feel that my year of work here has been a grand success. jove, what a born trooper everyone of these young fellows seems to be!" at last the drill was finished. in detachments, the young cadet troopers returned to the road between the administration building and the academic building. here each detachment dismounted, surrendered its horses to a waiting detail of enlisted cavalrymen, and then marched in to barracks. as soon as the young men had removed their riding leggings, and the dust from their uniforms, most of them descended into the quadrangle. haynes reached his room just an instant behind pierson. "see here, pierson, you cad, what did you-----" "oh, shut up!" replied pierson, with a weary sigh. "don't you speak to me like that, sir!" cried haynes warningly, as he stepped over to where his roommate was busy with a clothes brush. "i don't want to talk with you at all," retorted pierson. "you'll talk to me a lot, or you'll answer with your fists!" "fight with you? bah!" growled the other man in disgust. "you cad, you deliberately li-----" but pierson, having put his brush away, turned on his heel and left the room. haynes paused for an instant, his face white with a new dread. a cadet stands low, indeed, when another cadet will not resent being called a liar by him. "this has kicked up an awful row against me, i guess," muttered the turnback, as he hastily cleaned himself. "i must get down into the quadrangle, mix with the fellows and set myself straight." full of this purpose, for he was not lacking in a certain quality of nerve and courage, haynes went down to the quadrangle. "i am afraid a good deal of feeling was aroused this afternoon, furlong," began the turnback. then he gulped, clenched his fists and lost color, for cadet furlong, without a word, had turned on his heel and walked away. "griffin, what does fur-----" cadet griffin, too, turned on his heel, passing on. "dobbs-----" it was dobbs's turn to show his back and stroll away. "what the deuce has got into them all?" wondered haynes, though his heart sank, for, much as he wanted to ignore the meaning, it was becoming plain to him. another cadet was passing along the walk. to him haynes turned with an appealing face. "lewis," began the turnback, "i am afraid i shall have to ask you-----" whatever it was, lewis did not wait to hear. he looked at haynes as though he saw nothing there, and joined a little group of cadets beyond. "confound these puppies!" growled haynes to himself. "they're all fellows that i hazed when they were plebes, and they haven't forgiven me. i see clearly enough that, if i am to have an explanation, or get a chance to make one, i must do it through the members of my old class." some distance down the quadrangle stood brayton and spurlock, first classmen and captains in the cadet battalion. "they're high-minded, decent fellows," said haynes to himself. "i will go to them and get this nasty business set straight." past several groups of cadets stalked haynes, affecting not to see any of the fellows. but these cadets appeared equally indifferent to being recognized. brayton and spurlock were talking in low tones when the turnback approached them. "brayton," began haynes, "i want to ask you to do me a bit of a favor." brayton did not stop his conversation with spurlock, nor did he show any other sign of having heard the turnback. "brayton! i beg your pardon!" but the first classman did not turn. "spurlock," asked haynes, in a thick voice, "are you in this tommy-rot business, too?" spurlock, however, seemed equally deaf. "then see here, both of you-----" insisted haynes, choking with anger. the two first classmen turned their backs, walking slowly off. there was no chance to doubt the fate that had overtaken him. haynes had been "sent to coventry." henceforth, as long as he remained in the corps of cadets, he was to be "cut." no other cadet could or would speak to him, under the same penalty of also being sent to coventry. henceforth the only speech that any cadet would have with him would be a necessary communication on official business. socially there was no longer any cadet haynes at west point. once, two years before, haynes had helped to put this punishment on a plebe, who had soon after quitted the academy. then haynes had thought that sending another to coventry was, under some circumstances, a fine proceeding. but now the like fate had befallen him! "the fellows don't really mean it. they're excited now, but to-morrow they'll be sorry and call the whole foolishness off," thought the "cut" man, trying hard to swallow the obstinate lump that rose in his throat. in the quadrangle, mostly in groups, were fully two hundred cadets. but not one of these young men would address a word to the exposed turnback. "there's one satisfaction, anyway," thought haynes savagely, as he walked blindly back toward the door of his own subdivision in barracks, "i can take it all out on the plebes!" just as he was going up the steps haynes encountered a plebe coming out. "here, mister!" growled haynes. "swing around with you! at attention, sir! what's your name, mister?" but the plebe did not even pause. he did not avert his head, but he took no pains to look at haynes, merely passing the turnback and gaining the quadrangle below. now the utter despair of his position came over haynes. how suddenly it had come! and even haynes, with his four years at west point, could hardly realize how the coventry had been pronounced and carried out in so very few minutes after release from cavalry drill. tears of rage and humiliation in his eyes, haynes stumbled to his room. once inside he shunned the window, but stumbled to his chair at the study table, and sank down, his face buried in his arms. "oh, i'll make somebody suffer for this!" he growled. out in the quadrangle, now that the turnback was gone, the main theme of conversation was the discovery and exposure of the afternoon. pierson was requested to repeat his statement to a large group of first and second classmen. "i don't believe a man could get a pin stuck into the toe of his boot accidentally, in the way that haynes had his pin arranged," declared brayton. "has one of you fellows a pin to lend me?" a pin being passed, brayton sat down on a convenient step and tried to adjust the pin between the sole and the upper of the toe of his boot. "i can force it in a little way," admitted brayton, "but see how the pin wobbles. it would fall out if i moved my foot hard. some of the rest of you try it." other cadets repeated the experiment. "i'll tell you, fellows," said spurlock at last; "a fellow couldn't accidentally get a pin in that position, and hold it firm there. but i know that, after repeated trying, and working to fit the pin, i could finally get matters so that i could quickly fit a pin that would hold in place and be effective." "of course," nodded lewis. "it can be done, but only by design." "and that was the very way that prescott's horse was enraged, so that old ramrod got his awful tumble!" exclaimed greg bitterly. "you believe, now, that the whole thing was a dirty, deliberate trick, don't you?" asked spurlock of prescott. "i am pretty sure it must have been," nodded dick. "then," declared brayton, "the whole thing is something for you second classmen to settle among yourselves. in the first place, it is your own class affair. in the next place, we men of the first class are practically out of the military academy already. it will do the first class no good to take any action, because we shall not be here to carry out any decree." "you can advise us, though," suggested holmes. "and we'll do so gladly," nodded brayton. "then do we need to hold a class meeting, and vote to make the coventry permanent?" "hardly, i should say," replied brayton. "you've already started the cut, and it can be continued without any regular action---unless haynes should have the cheek to try to brazen it out. if he does insist on staying here at the military academy, you can easily take up the matter during the summer encampment." "it would seem rather strange for me to call a class meeting, when the whole affair concerns me," suggested dick. "oh, you don't need to call the meeting, old ramrod," advised spurlock. "a self-appointed committee of the class can call the meeting. you can open the meeting, of course, prescott, and then you can call any other member of the class to take the chair." "i wonder if it will be necessary to drum the fellow out of the class formally?" asked anstey. "only time can show you that," replied brayton. "better just wait and see what action the fellow haynes will take for himself. he may have the sense to resign." resign? that word was not in haynes's own dictionary of conduct. after his first few moments of despair, on gaining his room, the turnback had risen from his chair, his face showing a courage and resolution worthy of a better cause. "those idiots may think they have 'got' me," he muttered, shaking his fist toward the quadrangle. "one of these days they'll know me better! i'll make life miserable for some of those pups yet!" just before it was time for the call to dress parade pierson came hurrying into the room to hasten into his full-dress uniform. haynes, already dressed with scrupulous care, looked curiously at his roommate. but pierson did not appear to see him. haynes stepped over to the window, drumming listlessly on the sill. at length he turned around. "pierson," he asked, "have the fellows sent me to coventry?" "you don't need to ask that," replied the other coldly. "is it because of prescott?" "yes. and now, will you stop bothering me with the sound of your voice?" "pierson, you know, when a fellow is cut by the corps, his roommate is not required to avoid conversation with the unlucky one." "i know that," replied pierson coldly. "but i've had all i want of you and from you. except when it is absolutely necessary i shall not answer or address you hereafter." "how long am i to stay in coventry?" pierson acted as though he did not bear. "has formal action been taken, or is this just a flash of prejudice, pierson?" no answer. "humph!" the call to form and march on to the parade ground was sounding. snatching up his rifle, haynes stepped out and joined the others. haynes did not receive even as much as a cold glance. "i'm less than a bit of mud to them!" thought the turnback bitterly. "these fellows would step around a patch of mud, just to avoid dirtying their shoes." it was a relief to hear the command to fall in. haynes felt still better when the battalion stepped away at its rhythmic step. he did not have to look at any of his contemptuous comrades now, nor did he need a word from them. somehow, though in a daze, the turnback got through dress parade without reproof from any of the watchful cadet officers. then, almost immediately after dress parade, came the hardest ordeal of all. once more, this time in fatigue uniform, the turnback had to fall in at supper formation. with the rest he marched away to cadet mess ball, found his place at table and occupied it. during the meal merry conversation ran riot around the tables. haynes was the only man among the gray-clad cadets who was left absolutely alone. after supper, while pierson lounged outside, haynes went back to his room. pacing the floor in his deep misery and agitation, he took this vow to himself: "i won't let myself be driven from the military academy! no matter what these idiots try to do to me---no matter what indignities they may heap upon me, i'll keep silent and fight my way through the military academy! i will receive my commission, and go into the army. but that fellow prescott shall never become an officer in the army, no matter what i have to risk to stop him!" chapter xxiv conclusion for most of the young men at west point the academic year now came swiftly and joyously to an end. true, some score and a half of plebes were found deficient, and sent back to their homes. the same thing happened to a few of the third classmen. all of the members of the first class succeeded in passing and in graduating into the army. the poor plebes who had failed had been mournfully departing, one at a time. these unhappy, doleful young men felt strangely uncouth in the citizens' clothes that they had regained from the cadet stores. yet everyone of these plebes received many a handshake from the upper classmen and a hearty good wish for success in life. more doleful still felt the dropped third classmen, who had been at the military academy for two years, and who had thoroughly expected to "get through" into the army somehow. it was now a little before the time when cadets must hasten to quarters to attire themselves for dress parade. several score of cadets still lingered in the quadrangle when greg holmes and pierson suddenly appeared, heading straight for one of the largest groups, in which dick prescott stood. "heard any news lately?" asked greg, a pleased twinkle in his eyes. "nothing startling. we've been supplying new, dry handkerchiefs to the poor, late plebes," answered brayton. "haven't heard about that fellow haynes?" asked greg. "nothing," admitted brayton. "well, you see," exclaimed pierson, "haynes made up his mind to disregard the grand cut. he determined to stick it out, anyway, even for a whole year." "he'll have a sweet time of it, then," put in spurlock dryly. "i never heard of a fellow who got the general cut lasting a whole year here before." "that was haynes's decision, anyway," went on pierson. "this is no guess work. the fellow told me so himself." "i reckon, suh, maybe we'll be able to change his mind," drawled anstey. "no you won't," broke in greg decisively. "haynes got in bad on the last two days of general review. chemistry and spanish verbs threw him. so he was ordered up for a writ (written examination) in both subjects. he fessed frozen on both of them. he applied for a new examination in a fortnight, but the fact that haynes was already a turnback went against him." "he's `found,' eh?" questioned brayton, smiling gleefully. "dropped," nodded pierson. "fired!" added greg, with a look of satisfaction. "there's no getting around the truth of the old superstition, fellows!" the "old superstition" to which holmes referred is one intensely believed in the cadet corps. while there is nothing whatever to prevent a sneak from being admitted to the united states military academy, the cadets believe firmly that a dishonorable fellow is bound to be caught, before he graduates, and that he will be kicked promptly out of the service by one means or another. "has the fellow gone yet?" inquired spurlock. "he'll slip away while the rest of us are away at dress parade, i guess," responded pierson. "haynes is in cit. clothes already, and is just fussing around a bit." "he must feel fine!" muttered brayton musingly. "i could almost say `poor fellow.'" "so could i," agreed prescott, with a good deal of feeling. "it would break my heart to be compelled to leave the corps, except at graduation, so i can imagine how any other fellow must feel." "oh, well, he'd never be happy in the army, anyway," replied spurlock. "out in the army the other officers can take care of a dishonorable comrade even more effectively than we do." "what made haynes fess out, i wonder?" pondered brayton aloud. "being sent to coventry got on his nerves so that he couldn't pull up enough at review and the writs," replied pierson. "he wasn't one of the bright men, anyway, in the section rooms." "by jove, suh! there's the fellow now!" muttered anstey. the others turned slightly to see haynes, out of the gray uniform that he had disgraced, wearing old cit. clothes and carrying a suit case, step out and cross the quadrangle to the office of the k.c. a few minutes later, haynes came out of the cadet guard house. knowing that he would never have the ordeal to face again, haynes summoned all his "brass" to the surface and stepped down the length of the quadrangle. he passed many groups of curious cadets, none of whom, however, sent a look or a word to him. then on out through the east sally-port strode haynes. on the sidewalk beyond, he passed captain albutt. haynes did not salute the officer; he didn't have to. even had haynes saluted, captain albutt could not have returned this military courtesy, for haynes was no longer a member of the american military establishment. * * * * * * * on the afternoon of the day following the graduating exercises came to a brilliant finish at cullum hall. brayton, spurlock and their classmates were honorably through with west point, their new careers about to open before them. cadet dick prescott came forth from the exercises, a look of radiant happiness on his face. he had been ordered before a board of surgeons that morning. just as a formality he was to go before a medical board again in august. "but that's only a piece of red tape," captain goodwin had explained to him. "by wonderful good luck, or rather, no doubt, thanks to captain albutt's gallantry, your spine is now as sound as ever. come before us in august, but i can tell you now that the august verdict will be o.k." "my, but you look like the favorite uncle of the candy kid!" muttered greg, as the two chums in gray strode along together. "why shouldn't i?" retorted dick. "my spine is all right, and i'm to stay in the service. then besides, greg, old fellow, think what we are now." "well, what are we?" asked greg. "first classmen! only a year more, greg, to the glorious old army! think of it, boy! in blue, in a year, and wearing shoulder-straps!" "i wish we had just graduated, like brayton, spurlock and the rest," muttered greg. "you want to rush things, don't you, lad?" "but dick, you see," murmured holmes, "a cadet can't marry." "oh, still harping on miss number three?" laughed his chum. "number---thr-----" stammered greg. "you don't mean to say that it is all off with miss number three?" "oh, yes; months ago." "she broke the engagement?" "yes," admitted holmes. "but i don't care." "what's the present girl's number?" teased dick. "five," confessed greg with desperate candor. "but this girl, dick, is worth all the others. and she'll stick. after all, it's only a year, now, that she'll have to wait." at this point, however, we find dick and greg to be first classmen. so their further adventures are necessarily reserved for the next and concluding volume in this series, which will be published under the title, "_dick prescott's fourth year at west point; or, ready to drop the gray for shoulder straps_." all we need to tell the reader is that this coming volume will contain the most rousing story of all in the _west point series_. the end dick prescott's fourth year at west point or ready to drop the gray for shoulder straps by h. irving hancock contents chapters i. dick reports a brother cadet ii. jordan reaches out for revenge iii. catching a man for breach of "con." iv. the class committee calls v. the cadet "silence" falls vi. trying to explain to the girls vii. jordan meets disaster viii. fate serves dick her meanest trick ix. the class takes final action x. lieutenant denton's straight talk xi. the news from franklin field xii. ready to break the camel's back xiii. the figures in the dark xiv. the story carried on the wind xv. the class meeting "sizzles" xvi. finding the baseball gait xvii. ready for the army-navy game xviii. dan dalzell's crabtown grin xix. when the army fans winced xx. the vivid finish of the game xxi. a cloud on dick's horizon xxii. cadet prescott commands at squadron drill xxiii. a west pointer's love affair xxiv. conclusion chapter i dick reports a brother cadet "detachment halt!" commanded the engineer officer in charge. out on the north dock at west point the column of cadets had marched, and now, at the word, came to an abrupt stop. this detachment, made up of members of the first and third classes in the united states military academy, was out on this august forenoon for instruction in actual military engineering. the task, which must be accomplished in a scant two hours, was to lay a pontoon bridge across an indentation of the hudson river, this indentation being a few hundred feet across, and representing, in theory, an unfordable river. "mr. prescott!" cadet richard prescott, now a first classman, and captain of one of the six cadet companies, stepped forward, saluting. "you will build the bridge today, mr. prescott, continued the instructor, lieutenant armstrong, corps of engineers, united states army. "very good, sir," replied dick. with a second salute, which was returned, prescott turned to divide his command rapidly into smaller detachments. it was work over which not a moment of time could be lost. all must be done with the greatest possible despatch, and a real bridge was called for---not a toy affair or a half-way experiment. "mr. holmes," directed prescott, "you will take charge of the boats. mr. jordan, take charge of the balk carriers!" a balk is a heavy timber, used, in this case, in the construction of the pontoon. cadet jordan, one of the biggest men, physically, in the first class, scowled as he received this order for what was especially arduous duty. "that's mean of you, prescott," glowered jordan. "if you have any complaints to make, sir, make them to the instructor," return cadet captain prescott, after a swift, astonished look at his classmate. "you know i can't do that," muttered cadet jordan. "but you-----" "silence, sir, and attend to your duty!" then, raising his voice to one of general command, prescott called: "construct the bridge!" jordan fell back, with a surly face and a muttered imprecation, to take command of the squad of yearlings, or third classman who must serve in carrying the heavy balks. in the meantime dick's roommate, greg holmes, had hurried his squad away to the flat-bottomed, square-ended pontoon boats, placing his crews therein. almost instantly, it seemed, greg had placed the first boat in position. "lay the balks!" ordered dick prescott. cadet jordan moved forward with some of his yearlings, who carried the heavy balks, or flooring timbers, on their shoulders. it was hot, hard work---"thankless," as the young men often termed it in private. these balks were laid across the first pontoon. as quickly as the balks had been laid the detachment of lashers were at work securing the balks in place. "shove off!" the first was floated to the mooring stakes and a second boat was moved into position. "chess!" another column of yearlings moved forward, each with a heavy plank on his shoulder. it was heavy, hot, hard and dirty work. outsiders who imagine that the military academy is engaged in turning out "uniformed dudes" should see this work done by the cadets. almost with the speed of magic the planks were laid in an orderly manner forming a secure flooring over the balks. the second boat was anchored, and then a third, a fourth. as the bridge grew cadet prescott walked out on the flooring that he might be at the best point for directing the efforts. as the fifth boat reached its position, dick turned to see that all was going well. the yearlings, whose duty it was to carry the balks---"balk-chasers," they were termed unofficially---were standing idle, though alert. they could not move until mr. jordan, of the first class, gave the order. and jordan? with one hand hanging at his side, the other resting against the small of his back, he stood gazing absently out over the hudson. "mr. jordan!" called dick, hastening back over the planking. "sir!" answered the surly cadet, facing him. "hurry up the balks, if you please, sir." with a scowl, jordan turned slowly toward the waiting yearlings. "lay hold!" commanded jordan, and, though it was hard work, the yearlings responded willingly. this was what they were here for, and this hard work was all part of the training that was to fit them for command after they were graduated. "all possible speed, mr. jordan!" admonished prescott, with a tinge of impatience in his voice. "lay hold! raise! shoulder!" drawled mr. jordan, with tantalizing slowness. the yearling squad, each man feeling the cut of the sharp corners of the heavy balk on his right shoulder, yet, bearing it patiently, awaited the next command. "mr. jordan, this is not a loafing contest," admonished prescott in a low voice. "for---ward!" ordered jordan with provoking deliberation. the yearlings under him, made of vastly better material, sprang forward with their balks, laying them in record time across the top of the next pontoon. the lashers then fell upon their work of securing the balks as though they loved labor. "chess!" called dick, remaining on shore this time, and the yearlings with the planks hastened forward, each carrying a plank. here and there, a lighter cadet staggered somewhat under the plank he was carrying, yet hastened forward to finish his duty of the moment with military speed. another pontoon was ready. "balks!" called cadet prescott. "balks!" jordan got his squad started at last. dick glanced swiftly, but in wonder at lieutenant armstrong. that army officer, however, seemed industriously thinking about something else. "jordan is truly taking charge of the balks!" muttered prescott to himself. "he is going to balk me so that i can't get the bridge constructed before recall!" "running the balk chasers" is always unpopular work among the cadets. properly done, this work calls for a great deal of alertness, speed and precision. it is work that takes every moment of the cadet's time and attention, and incessant running in the hot sun. yet prescott had, before this, chased the balk carriers, and had not objected. he had taken up that task as he did all others, as part of the day's work, something to be done speedily, well and uncomplainingly. "what's the matter with you, mr. jordan?" asked dick in an undertone. "are you sick?" "sick of such emigrant's jobs as this!" growled jordan. "what made you give me-----" "i can't discuss that with you," replied cadet dick prescott coldly. "i shall be compelled to make it an official matter, however, if you hinder me any more." "lay hold! raise! shoulder! forward!" jordan ran with the squad. "halt! lower!" "i reckon jordan means to keep really on the job now," murmured prescott to himself, and returned to the advancing end of the pontoon as it crawled over the little arm of the hudson. two more boats, however, and then dick sprang sternly ashore. "mr. anstey!" called prescott, and anstey, the sweet-tempered virginian, one of dick's staunchest friends in the corps of cadets, came quickly up, saluting. "mr. anstey, you will chase the balk carriers," directed dick. "please try to make up the time that has been lost. mr. jordan, you are relieved from your duty, and will report yourself to the instructor for gross lack of promptness in executing orders!" there could be no mistaking the quality of the justly aroused temper that lay behind cadet prescott's flashing blue eyes. as for cadet jordan, that young man's face went instantly livid. he clenched his fists, while the blackness of a storm was on his features. "mr. prescott," he demanded, "do you realize what you are saying---what you are doing?" "you are relieved. you will report yourself to the instructor, sir!" dick cut in tersely. anstey was already chasing the yearling squad out with the balks, and the young men were moving fast. as for dick prescott, he did not favor mr. jordan with a further glance or word, but walked with swift step back to the task of which he was in charge. with face flushed, mr. jordan walked over to the instructor, reporting himself as directed. "dismissed from to-day's instruction," said the army officer briefly. "wait and return with the detachment, however." so cadet jordan, first class, saluted, turned on his heel, sought the nearest shady spot and sat down to wait. his body idle, the young man had plenty of time to think---about cadet captain dick prescott. "there's nothing to prescott but swagger and cheap airs," decided mr. jordan, idly tossing pebbles. "it's a pity he can't be taken down a peg or two! and now i'm in for demerits before the academic year starts. probably i shall have to walk punishment tours, too!" somehow, jordan had come along through his more than three years in the corps without attracting much attention. he had made no strong friends; even jordan's roommate, atterbury, felt that he knew the man but slightly. true, jordan had not so far been strongly suspected of being morose or surly; he had escaped being ostracized, but he certainly was not popular. if he had made no strong friendships, neither had he so deported himself as to win enmity or even dislike. he was regarded simply as a very taciturn fellow who desired to be let alone, and his apparent wish in this respect was gratified. dick prescott was of an entirely different character. open, sunny, frank, manly, he was a born leader among men, as he had always been among boys. dick was a stickler for duty. he was in training to become an officer of the regular army of the united states, and prescott felt that no man could be a good soldier until the duty habit had become fixed. so, in his earlier years at west point, dick had sometimes been unpopular with certain elements among the cadets because he would not greatly depart from what he believed to be his duty as a cadet and a gentleman. readers of the _high school boys' series_ will recall that prescott, in his home town of gridley, had been the head of dick & co., a sextette of chums and high school athletes. it was in his high school days that young prescott had developed the qualities of manliness which the military academy at west point was now rounding off for him. readers of the preceding volumes in this series, _dick prescott's first year at west point_, _dick prescott's second year at west point_ and _dick prescott's third year at west point_, are already familiar with the young man's career as a cadet at the united states military academy. our readers know how hard the fight had been for dick prescott, who, in addition to his early struggles to keep his place in scholarship in the corps, had been submitted to the evil work of enemies in the corps. some of these enemies had been exposed in the end, and forced to leave the military academy, but many had been the bitter hours that prescott had spent under one cloud or another as the result of the wicked work of these enemies. at last, however, prescott and his roommate and chum, greg holmes, had reached the first class. they had now less than a year to go before they would be graduated and commissioned as officers in the army. on reaching first-class dignity, both dick and greg had been delighted over their appointment as cadet officers. prescott was captain of a company and greg holmes first lieutenant of the same company. with anstey chasing the balk carriers, and all the other squads attending briskly to business, the pontoon was quickly built, so that a roadway extended from shore to shore. now came the supreme test as to whether prescott had done his work well. in the shade of the nearest trees a team of mules had dozed while the bridge construction was going on. behind the mules was hitched a loaded wagon belonging to the engineer corps. "sir," reported prescott, approaching lieutenant armstrong and saluting, "i have the honor to report that the bridge is constructed." lieutenant armstrong returned the salute, next called to an engineer soldier. "carter!" "sir," answered the engineer private, saluting. "drive your team over the bridge and back." mounting to the seat of his wagon, the soldier obeyed. dick prescott and his mates did not watch this test closely. they were sure enough of the quality of the work that they had done. reaching land at the further side of the bridge, the engineer soldier turned his team in a half circle, once more drove upon the bridge and recrossed to the starting point. "very well done, mr. prescott," nodded the engineer officer, with a satisfied smile. "take down the bridge," ordered dick, after having saluted the army instructor. working as hard as before, the young men of the third and first classes began to demolish the bridge that they had constructed. when this had been done, and dick had officially reported the fact, lieutenant armstrong replied: "mr. prescott, you will form your detachment and march back to camp." "very good, sir." always that same salute with which a man in the army receives an order. some thirty seconds later, the detachment was formed and dick was marching it back up the inclined road on the way to the summer encampment. by that time, a sergeant and a squad of engineer privates---soldiers of the regular army---were busy taking care of the pontoon boats and other bridge material. marching his men inside the encampment, dick halted them. "detachment dismissed!" he called out. there was a quick break for first and third class tents. these young men were in field uniforms---sombreros, gray flannel shirts, flannel trousers and leggings. most of them were dripping with perspiration under the hot august sun. they were all hot and dusty, and their hands stained with tar. within a very few minutes every man in the detachment must be washed irreproachably clean, without sign of perspiration. they must be in uniforms of immaculate white duck trousers and gray fatigue blouses, wearing cleanly polished shoes, and ready to march to dinner. a great deal to be accomplished in a few minutes by the average american boy! yet let one of these cadets be late at dinner formation, without an unquestionably good excuse, and he must pay the penalty in demerits. these demerits, according to their number, bring loss of prized privileges. cadet jordan, having done little, was among the first to be clean and presentable. immaculate, trim and trig he looked as he stepped from his tent, but on his face lay a scowl that boded ill for his appetite at the coming dinner. dick was a master of swift toilets. he was on the company street almost immediately after jordan had stepped out under the shadow of a tree. "prescott," began jordan stiffly, "i want a word or two with you." "yes?" asked dick, looking keenly at his classmate. "very good." "why did you report me this morning?" "because you performed the work in an indolent, laggard manner, even after i had cautioned you." "do you consider yourself called upon to be a judge of your classmates?" "when i am detailed in command over them in any duty---yes." "shall i tell you what i think of you for reporting me?" "it would be in bad taste, at least," dick answered. "it is against the regulations for a cadet to call another to account for reporting him officially." "oh, bother the regulations!" "if that is actually your view," replied dick, with a smile, "then i will leave you to the enjoyment of your discovery concerning the regulations." "prescott, you are a prig!" snapped mr. jordan. "if it were necessary to determine that, as a matter of fact," answered dick coolly, though he flushed somewhat, "i would rather leave it to a decision of the class." "oh, i know you have plenty of bootlicks," sneered jordan. "i also know that you are class president. but that is no reason why you should act as though you thought yourself a bigger man than the president of the united states." "jordan, has the sun been affecting your head this forenoon?" demanded dick, with another keen look at his classmate. "well, you do act as though you thought yourself bigger than the president," insisted jordan sneeringly. "i am a cadet, not yet capable of being a second lieutenant, in the army," dick replied, regaining his coolness. "the president is commander-in-chief of the combined army and navy." "you are utterly puffed up with your own importance," cried jordan hotly, though in a discreetly low voice. "prescott, you are-----" something in jordan's eyes warned dick that a vile insult was coming in an instant. "_stop_!" commanded prescott, shooting a look full of warning at his classmate. "jordan, don't say anything that will compel me to knock you down in plain sight of the camp. it's years since such a thing as that has happened at west point!" "oh, you lordly brute!" sneered jordan, his face alternately white and aflame with unreasoning anger. "prescott, you had it in for me. that was why you reported me this morning. that was why you put me in line for demerits and punishment tour walking. you are bound to use your little, petty authority to humble and humiliate me. i shall call you out for this!" "if you do," shot back dick, "i shall decline to fight you. it would be against regulations and against all the traditions of the corps for me to arbitrate, by a fight, the question of whether i did right to report you." "you refuse a fight," warned jordan, with a malicious grin, "and i'll denounce you all through the class!" "denounce me, then, if you wish," retorted dick in cool contempt, "and you'll bring trouble down on your own head instead. no class requires, or permits, a member to fight in defence of his official conduct." "prescott is turning coward, then, is he?" "you or any other man who presumes to say it knows well enough that he is thereby lying," came quickly from between prescott's teeth. "why, hang you, you-----" "you'd better hush for a moment," warned prescott. "here comes the corps adjutant, and i think he is looking for you." "yes! with a message of discipline from the o.c. just because i was reported by a toy martinet like you!" retorted cadet jordan. cadet filson, corps adjutant, wearing his white gloves, red sash and sword, came up with brisk military stride. he halted before jordan, while prescott moved away. "mr. jordan, by order of the commandant of cadets, you will confine yourself to the company street, leaving it only under proper orders. this, for being reported this morning during the tour of engineer instruction. any further punishment that is to be meted out to you will be published in orders at dress parade this afternoon. "very good, sir," replied cadet jordan, choking with rage. wheeling about, adjutant filson strode away again. the moment he was gone, jordan, his brow black with fury, stepped over to prescott. "so!" he hissed. "the thunderbolt of punishment has fallen, mr. prescott. as for you-----" "mr. jordan," broke in dick coolly, "you are ordered to confine yourself to the company street. at this moment you are outside that limit. you will return immediately to the company street!" jordan glared, but he had discretion enough left to obey, for prescott was speaking now as cadet commander of a company, to which company mr. jordan belonged. "oh, i'll pay you back for this!" raged the disciplined cadet, trembling as he stepped forward. by this time, many other cadets were out in the company street. soon after the loud, snappy tones of the bugle summoned the two battalions to dinner formation. a little while before cadet adjutant filson had approached jordan, the commandant of cadets, sitting in his tent over by post number one, had sent for the engineer instructor of the forenoon. "mr. armstrong," asked the commandant, "how much is there in this report against mr. jordan this morning? does mr. jordan deserve severe discipline?" "in my opinion he does, sir," replied lieutenant armstrong. "i had the whole happening under observation, though i pretended not to see it." "why did you make such pretence, mr. armstrong?" "because i was watching to see how a man like mr. prescott would conduct himself when in command." lieutenant armstrong then related all of the particulars that he had seen of jordan's conduct. "then i am very glad that mr. prescott reported mr. jordan," replied the commandant of cadets. "mr. jordan is a first classman and should be above any such conduct. we will confine mr. jordan to his company street for one week; and on wednesday and saturday afternoons during the continuance of the encampment, he shall walk punishment tours." then the commandant of cadets had passed the word for cadet adjutant filson, to whom he had entrusted the order that the reader has already seen delivered. but jordan, unable to realize that he had proved himself unfit as a soldier found his hatred of dick prescott growing with every step of the march that carried the cadet corps to dinner at the cadet mess hall. "prescott may feel mighty big and proud now!" growled the disgruntled one. "but will he---when i get through with him?" chapter ii jordan reaches out for revenge "hello, there, stubbs!" called jordan from the doorway of his tent. "oh, that you, jordan?" called stubbs. "yes; come in, won't you?" cadet stubbs, of the first class, looked slightly surprised, for he had never been an intimate of this particular cadet. "what's the matter?" asked stubbs, pushing aside the tent flap and stepping into the tent. then, remembering something he had heard, stubbs continued quickly: "you're in a little trouble of some kind, aren't you, old man?" "oh, i'm in con." growled mr. jordan. "con." is the brief designation for "confinement." "some report this morning, eh?" "yes; that dog prescott sprung a roorback on me. sit down, won't you?" "no, thank you," replied cadet stubbs more coolly. "jordan, `dog' is a pretty extreme word to apply to a brother cadet." "oh, are you one of that fellow's admirers?" demanded the man in con. "i've always been an admirer of manliness," replied stubbs boldly. "then how can you stand for a bootlick?" shot out jordan angrily. "i don't stand for a bootlick," replied cadet stubbs. "i never did." "now, i don't want to play baby," went on jordan half eagerly. "i'm not resenting, on my own account, what happened to-day. but it was an outrage on general principles, for the affair made a fool of me before a lot of new yearlings. stubbs, we're first classmen, and we shouldn't be humiliated before yearlings in this manner." "i wasn't there," replied stubbs. "i was over at the rifle range, you know." "then i'll tell you what happened." cadet jordan began a narration of the scene that had ended in his being relieved from engineering instruction that forenoon. jordan didn't exactly lie, which is always a dangerous thing for a west point cadet to do, but he colored his narrative so cleverly as to make it rather plain that cadet prescott had acted beyond his real authority. "still," argued stubbs doubtfully, "there must have been some reason. i've known prescott ever since he entered the academy, and i never saw anything underhanded in him." "i wouldn't call it underhanded, either," explained jordan. "prescott's manner with me might much better be described as overbearing." "it would have been underhanded, had he reported you when you were really doing nothing unmilitary or improper," interposed stubbs quickly. "are you trying to defend the fellow?" demanded jordan swiftly. "no; prescott, i think, is always quite ready to attend to his own defence. but i'm astonished, jordan, at the charge you make against him, and i'm trying to understand it." "what i object to, more than anything else," insisted jordan, "was his making a fool of me before new yearlings. that is where i think the greatest grievance lies. first classmen are men of some dignity. we are not to be treated like plebes, especially by any members of our own class who may be dressed in a little brief authority. sit down, won't you, stubbs?" "no, thank you, jordan. i must be on my way soon." "but i want to get you and a half a dozen other representative first classmen together," wheedled jordan. "i think we should all talk this over as a strictly class matter. then, if i'm convinced that i'm in the wrong, i'm going to stop talking." crafty jordan didn't mean exactly what he said. he would stop talking, if convinced, but he didn't intend to be convinced. he was after dick prescott's scalp. jordan well knew that, at west point (and at annapolis, too, for that matter) class action against a man is severer and more irrevocable than even any action that the authorities of the military academy itself can take. he wanted to put prescott wholly in the wrong in the matter. class action could, at need, drive prescott out of the corps and end his connection with the army. for, if a man be condemned by his class at west point, the feud is carried over into the army as long as the offender against class ethics dares try to remain in the service. at the least, jordan hoped to stir up class feeling to such an extent that, if prescott were not actually "cut" by class action, at least his popularity would be greatly dimmed. "so won't you take part in the meeting?" coaxed jordan, as cadet stubbs moved toward the door. "i don't believe i will," replied mr. stubbs. "i'd feel out of place in such a crowd, for i've always considered myself prescott's friend." "do you place your friendship for prescott above the dignity and honor of the class?" demanded jordan. stubbs flushed. "i don't believe i'll stay, jordan, thank you. but i can offer you some advice, if you feel in need of any." "yes? commence firing!" "go slow in your grudge against prescott. personally, i don't want to see either of you hurt." "oh, prescott won't really be hurt," sneered jordan. "he told me flatly that he'd decline any calling out that i might attempt." "you---you didn't try to call him out, did you?" "i hinted that i might do so." "call him out for reporting you?" "oh, i didn't specify what the cause of the challenge would be," returned jordan airily and with a knowing wink. "jordan, old fellow, you don't mean that you'd call a cadet out for reporting you officially? why, that's against every tenet we have. and if such a challenge came to the ears of the superintendent, or of the commandant of cadets, you'd be fired out of the corps before you'd have time to turn around twice." "who'd carry the tale that i did call prescott out?" retorted cadet jordan, with a knowing leer. "prescott would, if he were a tenth part of the bootlick that you represent him to be," replied stubbs. "better stay, old man; and i'll call in a few others." "no, sir," returned cadet stubbs, with a shake of his head. "the further i go into this matter the less i like it. i'm on my way, jordan." within half an hour, however, cadet jordan had found three members of the first class who were willing to listen to him. the matter was threshed out very fully. jordan, to his listeners, pooh poohed at the idea that he was "sore" on his own account. he posed, and rather well, as the champion of first-class dignity. "i think you're on the right track, jordan," assented durville rather heartily. durville was one of the few who had never liked dick well. durville had always been one of the "wild" ones, and prescott's ideas of soldierly duty had grated a good deal on durville's own beliefs. "the class won't take severe action, anyway," hinted tupper. "we might vote to give prescott a week's 'silence,' but any permanent 'cut' would be out of the question. the man has done too many things to make himself popular." "besides," chimed in brown, "look at the place prescott holds on the army football eleven. why he---and holmes, too, of course---were the pair who saved us from the navy last november. and we rely upon that pair to a tremendous extent for the successes we expect this coming fall." jordan's jaw dropped. in the heat of his anger he had lost sight of the football situation. prescott and holmes certainly were the prize players of the army eleven. "well, it might do if the class decided on the 'silence' for prescott for a week," assented jordan dubiously. then, all of a sudden, he brightened as the thought flashed through his mind: "if prescott gets the 'silence,' even for a day, he'll be so furious that he'll do half a dozen fool things that i can provoke him into. then he'll go so far, in his wrath, that the class will cut him for good and all, and he'll buy his ticket home!" the more jordan thought this over, while he pretended to be listening to what his classmates were saying, the surer the cadet plotter felt that he could work his enemy out of the corps within the next week or so. "well, i dare say that you fellows are right in advising milder measures," admitted jordan at last. "of course, though i try not to let my personal feelings enter into this at all, yet i suppose i can't keep my sense of outraged class dignity wholly untainted by my personal feelings. besides, the 'silence' for a week will doubtless cover all the needs of the case, and i don't bear the fellow any personal grudge, or i try not to." "that's a sensible, manly view, jordan," chimed in brown, "and it does you credit as a gentleman and a man of honor. now, you know, it's a fearful thing for a man who has reached the first class to have to drop his army career at the last moment. so we'll try to bring the majority of the class around to the idea of the week's 'silence.'" "now, lest it appear as though i were actuated by personal motives," continued jordan, "i'll have to stand back and let you fellows do the talking with the other men of the class." "that's all right," nodded durville. "we wholly understand the delicacy of your position, and we can attend to it all right. besides, all we have to do, anyway, is to ascertain how the class feels on the matter." "don't let it be lost sight of, though," begged jordan, almost betraying his over anxiety, "that it is a serious matter of class dignity and honor." "we won't, old man," promised durville, as the visitors rose. as soon as he was alone---for his tentmate was away on a cavalry drill, jordan rose, his eyes flashing with triumph. "dick prescott, i believe i have you where i want you! what a rage you'll be in, if you get the 'silence'! 'whom the gods would destroy they first make mad,'" jordan went on, under his breath, wholly unaware that he had parodied the meaning of that famous quotation. "you'll rage with anger, prescott. you'll do the very things that will warrant the class in giving you the long 'cut.'" the "silence" is a form of rebuke that the cadet corps, once in many years, administers to one of the many army officers who are stationed over them. when the cadet corps decides to give an officer the "silence," the proceeding is a unique one. whenever an officer under this ban approaches a group of cadets they cease talking, and remain silent as long as he is near them. they salute the officer; they make any official communications that may be required, and do so in a faultlessly respectful manner; they answer any questions addressed to them by the officer under ban. but they will not talk, while he is within hearing, on anything except matters of duty. an officer under the ban of the "silence" may approach a gathering of a hundred or more cadets, all talking animatedly until they perceive his approach. then, all in an instant, they become mute. the officer may remain in their neighborhood for an hour, yet, save upon an official matter, no cadet will speak until the officer has moved on. this "silence" may be given an officer for a stated number of days, or it may be made permanent. it has sometimes happened that an officer has been forced to ask a transfer from west point to some other army station, simply because he could not endure the "silence." very rarely, indeed, the silence is given to a cadet; it is more especially applicable if he be a cadet officer who is in the habit of reporting his fellow classmen for what they may consider insufficient breaches of discipline. the "cut" or "coventry" is reserved for the cadet whom it is intended to drive from the army altogether. if a man at west point is "sent to coventry" by the whole corps, or as a result of class action, he will never be able to form friendships in the army again, no matter how long he remains in the army, or how hard he tries to fight the sentence down. cadet jordan, as will have been noted, professed to be satisfied if the class voted a week's "silence" to dick prescott, for jordan believed that by this time the tantalized young cadet captain could be provoked into actions that would bring the imposition of the "long silence" of permanent coventry. at the end of the busy cadet day, when the two cadet battalions stood in formal array at dress parade, cadet adjutant filson published the day's orders. one of these orders mentioned jordan's confinement to the company street, and added the further infliction of "punishment tours" to be walked every wednesday and saturday afternoons. "oh, well," thought the culprit, savagely, "as i walk i can plan newer and newer things. i'll go into the army, and you, prescott, may become a freight clerk on a jerk-water railroad." unknown to either jordan or prescott at that moment, other storm-clouds were gathering swiftly over the head of the popular young cadet captain. chapter iii catching a man for breach of "con." lieutenant denton was the tac. who served as o.c. during this tour of twenty-four hours. a "tac.," as has been explained in earlier volumes, is a regular army officer who is on duty in the department of tactics. all of the tacs. are subordinates of the commandant of cadets, the latter officer being in charge of the discipline and tactical training of cadets. each tac. is, in turn, for a period of twenty-four hours, officer in charge, or "o.c." during the summer encampment of the cadets, the o.c. occupies a tent at headquarters, and is in command, under the commandant, of the camp. it was in the evening, immediately after the return of the corps from supper, when lieutenant denton had sent for cadet captain prescott. "mr. prescott," began the o.c., "there has been some trouble, lately, as you undoubtedly know, with plebes running the guard after taps. now, our plebes are men very new to the west point discipline, and they do not appreciate the seriousness of their conduct. until the young men have had a little more training, we wish, if possible, to save them from the consequences of their lighter misdeeds. of course, if a cadet, plebe or otherwise, is actually found outside the guard line after taps, then we cannot excuse his conduct. this is where the ounce of prevention comes in. mr. prescott, i wish you would be up and around the camp between taps and midnight to-night. keep yourself in the background a bit, and see if you can stop any plebes who may be prowling before they have had a chance to get outside the guard lines. if you intercept any plebes while they are still within camp limits, demand of them their reasons for being out of their tents. if the reasons are not entirely satisfactory, turn them over to the cadet officer of the day. any plebe so stopped and turned over to the cadet officer of the day will be disciplined, of course, but his punishment will be much lighter than if he were actually caught outside the guard lines. you understand your instructions, mr. prescott?" "perfectly, sir." "that is all, mr. prescott." saluting, dick turned and left the tent. "that's just like lieutenant denton," thought dick, as he marched away to his own company street. "some of the tacs. would just as soon see the plebe caught cold, poor little beast. but lieutenant denton can remember the time when he was a cadet here himself, and he wants to see the plebe have as much of the beginner's chance as can be given." as dick pushed aside the flap and entered his tent, he beheld his chum and roommate, greg holmes, now a cadet lieutenant, carefully transferring himself to his spoony dress uniform. "going to the hop to-night, old ramrod?" asked greg carelessly, though affectionately. "not in my line of hike," yawned prescott. "you know i'm no hopoid." "oh, loyal swain!" laughed greg in mock admiration. "you hop but little oftener than once a year, when laura comes on from the home town! you throw away nearly all of the pleasures of the waxed floor." "even though but once a year, i go as often as i want," dick answered, with a pleasant smile. "but see here, ramrod, an officer is expected to be a gentleman, and a fellow can't be an all-around gentleman unless he is at ease with the ladies. what sort of practice do you give yourself?" "you're dragging a femme to the hop tonight?" queried dick. "yes, sir," admitted greg promptly. "then you're---pardon me---you're engaged to the young lady, of course?" "engaged to take her to the hop, of course," parried holmes. "and engaged to be married to her, as well," insisted dick. "ye-es," admitted cadet holmes reluctantly. "let me see; this is the fourteenth girl you've been engaged to marry, isn't it?" "no, sir," blurted greg indignantly. "miss---i mean my present betrothed, is only the eighth who has done me the honor." "even eight fiancees is going it pretty swiftly for a cadet not yet through west point," chuckled dick. "well, confound it, it isn't my fault, is it?" grumbled greg. "i didn't break any of the engagements. the other seven girls broke off with me. on the whole, though, i'm rather obliged to the seven for handing me the mitten, for i'm satisfied that miss---i mean, the present young lady---is the one who is really fitted to make me happy for life." "i'm almost sorry i'm not going to-night," mused prescott aloud. "then i'd see the fortunate young lady." "oh, there are no secrets from you, old ramrod," protested greg good-humoredly. "you know her, anyway, i think---miss steele." "captain steele's daughter?" "precisely," nodded greg. "daughter of one of the instructors in drawing?" "yes." "greg, you're at least practical this time," laughed dick. "that is, you will be if miss steele doesn't follow the example of her predecessors, and break the engagement too soon." "practical?" repeated cadet holmes. "what are you talking about, old ramrod? has the heat been too much for you to-day? practical! now, what on earth is there that's practical about a love affair?" "why, if this engagement lasts long enough, greg, old fellow, captain steele and his wife will simply have to send you an invitation to a saturday evening dinner at their quarters. and then, in ordinary good nature, they'll have to invite me, also, as your roommate. greg, do you stop to realize that we've never yet been invited to an officer's house to dinner?" "and we never would be, if we depended on you," grumbled greg. "women are the foundation rock of society, yet you never look at anyone in a petticoat except laura bentley, who comes here only once a year, and who may be so tired of coming here that she'll never appear again." a brief cloud flitted across dick's face. seeing it, repentant greg rattled on: "of course you know me well enough, old ramrod, to know that i'm not really reproaching you for being so loyal to laura, good, sweet girl that she is. but you've miffed a lot, of the girls on the post by your constancy. why, you could have the younger daughters of a dozen officers' following you, if you'd only look at them." "the younger daughters of the officers are all in the care of nurse-maids, greg," prescott retorted with pretended dignity. "relieving nurse-maids of their responsibilities is no part of a cadet's training or duty." "well, 'be good and you'll be happy'---but you won't have a good time," laughed greg, who, having finished his inspection of himself in the tiny glass, was now ready to depart. "on your way, holmesy," nodded dick, glancing at the time. "it's a long walk, even for a cadet, to captain steele's quarters." greg went away, humming under his breath. "there's a chap whom care rarely hits," mused dick, looking half enviously after his chum. "i wonder really if he ever will marry?" presently dick picked up his camp chair and placed it just outside at the door of his tent. it was pleasant to sit there in the semi-gloom. but presently he began to wonder, a little, that none of the fellows dropped around for a chat, for he was aware that a number of the first classmen were not booked for the hop that night. from time to time dick saw a first classman enter or leave the tent of cadet jordan. "he seems unusually popular to-night," thought prescott, with a smile. "well, better late than never. poor jordan has never been much of a favorite before. i wonder if my reporting him to-day has made the fellows take more notice of him? it is a rare thing, these days, for a first classman to be confined to his company street." for prescott the evening became, in fact, so lonely that presently he rose, left the encampment and strolled along the road leading to the west point hotel. on other than hop nights, this road was likely to be crowded with couples. that night, however, nearly all of the young ladies at west point had been favored with invitations to cullum hall. tattoo was sounding just as prescott crossed the line at post number one on reentering camp. in half an hour more, it would be taps. at taps, all lights in tents were expected to be out, and the cadets, save those actually on duty, to be in their beds. an exception was made in favor of cadets who had received permission to escort young ladies to the hop. each cadet who had to return to the hotel, or to officers' quarters with a young lady had received the needed permission, and the time it would take him to go to the young lady's destination and return to camp was listed at the guard tent. any cadet who took more than the permitted time to escort his partner of the hop to her abiding place would be subject for report. however, the special duty imposed upon cadet prescott for this night related to plebes, and plebes do not go to the hops. bringing out his camp chair, dick sat once more before his tent. down at jordan's tent he could still hear the low hum of cadet voices. "something is certainly going on there," mused prescott. for a moment or two he felt highly curious; then he repressed that feeling. "good evening, prescott." "oh, good evening, stubbs." cadet stubbs came to a brief halt before the cadet captain's tent. "i have been noticing that jordan has a good many visitors this evening," dick remarked. "all from our class, too, aren't they?" questioned stubbs. "yes. if we were yearlings i should feel sure that they had a plebe or two in there. but first classmen don't haze plebes." "no; we don't haze plebes," replied cadet stubbs with a half sigh, for prescott was the only first classman at present in camp who did not fully know just what was in progress at jordan's tent. but west point men pride themselves on bearing no tales, so stubbs repressed the longing to explain to dick what jordan was seeking to bring about. as a matter of fact, though some of the members of the first class were hot-headed enough to accept jordan's view of the report against him, the class sentiment was considerably against the motion to give cadet captain richard prescott the silence, even for a week. however, none came near prescott to talk it over. that again would be tale-bearing. dick was not likely to hear of the move unless summoned to present his own defense in the face of class charges. nor would greg be approached on the subject. the accused man's roommate or tentmate is always left out of the discussion. taps sounded; almost immediately the lights in the tents went out. stillness settled over the encampment. the fact that a single candle remained lighted in prescott's tent showed that he had permission to run a light. the assumption would be that he was engaged on some official duty, though the fact of running a light did not in any way betray the nature of that duty. dick sat inside at first. then, one by one, the cadets returning from the hop stepped through the company streets. at last greg holmes came in. "still engaged, holmesy?" asked dick, looking up with a quizzical smile. "surest thing on the post!" returned greg, with a radiant smile. he had the look of being a young man very much in love and utterly happy over his good fortune. "going to run a light?" asked holmes, gaping, as he swiftly disrobed. "yes; but i'll throw the tin can around so that the blaze won't be in your eyes." "it won't anyway," retorted greg, turning down the cover of his bed. "i'll turn my back on the glim." the "tin can" is a device time-honored among cadets in the summer encampment. it is merely a reflector, made of an old tin can, that increases and concentrates the brilliancy of the candle light. the "tin can" may also be used in such a way as to throw a large part of a tent in semi-darkness. two minutes later, greg's breathing proclaimed the fact that this cadet was sound asleep. dick, stifling a yawn---for it had been a long, hard and busy day---threw a look of envy toward his chum. then, in uniform, prescott stepped out into the company street. it was a dark, starless night; an ideal night to a plebe who wanted to run the guard and put in some time outside of the camp limits. keeping as much in the shadow as he could, prescott stepped along until he came near one of the sentry lines. for some time he stood thus, eyes and ears alert, though he lounged in the shadow where he was not likely to be seen. "it's an off night for plebe mischief, i reckon," he murmured at last. "all the plebes are good little boys to-night, and safely tucked in their cribs." at last, when it was near midnight, prescott came out from his place of semi-concealment and stepped over near the guard line. it was not long ere a yearling sentry, with bayonet fixed and gun resting over his right shoulder, came pacing toward the first classman. recognizing a cadet officer, the yearling sentry halted, holding his piece at "present arms." "walk your post," dick directed, after having returned the salute. had prescott been a cadet private the sentry would have questioned him as to his reasons for being out after taps. but with a cadet captain it was different. though prescott was not cadet officer of the day, he was privileged to have official reasons for being out without making an accounting to the sentry. slowly the yearling sentry paced down to the further end of his post. then he came back again. having saluted prescott recently, he did not pause now, but kept on past the cadet officer standing there in the shadow. as the sentry's footsteps again sounded softer in the distance, prescott suddenly became aware of something not far away from him. it was a little glow of fire, at an elevation of something less than six feet from the ground, over beside a bush. this glow of fire looked exactly as though it came from a lighted cigar. if the cigar were held by a civilian, it was a matter that needed looking into. cadets, if they wish, may smoke at certain times and within certain limits. but nothing in the regulations permits a cadet to go outside the guard lines after taps to smoke. dick prescott drew further back into the shadow, noiselessly, and kept his eye on the distant glow until he heard the yearling returning. "sentry!" called prescott sharply. the yearling, his piece at port arms, came on the run. "investigate that glow yonder," ordered prescott. "very good, sir!" prescott and the sentry started together. for an instant the glow wavered, as though the man that was behind the glow meditated taking to his heels. "halt!" called the sentry. "who's there?" now the glow disappeared, but cadet captain and sentry were close enough to see the outlines of a figure in cadet uniform. the figure still moved uncertainly, as though bent on flight. but the sight of two pursuers seemed to change the unknown's mind. "a cadet," he called, in answer to the sentry's challenge. the sentry halted. "advance, cadet, to be recognized," he commanded. prescott came to a halt not far from the sentry. slowly, with evident reluctance, the figure moved forward. "mr. jordan!" called prescott, in considerable amazement. "yes, sir," admitted jordan huskily. now, dick had every reason in the world for not wanting to report this cadet again, but duty is and must be duty, in the army. "mr. jordan, you are under orders of confinement to the company street," cried dick sternly. "yes, sir." "and yet you are found outside of camp limits? have you any explanation to offer, sir?" "i was nervous, sir," replied jordan, "and couldn't sleep. so i slipped out past the guard line to enjoy a quieting smoke." "smoking causes vastly more nervousness than it ever remedies, mr. jordan," replied the young cadet captain. "have you any additional explanation or excuse for being outside the company street?" "no, sir." "then return to your tent, sir." "i---i suppose you are going to report this, mr. prescott?" asked the other first classman. "i have no alternative," dick answered. "you are under confinement to the company street; you have made a breach of confinement, and i am your company commander." "very good, sir." jordan stiffened up, saluted, then passed on across the guard line, making for the street of a company. dick turned back, more slowly, a thoughtful frown gathering on his fine face, while the yearling sentry was muttering to himself: "great caesar, but prescott surely has put both feet in it. he reports a fellow classman for a little thing like a late smoke, and the man reported will be doomed to go into close arrest! glad i'm not prescott!" it would be untruthful to deny that dick prescott was worried; nevertheless, he made his way briskly to the tent of the o.c. "jove, what luck!" chuckled jordan tremulously, as he hastened along the street of a company to his tent. "of course i'll be in for all sorts of penalties, and i'll have to be mighty good, after this, to keep within safe limits on demerits. but i have prescott just where i want the insolent puppy! the class, this evening, was much in doubt about giving him the silence. but flow! when he has gone out of his way to catch me in such an innocent little breach of con.! whew! but my lucky star is surely at the top of the sky to-night." cadet jordan was soon tucked in under his bed cover. he had not fallen asleep, however, when he heard a step coming down the street. dick had chanced to find the o.c. still up. in a few words prescott made his report. "this is a very serious report against a first classman, mr. prescott," said kind-hearted lieutenant denton gravely. "it is most unfortunate for mr. jordan that he has not a better excuse. you will go to mr. jordan's tent, mr. prescott, and direct him to remain in his tent, in close arrest, until he hears as to the further disposition of his case by the commandant of cadets." "very good, sir," prescott answered, saluting. "and then you may go to your own tent and retire, mr. prescott. i fancy the plebes have been good to-night." "thank you, sir." with a rather heavy heart, though outwardly betraying no sign, prescott walked along until he reached jordan's tent, where he delivered the order from the o.c. "did you hear that, old man?" growled jordan to his tentmate, after the cadet captain had gone. "pretty rough!" returned the tentmate sleepily. rough? the first class was seething when it received the word next morning, for it was the common belief that prescott must have shadowed and followed his classmate in order to entrap him. "it's surely time for class action now," durville told several of his classmates. chapter iv the class committee calls outwardly a company and the entire corps of cadets was as placid and unruffled as ever when the two battalions marched to breakfast that morning. one conversant with military procedure, however, would have noted that jordan, being a prisoner, marched in the line of the file closers. and mr. jordan's face was wholly sulky, strive as he would to banish the look and appear indifferent. even to a fellow naturally as unsocial as the cadet now in arrest, it was no joke to be confined to his tent even for the space of a week, except when engaged in official duties; and to be obliged, two afternoons in a week, to march in full equipment and carry his piece, for three hours in the barracks quadrangle under the watchful eyes of a cadet corporal. this penalty would last during the remaining weeks of the encampment and would be pronounced upon jordan as soon as the commandant of cadets perfunctorily confirmed the temporary order of lieutenant denton. dick, at the head of a company, looked as impassive as ever, though he felt far from comfortable. through the ranks, wherever first classmen walked, excitement was seething. when prescott was seated at table in the cadet mess hall, greg, who sat next his chum, turned and raised his eyebrows briefly, as though to say: "there's something warm in the air." dick's momentary glance in return as much as said: "i know it." none of the other cadets at the same table turned to address prescott directly, with the single exception of greg holmes. true, when dick had occasion, twice or thrice, to address other men at his table, they answered him, though briefly. whatever was in the air it had not broken yet. that was as much as prescott could guess. the instant that they had returned to camp, and the two chums were in their tent, greg whispered fiercely: "that sulker, jordan, is putting up trouble for you, as sure as you're alive." "then i've given him a bully handle to his weapon," admitted dick prescott dryly. they were hustling into khaki field uniform now, and there was little time for comment; none for greg to go outside and find out what was really in the air. battery drill was right ahead of them. barely were the chums changed to khaki field uniform before the call sounded on the bugle. on the recall from battery drill, the chums had but a few moments before they were called out for a drill in security and information. so the time passed until dinner. again jordan marched in the line of the file closers, and now this first classman had received his official sentence from the commandant of cadets. so far as the demeanor of the class toward prescott was concerned, dinner was an exact repetition of breakfast. on the return of the corps to camp, a few minutes followed that were officially assigned to recreation. dick stood just inside the door of his tent when he heard the tread of several men approaching. looking out, he saw seven men of his own class coming up. durville was at their head. "good afternoon, prescott," began durville. "good afternoon, gentlemen," nodded dick. "we represent the class in a little matter," continued durville, "and i have been asked to be the spokesman. can you spare us a little time?" "all the time that i have before the call sounds for my next drill," replied prescott. "mr. prescott, you reported a member of our class last night," began durville. "i did so officially," dick answered. "of course, mr. prescott, we understand that. the offender was a member of a company, and you are the cadet captain of that company. but this affair happened at the guard line, and you were not cadet officer of the day. mr. jordan feels that you exerted yourself to catch him in his delinquency." "i did not," replied prescott promptly. "at the time when i called upon the cadet sentry to apprehend mr. jordan, i had not the remotest idea that it was mr. jordan." "then," asked durville bluntly, "how did you, who were not the cadet officer of the day, happen to be where you could catch mr. jordan so neatly?" "in that matter i have no explanation to offer," prescott replied. one less a stickler for duty than prescott might have replied that he had been on the spot the night before in obedience to a special order from the officer in charge. dick prescott, however, felt that to make such a statement would be a breach of military faith. the order that he had received from lieutenant denton he looked upon as a confidential military order that could not be discussed, except on permission or order from competent military sources. "now, prescott," continued cadet durville almost coaxingly, "we don't want to be hard on you, and we don't want to do anything under a misapprehension. can't you be more explicit?" "i have already regretted my inability to go further into the matter with you," dick replied, pleasantly though firmly. "and you can give us no explanation whatever of how you came to report jordan for being beyond the camp limits?" "all i am able to tell you is that my reporting of mr. jordan was a regrettable but military necessity." "is that all we wish to ask, gentlemen?" inquired durville, turning to his six companions. "it ought to be," retorted brown dryly. the seven nodded very coldly. durville turned on his heel, leading the others away. "unless i'm a poor kitchen judge, old ramrod, your goose is cooked," muttered greg holmes mournfully. "then it will have to be," spoke dick resolutely. "but you haven't told even me how you came to be, last night, just where you could fall afoul of jordan so nicely." "old chum," cried dick, turning and resting a hand on greg's right arm, "i can discuss that matter no further with you than i did with the class committee." "you're a queer old extremist, anyway, with all your notions of duty and other bugaboos. this affair has given me the shivers." "then cheer up, holmesy!" laughed cadet captain prescott. "oh, it's you i'm shivering for," muttered greg. chapter v the cadet "silence" falls six companies of sun-browned, muscular young men marched away to cadet mess hall that evening. if any of these cadets were more than properly fatigued, none of them betrayed the fact. their carriage was erect, their step springy and martial. in ranks their faces were impassive, but when they filed into the mess hall, seated themselves at table and glanced about, an orderly babel broke loose. at all, that is to say, save one table. that was the table at which cadet captain richard prescott sat. greg was the first to make the discovery. he turned to brown with a remark. brown glanced at holmes, nodding slightly. all the other cadets at that board were eating, their eyes on their plates. "what's the matter?" quizzed holmes. "you're ideas moving slowly?" again brown glanced up at his questioner, but that was all. "how's the cold lamb, durville?" questioned dick. durville passed the meat without speaking, nor did he look directly at prescott. dick and greg exchanged swift glances. they understood. the blow had fallen. _the silence had been given_! dick felt a hot flush mounting to his temples. the blood there seemed to sting him. then, as suddenly, he went white, clammy perspiration beading his forehead and temples. this was the verdict of the class---of the corps? he had offended the strict traditions and inner regulations of the cadet corps, and was pronounced unfit for association! that explained the constrained atmosphere at this one table, the one spot in all the big room where silence replaced the merry chatter of mealtime. "the fellows are mighty unjust!" thought dick bitterly, as he went on eating mechanically. he no longer knew, really, whether he were eating meat, bread or potato. that was the first thought of prescott. but swiftly his view changed. he realized about him, were hundreds of the flower of the young manhood of the united states. these young men were being trained in the ways of justice and honor, and were trying to live up to their ideals. if such an exceptional, picked body of young men had condemned him---had sentenced him to bitter retribution---was it not wholly likely that there was much justice on their side? "the verdict of so many good and true men must contain much justice," prescott thought, as he munched mechanically, trying proudly to bide his dismay from watchful eyes. "then i have offended against manhood, in some way. yet how? i have obeyed orders and have performed my duties like a soldier. how, then, have i done wrong?" once more it seemed indisputable to prescott that his comrades had wronged him. but once more his own sense of justice triumphed. "i am not really at fault," he told himself, "nor is the class. the class has acted on the best view of appearances that it could obtain. i was wholly right in obeying the orders that i received from lieutenant denton, and equally right in not communicating those orders to a class committee. nor could i refrain from reporting mr. jordan for breach of con. that was my plain duty, more especially as mr. jordan is a member of the company that i command. but the appearances have been all against me, and i have refused to explain. the class is hardly to be blamed for condemning me, and i imagine that mr. jordan, in accusing me, has not been at all reticent. probably, too, he has taken no extreme pains to adhere to the exact truth. i do not see how i can get out of the scrape in which i find myself. i wonder if the silence is to be continued until i am forced to resign and give up a career in the army?" with such thoughts as these it was hard, indeed, to look and act as though nothing had happened. but cadet jordan, taking eager, covert looks at his enemy from another table, got little satisfaction from anything that he detected in prescott's face. "why, that b.j.(fresh) puppy is quite equal to cheeking his way on through the last year and into the army!" thought jordan maliciously. "however, he's done for! no matter if he sticks, he'll never get any joy out of his shoulder straps." little could jordan imagine that prescott's proud nature would long resist the silence. if this rebuke were to become permanent, then prescott was not in the least likely to attempt to enter upon his studies at the beginning of they academic year in september. and greg! he didn't waste any time in trying to be just to any one. all his hot blood rose and fomented within him at the bare thought of this terrible indignity put upon that prince of good fellows, dick prescott. holmes felt, in truth, as though he would be glad to fight, in turn, every member of the first class who had voted for the silence. that practically all the fellows of the first class had voted for the silence, greg did not for an instant believe. he was well aware that dick had many staunch friends in the class who would stand out for him in the face of any appearances. but a vote of the majority in favor of the silence would be enough; the rest of the class would be bound by the action of the majority. and all the lower classes would observe and respect any decision of the first class concerning one of its own members. not a word did greg say to dick. yet, under the table, holmes employed one of his knees to give dick's knee a long, firm pressure that conveyed the hidden message of unfaltering friendship and loyalty. for the other cadets at the table the silence imposed more or less hardship, since they could utter only the most necessary words. they however, were not objects against whom the silence was directed, and they could endure the absence of conversation with far more indifference than was possible for prescott. it was a relief to all at the table, none the less, when the rising order was given. when the corps had marched back to camp, and had been dismissed, dick prescott, head erect, and betraying no sign of annoyance, walked naturally into a company's street, drew out his camp chair and seated himself on it in the open. barely had he done so, when greg arrived. cadet holmes, however, did not stop or speak, but hurried on. "greg has his hands full," thought dick. "he's going to investigate. and i'm afraid his hot head will get him into some sort of trouble, too." the imposition of the silence did not affect greg in his relations with his tentmate. when a cadet is sent to coventry, or has the silence "put" on him, his tentmate or roommate may still talk unreservedly with him without fear of incurring class disfavor. to impose the rule of silence on the tentmate or roommate of the rebuked one would be to punish an innocent man along with the guilty one. rarely, after all, does the corps err in its judgment when coventry or the silence is meted out. none the less, in dick's case a grave mistake had been made. time slipped by, and darkness came on, but greg had not returned. there was band concert in camp that night. many cadets of the first and third classes had already gone to meet girls whom they would escort in strolling near the bandstand. plebes are not expected to escort young ladies to these concerts. the members of the second class were away on the summer furlough, as dick and greg had been the summer before. as the musicians began to tune up at the bandstand, most of the remaining cadets sauntered through the company streets on their way to get close to the music. all cadets who passed through a company's street became suddenly silent when within ten paces of dick's tent, and remained silent until ten paces beyond. dick's tent being at the head of the street, he was quite near enough to the music. but he was not long in noting that both cadet escorts and cadets without young ladies took pains not to approach too close to where he sat. it was enough to fill him with savage bitterness, though he still strove to be just to his classmates who had been blinded by cadet jordan's villainous scheme. of a sudden the band struck up its lively opening march. just at that moment prescott became aware of the fact that greg holmes was lifting out a campstool and was placing it beside him. "well," announced greg, "i've found out all there is behind the silence." "i took it for granted that was your purpose," dick responded. "aren't you anxious to hear the news, old ramrod?" "yes; very." "i'm hanged if you look anxious!" muttered greg, studying his chum's face keenly. "i fancy i've got to display a good deal of skill in masking my feelings," smiled dick wearily. "oh, i don't know," returned cadet holmes hopefully. "it may not turn out to be so bad." "then a permanent silence hasn't been imposed?" "not yet," replied greg. "by which, i suppose, you mean that the length of the silence has not yet been decided upon." "it hasn't," greg declared. "it was only after the biggest, swiftest and hardest kind of campaign, in fact, that the class was swung around to the silence. only a bare majority were wheedled into voting for it. nearly half of the class stood out for you stubbornly, pointing to your record here as a sufficient answer. and that nearly half are still your warm adherents." "yet, of course, they are bound by the majority action?" "of course," sighed greg. "that's the old rule here, isn't it? well, to sum it up quickly, old ramrod, the silence has been put on you, and that's as far as the decision runs up to date. the class is yet to decide on whether the silence is to be for a week or a month. of course, a certain element will do all in its power to make the silence a permanent thing. even if it is made permanent, dick, you'll stick, won't you?" "no." "what?" "i shall not even try to stick against any permanent silence," replied prescott slowly. "i thought you had more fight in you than that," muttered greg in a tone of astonishment. "i think i have enough fight," dick replied with some warmth. "and i honestly believe i have enough in me to make at least a moderately capable officer of the army. but, greg, i'm not going to make a stubborn, senseless effort, all through life, to stay among comrades who don't want me, and who will make it plain enough that they do not consider me fit to be of their number. greg, in such an atmosphere i couldn't bring out the best that is in me. i couldn't make the most of my own life, or do the best by those who are dear to me." there was an almost imperceptible catch in dick prescott's voice. he was thinking of laura bentley as the one for whom he had hoped to do all his best things in life. "i don't know but you're right, old fellow. but it's fearfully hard to decide such a matter off-hand," returned greg. his own voice broke. for some moments holmes sat in moody silence. at last he reached out a hand, resting it on dick's arm. "if you get out, old ramrod, it's the outs for me on the same day." "greg!" "oh, that's all right," retorted cadet holmes, trying to force a cheery ring into his voice. "if you can't get through and live under the colors, dick, i don't want to!" "but greg, old fellow, you mustn't look at it that way. you have had three years of training here at the nation's expense. it will soon be four. you owe your country some return for this magnificent training." "how about you, then?" asked holmes, regarding his friend quizzically. "me? i'd stay under the colors, and give up my life for the country and the army, if my comrades would have it. but if they won't, then it's for the best interests of the service that i get out, greg." "well, talk yourself blind, if it will give you any relief. but post this information up on your inside bulletin board: when you quit the service, old ramrod, it will be 'good-bye' for little holmesy!" chapter vi trying to explain to the girls breakfast, the next morning, was a repetition of what had happened the night before. at dick's table the silence was absolute. even captain reid, cadet commissary, noticed it and understood, in his trip of inspection through mess hall. the thing that reid, who was an army officer, did not know was---who was the victim? he never guessed prescott, who was class president, and believed to be one of the tallest of the class idols. it speaks volumes for the intended justice of the cadets when they will, in time of fancied need, destroy even their idols. thus it went on for some days. dick performed all of his duties as usual, and as well as usual. nothing in his demeanor showed how keenly he felt the humiliation that had been put upon him. only in his failure to attempt any social address of a classmate did he betray his recognition of the silence. greg did his best to cheer up his chum. anstey expressed greatest sorrow and sympathy for his friend prescott. holmes promptly reported this conversation to dick. other good friends expressed their sorrow to holmes. in every case he bore the name and the implied message hastily to the young cadet captain. a few whom dick had considered his good friends did not thus put themselves on record. dick thereupon understood that they had acted upon their best information and convictions, and he honored them for being able to put friendship aside in the interests of tradition and corps honor. the silence had lasted five days when, one evening, a class meeting was called. though cadet prescott was class president, he did not attend, for he knew very well that he was not wanted. greg's sense of delicacy told the latter that it was not for him to attend the meeting, either. the vice president of the class was called to the chair. then durville and others made heated addresses in which they declared that prescott could no longer consistently retain the class presidency. a motion was made that prescott be called upon to resign. it was seconded by several first classmen. then anstey, the virginian, claimed the floor in behalf of the humiliated class president. the blood of virginian orators flowed in anstey's veins, nor did he discredit his ancestry. in an impassioned yet deliberate and logical speech anstey declared that great injustice had been done cadet richard prescott, and by the members of his own class. "every man within reach of my voice knows mr. prescott's record," declared the virginian warmly. "when we were plebes, who stood up most staunchly as our class champion? why, suh, why did we choose mr. prescott as our class president? was it not because we believed, with all our hearts, that in richard prescott lay all the best elements of noble, upright and manly cadethood? do you remember, suh, and fellow classmen, the wild enthusiasm that prevailed when we, by our suffrages, had declared mr. prescott to be our ideal of the man to lead the class in all the paths of honor?" anstey paused for an instant. then, lowering his voice somewhat, he continued, with scathing irony: "_and now you give this best man of our class the silence, and seek to remove him from the presidency of the class_!" "it's a shame!" roared another cadet. there were cheers. "it is a shame," cried anstey in a ringing voice. "and now you seek to deepen the shame by further degrading prescott, who has always been the champion of our class. mr. president, i move that we lay the motion on the table indefinitely. as soon as that has been done i shall make another motion, that we remove the silence from the grand, good fellow who has had it put upon him." there were others, however, with nearly anstey's gift for oratory. one of them now took the floor, pointing out that the class would not have rebuked prescott for having reported jordan in the tour of pontoon bridge construction. "that may have been justified," continued the speaker. "but, afterwards, mr. jordan and mr. prescott had words. there must have been some bitterness in that. that same night mr. jordan was caught and reported by mr. prescott, who was not cadet officer of the day, and who therefore must have deliberately shadowed mr. jordan in order to catch him." "prescott did not shadow mr. jordan, or do anything of a sneaky nature," shouted anstey. "he refused to explain to our class committee how he happened to be on band at just the time to catch jordan," shouted durville. "then be assured he had a good military, a good soldierly, a good manly reason for his silence," clamored anstey. the meeting was an excited one from all points of view. in the end the best that the staunch friends of dick could secure was that action on the resignation of the class presidency be deferred until a cooler hour, but that the silence be continued for the present. and so the meeting broke up. jordan had been dismayed, fearing that anstey's impassioned speech might result in putting his enemy back into greater popularity than ever. but now jordan was reassured. he was satisfied that things were still moving in his direction, and that prescott's proud spirit would soon lead him into some action that must make the breach with the class wider than ever. at noon the next day prescott returned from the second drill of the forenoon. in his absence a mail orderly had been around. an envelope lay on the table addressed to dick. "from laura," he exclaimed in delight. "that'll cheer you some," smiled greg. "why it's postmarked from new york," continued dick swiftly. "whew! she must be headed this way!" hurriedly prescott tore the envelope open. "it couldn't have happened at a worse time," he muttered, turning white. "what?" "laura, mrs. bentley and belle meade are in new york, and will reach here this afternoon. laura says they have learned that there is a hop on to-night, and they are bringing their prettiest frocks." "whew! that is a facer!" breathed greg in perplexity. "of course i can't take laura to the hop." "you can, if you have the nerve," insisted greg. "and i have the nerve!" retorted dick defiantly. "but how about laura? she would discover, within a few minutes, that i am on strained terms with the other fellows. that would do worse than spoil her evening." "well," demanded greg thoughtfully, "why do you need to take her to the hop?" "because she says that's what the girls have come for." "bother! do you suppose it's you, or the hop, that laura comes for?" but dick, instead of being cheered by this view, turned very white. "i've got to tell her," he muttered hoarsely, "that i'm in eclipse. that the fellows have voted that i am not a fit associate for gentlemen." "and i'll tell her a heap more," retorted cadet holmes. "dick, do you think either of the girls would go back on you, just because a lot of raw, half-baked cadets have got you sized up wrong? is that all the faith you have in your friends? and, especially, such a friend as laura bentley? was that the way she acted when you were under charges of cribbing? you were in disgrace, then, weren't you? did laura look at you with anything but sympathy in her eyes?" "no; heaven bless her!" "now, see here, dick. if the girls are up here this evening, we won't take 'em to the hop. instead, we'll sit out on the north porch at the hotel, with mrs. bentley near by. we'll have such a good old talk with the girls as we never could have at a hop." "everything in life would be easy, greg, if you could explain it away," laughed dick prescott, but his tone was bitter. "well, as you can't take the girls to the hop, with any regard for their comfort, my plan is best of all, isn't it?" "i---i suppose so." "so make the best of it, old ramrod. there's nothing so bad that it couldn't be a lot worse." there was a long tour of work with the field battery guns that afternoon. for once prescott found his mind entirely off his work. nor could he rally his senses to his work. he got a low marking, indeed, in the instructor's record for that afternoon's work. then, hot, dusty and tired, this detachment of cadets came in from work. in the visitors' seats, near headquarters, dick and greg espied mrs. bentley and the girls. how lovely the two latter looked! the instant that ranks were broken laura. and belle were on their feet, glancing eagerly in the direction of their cadets. dick and greg had to go over, doff their campaign hats and shake hands with mrs. bentley and the girls. "we've given you a surprise, this time," laughed laura. "i hope you're pleased." "can you doubt it?" asked dick so absently, so reluctantly, that laura bentley shot a swift, uneasy look at the handsome young cadet captain. "you don't seem over delighted," broke in belle meade. "gracious! i hope we haven't been indiscreet in coming almost unannounced? see here, you haven't invited any other girls to to-night's hop, have you?" both girls, flushed and rather uneasy looking, were now eyeing the two ill-at-ease young first classmen. "no; we haven't invited anyone else. but there's something to be explained," replied dick lamely. "greg, you explain, won't you? and you'll all excuse me, won't you, while i hurry away to tog for dress parade?" laura's face was almost as white as dick's had been at noon, as she gazed after the receding prescott. then greg, in his bluntest way, tried to put it all straight, and quickly, at that. "oh, is that all?" asked belle with a sniff of contempt. "why couldn't dick remain and tell us himself? you cadets are certainly cowards in some things---sometimes!" but the tears were struggling for a front place in laura's fine eyes. "is this 'silence' going to affect dick very much in his career in the army?" she asked with emotion. "not if his staunchest friends can prevent it," replied greg almost fiercely. "and old ramrod has a host of friends in his class, at that." "it's too bad they're not in the majority, then," murmured miss meade. "they will be, in the end," asserted greg. "we're working things around to that point. you should have heard the fierce row we put up at the class meeting last night." when it was too late greg could have bitten his tongue. "class meeting?" asked laura. "then has there been further action taken?" greg nodded, biting his lips. "what was last night's meeting held for?" persisted laura. "to try to oust dick from the class presidency," confessed cadet holmes. "did they do it?" quivered laura bentley. "no!" "ah! then the attempt was defeated. dick is to retain the presidency of his class?" "action was deferred," replied greg in a low voice. he wished with all his heart he could get away, for he saw that, no matter how he tried to hedge the facts about, these keen-witted girls realized that dick prescott's plight was about as black as it could be for a young man who wanted, with all his soul, to remain in the military service of his country. chapter vii jordan meets disaster belle, with her combination of impulsive temperament, good judgment and bluntness, came to the temporary rescue. "greg is trying to conceal the fact that he'll have a desperate rush to get into his dress uniform in time for parade," miss meade interposed. "anyway, there's far more about this matter than we can understand in a moment. greg, you and dick can call on us at the hotel this evening, can't you?" "we most surely can." "then come, as early as you can. we'll eat the earliest dinner we can get there, and be prepared for a long evening. now, hurry to your tent, for i don't want to see you reported for being late at formation." between her visits to west point, and her trips to annapolis to see dave darrin, as related in the annapolis series, belle had by this time a very considerable knowledge of formations, and of other incidents in the lives of army and navy cadets. "this evening, then," replied greg, shifting his campaign hat to the other hand and feeling like a man who has secured a reprieve. "and give my love to dick," belle went on hastily, "and tell him that the president of the united states couldn't, if he wanted to, change our opinion of dear old dick in the least." "thank you," bowed greg, gratitude welling up in his heart. "and you send him your love, don't you, laura?" insisted belle swiftly. laura recoiled quickly, flushing violently. it was all right for belle meade to send her "love" to prescott, for they were old friends, and belle was known to be dave darrin's loyal sweetheart. with laura the situation was painfully different. she and dick had been schoolboy and schoolgirl sweethearts, after a fashion, but dick had never openly declared his love for her. would he misunderstand, and think her unwomanly? she trembled with the sudden doubt at the thought. besides, another, a prosperous young merchant back in gridley, had been ardent in his attentions to miss bentley. "of course laura sends her love," broke in greg promptly. "who wouldn't, when the dear old fellow is in such a scrape? and i'll deliver the message of love from you both---and from mrs. bentley, too?" greg looked inquiringly, but expectantly at laura's mother, who nodded and smiled in ready sympathy. then greg made his best soldier's bow and hastened off to his chum, whose heart he succeeded in gladdening somewhat while the two made all haste to get ready for parade call. when the corps marched on to the field that afternoon, mrs. bentley and the girls were there among the eager spectators. dick saw them almost instantly, and his heart bounded within him. it was laura's mute message of sympathy and hope to him! he held up his head higher, if that were possible, and went through every movement with even more than his usual precision. as the corps was marching off the field again, however, dick's heart sank rapidly within him. "if i have to leave the army, i can never ask laura for her love," he groaned wretchedly. "if i go from west point as anything but a graduate and an officer, i shall have to start life all over again. it will take me years to find my place and get solidly on my feet i could never ask a girl to wait as long as that!" in the early evening laura, belle and mrs. bentley were on the veranda near the hotel entrance. cadets jordan and douglass made their appearance. jordan had obtained official permission to present douglass to his sister, who was to go to the hop that evening. "by jove, there's a spoony femme (pretty girl) over there," breathed jordan in douglass' ear. "you don't happen to know her, do you?" "why, yes, that's miss bentley, and the other is miss meade. the chaperon is miss bentley's mother," replied cadet douglass. "you know them?" throbbed jordan, his eyes resting eagerly on laura's face. "what luck! present me, old chap!" so douglass, who, in some respects, had a bad memory, piloted his classmate over to the ladies and halted. "good evening, ladies," greeted douglass, raising his uniform cap in his most polished manner. "mrs. bentley, miss bentley, miss meade, will you permit me to present my friend and classmate mr. jordan?" belle, who was nearest, bowed and held out her hand. but laura drew herself up haughtily. "mr. douglass," she answered coldly, "my apologies to you, but i don't wish to know---mr. jordan!" belle caught the name again, and remembered. "oh!" she cried, snatching her hand away ere jordan could touch it. "i'm sorry, ladies," stammered douglass. but they found themselves confronted by rear views of two shapely pairs of young shoulders, while mrs. bentley had the air of looking through the young men without being able to see either. two very much disconcerted cadets, and very red in the face, stiffly resumed their caps and marched away. "great scott, what did that mean?" gasped jordan, struck all in a heap by his strange reception. cadet douglass gasped. "jordan," he exclaimed contritely, "i'm the greatest ass in the corps!" "you must be!" exploded dick's enemy. "but what was the cause of it all?" "why, jordan, you---you see-----" "who is miss bentley?" "jordan, she's prescott's girl!" "what?" gasped the other cadet, staring at his classmate. "fact!" "prescott's---girl?" "yes." "jove, a puppy like prescott has no business with a superb girl like that." "all the same, jordan, the fact will prevent you from knowing her." "now, i'm not so sure of that!" cried jordan suddenly, with strange fire in his eyes. "what do you mean?" "oh, nothing," mumbled jordan, suddenly recovering himself. then, under his breath, he chuckled gleefully: "miss bentley is just struck on the uniform, of course. a girl like that couldn't care for a misfit like prescott. well, he won't be in the uniform much longer. i won't lose sight of miss bentley. i'll find her again when prescott is out of the uniform for good!" now, aloud, he asked: "doug, do you happen to remember miss bentley's first name?" "larry," answered cadet douglass absently. "stop that!" cried jordan almost fiercely. "oh, a thousand pardons, jordan. i'm so rattled i don't know what i'm doing or saying. the girl's first name is laura. peach, isn't she?" "laura! that's a sweet name," murmured jordan to himself. his mind was now running riot, not only with plans to drive dick prescott out of the army, but also to win the heart of laura bentley. "hold on, jord," begged douglass, halting and leaning against a post in the veranda structure. "don't take me to your sister just yet. let me get my breath, my nerves, my wits back again." "take an hour," advised jordan laconically. "you need it. didn't you know miss bentley was prescott's girl?" "yes; but it had slipped my memory. it's mighty hard, when you come to think of it, to remember the girls of so many hundreds of fellows," explained cadet douglass plaintively. ten minutes later dick and greg appeared, greeting the ladies. mrs. bentley assented to their going around to the north side of the porch, whence they could look up the river to the lights of newburgh. "we very nearly had an adventure, dick," laughed belle. "yes?" "we very nearly shook hands with mr. jordan. it was laura's quick cry that saved me, just in the nick of time, from touching hands with the fellow." miss meade then related their experience, and the discomfiture of cadets douglass and jordan. "that's just about like doug," observed greg holmes. "i'll bet he never thought until laura called off the signal for the kick." "what's that?" demanded miss bentley. "pardon me," apologized greg. "i think in football terms altogether too often. but i'm glad jordan saw the goal and then lost it." "i think dick wants to tell us something about the fellow jordan, and some of the other cadets," belle hinted. between them the chums told the story of how the "silence" had come to be imposed. prescott did not, however, tell his feminine visitors how he had happened to catch jordan outside the guard line. "how did that happen?" asked laura innocently. "now, i'd tell you before i would any one else on earth," protested dick with warmth, "but i haven't told greg or anyone else. i had good military reasons, not personal ones." "oh!" replied laura. and, not understanding, she felt more than a little hurt by dick's failure to answer frankly. both girls, however, talked very comfortingly, and mrs. bentley very sensibly aided their efforts. all three tried to make it quite plain to dick prescott that no amount, or consequence, of lack of understanding by his classmates could make any difference with his standing in their eyes. presently mrs. bentley consented to the girls strolling down the road between the hotel and cadet barracks. dick, of course, walked with laura, while greg and belle remained at a discreet, out-of-earshot distance. at last they stood again by the gateway through the shrubbery at the edge of the hotel grounds. "dick-----" began laura hesitatingly. "yes?" asked the young cadet captain. "dick, no matter how far your classmates push this matter," begged laura, her eyes big and earnest, "don't let their acts force you out of the army. no matter what happens---stick!" cadet prescott shook his head wearily. "i can't stick," he replied firmly, "if i am shown that my presence in the army is not going to be for the good and the harmony of the service!" laura sighed. another keen pang of disappointment, was hers. she now believed that her influence over dick prescott was not anywhere near as strong as she had hoped it would be. a very wretched girl rested her head on a pillow that night, and slept but poorly. in the forenoon, while the corps was absent on an infantry practice march, laura, her mother and her friend went dejectedly away from west point. chapter viii fate serves dick her meanest trick the furloughed second class returned, the encampment ended and the corps marched back into cadet barracks. the new academic year had begun, with new text-books, new studies, new intellectual torments for the hundreds of ambitious young soldiers at the united states military academy. by this time both dick and greg had acquired the habits of study so thoroughly that neither any longer feared for his standing or markings. to prescott there was one big comfort about being back in the old, gray cadet barracks. the silence put upon dick was not now quite as much in evidence. with long study hours, prescott had not so much need to meet his classmates. in the section rooms nothing in the deportment of the other cadets could emphasize the silence. it was only in the authorized visiting hours that prescott noted the change keenly. of course, according to the traditions of the military academy, anstey and all the other loyal friends who ached to call were barred from so doing. while taps sounds at ten o'clock, and members of the three lower classes must be in bed, with lights out, at the first sound of taps, first classmen are privileged, whenever they wish, to run a light until eleven at night, provided the extra time be spent in study. one evening in early september, dick and greg were both busy at study table, when dick chanced to look over some papers connected with his studies. as he did so, he drew out an officially backed sheet, and started. "jupiter!" he muttered. "i should have turned this in before supper formation." "who gets the report?" asked greg, looking up. "it goes to the officer in charge," dick answered. "oh, well, he's up yet. you can slip over to his office with it," replied greg easily. "and i'll do it at once. it may mean a demerit or two, for lack of punctuality, but i'm glad it's no worse." jumping up and donning his fatigue cap, prescott thrust the neglected official report into the breast of his uniform blouse, soldier fashion. then he walked slowly out, halting just inside the subdivision door. "i don't mind a few demerits, but i don't like to be accused of unsoldierly neglect," mused the young cadet captain. "let me see if i can think up a way of presenting my statement so that the o.c. won't scorch me." as dick stood there in the gloom, a quick, soft step sounded outside. then the door was carefully opened, and a young man in citizen's dress entered. civilians rarely have a right, to be in cadet barracks at any time of the day. it is wholly out of the question for one to enter barracks after taps. "what are you doing in here, sir?" dick questioned sternly, putting out his hand to take the other's arm. then the young cadet captain drew back in near-horror. "good heavens! durville?" he gasped. "yes. sh!" whispered the other cadet, slinking back, a frightened look in his eyes. no cadet, while at west point, may, without proper permission, appear in any clothing save the uniform of the day or of the tour. no cadet ever attempts to don "cits." unless he is up to some grave mischief, such as leaving the post. "don't say a word! let me reach my room!" whispered durville hoarsely. dick prescott wished, with all his heart, to be able to comply with the other cadet's frenzied request. but duty stepped in with loud voice. as a cadet officer, as captain of durville's company, prescott had no alternative within the lines of that duty. he must report cadet durville. "now, don't look at me so strangely," begged durville. "let me go by, and tell me you'll keep this quiet. by jove, prescott, you know what it means to me if i'm placed on report for---this!" "yes, i know," nodded dick, dejectedly, and speaking as hoarsely as did the other man. "oh, durville, i wish i could do it, but-----" dick had to clench his fists and gulp hard. then the soldier in him triumphed. "mr. durville"---he spoke in an impassive official tone, now---"you will accompany me to the office of the officer in charge, and will there make such official explanation as you may choose." "prescott, for the love of-----" began the other over again, in trembling desperation. "about face, mr. durville. forward!" now, all the gameness in the other cadet came to the surface. he wheeled about, head up, his clenched fists seeking the seams of his condemning "cit." trousers. durville marched defiantly out into the quadrangle, across and into the cadet guard house, up the flight of stairs and into the office of the officer in charge. lieutenant denton was again o.c. that night. both cadets saluted when they entered after knocking. lieutenant denton glanced in sheer dismay at the "cit." clothes worn by durville. "sir," began dick huskily, "i regret being obliged to report that i just discovered mr. durville entering the sub-division in citizen's dress." "have you any explanation to offer, mr. durville?" asked lieutenant denton in his official tone. "none, sir." "very good, mr. durville. you will go to your room and remain in close arrest until you receive further official communication in this matter." "very good, sir." durville spoke in steady, if icy tones, as he saluted and made this response. "that is all, mr. durville." "very good, sir." like one frozen, the cadet in unfamiliar attire turned and left the office. "how did you happen to make the discovery, mr. prescott?" gasped the o.c. "i discovered, sir, that i had overlooked this report, which i now turn in, sir," dick replied rather hoarsely. "it was just as i was about to leave the sub-division that mr. durville came in. i had no alternative but to report him, sir." "you are right, mr. prescott. as a cadet officer you had no alternative." then, with a memory of his own west point days, lieutenant denton unbent enough to remark feelingly: "you have unassailable courage, too, mr. prescott." "thank you, sir." "is that all?" "you have finished your official business?" "yes, sir." "good night," mr. prescott. "good night, sir." saluting, dick turned from the office. as he pushed open the door and reentered the subdivision, he beheld durville, standing there with arms folded. "possibly at the risk of being reported for breaking my arrest, mr. prescott," began durville, "i have lingered here to say to you that you have succeeded in wreaking a most complete revenge upon one who led a bit in having the silence conferred upon you." all dick's reserve melted for an instant. "durville, man---you---don't believe i did this for---for revenge?" prescott demanded. cadet durville smiled sarcastically. "i shall undoubtedly be broken for this night's affair, mr. prescott, and you and the rest will continue to believe that i was absent merely on some vulgar escapade! i go, now, to my arrest, which is doubtless the last military service i shall be called upon to render. mr. prescott, i congratulate you, sir, upon your ability to spy upon other men and to serve your highest ideas of suitable vengeance." gloomily durville turned to his room. dick almost stumbled to his own quarters. greg holmes's face blanched when he heard the news. "there'll be fine class ructions by to-morrow!" he told himself with unwonted grimness. chapter ix the class takes final action by the time the corps of cadets was seated at breakfast, in the great mess hall, the following morning, the news began to circulate rapidly. it was discussed in low tones at every table save that at which the silence against prescott prevailed. the silence by this time had ceased to be literal, except so far as it applied to dick. other cadets at his table talked among themselves, though never to prescott. greg, being dick's roommate, was the sole cadet exempted from this rule. but the men at prescott's table restrained their curiosity until the two battalions had marched back to barracks and had been dismissed. after the dismissal of the companies dick and greg strolled along slowly. wherever they passed backs were turned to them, though this would not have happened to holmes had he been alone. though the news was discussed, no class action was taken. this must not be done until durville's fate had overtaken him. otherwise, the military academy authorities might take such action as defiant and visit a more severe penalty upon cadet durville. for five days durville remained in close arrest. this meant, to the initiated, that the superintendent had taken up the matter with the war department at washington. on the sixth day durville was once more sent for by the commandant of cadets. his sentence was handed out to him. on account of an academic reputation of high grade, and a hitherto good-conduct report, mr. durville was not dropped from the corps. had the offender, before leaving west point in "cits.," gone to the cadet guard house and made any false report concerning his absence, nothing could have saved him from dismissal for making a false official report. all things being taken into consideration, cadet durville was "let off" with loss of privileges up to the time of semi-annual examinations, with, in addition, the walking of punishment tours every saturday afternoon during the same period. now the gathering wrath broke loose upon dick. a class meeting was called, that neither prescott nor holmes could attend with propriety. durville, as a matter of policy, did not attend, but there were not wanting first classmen who looked upon durville as a sacrifice, and who were fully capable of presenting his side of the case at the meeting. upon anstey, as on a former occasion, fell the task of making prescott's side clear. the class meeting had not been in session many minutes when dick's accusers had made it rather plain that mr. prescott, following his previous course with jordan, had revenged himself also on durville, who had taken an active part in securing the imposition of the silence. anstey took the floor in a fiery defence. he brought forth the statement that prescott had not made any attempt to pry into the goings or comings of the unlucky durville. the virginian declared that prescott had happened to be abroad in time to "catch" mr. durville, simply because prescott had started for the office of the officer in charge with an official paper that he had been tardy about turning in. though anstey dwelt upon this side of the case with consummate oratory, the defence was regarded as "too transparent." anstey's good faith was not questioned, but prescott's was. in the turmoil the office of class president was declared vacant. anstey was nominated for the office just made vacant, but, with cold politeness, he refused what, at any other time, would have been a high honor. cadet douglass was presently elected class president. then further action was taken with regard to cadet richard prescott. without further debate a motion was carried that prescott be sent to coventry for good and all. the class meeting adjourned, and upon greg holmes, who was informed by anstey, fell the task of carrying the decision to dick. "i expected it, holmesy," was dick's quiet reply. "buck up, anyway, old ramrod," begged greg. "this terrible mess will all be straightened out before graduation." "not in time to do me any good," replied dick gloomily. "now what do you mean?" but dick closed his jaws firmly. greg knew better than to press his questioning further, just then. he contented himself with crossing the room, resting both hands on dick's shoulders. "now, old ramrod, just remember this: into every life a good deal of trouble comes. it is up to each fellow, in his own case, to show how much of a man he is. the fellow who lies down, or runs away, isn't a man. the fellow who fights his trouble out to a grim finish, is a man every inch of his five or six feet! the class is wild, just now, but on misinformation. fight it out! enemies of yours have brought you to this pass. don't run away! all your friends are with you as much as ever they were." dick was a good deal affected. "believe me, greg, whatever i decide on doing won't be in the line of running away. whatever i decide upon will be what i finally believe to be for the best good of the service." "humph!" muttered greg, looking wonderingly at his chum. in the closing period of the next forenoon dick's section did not recite. greg's did. so prescott was left alone in the room with his books. despite himself, greg was so worried, during that recitation, that he "fessed cold"---that is, he secured a mark but a very little above zero. as soon as the returning section was dismissed cadet holmes, his heart beating fast, hurried to his room. there sat dick, at the study table, as greg had left him. but prescott had pushed his textbooks aside. before him rested only a sheet of paper. with pen in hand prescott wrote something at the bottom just as holmes entered the room. then dick looked up with a half cheery face. "i've done it, greg," he announced simply, in a hard, dry voice. "done it?" echoed cadet holmes. "what?" "i have written my resignation as a member of the corps of cadets, united states military academy." "bosh!" roared cadet holmes in a great rage. "the resignation is written, signed, and---it sticks!" returned dick prescott with quiet emphasis. chapter x lieutenant denton's straight talk "let me have that paper!" demanded greg, darting forward. there was fire in cadet holmes's eyes and purpose in his heart as he reached forward to snatch the sheet from the desk. yet dick prescott stepped before him, thrusting him quietly aside with a manner that was not to be overridden. "don't touch it, greg!" he ordered in a low voice that was none the less compelling. "but you shan't send that resignation in!" quivered greg. "my dear boy, you know very well that i shall!" "have you no thought for me?" cadet holmes demanded. "my going may put you in a blue streak for a week, old fellow, but it will put me in a blue streak for a lifetime. yet there's no other way for me. what's the use of being an ostracized officer in the service? with you, greg, old chum, it is different. you will, after a little, be very happy in the army." "happy in the---nothing!" exploded greg. "i told you, weeks ago, that if you quit the service, i would do the same thing." "but you won't," urged dick. "in these weeks you have had time to reflect and turn sensible." "do you suppose i care to go on, old chum, if you don't?" "yes," answered dick quietly. "and if the case were reversed, and you were resigning, i should go on just the same and stick in the service. why, greg, if we both went on into the army, and under the happiest conditions, we wouldn't be together, anyway. you might be in one regiment, down in florida, and i in another out in the philippines. when i was serving in cuba, you'd be in alaska. don't be foolish, greg. i've got to leave, but there's no earthly reason why you should. your resigning would be mistaken loyalty to me, and would cast no rebuke or regret over the cadet corps or the army. the fellows who are going to stick would simply feel that one weak-kneed chap had dropped by the wayside. they'd merely march on and forget you." "there goes the first call for dinner formation," cried holmes, wheeling and beginning his hasty preparations. "that's better," laughed dick, as he shoved his resignation into the drawer of the table. then dick, too, made his hurried preparations. second call found them ready to watch the forming of a company. at the command dick gave his own company order: "fours right! forward---march!" away went a company, at the head of the corps, the whole long line giving forth the rhythmic sound of marching feet. no outsider could have guessed that the young senior cadet captain was utterly discredited by the majority of his class, and that he was about to drop hopelessly out of this stirring life. on the return from dinner dick went at once to his room. "what are you going to do?" demanded greg impatiently, as prescott seated himself at the study table. "i am going to address an envelope to hold the sheet of paper of which you so much disapprove." greg knew it was useless to expostulate. instead, he hurried out, found anstey, and called the virginian so that both could stand in the place where they would be sure to see prescott if he attempted to come out. feverishly, in undertones, greg confided the news to anstey. "i don't just see what we can do, suh," answered the southerner with a puzzled look. "prescott is doing, suh, just what i reckon i'd do myself, suh, if i were in his place." "but we can't lose him," urged greg. "i know we'll hate like thunder to, suh. but what can we do? can we beg prescott to stay, and face the cold shoulder, suh, all the time he is here, and in the army afterwards?" "i'm not getting much comfort out of you, anstey," muttered greg grimly. "and that, suh, is because i don't see where the comfort comes in. holmesy, don't think i'm not suffering, suh. it'll break my heart to see old ramrod drop out of the corps." "then you don't think we can stop prescott?" "i reckon i don't holmesy. this is the kind of matter, suh, that every man must settle for himself. if i were a much older man, holmesy, with much more experience in the army, i reckon i might be able to give him some very sound advice. but as it is, suh, i know i can't." when greg returned to the room he found dick preparing books and papers to march to the next section recitation. "what have you done with that resignation of yours?" growled greg. "it's in that drawer," replied dick, with a weary smile, "and i rely on you, old fellow, not to do anything to it. it would only give me all the pain over again if i had to rewrite it." "dick, can nothing change your mind?" "i have thought it all over, old friend." the call for section formation sounded, and both hurried away. later, dick's section returned a full minute and a half ahead of the one to which holmes belonged. "now's the time!" muttered dick, opening the drawer and slipping the envelope into the breast of his blouse. then he hurried out, crossing the quadrangle to the cadet guard house. cadet holmes, in section ranks, marched into the quadrangle in time just to catch a glimpse of prescott's disappearing back. going up the stairs, dick knocked on the door of the office of the o.c. "come in!" called the officer in charge, who proved to be none other than lieutenant denton again. "what is it, mr. prescott?" inquired the army officer, as prescott, saluting, advanced to the officer's desk, then halted, standing at attention. "sir, i have come to ask for some information." "what is it, mr. prescott?" "sir, i have a paper, addressed to the superintendent. i do not know whether i should take it to the adjutant's office, or whether i should forward it through this office." "i thought you understood your company paper work, mr. prescott," smiled lieutenant denton. "i think i do, sir; but this kind of paper i have never had to put in before." "what kind of paper is it?" "my resignation, sir," replied dick quietly. lieutenant denton looked almost as much astonished as he felt. "what?" he choked. then a slight smile came into his face. "oh, i think i begin to understand, mr. prescott. you wish more time for your studies, and so you are resigning your post as captain of a company." "this is my resignation, sir, from the corps of cadets." lieutenant denton looked utterly nonplussed. "oh, very good, mr. prescott. if you are bent on leaving the military academy, i presume i have no right to demand your reasons. but---won't you sit down?" the lieutenant pointed to a chair near his own. "thank you, sir," nodded prescott. taking off his fatigue cap, he dropped into the chair, though he sat very erect. "now," smiled mr. denton, "perhaps we can drop, briefly, some of the relation between officer and cadet. we may be able to talk as friends---real friends. i trust so. may i feel at liberty to ask you, mr. prescott, whether there are any urgent family reasons behind this sudden move of yours?" "none, sir." "then is it---but i don't wish to be intrusive." "i certainly don't consider you intrusive, mr. denton, and i appreciate your sympathy and friendship. but i am resigning from the corps for the best of good reasons." "may i question you, mr. prescott?" "if you care to, sir." "i do wish it, very much," rejoined lieutenant denton, "though i have asked your consent because, in what i am now seeking to do, i am going rather beyond my place as a tactical officer of the military academy. if you are sure, however, that you do not find me intrusive, and if you would like to talk this matter over---not as officer and cadet, but as between a young man and a somewhat older one, and as friends above all, then i am going to ask you a few questions." "although i am certain that you cannot help me, mr. denton, i am very grateful for every sign of interest that you may show in me. it is something of balm to me to feel that i shall leave behind some who will regret my going." "prescott," asked the officer abruptly, "you have been sent to coventry, haven't you? you needn't answer unless you wish." "i have, sir," dick assented. "twice it has happened, when i have been on duty, that you have had to report classmates to me. now, i'm not going to step over the line by asking you whether those reports were the basis of your being sent to coventry. but, to please myself, i'm going to assume that such is the case." to this dick made no reply. it was an instance in which a cadet could not, with propriety, discuss class action with an officer on duty at the military academy. "now, prescott, i'm not going to ask you whether my surmise is a correct one, but i'm going to ask you another question, as a friend only, and in no official way. of course, in a friendly matter you may suit yourself about answering it. have you done anything else that could excuse the class in punishing you?" "nothing whatever, sir." "mr. prescott, aren't you wholly satisfied with your conduct?" "i don't quite know how to answer that, mr. denton," "have you done anything that you wouldn't repeat if the need arose?" "i have not, sir," replied dick with great earnestness. "do you feel, in your own soul, that you have done anything to discredit the splendid old gray uniform that you wear?" "i do not, sir." "answer this, or not, as you please. don't you feel wholly convinced that your class has done you an injustice which it would reverse instantly if it knew all the circumstances?" "i feel certain that my classmates would restore me at once to their favor, if they knew the full circumstances." "have you felt obliged to refuse them any information for which a class committee had asked, prescott?" "yes, sir." "let me do some hard thinking, my lad. ah, now, as i look back to the night when you were obliged to report mr. jordan for being outside the guard lines, i had myself that night assigned you to official duty near the guard lines. you were to intercept plebes who might try to run the guard, and to send them back to their tents." "yes, sir." "that was special duty," resumed lieutenant denton. "now, if you had been asked, by a class committee, to explain how you happened to be out there at the right time to catch mr. jordan, you would have felt bound to refuse to reveal your orders from me?" "i certainly would have felt so bound, mr. denton." "ah! now i think i understand a good deal, prescott. then, at another time, very recently, you forgot, until late, to turn in an official report to me. you started to hurry over here, and, in so doing, you must have accidentally encountered a certain cadet returning in "cit." clothes. as his company commander, you surely felt bound to report him for so flagrant a breach of discipline. yet, if your class did not fully understand or credit the fact that only an oversight of yours had thrown you in that cadet's way, it would make the class feel that you had deliberately trapped the man, after having spied on his actions earlier in the evening." dick remained silent, but lieutenant denton was a clear headed and logical guesser. "in my cadet days," smiled the lieutenant, "such a suspicion against a cadet officer would certainly have resulted in ostracism for him." "now, prescott," asked the officer in charge, leaning over and resting a friendly hand on the cadet's arm, "you feel that you have been, throughout, a gentleman and a good soldier, and that you have not done anything sneaky?" "that is my opinion of myself, mr. denton." "and yet, feeling that your course has been wholly honorable, you are going to throw up your career in the army, and waste some twenty thousand dollars of the nation's money that has been expended in giving you your training here?" "it sounds like a fearful thing to do, mr. denton, but i can see no way out of it, sir. if i am to go on into the army, and be an ostracized officer, i should be of no value to myself or to the service. wherever i should go, my usefulness would be gone and my presence demoralizing." "now, if that ostracism continued, your usefulness would be gone, prescott, beyond a doubt, and the army would be better off without you. but if justice should triumph, later, you would be restored to your full usefulness, and to the full enjoyment of your career. now, prescott, my boy"---here the officer's voice became tender, friendly, earnest---"you have been attending chapel every sunday?" "yes, sir." "you have listened to the chaplain's discourses, and i take it that you have had earlier religious instruction, also. prescott, do you or do you not believe that there is a god above who sees all, loves all and rights all injustice in his own good time?" "assuredly i believe it, sir." "and yet, in your own case, you have so little faith in that justice that, though you feel your course has been honorable, you cannot wait for justice to be done. prescott, isn't that kind of faith almost blasphemy?" dick felt staggered. although his lot had been cast with army officers for more than three years, he had never heard any of them, save the chaplain, discuss matters of christian faith. yet he knew that denton, who sat beside him, smiling with friendly eyes, was talking from full conviction. "you've made me see my present predicament in a somewhat different light, sir," dick stammered. "prescott, i have knocked about in a good deal of rough life since i was graduated from here, but i have full faith that every upright and honorable man is ultimately safe under heaven's justice. so have you, or i am mistaken in you. why not buck up, and make up your mind to go through your hard rub here firm in the conviction that this is only a passing cloud that is certain to be dispelled? why not stick, like a man of faith and honor? now, as officer in charge, i will inform you that you should take a letter of resignation to the adjutant's office, and hand it to that officer in person." as your friend, i suggest that you give me your letter, with your permission to destroy it." "here is the letter, mr. denton." "thank you, my boy. you may see what i do with it." rising, lieutenant denton crossed to an open fire that was burning low. he laid the envelope across the embers. prescott, too, rose, feeling that the interview was at an end. "just a moment more of friendly conversation, prescott," continued the lieutenant, coming forward and taking the cadet's hand. "i want you to remember that you are not to write or send in any other letter of resignation until you have first talked it over with me. and i want you to remember that a soldier should be a man of faith as well as of honor. further, prescott, you may feel yourself wholly at liberty to explain, at any time, what your orders from me were that led to your catching and reporting mr. jordan." "thank you, sir; but i'm afraid i shan't be asked for any further explanations." "seek me, at any time, if there is anything you wish to ask me, or anything that puzzles you." "yes, sir; thank you." dick had again placed his fatigue cap on his head, and was standing rigidly at attention. they were once more tactical officer and cadet. "that is all, mr. prescott, and i am very glad that you came to see me," continued the officer in charge. prescott saluted, received the officer's acknowledging salute, turned and left the office. a minute later he was allowing good old greg to pump the details of that interview out of him. "say," muttered cadet holmes, staring soberly at his chum, "an officer like lieutenant denton can put a different look on things, can't be?" "he certainly can, greg." "i'm not going to be fresh, while i'm a cadet," continued holmes. "but when i'm an officer i'm going to seek mr. denton and ask him to be my friend, too!" chapter xi the news from franklin field though dick was firmly resolved on his new course, life none the less was bitter for him. the army football team was now being organized and drilled in earnest. douglass captained it this year, and was doing excellent work, though his material was not as good as he could have wished. anstey was developing speed and strategy in the position of quarterback, and, in football matters, was a close confidant of douglass. "this prescott muss has given us a bad setback this year," growled douglass. "it certainly has, suh," agreed the virginian. "we're certainly going to feel the loss of prescott and holmes when we come to face the navy eleven with such men as darrin and dalzell." "hang it, yes. i'm shivering already," growled douglass. "now, of course, we can't ask prescott to join." "and he wouldn't come in, suh, while in coventry, if we asked him." "but holmes, who is almost as good a man, ought not to hold back where the army's credit and honor are at stake. holmes ought to stand for the army, asleep or awake!" "if i were in holmesy's place, i wouldn't come in," rejoined the virginian. "i'd stay out, just as holmesy is doing." "but you were one of prescott's thick friends, too." "i'm not his roommate, or his schoolboy chum, suh. holmesy is. "it's hard to lose either of them," sighed douglass, "and fierce to lose both of them. we've worked like real heroes, but i can't see any such team coming on as the army had last year. and the navy eleven will undoubtedly be better this year than it was last." "the army must stand to lose by the action of the first class," insisted anstey doggedly. though every man in the corps would have thrown up his cap at the announcement that prescott and holmes were to play again this year, the leaders of first-class opinion could see no reason to alter their judgment of dick. so he continued in coventry. the football season came on with a rush at last. the army won some of its games, from minor teams, but none from the bigger college elevens. then came the fateful saturday when the corps went over to philadelphia. dick and greg were the only two members of the corps, not under severe discipline, who remained behind at the military academy. late that afternoon greg, with a long face, brought in the football news from franklin field. "the navy has wiped us up, ten to two," grumbled holmes. "i'm heartily sorry," cried dick, and he spoke the truth. "well, it's our class's fault," growled greg. "the army can thank our class." "we might not have been able to save the game," argued prescott. "we could have rattled dave and dan a lot," retorted greg. "my own belief is we could have saved the day." "you might have played, greg. i wouldn't have resented it." "no; but i'd have felt a fine contempt for myself," retorted cadet holmes scornfully. "besides, dick, though i have done some fairly good things in football, i don't believe i'd be worth a kick without you. it was playing with you that made me shine, always." late that evening the cadet corps returned, in the gloomiest frame of mind. "i can just see the blaze of bonfires at annapolis," groaned douglass. "say, the middies just fairly tore our scalps off. i always had an ambition to captain the army eleven, but i never thought i'd be dragged down so deep under the mire!" the details of that sad game for the army need not be gone into here. all the particulars of that spiritedly fought disaster will be found in the fourth volume of the annapolis series, entitled "_dave darrin's fourth year at annapolis_." a lot of the cadets who felt sorry for "doug" came to his room. "i haven't altogether gotten it through my weak mind yet," confessed the disheartened army football captain. "i can't understand how those little middies managed to treat us quite so badly." "i can tell you," retorted anstey. "then i wish you would," begged "doug." "go ahead!" clamored a dozen others. "i don't know whether you fellows believe in hoodoos?" asked anstey. "hoodoos?" "yes; the army is under one now." "pshaw, anstey!" "explain yourself, anstey!" "there is a man in this class," replied the virginian solemnly, "who has been treated unjustly by the others. lots of you won't see it, and can't be made to reason. but that injustice has put the hoodoo on the army's athletics, and the hoodoo will strut along beside the present first class all the way through this year. you'll find it out more and more as time goes on. just wait until next spring, and see the navy walk away with the baseball game, too." "stop that, anstey!" "put him out!" "give him soothing syrup." "wait until june, gentlemen," retorted the virginian calmly. "then you'll see." "what rot!" sneered jordan bitterly. "well, of course," admitted others in undertones, "we lost through not having prescott and holmes on the eleven. but we'd better lose, even, than win through men not fit to associate with." "prescott must be chuckling," jeered durville. "he's doing nothing of the sort, suh!" flared anstey. "and i'm prepared to maintain my position." chapter xii ready to break the camel's back from thanksgiving to christmas the time seemed to fly all too fast for most of the young men of the corps of cadets. dick prescott, however, had never known time to drag so fearfully. cut off from association with any but greg, dick had much, very much time on his hands. full of a dogged purpose to stick to his word given to lieutenant denton, prescott used nearly all of his waking time in study when he was not at recitation. in his classes he soared. in engineering and law, the studies of this term which called for the most exacting thought, prescott showed unusual signs of "maxing," or getting among the highest marks. yet, after all this was done, so much leisure did the lonely dick have that he found time to coach greg and pull him along over the hard parts. "look at that fellow recite! look where he stands in the sections!" growled durville in bewilderment to jordan. "it looks as if the sneak meant to stick," uttered jordan incredulously. "yet of course he knows he can't. if it were only for west point he might stick, but the army, through his lifetime, would be just as bad for him." it had been a general notion that prescott, either too proud or too stubborn to allow himself to be forced out, would wait and "fess out cold" at the january semi-annuals. thus he would be dropped for deficiency, and would not have to admit to anyone that he had allowed himself to be driven from the military academy by the "silence" that had been extended to him. jordan knew better than to go near the fiery young anstey, so he managed to induce durville to speak to the virginian as to prescott's plans. "i don't know mr. prescott's intentions, suh," replied anstey with perfect truth and a good deal of dignity. "i am bound, suh, to follow the class's action, suh, much as i disapprove of it. so i have had no word with mr. prescott later than you have." "but you know the fellow's roommate, mr. holmes," suggested durville. "i am under the impression that you do, too, suh," replied anstey significantly, yet without infusing offence into his even tones. it was no use. the first class could only guess. no cadet knew, unless it were holmes, what prescott's intentions were about quitting the corps in the near future. and greg, usually both chatty and impulsive, could be as cold and silent as a sphinx where his chum's secrets or interests were concerned. had he wished, he might have gone home at christmas, for a day or two, for he was on the good-conduct roll; but dick felt that christmas at home would be a heart break just now. as he did not go, greg did not go either. the reader may be sure that dave darrin and dan dalzell, at annapolis, knew the state of affairs with their old-time friend and leader. greg had sent word of what was happening with dick. "buck up---that's all, old chap," dave wrote from the naval academy. "you never did a mean thing, and you never will. even your class will learn that before very long. so buck up! hit the center of the line and charge through! don't think dan and i are not sorry for you, but we're even more interested in seeing you charge right through all disaster in a way that fits the pride, courage and honor that we know you to possess. i asked dan if he had any message to send you. old dan's reply was: 'dick doesn't need any message. if there's any fellow on earth who can jump in and scalp fate, it's our old dick.' there you are, army chum! we're merely waiting for word that you've won out, for you're bound to." january came, and with it the semi-annual examinations. so high was dick's class standing that he had to go up for but one "writ." that was spanish. "i reckon spanish is where he falls," chuckled durville, when jordan spoke to him about it. "it's easy to make mistakes enough on spanish verbs and declensions to throw a fellow down and out. that'll be prescott's line." "of course," nodded jordan. yet dick's enemy was very far from feeling hopeful that such would be the case. "i never imagined the fellow could stick as long as he has," jordan told himself disconsolately. one night anstey, just before the semi-ans., took a chance. usually the virginian was careful in matters of discipline. but now he invited a dozen members of his class to his room to discuss an "important matter." "going?" asked durville of jordan. "i'm not invited, durry," replied the other. "i am, and i'm going." "but you don't know the subject of the meeting?" "no; that's what puzzles me," admitted durville. "i'm wondering if it has anything to do with choosing the class ring, or selecting our uniforms for after graduation." "you simpleton!" cried jordan in disgust. "you don't see far, do you? can't you guess what the meeting is to discuss?" "i'm blessed if i can." "anstey, outside of holmes, has been the most constant friend of prescott. now, prescott has his chance of passing, if the class 'silence' on him can be lifted. anstey is going to sound class opinion. if the 'silence' can't be lifted, then prescott is going to 'fess' down and out, and we shall see the last of him." "poor old fellow!" muttered durville. "say, do you know, i'm growing almost sorry for the poor beggar and his long, bitter dose." "after what he did to you?" demanded jordan with instant scorn. "durville, i thought you a man of spirit." "may a man of spirit forgive his enemy, especially when he sometimes doubts whether the other fellow really is an enemy?" demanded durville. "oh, he may, i suppose," replied jordan, his lip curling. "on the whole, however, i am a good deal surprised at seeing you accept the loss of all your liberties and privileges so easily as you are doing." naturally, the effect of jordan's words was to kill a good deal of durville's fleeting sympathy, for the latter had suffered a good deal from the restraint of his liberties, following the escapade for which dick had reported him. the meeting in anstey's room resulted in the secret gathering of a dozen men. eight of these were friends of dick, who would still like to see the class action reversed or ended. but anstey had been clever enough also to invite four men who were numbered among prescott's adversaries. one of these was douglass, the cadet who had been elected to succeed dick as class president. "now, gentlemen," began anstey, in his soft voice of ordinary conversation, "i don't believe we have any need of a presiding officer in this little meeting. with your permission, i will state why i have asked you to come here. "for months, now, we have had a member of this class in coventry. barely more than a majority believed in that coventry, but once action had been taken by the class, the disapproving minority stood loyally by class action. i have been among those of the minority to abide by majority action, and i can assure you that i have suffered very nearly as much as has mr. prescott, whose case i am now discussing. "the majority has had its way for months. is it not now time, if the class will not grant full justice, at least to grant something to the wishes of the minority?" "what do you mean?" asked one of dick's opponents. "mr. prescott will let himself be found deficient in at least one study, won't he, and thus take his unpopular presence away from the military academy?" "i cannot answer that," admitted anstey slowly. "doubtless many of you will be surprised when i tell you that i have had no word in the matter from mr. prescott. i have not even mentioned the subject to his roommate, mr. holmes." "then whom do you represent?" demanded the other cadet. "myself and other believers in mr. prescott," replied anstey simply. "the very least we ask is that you stop punishing so many of us through mr. prescott. gentlemen, do you not feel that any man who commands as many friends in his class as does mr. prescott must be a man above the petty meannesses of which he was accused, and for which he was sent to coventry?" "i've been one of the sufferers through mr. prescott," commented durville grimly. "as for me, i'll admit that i'd be glad to see the 'silence' lifted. i feel that mr. prescott has been punished enough, and that, if we now lift the 'silence,' he would be more careful after this. i think he has been chastened enough. if i could find any reason whatever for refusing to vote for the end of the coventry, it would come from the question as to whether any one class has the right to upset the traditions and establish a new precedent for such cases." "there is the most of the case in a nutshell i am afraid," declared cadet douglass. "in our interior corps discipline we not only work from tradition, but we strengthen or weaken it for the classes that are to follow us. have we any right to weaken a tradition that is as old as the military academy itself?" these simple remarks, made with an absence of bitter feeling, swung the tide against dick. the meeting in anstey's room lasted for more than an hour. when the meeting broke up anstey and some of his advisers felt convinced that to call a class meeting would be merely to bring about a vote that prescott was to be kept in coventry for all time to come. anstey told greg the result of the meeting, but holmes did not tell his chum. "it's all settled as it ought to be," declared cadet jordan. "you mean-----" asked durville. "why, either prescott will have to be 'found' in his exams., or else he'll be bound to resign as soon as he has proved that his departure from west point was not due to poor scholarship. which ever way he prefers to do it, the fellow will have to get out of the corps within the next few days!" "yes; i suppose so," almost sighed durville. "why, hang you, durry, you talk like a man whose good opinion can be won by a kicking." "do you" asked durville, with a warning flash in his eyes. "oh, don't take me too seriously," protested jordan. "but i cannot help marveling at your near liking for the man who landed you in such a scrape." "i don't enjoy hitting a man who is down; that is all," returned durville. "i've seen mr. prescott down for so many weeks and months that i'd like to see how he looks when he's a man instead of an under dog." "well, i'm glad to say the class is plainly not of your way of thinking," growled jordan. "the class is for maintaining higher ideals of the honor of military service and true comradeship. so it's only a matter of what date the fellow selects for leaving here." and truly that was the view that seemed to be pressing more and more tightly upon dick prescott. the pressure was becoming more than he could bear. he had followed lieutenant denton's advice, and had put up a good and a brave fight. but to be "the only dog in a cage of lions" is a fearful ordeal for the bravest---especially when the door is open. greg never seemed to notice the sighs that occasionally escaped dick prescott's lips. holmes no longer tried to cheer his friend by open speech or advice. yet not a thing that dick did escaped the covert watchfulness of his roommate. the semi-ans. over, and the results posted on the bulletin board in the academic building, it was discovered that cadet richard prescott now stood number twenty-four in his class---a rank never heretofore won by him. cadet jordan was so furious that his face was ghastly white when he made the discovery. "will nothing ever drive that living disgrace prescott out of the corps?" jordan asked three or four of the men. "why, the fellow is defying class authority! he's making fools of us all. he bluntly asks us what we think we can do about it!" "we'll have to show prescott, then," grimly replied one of the cadets with whom jordan talked. "but how?" demanded cadet jordan craftily. "is there any possible way of making as thickheaded or stubborn a fellow as prescott realize that he simply can't go on with us? that we won't have him with us?" "oh, i think there's a way," smiled the other cadet. "then i wonder why some one doesn't find it?" demanded jordan wrathfully. "we shall, i think." greg scented new mischief in the air, yet he was hardly the one to do the scouting. anstey, however, could look about for the news, and he could properly discuss it with cadet holmes. with the beginning of the last half of the year the members of the first class found themselves sufficiently busy with their studies. dick's affair was allowed to slumber for a few days. even cadet jordan, whose sole purpose now in life was to "work" prescott out of the corps, was clever enough to assent to letting the matter rest for a few days. after another fortnight, however, the first class, in its moments of leisure, especially in the brief rests right after meals, again began to throb over what was considered the brazen and open defiance of dick prescott in persisting in remaining a cadet at the military academy. so many members of the class, however, insisted on going slowly and with great deliberation that the jordan faction did not make the mistake of rushing matters. at any rate, prescott was in coventry, and there he would stay. thus february came on and passed slowly. to all outward appearances prescott was as selfpossessed and contented as ever he had been while at the military academy. now, army baseball was the topic. the nine and other members of the baseball squad were practising in earnest. durville had been chosen to captain the nine. though there was some mighty good material in the nine, neither the coaches nor durville were wholly satisfied. "holmesy," broached durville plaintively one day, "you play a grand game of football." "thank you," replied greg, with a pretense of mock modesty; "i know it." "and you must play a great game of ball, too." "i did once---pardon these blushes. dick prescott was my old trainer in baseball." "oh, bother prescott! we can't have him." "i don't play well without him," remarked greg blandly. "come over to practice this afternoon, won't you?" "yes; but i don't believe i'll try for the nine." "come over and let us see your style, any way." greg turned up late that afternoon for practice. what he showed the captain and coaches had them fairly "rattled" with desire to slip greg into the nine. "i'm much obliged to you all," greg insisted gently, "but i told you i wasn't going to try for the nine. i never played a game without prescott, and i know i'd be a hoodoo if i did." though a great lot of pressure was brought to bear upon him, holmes still held out. it was his privilege to refuse to play, if he so chose. above all, the coaches, who were army officers, could not urge him. "that man holmes is just the fellow we need to round out the team," complained one of the players to durville. "yes," sighed the captain of the army nine; "and holmesy tells me that he's a tyro to mr. prescott." "then mr. prescott must be a wonder on the diamond," grunted the other cadet. "i hear that he is," assented durville. "by the way, you remember darrin and dalzell, who helped the navy team to wipe the field up with us last year?" "i reckon i do." "well, it seems that prescott, holmes, darrin and dalzell were all members of the athletic squad in the same high school before they entered the service." "darrin and dalzell are going to make it possible for the navy to wipe us up again this year, too," continued the other cadet plaintively. "i don't believe they would, if we could put in mr. prescott and holmesy for this year." "but we can't, durry." "no; i know it." "so what's the use of talking." nevertheless, there was a lot of talking, and dozens waylaid greg and tried to induce him to reconsider. but he wouldn't, and that was all there was to it. no one even thought of lifting the ban from prescott in order to gain either or both of these cadet athletes. west point cadets are consistent. they will never lift the ban, once they believe it to have been justly laid, just in order to make a better athletic showing. the academy authorities demand that a team athlete shall stand well in his studies and general discipline; the cadets themselves demand also that the man who carries their athletic colors must conform to cadet ideals of honor. and prescott, being in coventry, surely was not to be regarded as a man of honor. washington's birthday had come and passed, and prescott still lingered in the cadet corps. indeed, he seemed as determined as ever upon graduating. there were limits, however, to class patience. it was anstey who got on the track of the news and brought it to greg. "a class meeting is to be called ten days hence," reported the virginian. "the meeting will be announced at supper formation to-night. it is set well ahead in order to give the fellows plenty of time to think over the subject for discussion." "that discussion," guessed holmes, "is to be as to the best means of driving dick from the corps." "you've guessed it, suh," replied the virginian sorrowfully. "whatever the class feels called upon to do, suh, i reckon it will be something that will break our poor camel's back." chapter xiii the figures in the dark and dick? the reader will hardly need to be told that this spirited young cadet was suffering his unmerited disgrace as keenly as ever. more keenly, in fact, for every day that the silence continued it seemed to add to the weight of the burden that bound him down. yet greg asked no questions, for he felt that it would be safer not to do so. he had just barely told prescott of the purpose of the coming class meeting, which the latter cadet had already guessed for himself, however. "i suppose i'll have a few loyal friends at that meeting?" asked dick, with a sad smile. "just as many friends as ever," asserted holmes stoutly. "i'm mighty grateful for that," nodded dick. "but what i seem to need is more friends than ever." "we'll find them for you, if there's any way to do it," promised holmes, and there the talk dropped. "if the class goes against me again, and harder than before, i'm certain i shall have to see lieutenant denton once more and tell him that i can't stand it any longer," dick told himself. the class meeting was to be held on a monday evening. on the night of the saturday before, when scores of cadets were over at cullum hall at a merry "hop," prescott slipped out of barracks by himself in greg's absence. almost unconsciously prescott's steps turned in the direction of trophy point. in the darkness he stood before battle monument, on which are inscribed the names of the west point graduates who have fallen in battles. "will my name ever be there, or have any chance to be there?" wondered dick, a big lump rising in his throat. a tear stood in either eye, but he brushed them aside as unworthy of a soldier. was he ever going to be a soldier, he wondered. "i don't know that i'm really ready to be killed in battle," thought dick grimly. "it would be enough to know that my name is to be on the roll of graduates of the military academy, and afterwards on the rolls of the army as an officer who had served with credit wherever he had been placed. but the fates seem against even that much. hang it all, what was it that lieutenant denton said about faith and right, and faith being as much the soldier's duty as honor? i guess he was never placed in just such a fix as mine!" for, slowly, all of dick's iron-clad resolution to "stick it out" was wearing away. it was becoming plainer to him, every day, that he could not stay in the army if he were always to live in coventry as far as his brother officers were concerned. "i wonder what the fellows will do at the meeting next monday night?" dick pondered, as he turned and strolled back by another road. "if the fellows could only realize how unjust they are without meaning to be! but i can't make them see that. i'll have to resign, of course, but i promised lieutenant denton to talk it over with him before doing anything of the sort, and i'll keep my word." very absent minded did the young cadet become in the midst of his perplexed musings. he heard the sound of martial music and unconsciously his feet moved in quicker time. it was as though he were marching, led on by he knew not what. straight toward the music he moved, with the tread of a soldier responding to the drums. then, at last, when he was almost upon the building, prescott came to himself and stopped abruptly. "cullum hall!" he muttered, with a harsh laugh. "the night of the cadet hop. my classmates are in there, free-hearted and happy, and taking their lessons in the social graces---while i am on the outside, the social outcast of the class!" yet, as there were no cadets in sight, out at this north end of the handsome building, prescott presently moved forward, nearer. "the old, old story of the beggar on the outside! the man on the outside, looking in!" muttered dick with increasing bitterness. "yet i may as well look, since there is none to see me or deny me." around the north end dick passed, just as the brilliant music of the military academy orchestra was drawing to its close. in his misery the young cadet leaned against the face of the building, behind an angle in the wall. as he stood there dick saw the figure of a man flit, by him. the stranger was dressed in citizen's clothes. there was nothing suspicions in that, since there is no law to prevent citizens from visiting the military academy. but there was something stealthy about this stranger's movements. "it is a wonder he didn't see me," mused dick. "he went by within eight feet of me." dick was about to make his presence known by stepping out into sight, when the stranger halted. "perhaps it may be as well not to show myself just yet," flashed through prescott's mind. "if the fellow is up to any mischief probably i can prevent it." a cold, biting breeze swept up from the hudson river below. it was chilling in the extreme, here at the top of the bluff, but dick, in his misery, had been proof against weather. not so with the stranger. he stamped his feet and struck his hands against his sides. then, after some moments, as though angry at some one within cullum hall, the stranger wheeled and shook one clenched fist at the windows overhead. "whom has that fellow a grouch against?" dick wondered in spite of himself. just an instant later he heard a quick step coming around the north end of the building. a cadet was coming, beyond a doubt, and very likely to meet this impatient or angry stranger. prescott had too much honor to play the eavesdropper. he was just about to step out when the newcomer turned the corner, coming on straight past where prescott stood in the deep shadow. the newcomer was a cadet, and that cadet was mr. jordan. "well, my good fellow, have i kept you waiting long?" demanded jordan, just the second after he had stepped past dick without seeing the latter. "you could a jumped faster," growled the stranger. "with all i know against you, jordan, it will pay you to nurse my good feeling a little harder." "why, what's the matter with you now?" demanded jordan more seriously. somehow, dick could not pull himself away just then. "have you brought me some of that money you owe me?" demanded the stranger gruffly. "now, you know i can't, before graduation day," pleaded jordan whiningly. "and i know that, when graduation day comes, you'll tell me that every dollar you had in the world had to go into uniforms," snapped the stranger. "i'll tell you what i do know about you, jordan, my boy. i know that if you don't find the money, turn it over and get back my note, you'll never graduate! cadets can't borrow money on their notes; it's against the regulations. if it was known that you had borrowed five hundred dollars of me already, and that you were defaulting on principal and interest, too-----" "it wasn't five hundred," broke in jordan nervously. "it was just two hundred and fifty dollars." "the note says five hundred," retorted the stranger tersely, with a shrug of his shoulders. and there's interest on it, too. and you haven't paid a dollar. you told me you could get the money from home." "i---i thought i could, at that," stammered cadet jordan. "but i wrote my father, and he said he was near bankruptcy-----" "near bankruptcy?" almost screamed the stranger. "you young swindler. you told me your father was a wealthy man!" "sh!" begged jordan tremulously. "not so loud! some one will hear you." "i don't care who hears me," retorted the stranger in an ugly tone. "you've been swindling me right along, it seems. now, you'll hand me some money to-night, and all of the balance by next wednesday, or i'll go straight to the superintendent. then you'll lose your nice little berth here. you putting on airs, and yet you told me how you had rebuked and paid back another cadet for doing the same breezy thing." dick, his cheeks burning with the shame of having allowed himself to listen to so much, was on the very point of slipping away around the north end of cullum hall. but this last remark gripped him, holding him feverishly to the spot. "prescott, i believe you said the fellow's name was," went on the stranger. "yes," admitted jordan. "and i put it all over him in a way that should make anyone else afraid of having me for an enemy!" dick's heart gave a great, almost strangling bound. then it was quiet again, and his ears seemed preternaturally keen. so sharp was his hearing, in fact, that he heard a sound that did not reach the ears of the other cadet or the latter's companion. it was someone else coming. with all the stealth in the world dick now managed to slip around the end of the building and toward the front. a cadet had stepped out as though seeking a breath of cool air between dances. dick darted forward on tiptoe until he recognized the oncoming one. it was douglass, president of the first class. "mr. douglass!" whispered dick, stopping squarely before his successor in class honors. douglass, without looking at his appealing fellow classman, or opening his lips to answer, stepped around prescott. but dick caught his unwilling comrade firmly by the arm. "douglass," he whispered, "in the name of justice, listen to me just an instant---a swift instant, too! i think the chance has come to clear me of the load of dislike and contempt with which i am regarded here. this appeal is between man and man! jordan is around the corner, telling a stranger how he trapped me and got me into disgrace with the class. as a matter of cadet justice and honor, i beg you to go softly to the corner and hear what is being said. do not let jordan suspect that you are near. what he is saying will clear me. go, and go softly, i beg you, as a matter of justice from one man to another!" all the time that dick had held his arm douglass had stood there, not seeking to snatch himself free. nor did he utter a word. the class president stood there, like a statue, looking straight past prescott, as though he did not know that such a being existed anywhere in the world. now, with despair tugging at his heart, prescott released his hold. cadet douglass moved forward again. dick stood watching his brother cadet with a feeling of despair until he saw that douglass was moving softly. dick saw him go quietly around the corner of the building. now, dick was at his heels, stealthy as any indian could have been, until he looked around the corner and saw that cadet douglass had slipped into the same shadow that dick himself had occupied until a moment before. "now, if that pair yonder will only go on talking about me for sixty seconds!" thought dick in a frenzy. again he flew toward the front of the building. there was just one other cadet outside---durville, the man whom he had been obliged to report for a tremendously grave breach of discipline. but dick prescott's courage was up now. he raced forward, fairly gripping durville and holding him tight. "durville, listen to me for just a moment," begged dick. "i know you don't like me, but you're a man of honor. jordan is on the east side of this building, and i believe he is confessing a plot that he put into successful operation against me. douglass is already there listening. will you slip there softly, and listen, too? i don't ask this as a matter of friendship, but of honor! will you go---and softly?" slowly durville turned and looked into prescott's eyes. then he did not speak, but he nodded. "thank you, durville! be quick---and stealthy! let me guide you." class president douglass stood in the shadow. he heard jordan's own tongue telling the stranger the familiar story of how he, jordan, had been reported for indolence in the bridge construction work. "i had to get square," jordan was continuing, just as dick piloted durville within hearing. "and you think you did it slickly, i suppose?" jeered the stranger. though jordan did not seem to suspect it, the stranger was seeking this information as another blackmailing club to hold over jordan's head. "slick?" queried jordan, with a sneer. "well, it wasn't altogether that. there was a good bit of luck in the whole job, too, but prescott is in coventry, and there he'll stick, too. he'll be away from here inside of two or three days more." "how did you manage to do it?" asked the stranger, concealing his anxiety to have jordan tell the story. chapter xiv the story carried on the wind "oh, i fixed it all right," insisted jordan confidently. he was speaking in a rather low tone, but the breeze carried every word to the ears of the listeners. "you're talking just to hear yourself talking," sneered the stranger coarsely. "no; i'm not, henckley," retorted the cadet. "what was the trick, then?" "don't you wish you knew?" laughed jordan. "i don't care much," replied the stranger named henckley. "but i can't just picture you as doing anything extremely clever. even if it was luck, as you say, i can't figure how you were smart enough to know how to profit by it. that's why i'm just a bit curious, but no more." "why, you see, it happened this way," went on jordan. "i saw prescott, that night back into camp, going into the tent of the o.c. i thought that perhaps prescott was going there in order to say more about the matter that he had reported me for that forenoon. so i moved close and listened. it seemed that some of the plebes had been running the guard nights. lieutenant denton asked the fellow prescott, who is a cadet captain, to keep a watch and stop plebes before they had a chance to get on the other side of the guard line. "well, i knew the point at which plebes were in the habit of getting past the guard line, and so did prescott, i guess. so, a little after taps, i slipped outside the guard near where i judged prescott would be watching. then, after i had heard him speak with the cadet sentry i presently stooped low in the bushes and lit a cigar. then i stood up straight and the glowing end of the cigar showed from where prescott stood. he did just what a fellow like him feels bound to do, and what i knew he'd do. he hailed me. i acted as though i wanted to get away, then allowed myself to be overhauled. i was reported, of course, and made to pay the penalty. but i was able to make the other fellows in the class believe that prescott had trailed me, on purpose to rub it into me. that looked like over zeal, backed by a grudge, and the first class swallowed it in fine shape. they gave him the silence, but had not made it permanent coventry. then he caught another man, named durville, for going off the post in 'cit.' clothes, and that settled the case against that fellow prescott. but it was my trick that made all the rest possible." "i don't see that that was anything very clever," rejoined henckley. "i told you, didn't i," argued jordan, "that it was as much luck as cleverness." "what part of it was clever, anyway?" jeered henckley. "why, putting the whole game through, and making the class take it up, yet doing it all so that the trick could never be traced back to me," replied jordan. in the shadow, durville turned briskly, gripping dick's hand with his own. douglass saw. after a bare instant's hesitation the class president also took prescott's hand, giving it a mighty squeeze. in the joy of that friendly grasp from his own classmen, dick prescott almost felt that all the bitterness of the last few months had been wiped out in a second. then douglass stepped out from the shadow, his face stern and set. "perhaps you will want to stop talking, mr. jordan," he called. "your conversation has not been a private one!" with the strong wind blowing away from jordan, that cadet heard only a rumble of voices. both he and henckley, however, caught sight of the advancing figures. "hello! what are you fellows doing here?" demanded the money lender, with blustering indignation. "i might ask that question of you, fellow, but i won't, for i already know," replied cadet douglass, fixing his eyes on the stranger. "you've been listening to our talk?" demanded henckley angrily, while jordan, after his first gasp of dismay, seemed to shrivel back against the wall of cullum hall. "mr. jordan," continued the class president, facing the dismayed one in gray uniform, "i don't believe the significance of this meeting has escaped you?" "no-o-o," wailed jordan in misery. "now, see here, young fellows, don't you go and blab what you've been spying on just now," remonstrated mr. henckley, a note of dismay creeping into his tone. "it can hardly concern you, sir," flashed cadet douglass, wheeling upon the money shark. "yet i suppose it does, too. for now i do not see how mr. jordan can hope to remain at the military academy. that, i suppose, may possibly affect your security for the money which, i take it, mr. jordan has borrowed from you." "but you won't blab, and have him kicked out?" coaxed mr. henckley, his voice now wholly wheedling. "what the cadets may see fit to do for their own protection is hardly a matter that can be discussed with you, sir," returned douglass coldly. "oh, now see here, there are ways and ways," spoke henckley in a wheedling tone. "let's all be friendly." before douglass could guess what was happening the money shark had pressed a hand against the cadet's. with an impatient gesture douglass shook his own hand free. but something like paper remained in his palm. douglass held up that hand, and discovered that it held a banknote that henckley had slipped into douglass' hand as a bribe. cadet douglass calmly tore that banknote in bits and flung it off on the breeze. the fragments were out of sight in an instant. then douglass coolly knocked the money shark down. "come along, fellows," spoke the class president quietly, and turned on his heel. "confound you, mr. fresh, i'll report this to the superintendent," bellowed henckley. "do!" called douglass in cool contempt over his shoulder. douglass, durville and prescott tramped together around to the front of cullum hall. there douglass again paused to hold out his hand, remarking: "mr. prescott, the class meeting is not to be held until monday evening. all i am privileged to say is that i think what we have overheard tonight will very materially affect the class action. i am very grateful to you, my dear sir, for having called us." durville, too, held out his hand in sign that the past grudge was forgotten so far as he was concerned. full of a new happiness, dick trudged back to cadet barracks. finding greg holmes in, prescott imparted the wonderful news. greg leaped up delightedly, pumphandling his chum's arm and patting him on the back. "come out all right?" sputtered holmes. "of course it will, and i always knew it would." meanwhile cadet jordan was surveying henckley with a look of mingled rage, disgust and consternation. "now, you've gone and done it, you bull-necked, toad-brained idiot!" cried the elegant mr. jordan. "why didn't you pay up like a man, and this would never have happened," growled henckley, rubbing the spot where douglass had struck him. "pay up like a man?" sneered jordan. "well, this affair has one small, good side to it. you've got me run out of the cadet corps, but-----" "out of the cadet corps?" screamed henckley. "then what becomes of what you owe me?" "that's something you'll have to settle to your own satisfaction," jeered the dismayed cadet. "i can offer you no help." jordan turned on his heel, starting to walk away, when mr. henckley leaped after him, seizing him by the arm. "see here-----" began the money shark hoarsely. "let go of my arm," warned jordan in a rage, "or i'll hit you harder than douglass did." as the money lender shrank back out of jordan's reach, the cadet strode off swiftly. mr. jordan was in his bed when the subdivision inspector went through the rooms that night. at morning roll call, however, jordan did not answer. an investigation showed that he had gone. all his uniforms and other equipment he had left behind, from which it was judged that jordan had, in some way, managed to get hold of an outfit of civilian attire. jordan had deserted, with a heart full of hate for dick prescott, with whom the deserter swore to be "even" before the academic year was out. chapter xv the class meeting "sizzles" that sunday, save greg, none of the cadets addressed prescott. anstey, however, thought up a new way of getting around the "silence." as he passed dick, the virginian winked very broadly. other cadets were quick to catch the idea. wherever dick went that sunday he was greeted with winks. monday dick was in a fever of excitement. for once he fared badly in his marks won in the section rooms. when evening came around every member of the first class, save prescott, hurried off to class meeting. for the first time in many months, greg attended. as the cadets began to gather, excitement ran high. the room was full of suppressed noise until president douglass rapped sharply for order. then, instantly all became as still as a church. "will mr. fullerton please take the chair?" asked the class president. "the present presiding officer wishes the privileges of the floor." amid more intense silence fullerton went forward to the chair, while douglass stepped softly down to the floor. "mr. chairman," called douglass. "mr. douglass has the floor." douglass was already on his feet, of course. he plunged into an accurate narrative of what had happened, and what he had overheard, on saturday night. he told it all without embellishment or flourish, and wound up by calling attention to jordan's plain enough desertion from the corps. durville then obtained the floor. he corroborated all that the class president had just narrated. "may i now make a motion, sir?" demanded durville, turning finally toward the class president. "yes," nodded cadet douglass. "mr. chairman, i move that the first class, united states military academy, remove the coventry and the silence that have been put upon our comrade, mr. richard prescott. i move that, by class resolution, we express to him our regret for the great though unintentional injustice that has been done mr. prescott during these many months." "i second the motion!" shouted douglass. it was carried amid an uproar. if there were any present who did not wish to see dick thus reinstated, they were wise enough to keep their opinions to themselves. "mr. chairman!" shouted another voice over the hubbub. "mr. mallory," replied the chair. "i move that messrs. holmes and anstey be appointed a committee of two to go after mr. prescott and to bring him here---by force, if necessary." amid a good deal of laughter this motion, too, was carried. the two more than willing messengers departed on the run. "mr. chairman!" "mr. douglass." the class president rose, waving his right hand for utter silence. then, slowly and modestly, he said: "i have greatly enjoyed the honor of being president of this class. but i can no longer take pride in holding this office, for, in common with the rest of you, i realize that i secured the honor through a misapprehension. i therefore tender my resignation as president of the first class." "no, no, no!" shouted several. "thank you, gentlemen," replied douglass with feeling. "i appreciate it all, but i feel that i have no longer any right to the presidency of the class, and i therefore resign it---renounce it! gentlemen, comrades, will you do me the favor of accepting my resignation at once?" "on account of the form in which the request is put," said durville, as soon as he had secured the chair's recognition, "i move that our president's resignation be accepted in the same good faith in which it is offered." "thank you, durry, old man!" called douglass in a low voice. a seconder was promptly obtained. then chairman fullerton put the motion. there were cries of "too bad," but no dissenting votes. in the meantime greg and anstey all but broke down a door in their effort to reach dick quickly. "come on, old chap!" called greg, pouncing upon his chum. "it's all off! savvy? we have orders to drag you to class meeting, if force be necessary. come on the jump!" "won't i, though?" cried dick, seizing his fatigue cap and hurrying on his uniform overcoat. a smaller mind might have insisted on taking slowly the request from the class that had unintentionally done him such an injustice. but cadet prescott was made of broader, nobler stuff. he realized that, without exception, the manly fellows in his class were heartily glad to do him justice, now that they knew how blameless he had been. dick was as anxious to meet his class as they were to reinstate him. so he hurried along between the jubilant holmes and anstey. the meeting had just quieted down again by the time that the three cadets entered the room. but in an instant halsey was on his feet, regardless of rules of parliamentary procedure. "give old ramrod the long corps yell!" he shouted. with hardly the pause of a second it came, and never had it sounded sweeter, truer, grander than when some hundred powerful young throats sent forth the refrain: _"rah, rah, ray! rah, rah, ray! west point, west point, armee ray, ray, ray! u.s.m.a.!_" _"prescott!"_ dick prescott's chest began to heave, though he strove to conceal all emotion. it was sweet, indeed, to have all this enthusiasm over him, after he had so long been the innocent outcast of the class. tears shone in either eye. ashamed to raise a hand to brush the moisture away, dick tried to wink them out of sight. but douglass, durville and the others gave him no time to think. they came crowding about him faster than they could reach him, each with outstretched hand. little was said. soldiers are proverbially silent, preferring deeds to words. so, for nearly ten minutes, the handshaking proceeded. at last douglass, with a warning nod and several gestures, brought the temporary chairman to his senses. rap! rap! rap! rang the gavel on the desk. "the class will please come to order," called chairman fullerton. "now, gentlemen, is there any further business to come before the class?" "mr. chairman," called douglass, "i move that we proceed to the election of a class president." "second the motion," cried durville. the motion was carried with a rush. "mr. chairman!" called the tireless ex-class president. "mr. douglass." "mr. chairman and gentlemen, i am going to make a mistake that has become time honored among public speakers, that of telling you what you already know as well as i do. this is that mr. prescott ought never to have been deposed from the class presidency. i move, therefore, sir, that we rectify our stupidity and blindness by making mr. prescott once more our president. i beg, sir, to place in nomination for the class presidency the name of richard prescott, first class, u.s.m.a." "i second the nomination, suh!" boomed out the voice of anstey. "other nominations for the class presidency are in order," announced chairman fullerton. again silence fell. "mr. chairman!" "mr. douglass." "since there are no more nominations, i move you, sir, that mr. prescott be elected president of this class by acclamation." "sir, i second the motion," came from durville's throat. there was wild glee as a volley of "ayes" was fired. "those of a contrary mind will say 'no,'" requested the chair. not a "no" could be heard. "the chair will now withdraw, after appointing mr. douglass, mr. durville, mr. holmes and mr. anstey a committee of honor to escort the new-old class president to the chair." while the little procession was in motion the windowpanes rattled more than ever, with the long corps yell for prescott. the instant his hand touched the gavel, dick rapped for order. "gentlemen of the first class," he said quietly, "i thank you all. little more need be said. i am sure that mere words cannot express my great happiness at being here. i will not deny that i have felt the injustice of the cloud that has hung over me for the last few months. anyone of you would have felt it under the same circumstances. but it is past---forgotten, and i know how happy you all are that the truth has been discovered." there was a moment's silence. then dick asked, as he had so often done before: "is there any further business to come before the class meeting?" silence. "a motion to adjourn is in order." the motion was put, offered and carried. dick prescott stepped down from the platform, a man restored to his birthright of esteem from his comrades. chapter xvi finding the baseball gait "morning, old ramrod!" never had greeting a sweeter sound than when dick strolled about in the quadrangle after breakfast the next morning. scores who, for months, had looked straight past prescott when meeting him, now stopped to speak, or else nodded in a friendly manner. twenty minutes later, the sections were marching off into the academic building, in the never-ceasing grind of recitations. "prescott," declared durville, during the after-dinner recreation period, "we want you to come around to show what you can do at baseball. we've some good, armor-proof material for the squad, but we need a lot more. and we want holmesy, too. bring him around with you, won't you?" "if he'll come," nodded dick. "he must come. but you'll hold yourself ready, anyway, won't you?" "i'd hate to go in without greg," replied dick. "he and i generally work together in anything we attempt." "that was just the kick holmesy made when you---when things were different," corrected the captain of the army nine hastily. "well, you see, 'durry,' we were always chums back in the good old high school days. we always played together, then, in any game, and either of us would feel lonesome now without the other." "oh, of course," nodded durville. "well, i'll see holmesy and try to round him up, if you say so." "i think i can get him to come around," smiled dick. "but you may be tremendously disappointed in both of us." "can you play ball as well as holmesy?" "perhaps; nearly, i guess." "then we surely do need you both, for we've seen holmesy toy with the ball, and we know where he'd rate. do you think you play baseball at the same gait that you do football, old ramrod?" "i think it's possible that i do," dick half admitted slowly. "always modest, aren't you?" laughed "durry" good humoredly. "somehow, prescott, it seems almost impossible to think of you heading a charge, or graduating number one in your class. you'd be too much afraid that someone else wanted either honor." prescott laughed good humoredly. then, dropping his voice, he went on very gravely: "durry, you've behaved very nicely to me in more ways than one, after that time when i necessarily reported you. are you sure that you wholly overlooked my act." "glad you asked me, prescott. i've come to realize that you did your full duty, and the only thing you could do as the captain of my company. but i was terribly upset that night. nothing but a matter of the first importance would ever have driven me to slip into 'cits.' and sneak off the post in that fashion." "i can quite believe that," nodded dick. "well, it---it was a girl, of course," confessed "durry." "you know, cadets have a habit of being interested in girls, and this girl means everything to me. she's up in newburgh, and was ill. i thought she was more ill than she really was. but i knew that i could hardly get official permission to go and see her, so---so i chanced it and went without leave. i wouldn't have done such a thing under any other circumstances." "did the young lady recover?" asked prescott with deep interest. "oh, yes; i dragged her to the hop the other night. she was stepping around the hall with another fellow, for one of the dances, and that was how i came to be out in the air alone. but i'll look for both you and holmesy at practice this afternoon," ended "durry," hastening away. "go to a diamond try-out?" asked greg when dick broached the subject. "of course i will, and crazy over the chance. all that has held me back so far, old ramrod, was the fact that you hadn't been invited. but now that has all been changed." when the diamond squad reported, lieutenant lawrence, the head baseball coach, ordered the young men outdoors to the field. "come over here, please, prescott and holmes," called the coach, who had been conferring in low tones with "durry." "what positions do you two feel that you would be at your best in?" "why, we have conceit enough, sir, to think that we might make at least a half-way battery," smiled dick. "battery, eh?" repeated lieutenant lawrence. "good enough! get out and do it. durville, you're one of the real batsmen. run out there to the home plate, and see whether prescott and holmes can put anything past you." how good it felt to be in field clothes again! and both greg and dick wore on the breasts of their sweaters the army "a," won by making the football eleven the year before. dick fingered the ball carefully while greg was trotting away to place behind the home plate. lieutenant lawrence went more deliberately, but took his place where the umpire would have stood in a game. "what kind of a ball do you like best, durry?" asked prescott, smilingly. "a medium slow one, close to the end of the stick, about here," replied durville. "i'll try to give you something else, then," chuckled dick. and give the batsman something else was just what he did. crack! durville swatted the ball. it rose steeply at first, then sailed away gracefully towards the clouds. "get a fresh ball!" shouted one member of the training squad. "that leather isn't going to come down again!" it did, though a scout had to run far afield to pick it up. lieutenant lawrence didn't look exactly disappointed, but he had hoped to see something better than this had been. five more dick pitched in, and of these "durry" put his mark on three. "that will be enough to-day, i guess, mr. prescott," remarked lieutenant lawrence in an even voice. poor dick flushed, but was about to turn away from the pitcher's box when durville turned to the army coach. "if you really don't mind, sir, i'd like to see prescott throw in a few more. he hasn't held a ball in his hands for a long time, and i think he has only been warming up." "if you really think it worth while," nodded the lieutenant. then, raising his voice: "we'll have you try just a few more, prescott. try to astonish everyone!" greg, whose face had flushed with mortification, now crouched a bit, sending dick one of the old-time signals. holmes was not even sure his chum would remember the signal. it is doubtful if anyone noticed the return that dick sent back to show that he understood. durville took a good grip on his stick, his alert gaze on the man in the box. with hardly a trace of flourish dick let the ball go. on it came, not very swift and straight over the plate. "durry" himself felt a sinking of the heart that. dick should let such an easy one leave him. yet durville had his own work to do honestly. he must pound this easy one and drive it as far as he could. durville swung and let go. but just as he did so---that ball dropped! it passed on a level two feet below the swinging stick, and greg, with a quiet grin, neatly mitted it. "good!" muttered coach lawrence under his breath. "got any more like that, prescott?" he called. "i think i have a few, sir, when i get my arm warmed up and limbered," dick admitted. "take your time, then. don't knock your arm out of shape." again greg was signaling, though the signal was so difficult to catch that many of the onlookers wondered if holmes really had signaled. swish---ew---ew---zip! again durville had fanned truly, though nothing but air. the outshoot had seemed to spring lazily around, just out of reach of the end of his stick. now, every member of the squad, and all of the spectators were beginning to take keen notice. "slowly, prescott. take your time between," admonished lieutenant lawrence, who knew how easily a pitcher out of training might wrench his muscles and go stale for several days. greg had signaled for what had once been one of his chum's best---a modification of the "jump ball" that had cost this young pitcher much hard study and arm-strain. as dick stood ready to let go of the ball he seemed inclined to dawdle over it. it wasn't going to be one of his snappiest---any onlooker could judge that, at least, so it seemed. even durville was fooled, though he did not let up much in the way of alertness. now the ball came on, with not much speed or steam behind it. durville took a good look, made some calculation for possible deception, then made his swing with the stick. slightly forward durville had to bend, in order to get low enough to make the crack. as his bat swished half lazily through the air, durville "ducked" suddenly, for the upbounding ball had gone so close to his ear as to seem bent on removing some of the skin off that member. greg, who had been stooping, was up in time to mit the ball. then durville, his face flushing, heard holmes chuckle. "one or two more, if you like, sir," called dick, facing the coach. "but i think, sir, i'd better be in finer trim before i do too much tossing in one afternoon." "you've done enough, prescott," cried lieutenant lawrence, stepping forward and resting one hand cordially on dick's shoulder. "train with us for a fortnight, and you'll take all the hide off of the navy's mascot goat." there was a laugh from the members of the squad who stood within hearing. but, as dick prescott and greg holmes walked over to the side of the field they were greeted by a cheer from all who had watched their performance. "i'm very glad you asked for a further trial for prescott," murmured lieutenant lawrence to the captain of the army nine. "i thought you would be, sir," durville replied. "we have a line-up, after these two men have been trained into shape, that will make one of the strongest army nines in a generation." "we'd have tanned the navy last year, sir," ventured durville, "if we had known what material we had in prescott and holmes, and had been able to get them out." at cadet mess that evening the talk ran high with joy. west point was sure it had found its baseball gait! chapter xvii ready for the army-navy game in between times, in the strenuous hours that followed, dick found the time, somehow, to write two letters of moment. one was to his mother, the other to laura bentley. in both he told how the last bar to his happiness in the army had been removed. yet dick did not go very deeply into details. he merely explained that the class had discovered, on indisputable evidence, that he had been dealt with unjustly. he made it plain, however, that he was now again in high favor with his class, and that he had even been honored by reelection to the class presidency. "greg, you send dave darrin a short note for me, will you?" begged dick, as he toiled away at the missive to laura. "old dave will want only the bare facts; that will be enough for him. he'll cheerfully wait for details until some time when we're all graduated and meet in the service." dave darrin's reply was short, but characteristic: "of course dear old dick came through all right! he's the kind of fellow that always does and always must come through all right---otherwise there'd be no particular use in being manly." no word came from the missing jordan. truth to tell, no one seemed to care, outside of the young man's father. it is rare, indeed, that a cadet deserts, and when he does, unless he has taken government property with him, no effort is made to find him. by the end of the week, dick prescott was the hope of the army nine, as he had once been of the eleven. a cadet is always in condition. his daily training keeps him there. so dick had only to give his arm a little extra work, increasing it some each day. "do you think i'm going to be in satisfactory shape, sir?" dick asked the army coach friday afternoon. "if something doesn't happen to you, prescott, you're going to be the strongest, speediest pitcher i've ever seen on the army nine," replied lieutenant lawrence. "isn't that saying a good deal, sir?" "yes; but you're the sort of athlete that one may say a great deal about," replied lieutenant lawrence, with a confident smile. "and mr. holmes is very nearly as good a man as you are." "i always thought him fully as good, even better," replied prescott. "there isn't much to choose between you," admitted coach. "i wish we could always look for such men on our army teams." "you can one of these days, sir." "when will that day come?" "it will come, sir, when public-spirited citizens everywhere go in strongly for athletics in the high schools, as they did in the town where holmes and i received our earlier training." the letter from cadet prescott's mother came almost by return mail. she had never for a moment lost faith, she wrote, that all would come out right with her boy, and she was heartily glad that her faith had been justified. she was sorry, indeed, for that unfortunate other cadet whose enmity for dick had been his own undoing in the long run. it was some days later when laura's letter reached the now eager pitcher of the army nine. now that letter was cordial enough in every way, and laura made no secret of her delight and of her pride in her friend. "yet there's something lacking here," murmured prescott uneasily, as he read the letter through once more. "what is it? laura writes as if she were trying to show more reserve with me than she did once. what is the matter? has she cooled toward me at just the time when i shall soon be able to offer her my name and my future?" the thought was torment. nor, of course, did dick fail to remember all about that prosperous and agreeable gridley merchant, leonard cameron, who, for upwards of two years, had been one of miss bentley's most devoted admirers. "i suppose he's the kind of fellow who is calculated to please a woman," mused dick with a sinking at heart. "and cameron has had the great advantage of being right on the spot all the time. moreover, he has had his future mapped out for him, while i wasn't assured about my own, and he hasn't been afraid to speak. great scott, i must wait until the night of the graduation ball before i can speak and find out how the land lies for me. but is laura coming to that hop?" again dick ran hastily through the letter. yet, look as he would, he could find no allusion of laura's to coming on for the graduation hop. "what an idiot i am!" growled prescott to himself. "i'm certain i forgot to ask her, in my last letter. if i did, it was solely because i've always been so sure that she'd be on here for graduation week as a matter of course." after pacing his room for a few moments, dick sat down and wrote feverishly back to laura bentley, asking her if she were coming on for graduation and the hop. "i've always looked forward to having you here as a matter of course on that great occasion," dick penned, "so i'm not very certain that i have made the invitation as explicit as i've meant to. but you'll come, won't you, laura? it would be a poor graduation for me, without your face in the throng, for the others will be strangers to me. won't you please write promptly and set my mind at ease on this vital point?" in three days laura's answer came. unless unavoidably prevented she would be on hand during a part of graduation week. "and i certainly want to attend the graduation hop," laura added, "for it will probably be the only one that i shall ever have a chance to attend." "now, what does she mean by that last statement?" pondered dick, finding new cause for worry. "does she mean that she expects to cut the army after this year? is she really planning to marry that fellow cameron? gracious, how time has flown during these hurried years at west point! for two years past laura has been fully old enough to wed! what a folly she'd commit in waiting all these years for backward me to get ready to open my lips! yes; i guess it's going to be cameron." cadet prescott compressed his lips grimly, but he was soldier enough to be game and face the music. "i've got to be patient a few weeks more, and take the chances," dick told himself, as he scurried away to daily ball practice. "with a rival in the field i wouldn't dare, anyway, to trust my fate to a pleading set down on paper. but i'll send laura a letter once a week now, anyway. she may guess from that, as graduation approaches, that i am sending my thoughts more and more in her direction." with the bravery of which he was so capable, dick ceased his worry about his sweetheart as much as he could, and threw his leisure hours heartily into his work in the ball squad. it will not be possible to describe the games of the season in detail. there were twenty scheduled games in all, though three were called off on account of rain. the army won twelve out of sixteen games played with college teams. dick and greg were the battery in the heaviest nine of the winning games, and in one of the games lost. prescott and holmes had no difficulty in putting up a game that has sent them down in history as being the best army battery to that date. but the navy, that year, had an exceptionally fine team, too, with dave darrin and dalzell for its star battery. "this is the game we've got to win, fellows," called out durville earnestly, two days before the annapolis nine was due at west point in the latter part of may. "we've done finely this year, better than we had hoped. but, after all, what is it to beat every other college, and then have to go down before the navy in defeat at the end?" "who says we're going down in defeat?" grumbled greg. "if you say we're not, you and prescott, then you can do a lot to hearten us up," continued durville, with a sharp glance at the star battery pair. "see here, old ramrod, you know all about that annapolis battery," broke in hackett, of the nine. "what about them as ball players? i understand you went to school with darrin and dalzell. do that pair play ball the way they do football?" "yes," nodded dick. "if anything, they play baseball better." "but you and holmesy put them out at football. can't you do it on the diamond, too?" insisted hackett. "i hope so, but greg and i will feel a lot more like bragging, possibly, after we've played the game through. there isn't much brag about us now, eh, greg?" "not much," confessed greg. "and you fellows want to remember that old ramrod and i are to play only two out of the nine positions. don't depend on us to play the whole game for the army." "of course not," agreed hackett, perhaps a bit tartly. "but if the other seven of us were wonders we'd stand no show unless we had a battery that can do up these awful ogres of the navy nine." "oh, you're better than the navy battery, aren't you, old ramrod?" demanded beckwith. "no, we're not," replied dick slowly, thoughtfully. "don't tell us that the salt-water catcher and pitcher are ahead of you two!" protested durville with new anxiety. "if either crowd is better, they're likely to be it," murmured dick. thereupon all in the dressing room wheeled to take a look at greg. but young holmes nodded his head in confirmation. "don't talk that way," pleaded beckwith. "you'll have us all scared cold before we touch foot to the field day after to-morrow." "just what i said," grumbled greg. "some of the fellows on the army nine expect two men who are not above the average to win the whole game." from all private and newspaper accounts many of the west point fans were inclined to the belief that the navy outpointed the army in the matter of battery. it had been so the year before when, as readers of "_dave darrin's third year at annapolis_" will recall, the navy had succeeded in carrying the game away with neatness and despatch. "you young men have simply got to hustle and keep cool. that's all you can do," urged lieutenant lawrence. "we haven't had so good a nine in years. whatever you do, don't lie down at the last moment, and give up to the navy the only game of the year that is really worth winning." then came two hard afternoons of practice. every onlooker watched dick and greg closely, anxious to make sure that neither young man was going stale. with each added hour it must be confessed that anxiety at west point rose another notch. then came the day of the game. even the tireless and merciless instructors over in the academic building eased up a bit on the cadets that day, if ever the instructors did such a thing. the annapolis nine arrived before one o'clock and was promptly taken to dinner. all that forenoon, the factions had been gathering. most of the visitors, to be sure, came to "root" for the army, though there were not wanting several good-sized crowds that came to cheer and urge the navy young men on to victory. by noon there were three thousand outsiders on the west point reservation. afternoon trains, stages and automobiles brought crowds after that. by three o'clock everyone that expected to see the game had arrived. there were now nine thousand people on the grandstands and along the sides. "nine?" repeated durville in the dressing room, when the word was brought to him. "five thousand used to be about the usual crowd, i believe. old ramrod, you and holmesy are surely responsible for the other four thousand. darrin and dalzell can't have done it all, for the navy always travels light on baggage when headed this way. yes, you and holmesy have dragged the crowd in." "quit your joshing," muttered greg, who was bending over his shoe laces. "yes; cut it. we can stand it better after the game," laughed dick. "get your men out in five minutes more, durville," called lieutenant lawrence, looking in. "the navy fellows have been on the field ten minutes already. you want to limber up your men a bit before game is called." already the sound had reached dressing quarters of the visiting fans cheering for the navy. in three minutes more the cheering ascended with four times as much volume, for now durville marched the picked army nine on to the field, and the fans on the stands caught sight of these trim young soldiers. "i've got a hunch you'll do it for us to-day," whispered beckwith in prescott's ear. "look out. a little hunch is a dangerous thing," retorted dick, with a grim smile. chapter xviii dan dalzell's crabtown grin six minutes later, the umpire called the captains to the home plate for the toss. "there they are---the same old chums!" cried dick, hitting greg a nudge. darrin and dalzell, of the navy nine, had been trying to catch the eyes of the army battery. now the four old chums raced together to a point midway between pitcher's box and home plate. there they met and clasped each others' hands. "the same old pair, i know!" cried dave darrin heartily. "and we think as much of you two as ever, even if you are in the poor old army," grinned dan. "we've come all the way up from crabtown to teach you how to play ball. the knowledge will probably prove useful to you some day." "why, dick," protested holmes in mock astonishment, "these cabin boys seem to think they can really play ball!" "and all i'm afraid of is that they can," laughed dick. "can't we, though---just!" mocked dan, dancing a brief little step. "wait until you take a stick to our work, and then see where you'll live!" "cut it, danny, little lion-fighter, cut it!" warned dave darrin, with quiet good nature. "you know what they tell us all the time, down at crabtown---that 'brag never scuttled a fighting ship yet.' "dave, you don't expect danny to believe that, do you?" asked greg, grinning hard. "danny never went into anything that he didn't try to win by scaring the other side cold. if our instructors here know what they're talking about, hot air isn't necessarily fatal to the enemy." "i can tell you one thing, anyway," chipped in dan, while the other three grinned indulgently at him. "yes; you have it straight that this is to be the army's game," mocked greg. "but we knew that before we saw you to-day." "there goes our joy-killer," grunted prescott, as the umpire's shrill whistle sounded in. "dave, we'll be in the navy's dressing room just as soon as-----" "just as soon as this cruel war is over," hummed dan. the toss having been won by the navy, the captain of that nine had chosen to go to bat. now the players on both sides were scattering swiftly to their posts. dick took but a bound or two back to the box, just as the umpire broke the package around the new ball and tossed it to the army pitcher. "play ball!" it was on, with a rush, and a cheer, led by some eight measures of music from the military academy band, which had been quiet for a few minutes. then the cheer settled down, for prescott found himself facing dan dalzell at the bat, with darrin on deck. "wipe 'em!" signaled greg's antics. now, to "wipe" dalzell, who had known everyone of dick's old curves and tricks in former days, did not look like a promising task, for dalzell, in addition to his special knowledge about this pitcher, was an expert with the bat. but there might be a chance to put dan on the mourner's bench. if dalzell succeeded in picking up even a single from dick's starting delivery, then dave could be all but depended upon to push his navy chum a bag or two further around the course. "if i can twist dan all up, it may serve to rattle dave, too," thought the army pitcher like a flash. dalzell poised the bat, and stood swinging it gently, with an expectant grin that, had it been a school audience, would have made the youngsters on the bleachers yell: "get your face closed tight, danny! that grin hides the stick!" dalzell had often had that hurled at him in the old days, but he did not have to dread it now. but prescott knew that old broad grin. it was dalzell's favorite "rattler" for the balltosser. "i think i know the scheme for getting the hair off your goat," mused prescott, as he sent in his first. "ball one!" called the umpire. dan's grin broadened. "ball two!" dalzell knew he had the army pitcher going now, and didn't take the trouble to reach for the ball. "strike one!" that took some of the starch out of the navy batsman, who suddenly realized that this twirler for the army was up to old tricks. "strike two!" dan was sure he had that one, and he missed it only by an inch. gone, now, was the grin on dalzell's face. a frown gathered between his eyes as he took harder hold of the stick and waited. nor did prescott keep him long waiting. the ball came in, and dan gauged it fairly well. yet he fanned for the third time. "batsman out!" dan hesitated an almost imperceptible instant at the plate. swift as lightning he made a wry little mouth at prescott. it nearly broke dick up with laughter as dalzell stalked moodily to the bench and dave stepped forward. in fact, the army pitcher choked and shook so that durville called to him in a quiet, anxious voice from shortstop's beat: "anything wrong, ramrod?" none of the spectators heard this, but most of them saw dick's short, vigorous shake of the head as he palmed the ball. then he let it go, for darrin was waiting, and in grand old dave's eyes flashed the resolve to retrieve what had just been taken from the navy. "darry can't lose, anyway. he'll take the conceit out of these army hikers," predicted some of the knowing ones among the navy fans. "ball one!" though not sure, dave had expected this, and did not try keenly for dick's first delivery, which, as he knew of old, was seldom of this pitcher's best. then came what looked like a high ball. of old, this had been the poorest sort for darrin to bit, and dick seemed to remember it. but darrin had changed with the years, and he felt a swift little jolt of amusement as he swung for that high one. just about three feet away from the plate, however, that ball took a most unexpected drop, and passed on fully eighteen inches under the swing of darrin's stick. "strike one!" at the next darrin's judgment forbade him to offer, but the umpire judged it a fair ball, and called: "strike two!" dalzell, on the bench, was leaning forward now, his chin plunged in between his hands. "dick prescott hasn't lost any of his knack for surprises," muttered danny. "and if we, who know his old tricks, can't fathom him at all, what are the other seven of us going to do?" as the ball arched slowly back into dick's hands, dalzell, in his anxiety, found himself leaping to his feet. and now prescott pitched, in answer to greg's signal, what looked like a coming jump ball. dave darrin knew that throw, and was ready. in another instant he could have dropped with chagrin, for the ball, after all, was another "drop," and greg holmes had mitted it for the army in tune to the umpire's: "strike three-out! two out!" "david, little giant, your hand!" begged dalzell, in a fiery whisper as his chum reached the bench. "what's up?" asked darrin half suspiciously. "agree with me, now---make deep and loud the solemn vow that we'll use dick and greg just as they've treated us!" "we will, if we can," nodded darrin, more serious than his chum. "but i always try to tell you, danny boy, that it's best not to do your bragging until after you've scuttled your ship." just as dave had stepped away from the plate, hutchins, the little first baseman of the navy, had bounded forward. hutchins was wholly cool, and had keen eye for batting. he hoped, despite what he had heard of prescott's cleverness, to send navy spirits booming by at least a two-bagger. "strike one!" prescott had not wasted any moments, this time, and hutchins was caught unawares. the little first baseman flushed and a steely look came into his eyes. at the next one he struck, but it came across the plate as an out-shoot that was just too far out for hutchins's reach. had he not offered it would have been a "called ball." with two strikes called against him, and nothing moving, hutchins felt the ooze coming out of his neck and forehead. the navy had been playing grand ball that spring. it would never do to let the army get too easy a start. but dick poised, twirled and let go. it was a straight-away, honest and fair ball that he sent. to be sure there was a trace of in-shoot about it that made hutchins misjudge it so that, in the next instant, the passionless umpire sounded the monotonous solo: "strike three---and out. side out!" from the navy seats dead calm, but from the band came a blare of brass and a clash of drums and cymbals as the cheering started. in an instant, out of all the hubbub, came the long corps yell from the cadets, ending with: "prescott! holmes!" sweet music, indeed, to the army battery. but greg heard it on the wing, so to speak, for at the changing of the sides he had hastened forward, so as to pass dan dalzell: "danny boy, after the game, i want you to do something big for me," whispered cadet holmes. "surely," murmured dalzell. "what shall it be?" "i think i know how you get that grin of yours, that conquering grin on your face, but i wish you'd show me how you make it stick!" "call you out for that some day," hissed dalzell, as, with heightened color, he made his way to catcher's post of duty behind the plate. dave darrin received the ball, and handled it, after the ways of his kind, for a few seconds, to detect any irregularities there might be to its surface or any flaws in its roundness. "play ball!" called the umpire. with beckwith holding the stick, and durville on deck, dick had time to do what he was most anxious to do---to make a study of any new things that darrin might have learned. dave appeared to be fully warmed at the start. "strike one!" called the umpire, though beckwith had not dared offer. then: "strike two!" dick began to see light. dave was in fine form, and was sending them in with such terrific speed that it was barely possible to gauge them. that style of pitching carried big hopes for a navy victory! chapter xix when the army fans winced as darrin sent in the third ball beckwith made a desperate sweep for it. it was not to be his, however. "three strikes! striker out!" that broad grin had come back to dan dalzell's face, as he held up the neatly mitted ball for an instant, then hurled it lazily back to dave darrin. now, durville came to bat, and the captain of the army nine was an accurate and hard hitter. "ball one!" "strike one!" "strike two!" "ball two!" then came a slight swish of willow against leather. durville had at last succeeded in just touching the ball. but it was a foul hit, and that was all. dan, however, was not out at the side in time to pick that foul into his own mitten. durville, his face somewhat pale and teeth clenched, stood ready for his last chance. it came, in one of darrin's trickiest throws. it was no use, after all. durville missed, and dalzell didn't. "strike three---striker out!" "prescott, you know that navy fellow! go after him---hammer him all the way down the river!" groaned durville in a low voice as dick came forward. dan's quick ears heard, however, and his grin broadened. well enough dalzell knew that darrin had a lot of box tricks secreted that would fool even a prescott. but dick was not to be rattled, at any rate. he picked up the bat, "hefted" it briefly, then stepped up beside the plate, ready in a few seconds after durville had gone disconsolately back to the bench. "i won't try to decipher dave's deliveries; i'll judge them by what they look like after the ball has started," swiftly decided prescott. "ball one!" "ball two!" "strike one!" "strike two!" "crack!" so fast did prescott start when that fly popped, that he was nearly half way to first base when he dropped his bat. it was only a fly out to right field, but it was a swift one, and it struck turf before the navy fielder could hoof it to the spot. he caught it up, whirled, and drove straight to first, but prescott's toe had struck the bag a fraction of a second before. "runner safe at first!" called the umpire quietly. then the ball went back to dave, who now had a double task of alertness, for holmes held the bat at the plate, while prescott was trying to steal second. well did dave darrin know the trickiness of both these army players! greg, too, was cool, though a good deal apprehensive. with him the call stood at balls three and strikes two when greg thought he saw his real chance. swat! greg struck with all his strength, and at the sound, a cheer rose from the seats of the army fans. but the ball was lower than greg had calculated, and after all his assault on the leather had resulted only in a bunt. navy's pitcher took a few swift steps, then bent, straightened up and sent the ball driving to first. "runner out at first!" then indeed a wail went up. what did it matter that prescott had reached second? greg's disaster had put the side out. and now the navy came back to bat. in this half of the second, three hits were taken out of prescott's delivery, and at one time there were two sailors on bases. then the navy went out to grass and the army marched in for a trial. this time, however, the army had neither durville, prescott nor holmes at the plate, and with these three best batters on the bench, dave had the satisfaction of striking the soldiers out in one, two, three. in the third inning neither side scored. then, in the fourth, with two sailors out when he came to bat, dalzell exploded a two-bagger that brought the navy to its feet on the benches, cheering and hat-waving. by the time that dan's flying feet had kicked the first bag on the course dave darrin was holding the willow and standing calmly by the plate, watching. two of dick's offers, dave let go by without heeding, one ball and one strike being called. but dave, though he looked sleepy, was wholly alert. at the third offer he drove a straight, neat little bunt that was left for the army's second baseman. that baseman had it in season to drive to lanton, at army first base. but dave had hit the bag first, and was safe, while dan dalzell was making pleased faces over at third. now, a member of the navy team slipped over to that side of the diamond to coach dan on his home-running. in addition to pitching, dick had to watch first and third bases, in which situation dave darrin, with great impudence and coolness, stole second in between two throws. on the faces of the army fans, by this time, anxiety was written in large letters. they had heard much about the navy battery, but not of its base-running qualities. it was little hutchins now again at the bat. his last time there he had been struck out without trouble. "but, it never does to be too positive that a fellow is a duffer," mused prescott grimly, as he gripped the leather. just when little hutchins seemed on the point of going to pieces he misjudged one of dick's puts so completely that he struck it, by accident, a fearful crack. a cloud of dust marked the limits of the diamond, while the air was filled with yells and howls. when the dust cleared and the howls had subsided it was found that dalzell had loped in across the home plate, darrin had come along more swiftly and was in, while hutchins touched the second base an instant after the ball had nestled in greg holmes's army mitt. it mattered little that earl, who came next to bat, struck out. the navy had pulled in two runs---the only runs scored so far! in the other half the army nine secured nothing. in the fifth neither team scored. in the sixth the navy scored one more run. in the sixth lanton, of the army, got home with a single run. thus, at the beginning of the seventh, the score stood at three to one with the grin on the naval face. during the seventh inning nothing was scored. now, the sailor boys came to bat for the first half of the eighth, with a din of navy yells on the air. west point's men came back with a sturdy assortment of good old military academy yells, but the life was gone out. the army was proud of such men as durville, prescott, holmes, but admitted silently that darrin and dalzell appeared to belong to a slightly better class of ball. "it's our fault, too," muttered the army coach, lieutenant lawrence, to a couple of brother officers. "darrin and dalzell have been training with the navy nine for two years, while prescott and holmes came in late this season. even if they wouldn't play last year, these two men of ours should have reported for the very first day's work last february." "prescott couldn't do it," remarked lieutenant denton, who had just joined the group. "why not, denton?" asked lieutenant lawrence. "he was in coventry." "pshaw!" "didn't you know that?" asked denton. "not a word of it, though durville once hinted to me that there was some sort of reason why prescott couldn't come in." "there was---the coventry," denton replied. "but that trouble blew over when the first classmen found themselves wrong in something of which jordan had accused prescott." "humph!" growled lieutenant lawrence, in keen displeasure. "then, if we lose to-day, the first class can blame itself!" "you think our battery pair better than the navy's, then?" asked lieutenant denton. "our men would have been better, by a shade, anyway, had they been as long in training. but as it is-----" "as it is," supplied another officer in the group, "we are wiped off the slate by the navy, this year, and no one can know it better than we do ourselves." just as the fortunes of war would have it, dan dalzell again stood by the plate at the beginning of the eighth. "wipe off that smile, danny boy," called darrin softly. but dan only shook his head with a deepening grin which seemed to declare that he found the navy situation all to the good. in fact, dalzell felt such a friendly contempt for poor old dick's form by this time, that he cheerily offered at dick's first. crack! that ball arched up for right field, and dan, hurling his bat, started to make tracks and time. beckwith, however, was out in right field, and knew what was expected of him. he ran in under that dropping ball, held out his hands and gathered it in. dick smiled quietly, almost imperceptibly, while dan strolled mournfully back to the bench. then prescott turned, bent on annihilating his good old friend darrin, if possible. in great disgust, dave struck out. the look on the navy fan's faces could be interpreted only as saying: "oh, well, we don't need runs, anyway!" but when hutchins struck out---one, two, three!---after as many offers, navy faces began to look more grave. "hold 'em down, navy---hold 'em down!" rang the appeal from navy seats when the army went to bat in the eighth. dick was first at bat now, with greg on deck. as prescott swung the willow and eyed darrin, there was "blood" in the army pitcher's eyes. then darrin gave a sudden gasp, for, at his first delivery, dick sized up the ball, located it, and punched it. that ball dropped in center field just as dick was turning the first bag. it sped on, but dick turned back from too big a risk. but he looked at greg, waiting idly at bat, and holmes caught the full meaning of that appealing look. "it's now or never," growled greg between his teeth. "it's seldom any good to depend at all on the ninth inning." darrin, with a full knowledge of what was threatened to the navy by the present situation, tried his best to rattle greg. and one strike was called on holmesy, but the second strike he called himself by some loud talk of bat against leather. then, while the ball sped into right field, greg ran after it, stopping, however, at first bag, while prescott sprinted down to second bag, kicked it slightly, and came back to it. it was up to lanton, of the army, now! in this crisis the army first baseman either lacked true diamond nerve, or else he could not see darrin's curves well, for lanton took the call of two strikes before he was awarded called balls enough to permit him to lope contentedly away to first. this advanced both dick and greg. bases full---no outs! three runs needed! this was the throbbing situation that confronted cadet carter as he picked up an army bat and stood by the plate, facing the "wicked" and well-nigh invincible darrin of the navy! chapter xx the vivid finish of the game on both sides of the field, every one was standing on seats. even the cadets had risen to their feet, every man's eye turned on the diamond, while the cadet cheer-master danced up and down, ready to spring the yell of triumph if only carter and the player on deck could give the chance. lieutenant lawrence wiped his perspiring face and neck. the coach probably suffered more than any other man on the field. it was his work that had prepared for this supreme game of the whole diamond season! over at third base cadet prescott danced cautiously away, yet every now and then stole nearly back. dick was never going to lose a scored run through carelessness. "now, good old carter, can't you?" groaned durville, as the army batsman went forward to the plate. "durry, i'll come home with my shield, or on it," muttered carter, with set teeth and white lips as he went to pick up the bat that he was to swing. carter was not one of the best stick men of the army baseball outfit, but there is sometimes such a thing as batting luck. for this, carter prayed under his breath. darrin, of course, was determined to baffle this strong-hope man of west point. he sent in one of his craftiest outshoots. for a wonder, carter guessed it, and reached out for it---but missed. "strike two!" followed almost immediately from the placid's umpire's lips. everyone who hoped for the army was trembling now. dan dalzell did some urgent signaling. in response, darrin took an extra hard twist around the leather, unwound, unbent and let go. _crack_! batter's luck, and nothing else! "carter, carter, carter!" broke loose from the mouths of half a thousand gray-clad cadets, and the late anxious batter was sprinting for all there was in him. just to right of center field, and past, went the ball---a good old two-bagger for any player that could run. from third dick came in at a good jog, but he did not exert himself. he had seen how long it must take to get the ball in circulation. as for holmes, he hit a faster pace. he turned on steam, just barely touching third as he turned with no thought of letting up this side of the home plate. lanton made third---he had to, for carter was bent on kicking the second bag in time. had there been another full second to spare carter would have made it. but navy center field judged that it would be far easier to put carter out than to play that trick on lanton, since the latter had but ninety feet to run, anyway. so carter was out, but lanton was hanging at third, crazy with eagerness to get in. it all hung on lanton now. if he got across the home plate in time enough it would give the army the lead by one run. at this moment the score was tied---three to three! "get out there and coach lantin, old ramrod," begged "durry," and dick was off, outside of the foul line, his eye on dave darrin and on every other living figure of the navy nine. it was holden up, now, and, though the cadets on the grandstand looked at carter briefly, with praise in their eyes for his two-bagger that had meant two runs, the eyes of the young men in gray swiftly roved over by the plate, to keep full track of holden's performance. but holden struck out, and army hopes sank. tyrrell came in to the plate, and on him hung the last hope. if he failed, army fans would be near despair. dave darrin was beginning to feel the hot pace a bit, for in this inning he had exerted himself more than in any preceding one. however, that was all between darrin and himself. not another player on the field guessed how glad dave would be for the end of the game. yet he steeled himself, and sent in swift, elusive ones for tyrrell to hit. swat! tyrrell landed a blow against the leather, at the last chance that he had at it. it was a bunt, but navy's shortstop simply couldn't reach it in time to pick it up without the slightest fumble. that delay brought lanton home and over the plate. how the plain resounded with cheers! for now the army led by a single run, and tyrrell was safe at first. jackson up, with beckwith on deck. there was hope of further scoring. yet no keen disappointment was felt when jackson struck out. in from pasture trooped the navy men, eager to retrieve all in the ninth. "fit to stay in the box, old ramrod?" anxiously asked "durry," as the nines changed. "surely," nodded dick. "don't stick it out, unless you know you can do the trick," insisted the army captain earnestly. "i'm just in feather!" smiled dick. greg, too, had been a bit anxious; but when the first ball over the plate stung his one unmitted hand, holmes concluded that prescott did not need to be helped out of the box just at that time. then followed something which came so fast that the spectators all but rubbed their eyes. one after another dick prescott struck out three navy batsmen. greg holmes made this splendid work perfect by not letting anything pass him. that wound up the game, for navy had not scored in the ninth, and the rules forbade the army nine to go again to bat to increase a score that already stood at four to three. instantly the academy band broke loose. yet above it all dinned the cheers of the greater part of the nine thousand spectators present. as soon as the band stopped the corps yell rose, with the names of durville, prescott and holmes, and of carter whose batting luck had played such a part in the eighth. but, by the time that the corps yell rose the army nine was nearly off the field. "listen to the good noise, old ramrod," glowed greg. "it's the last time we'll ever hear the corps yell for any work we do in west point athletics," went on greg mournfully. "i know it," sighed dick. "if we ever hear cheers for us again, we'll have to win the noise by a gallant charge, or something like that." "in the army," replied greg, choking somewhat. "yes; in the good old army," went on dick, his eyes kindling. "i don't feel any uneasiness about getting through the final exams. now. we're as good as second lieutenants already, holmesy!" while thus chatting, however, the two chums were keeping pace with their comrades of the nine. the nine from annapolis moved in a compact group a little ahead down the road. just before the army ball-tossers reached the dressing quarters, lieutenant lawrence, their coach, hastened ahead of them, meeting them in the doorway. "the best nine we've had in a long number of years, gentlemen," glowed coach, as he shook the hand of each in passing. "thank you all for your splendid, hard work!" thanks like that was sweet music, after all. but dick raced to dressing quarters full of but one thing. "quick, holmesy! we don't know how soon the navy team may have to run down the road to a train." "aren't they going to have supper at the mess?" demanded greg, as he stripped. "i don't know; i'm afraid not." dick and greg were the first of the army nine to be dressed in their fatigue uniforms. immediately they made a quick break for the navy quarters. "it looks almost cheeky to throw ourselves in on the other fellows," muttered greg dubiously. "some of the middies will think we've come in on purpose to see how they take their beating." "they didn't get a bad enough beating to need to feel ashamed," replied dick. "and we won't say a word about the game, anyway." "may we come in?" called prescott, knocking on the door of the middies' quarters. "who's there?" called a voice. then the navy coach, in uniform, opened the door. "oh, come in, gentlemen," called the coach, holding out his hand. "and let me congratulate you, prescott and holmes, on the very fine game that you two had a star part in putting up for the nine from crabtown." "thank you, sir," dick replied. "but we didn't call on that account. there are two old chums of ours here, sir, that we're looking for." "see anything of them anywhere?" smiled dave darrin, stepping forward, minus his blouse and holding out both hands. dick and greg pounced upon dave. then dan struggled into another article of clothing and ran forward from the rear of the room. "how soon do you go?" asked dick eagerly. "the 6.14 train to new york," replied dave. "oh, then you're not going to have supper at cadet mess?" asked greg in a tone of deep disappointment. "no," answered dan dalzell. "it would get us through too late. we dine in new york on arrival." "hurry up and get dressed," dick urged. then, turning to the coach, he inquired: "may we keep darrin and dalzell with us, sir, until your train leaves?" "no reason on earth why you shouldn't," nodded the navy coach. so dave and dan were dressed in a trice, it seemed, though with the care that a cadet or midshipman must always display in the set of his immaculate uniform. dick seized dave by the elbow, marching him forth, while greg piloted dan. "great game for you-----" began dan, as soon as the quartette of old chums were outside. "send all that kind of talk by the baggage train," ordered cadet holmes. "what we want to talk about are the dear old personal affairs." "you youngsters are through here, after not so many more days, aren't you?" began darrin. "yes; and so are you, down at annapolis," replied prescott. "not quite," rejoined dave gravely. "there's this difference. in a few days you'll be through here, and will proceed to your homes. then, within the next few days, you'll both receive your commissions as second lieutenants in the army, and will be ordered to your regiments. you're officers for all time to come! we of the first class at annapolis will receive our diplomas, surely. but what beyond that? while you become officers at once, we have to start on the two years' cruise, and we're still midshipmen. after two years at sea, we have to come back and take another exam. if we pass that one, then we'll be ensigns---officers at last. but if we fail in the exam, two years hence then we're dropped from the service. after we've gone through our whole course at annapolis we still have to guess, for two years, whether we're going to be reckoned smart enough to be entitled to serve the united states as officers. i can't feel, dick, that we of annapolis, get a square deal." "it doesn't sound like it," prescott, after a moment, admitted. "still, you can do nothing about it. and you knew the game when you went to annapolis." "yes, i knew all this four years ago," darrin admitted. "still, the four years haven't made the deal look any more fair than it did four years ago. however, dick, hang all kickers and sea-lawyers! isn't it grand, anyway, to feel that you're in your country's uniform, and that all your active life is to be spent under the good old flag---always working for it, fighting for it if need be!" "then you still love the service?" asked dick, turning glowing eyes upon his annapolis chum. "love it?" cried dave. "the word isn't strong enough!" "are you engaged, old fellow?" asked greg of dan dalzell. "kind of half way," grinned dan. "that is, i'm willing, but the girl can't seem to make up her mind. and you?" "i've been engaged nine times in all," sighed greg. yet each and every one of the girls soon felt impelled to ask me to call it off." "any show just at present?" persisted dalzell. "why, strange to say," laughed greg, "i'm fancy free at the present moment." "how did the old affair ever come out between dick and laura bentley?" asked dan curiously. "why, the strange part of it is, i don't believe there ever has been any formal affair between dick and laura," greg went on. "that is, no real understanding between them. and now-----" "yes?" urged dan. "a merchant over in gridley, a rather decent chap, too, has been making up to laura pretty briskly, i hear by way of home news," greg continued. "does the yardstick general win out?" demanded dan. "from all the news, i'm half afraid he does." "how does dick take that?" dan was eager to know. "i can't tell you," greg responded solemnly, "for i have never ventured on that topic with old ramrod. but if he loses out with laura, i feel it in my bones that he'll take it mighty hard." "poor old dick!" sighed dan, loyal to the old days. "somehow, i can't quite get it through my head that it's at all right for anyone to withhold from dick prescott anything he really wants." greg sighed too. "any idea what arm of the service you're going to choose?" asked dan presently. "i believe i'll do better to wait and see what my class standing is at graduation," laughed greg. "that is the thing that settles how much choice i'm to have in the matter of arm of the service." "any liking for heavy artillery?" asked dan. "not a whit. cavalry or infantry for mine." "not the engineers?" "only the honor men of the class can get into the engineers," grunted greg. "neither dick nor i stand any show to be honor men. we feel lucky enough to get through the course and graduate at all." dick and dave, too, were talking earnestly about the future, though now and then a word was dropped about the good old past, as described in the _high school boys' series_. ten minutes before the train time two chums in army gray and two in navy blue reached the platform of the railway station. the other middies were there ahead of them. in the time that was left dick and greg were hastily introduced to the other middies. a few jolly words there were, but the other members of the army nine and still other cadets were on hand, and so the talk was general. amid noisy, heartfelt cheering the middy delegation climbed aboard the incoming train. amid more cheers their train bore them away and then some sixty west point cadets climbed the long, steep road, next hastening on to be in time for supper formation. for the members of the first class west point athletics had now become a matter of history only! chapter xxi a cloud on dick's horizon final exams. were passed! not a member of the first class had "fessed" himself down and out, so all were to be graduated. the board of visitors---a committee of united states senators and representatives appointed by the president from among the members of the national congress, arrived. a detachment of cavalry and another of field artillery, both from the regular army, rode to the railway station to aid in the reception of the board. also the entire corps of cadets, two battalions of them, in spick and span full-dress uniform, and with all metal accoutrements glistening, in the sun, stood drawn up as the visitors were escorted to their carriages by waiting army officers. now, the imposing procession started up the steep slope, at a little past mid-afternoon. just as the head of the line reached the flat plain above, most of the members of the board of visitors felt tempted to clap their hands to their ears. for a second detachment of artillery, waiting on the plain, now thundered forth the official artillery salute to the visitors. one of these visitors, a member of the national house of representatives, who had served with distinction in the civil war, having then risen to the grade of major general of volunteers, looked out over the plain, then at the stalwart cadets behind, with moist eyes. he had been a cadet here in the late fifties. he was now too old to fight, but all the ardor of the soldier still burned in his veins! yet only a moment did the line of carriages pause at the plain. then the members of the board were carried on to the west point hotel, where the best quarters had been reserved for such as were not to be personal guests of officers on the post. during the brief wait at the station, cadet captain prescott, standing before the company that he had commanded during this year, caught a brief glimpse of a familiar figure---his mother. by chance mrs. prescott had journeyed to west point on the same train. yet not a chance did dick get for a word with his mother until long after. he was almost frenzied with eagerness for word of laura, and this his mother would have, in some form, but he must wait until all the duties of the day had been performed and leisure had come to him. mrs. prescott, on catching sight of her boy, felt a sudden, exultant throb in her mother heart. then she stepped quickly back, fearful of attracting her lad's attention at a moment when he must give his whole thought to his soldier duties. "my noble, manly boy!" thought the mother, with moistening eyes. "i wonder if i do wrong to think him the noblest of them all?" dick had caught that one swift glance, but did not again see his mother, for his eyes were straight ahead. when the time came for his particular company to wheel and swing into the now moving line of gray, mrs. prescott heard his measured, manly voice: "fours left---march!" when the last company of cadets had fallen into line, mrs. prescott was one of the two dozen or so civilians who fell in at some distance to the rear, climbing the slope behind the moving line of gray. wholly absorbed in the corps, dick's mother had forgotten to board the stage that would have carried her to the hotel. after the visitors had been left at the hotel, the corps marched away. barely half an hour later, however, the two battalions again marched on to the plain. then the most fascinating, the most inspiring of all military ceremonies was gone through with by the best body of soldiery in the world. the cadets of the united states military academy went through all the solemnity of dress parade. it is a sight which, once seen at west point, can never be forgotten by a lover of his flag. one bespectacled young spectator there was who found his breath coming in quick, sharp gasps as he looked on at this magnificent display. he was tall, yet with a slight stoop in his shoulders. his face was covered with a bushy, sandy beard. he was neither particularly well nor very badly dressed, and would have attracted little attention in any crowd. yet this stranger was not looking on a new sight. for nearly four years it had been as the breath of life to him. stoop-shouldered as a matter of disguise, and with beard and spectacles adding to his security from recognition, this slouching young man bent most of his gaze upon the stalwart, erect figure of cadet captain prescott. "you drove me out of here! you cheated me of all the glory of this career, prescott! have you been fool enough to think that i'd forget---that i could forget? you are close to your diploma, now---but before that moment arrives i shall find the way to spoil your chances of a career in the army. and i can get away again without anyone recognizing in me the man who was once known as cadet jordan, of the first class!" yes; it was jordan, back at west point, sure of escaping recognition, and bent on a desperate errand of wrecking dick prescott's promising career. but dick performed all his duties through that dress parade conscious only of the glory of the soldier's life. he thought he had caught a fleeting glimpse of his mother once, in the crowd, as his company executed a wheeling, and he was happy in what he knew her happiness to be. then, when it was all over, and the corps again marched from the field, mrs. prescott, who knew the ways of west point, went and stood at the edge of the grassy plain, nearly opposite the north sally-port. five minutes after the last of the corps had marched in under the port, dick, his dress uniform changed for the fatigue, came out with bounding step and crossed the road. wholly unashamed, he passed his arms around his mother, gave her a big hug, several kisses, and then, hat in hand, turned to stroll with her under the trees. "dad couldn't come, i'm afraid?" dick asked in disappointment. "he had to stay and look after the store, you know, dick, my boy. but the store will be closed two days this week, for your father is coming on here to see you graduate. nothing could keep him away from that." "and how is everyone at home? how is laura?" dick asked eagerly. "she will be here in time for the graduation hop," replied mrs. prescott. "she told me she had seen you so far through your west point life, that she would feel uneasy over not being here to see the last move of all. dick, do you mind your mother asking you a question? you used to care especially for laura bentley, did you not?" "why, mother?" asked prescott with a sudden sinking at heart. lounging against the other side of a tree that prescott and his mother were passing, the disguised jordan was close enough to hear. what he heard seemed to deepen the scowl of hatred on his face; but mother and son were soon out of ear shot, and the miserable jordan slunk away. chapter xxii cadet prescott commands at squadron drill the military academy found itself in a whirling round of recitations and drills, arranged for the delight of the board of visitors. there were other hundreds of spectators at first, and thousands later, to see all that was going on, for there are hosts of citizens who know what inspiring sights are to be found at west point in graduation week. "mr. prescott is directed to report at the office of the commandant of cadets." this order was borne by a soldier orderly immediately after breakfast on the day before graduation. "mr. prescott," said the commandant, when the tall, soldierly looking cadet knocked, entered and saluted, "you will take command at the cavalry squadron drill, which takes place at three this afternoon." dick's heart bounded with pleasure. it was an honor that could come to but one man in the first class, and he was greatly delighted that it should have fallen to him. "mr. holmes will command the first troop, and mr. anstey the second," continued the commandant of cadets, who then rattled off the names of the cadets who would act as subalterns in the squadron. it was a splendid detail, that of commanding the squadron in the cavalry drill---splendid because it is one of the most picturesque events of the week, and also because it calls for judgment and high ability to command. "i must be sure to get word to mother; she mustn't miss a sight that will delight her so greatly," murmured dick, as he hastened away to notify greg and anstey. this done, he hastened off to other duties, though not without yielding much thought to the belief that laura bentley would be here this afternoon, since she was pledged to go with him to the graduation ball in the evening. "mother can be sure to see laura, and they can see the squadron drill together," ran through prescott's mind. a splendid, swift bit of pontoon bridge building had been shown the visitors on the day before; one battalion had given a lively glimpse of tent pitching in perfect alignment as to company streets, and in record time. in the forenoon, there was to be a lively battery drill, to be followed by a dizzying demonstration of the speed at which machine guns may be moved, placed in position and fired so fast that there is a hail of projectiles. for this afternoon, the cavalry drill in squadron, and after that, infantry drill that would include a picture of infantry on the firing line. after that, the last dress parade in which the present first classmen would ever take part as cadets. oh, it was a stirring picture, full of all the dash, the precision and glamour of the soldier's life! the pity of it all was that every red-blooded american boy could not be there to see it all. just before three o'clock every man of the first class turned out through the north sallyport in the full equipment of a cavalryman. here they halted before barracks. dick caught sight of four figures standing hardly more than across the road. a swift glance at the time, and prescott stepped over the road. "good afternoon, mother. good afternoon, mrs. bentley. and laura and belle---oh, how delighted i am to see you both here!" genuine joy shone in this manly cadet's eyes; none could mistake that. "you did not know that greg had invited me to the graduation ball, did you?" asked belle meade. "i did not," dick answered truthfully. "yet i guessed it as soon as i saw you here. and you have been at the annapolis graduation, too?" "why, of course!" exclaimed belle, almost in astonishment. "and laura went with me. that's something else you didn't know, dick." "i've been through the course at west point," laughed the cadet, "and by this time i am not astonished at the number of things that i don't know." "dave and dan said they had seen you only a few days ago, but they sent their love again," rattled on miss meade. "but i'm taking up all of the talk, and i know you're dying to talk to laura." belle accompanied her words with a little gesture of one hand that displayed the flash of a small solitaire diamond set in a band of gold on the third finger of the left hand. dick did not need inquire. he knew that dave darrin had placed that ring where it now flashed. just then greg came through the sally-port. in an instant he bounded across the road. he immediately took it upon himself to talk with belle, and dick turned to laura with flushed face and wistful eyes. in the first instant miss bentley flushed; then a sudden pallor succeeded the flush. dick, taking her dear face as his barometer, felt a sudden indescribable sinking of his heart. they exchanged a few words, then----ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-ta! it was the bugle calling the assembly. swiftly greg sprang across the road to form his troop, while anstey formed the other. both acting troop leaders turned to report to dick that their respective troops were formed. then prescott, for the last time as a cadet, marched the class across the plain at swift, rhythmic tread, to where the veteran cavalry horses stood saddled and tethered. reaching the cavalry instructor, prescott halted, saluted, and reported his command. "stand to horse!" ordered the instructor briskly. there was a dash; in another instant each cadet stood by the head of his selected mount. "prepare to mount!" each cadet seized mane and bridle, also thrusting his left foot into stirrup box. "mount!" like so many figures operated by machinery, the first classmen rose, throwing right legs over saddles, then settling down in the seat. then, all in a twinkling, the ranks reformed. "mr. prescott, take command of the squadron, sir!" rang the instructor's voice. dick thrilled with pleasure as he received the command with a salute. he had not looked, but he knew that those dearest to him were in the crowd beyond, looking on. "draw sabre!" sounded dick's not loud but clean-cut order. greg and anstey repeated the order in turn. instantly all down the strong line naked steel leaped forth. the sabres sprang to the "carry," and the superb picture breathed of military might. cadet captain dick prescott, well in advance, sat facing his squadron; he throbbed with a soldier's ardor at the beauty of the scene. "fours right!" he shouted. "fours right! fours right!" sounded in the differing tones of greg and anstey. "march!" "march! march!" into a long column of fours, to the tune of jingling accoutrements, the squadron swung. prescott wheeled about and rode forward at a walk. in the same instant, the bugler, a musician belonging to the regular army, trotted forward, then slowed down to a walk close to the young squadron commander. from that time on, all the commands were to be given by the bugle. "trot! march!" traveled on clear, musical notes, and the long line of young horsemen moved forward at a faster gait. there was none of the bumping up and down in saddle that disfigures the riding taught in most riding schools. these gray-clad young centaurs rode as though parts of their animals. straight past the canvas shelter that had been erected for the superintendent, the board of visitors and their ladies, swung the four platoons in magnificent order and rhythm. then, on the return, the young cavalrymen swept, at a gallop, by platoons, in echelon and by column of squads. this done, the cadets rode forward, baiting in line before the reviewers. here the senior cavalry instructor rode in front and gave the command: "present---sabres!" the salute to the superintendent and his guests was given with magnificent precision. "continue the drill, mr. prescott!" rang the senior instructor's voice. once more the line of gray and steel swept over the plain. now, the evolutions were those of the field in war time. the charge brought cheers from a thousand throats, and a great fluttering of handkerchiefs. then, while three platoons halted, remaining motionless in saddle, the fourth platoon, after starting at the gallop, sheathed sabres and drew pistols. crack! crack! crack! crack! it was merely mimic war, with blank ammunition, but not an onlooker escaped the impression of how much death and destruction such a line of charging, firing men might carry before them. now the whole squadron was in motion once more. at the sharp, clear order of the bugle the line halted. at the next peal one man in every four stood at the heads of four horses, while the other three of each four ran quickly forward, in fine though open formation. "halt! kneel! ready! aim! at will---_fire_!" here was battle, real enough in everything but the fatalities. each man on the firing line fired rapidly, several shots to the minute, though real aim was taken every time the bolt was shot forward and before the trigger was pulled. tiny, almost invisible puffs of smoke issued from the carbine muzzles. next, an orderly spirited, swift retreat in the face of an imaginary enemy, was made to the horses, which were mounted like a flash, and spurred away. some horses carried double, for some of the cadets lay limp and useless, impersonating men wounded by the pursuing enemy. it was all so stirring, so grand, that the plain rang with cheers. in an hour the drill was over, and the young cavalrymen stood under the showers or disported in the pool. only for a few minutes, however. the infantry drill followed swiftly, after which these same men must swiftly be immaculate in white ducks and the handsome gray full-dress jackets. then followed dress parade, after which came supper, and the first classmen at west point were through with the last day of full duty in gray! chapter xxiii a west pointer's love affair with beating heart dick prescott presented himself at the hotel that evening, and sent up his card to mrs. bentley and the girls. greg was with his chum, of course, but greg was not in a flutter. he was to escort belle meade---an arrangement of chumship, for belle wore the engagement ring of dave darrin, one of greg's old high school chums. for dick, this was the night to which he had looked forward during four years. to-night he felt sure of his career; he was to be graduated into the army, with a position in life fine enough for laura to grace with him. it was on this night, that he had determined to find out whether her heart beat for him, or whether it had already been captured by young mr. cameron back in the home town. "and very likely she wouldn't think of having either of us," smiled dick to himself. "it's easy enough for a girl to be a fellow's friend, but when it comes to selecting a husband she is quite likely to be more particular." it was just after dark as the two young couples sauntered away from the hotel on their way to cullum hall. "you young men are now sure of your army careers," remarked belle, as the four strolled down the road. "as absolutely sure as one can ever be of anything," dick responded. "yes, i feel positive that i am now to be an officer in the army." "while poor dave has just started on a two-year cruise, and must then come back for another examination before he is sure of his commission," sighed belle. "the middies don't get a square deal," said dick regretfully. "when darrin and dalzell were graduated, the other day, they should have been commissioned as ensigns before they were ordered to sea. some day congress and the people will see the injustice of it all, and the unfairness will be remedied." how could prescott possibly know that his commission in the army was not yet sure? that same sandy-bearded, bespectacled and stoop-shouldered ex-cadet jordan was even now eyeing dick from a little distance. "humph! prescott feels mighty big at this moment!" growled the young scoundrel. "i wonder how he'll be feeling at midnight, down in cadet hospital, when the surgeons tell him he has no chance of ever being a sound man again? confound him! i could almost find it in my heart to kill the fellow, instead of merely maiming him. but maiming will be the keener revenge. all his life hereafter prescott will be thinking what might have been if he hadn't met me this night! shall i leap on him when he's coming back from the hotel, after the graduation ball? no; for he'd have holmes with him then. i'll send in word and call him out from the ball, with a message that an old schoolmate wants to see him on something most urgent. i'll have prescott to myself, and all i need is a few seconds. i'm half as powerful again as prescott is!" jordan was not at all lacking in a certain type of ferocious brute courage. as he had just boasted to himself, he was powerful enough to be able to overpower dick in a hand-to-hand conflict, yet the scoundrel meant to attack prescott unawares, without giving the latter a chance to defend himself. then, too, the sight of laura, looking sweeter and more beautiful than she had ever appeared in her life, goaded jordan on to greater fury. "that is the very girl i had planned to cut prescott out with, after he had been kicked from the service, and i was still in the uniform. but it fell out the other way about," gritted jordan. "prescott wears the uniform, and i've been dishonorably dropped from the rolls! prescott, i've a double score to settle with you to-night!" but of all this, of course, prescott was wholly unaware. "how much time have we to spare?" queried dick, then glancing at his watch. "ten minutes. laura, will you stroll around the hall with me and look down over the cliff at the noble old hudson! this will be one of my last glimpses as a cadet." laura assented. greg was about to follow, when belle meade drew him back. "take me inside," she urged. "i am eager to see the decorations." "but dick and laura?" queried greg. "they're of age and can take care of themselves," smiled miss meade. dick prescott's heart was beating, now, like a trip-hammer. even the next day's graduation, and the entrance into the army looked insignificant to him compared with the question of his fate that was now seething in his brain and which he must now have settled. two or three times he opened his lips to speak, then closed them, as the two young people stood glancing down at the river through the darkness. "aren't you unusually silent, dick?" asked laura. "perhaps so," he assented in a low voice. "i'm scared." "scared!" "yes; scared cold. i never knew such a fright in my life before." "why, what-----" "laura, i reckon the brief, direct way of the soldier will be best. laura, ever since we were in high school together i have loved you. through all the years that have followed, that love has never slumbered for an instant. it has grown stronger with every passing \ week. i-----" with a little cry laura bentley drew back. "i'm going right through to the end," cried dick desperately. "then you can throw cold water over me---if you must. laura, i love you, and that love is nearly all of my life! i ask you to become a soldier's bride---mine!" "and---and---is that what has scared you?" asked laura in a very low voice. "yes!" "what a pitiful coward you are, then, to be a candidate for a commission in the army," laughed laura bentley softly. "but you---you haven't answered me." "why, dick, i've never had another thought, in six years, than that i loved you!" "laura! you love me?" "why, of course, dick. what has ailed your eyes and your reasoning powers?" with a glad cry, prescott gathered his betrothed in his arms, claiming a lover's privilege. then out of an inner pocket he drew a little box, drew out a circlet of gold in which a solitaire glistened, and slipped the ring over the finger set apart for the purpose of wearing such pledges. "and how soon, laura---sweetheart?" he demanded eagerly. "now, as to that, you must act like a creature of reason," laura laughingly insisted. "you are not yet in the army. at first, after you do receive your commission, you must be saving and careful. it needs furniture and all those things, you see, dick, dearest, to form the background of a home. we must wait a little while---but what sweet waiting it will be!" "won't it, though!" demanded dick with fervor. "laura, it seems to me that i must be dreaming. i can scarcely realize my great good fortune." "nor can i," replied laura softly. "you have always been my boy knight, dick." as they stepped inside and approached their nearest friends, belle murmured in greg's ear: "look at the electric glow that comes from the third finger of laura's left hand. now, do you comprehend, booby, what a fatal mistake you would have made, had i allowed you to tag them around to the cliff?" "well, i'm jiggered!" gasped cadet holmes. "which means that i'm petrified with delight." "get practical, then," chided belle. "take me forward to them, and we'll have the happiness of being the first to congratulate the newest arrivals in paradise!" two minutes later, the leader of the orchestra swung his baton. as the music pealed forth, dick prescott knew, for the first time in his life, the full meaning of the dance in cullum hall. there were many other newly betrothed couples on the floor that happy night of the graduation ball. the air was fragrant with flowers, but there was more---the atmosphere of new-found happiness on all sides. outside, in the shadow of the moonless night, a stoop-shouldered figure prowled in the near vicinity of cullum hall. this was jordan, intent on guessing when would be the most favorable moment for sending in the message that should call prescott out to his doom. one of the watchmen, a soldier, in the quartermaster's department, belted, and with a revolver hanging therefrom in its holster, passed by and noted jordan. "are you waiting for anyone, sir?" asked the watchman, halting a moment, though only in mild curiosity. "i'm going to send a message in, after the music stops, for my cousin," replied jordan, who knew that he must give some account of himself. "your cousin? a cadet?" asked the watchman. "oh, yes. mr. atterbury, of the first class," responded jordan, giving the name of his former roommate at a venture. "very good, sir," replied the watchman, and passed on. mr. atterbury, however, at that very moment, chanced to be standing on the further side of a tree not far distant, and with him were two other first classmen. "who is that fellow?" queried atterbury in a low whisper. "i've seen him around here before this, and his voice sounds mighty familiar." the passing watchman heard the question, so he answered: "he says he is your cousin, sir!" "he is not my cousin," replied atterbury with strange sternness. "and, since the fellow is here in disguise, it ought to be our business to ask him some questions. come on, fellows!" atterbury strode out of the shadow, followed just a second later by "durry" and "doug." the prowler's first instinct was to run, but he dare not; that would proclaim guilt. "see here, sir," demanded atterbury, striding straight up to the stoop-shouldered, bewhiskered one, "your name is jordan, isn't it?" "no!" lied the wretch, in a voice that he strove to disguise. "yes, it is," insisted atterbury. "rooming with you nearly four years, i can't be fooled with any suddenly pickled voice. jordan, what are you doing here in disguise?" "i don't know that my presence here is any of your business," growled the ex-cadet. "yes; it is," insisted atterbury. "and you'll give us an account, too, or we'll lay hold of you and turn you over to some one official." at that threat jordan turned to bolt. as he did so, three cadets sprang after him. at the third or fourth bound they had hold of him and bore him, fighting, to the earth. even now jordan used his splendid physique and strength in a determined, bitter struggle. but "durry" helped turn the fellow over, face down, and then all three sat on their catch. "doug," however, felt something hard. leaping up, he made a quick search, then drew from jordan's hip pocket a length of lead pipe wrapped in red flannel. "ye gods of war," gasped douglass, "what sort of weapon is this for a former gentleman to carry?" "let me up," pleaded jordan, "and i'll make a quick hike!" "don't you let him up, fellows," warned douglass. "now, whom did jordan seek with an implement like this? there could be but one of our men---prescott." "have you anything to say, jordan?" demanded atterbury. "not a blessed word," growled jordan, no longer attempting to disguise his voice. "then we have," returned "doug." "but you two fellows hold him until i come back." douglass ran over to the cliff, then, with a mighty throw, hurled the bar of lead out into the hudson, far below. then he darted back. "now, fellows," muttered douglass in a low voice, "i'd like mighty well to turn this scoundrel over. but we don't want to put such a foul besmirchment on the class name, if we can avoid it, the night before graduation. jordan, if we let you go, will you hike, and never stop hiking until you're miles and miles away from west point?" "yes; on my honor," protested the other eagerly. "on your---bosh!" retorted "doug" impatiently. "don't spring such strange oaths on us, fellow. let him." "now, jordan, start moving, and keep it up!" then the trio, after watching the rascal out of sight, went inside, and douglass, at the first opportunity, warned dick of what had happened outside in the summer darkness. chapter xxiv conclusion the graduating exercises at west point had finished. the secretary of war, in the presence of the superintendent, the commandant and the members of the faculty of the united states military academy, flanked by the board of visitors, had handed his diploma to the last man, the cadet at the foot of the graduating class, mr. atterbury. dick had graduated as number thirty-four; greg as thirty-seven. either might have chosen the cavalry, or possibly the artillery arm of the service, but both had already expressed a preference for the infantry arm. "the 'doughboys' (infantry) are always the fellows who see the hardest of the fighting in war time," was the way dick put it. now the superintendent made a few closing remarks. these finished, the band blared out with a triumphal march, to the first notes of which the first class rose and marched out, amid cheers and hand-clapping, to be followed by the other classes. five minutes later the young graduates were laying aside the gray uniform for good and all. cit. clothes now went on, and each grad. surveyed himself with some wonder in attire which was so unfamiliar. out in the quadrangle, for the last time, the grads. met. there, too, were the members of the classes remaining, but these latter were still in the cadet gray, and would be until the close of their own grad. days. hurried good-byes were said. warm handclasps sounded on all sides. few words were said, but there were many wet eyes. then some of the grads. raced for the station to board the next city-bound train. greg remained behind with dick. after quitting the quadrangle, they bent swift steps toward the hotel, where awaited mrs. prescott, mrs. bentley, laura and belle. something else waited, too---a carriage, or rather, a small bus, for dick and greg were no longer cadets and might ride over the post in a carriage if they chose. "it was beautifully impressive, dear," whispered laura, referring to the graduating exercises. "but, thank goodness, it's over, and i have my diploma in this suit case," murmured dick grimly. "no more fearful grind, such as we've been going through for more than four years. no more tortured doubts as to whether we'll ever grad. and get our commissions in the army. that is settled, now. and think, laura, if i hear a bugle in the city to-morrow morning, i can simply turn over and take another nap." "you lazy boy!" laughed laura half chidingly. "you spend four years and three months here, and see if you don't feel the same way about it," smiled dick. "but i love every gray stone in these grand old buildings, just the same. west point shall be ever dear in my memory!" greg's mother now came out and joined the ladies on the porch. a moment or two later mr. prescott and mr. holmes stepped out and grasped their sons' hands. "we haven't a heap of time left if we want to catch the down-river steamboat," suggested dick, with a glance at his watch. so this happy little home party entered the bus, and the drive to the dock began. they passed scores of cadets, who carefully saluted these grads. everyone in the party knew of the betrothal of dick and laura. greg had had to stand a good deal of good-natured chaffing from his parents because he had not fared as well. "the next girl i get engaged to," sighed greg, "i'm going to insist on marrying instantly. then there'll be no danger of losing her." at the dock, anstey, durville, douglass and other grads. waited, though the majority of the members of the late first class were already speeding to new york on a train that had started a few minutes earlier. "i couldn't bear to go down by train, suh," explained anstey in a very low voice. "i want to stand at the stern of the steamer, and see west point's landmarks fade and vanish one by one. and i don't reckon, suh, that i shall want anyone to talk to me while i'm looking back from the stern of the boat." "same here," observed greg, with what was, for him, a considerable display of feeling. then the boat swept in, and the west point party went silently aboard. all made their way to the stern on the saloon deck. that evening the class was to meet, for the last time as a whole, at one of the theaters in new york. and the late cadets would sit together, solidly, as a class. friends of graduates who wished would attend the theater, though in seats away from the class. dick and greg's relatives and friends were all to attend. more, they were to stop at the same hotel. the next forenoon the ladies would attend to some shopping. then the reunited party would journey back to gridley. a dozen or so west point graduates stood at the stern of the swift river steamer. the captain of the craft, a veteran in the river service, knew something of how these young men just out of the gray felt. for the first five miles down the river the swift craft went at half speed. then, suddenly, full speed ahead was rung on the engine-room bell, and the craft went on under greatly increased headway. "well, gentlemen," murmured anstey, moving around and walking slowly forward, "the united states military academy is the grandest alma mater that a fellow could possibly have. i'm glad to be through, glad to be away from west point, but i shall journey reverently back there any time when i have any leisure in this bright part of the good old world." how sweet the joys of the great metropolis! yet these joys would have palled had our travelers remained there too long. the following afternoon they were again journeying toward what is, after all, the one real spot on earth---home! gridley well-nigh went wild over its returning west pointers---though now west pointers no longer. one of dick prescott's first tasks was to go proudly to dr. bentley, to state that he had had the wonderful good fortune to win laura's heart, and to ask whether her father had any objection. "objection, dick?" beamed the good old physician. "why, lad, for years i've been hoping---yes, praying that you and laura would have this good fortune. wherever you may be stationed in the world, you'll let our daughter come back to us once in a while, i hope." dick solemnly promised, whereat dr. bentley smiled. "that's all nonsense, dick," laughed laura's father. "i know, in my own heart, that you're going to be as good a son to mother and me as you have been to your own parents. god bless you both!" a new lot of high school boys dick and greg found in gridley, but the new crop seemed to be fully as promising as any that dick and greg could remember in their own old high school days when dick & co. had flourished. a fortnight, altogether, dick and greg enjoyed in the good old home town, hallowed to them by so many memories. then one morning each received a bulky official envelope bearing the imprint of the war department at washington. how their eyes glistened, then moistened, as each young west point grad. drew out of the envelope the parchment on which was written his commission as a second lieutenant of united states infantry. more, their request had been granted. they had been assigned to the same regiment---the forty-fourth. their instructions called for them to start within forty-eight hours, and to wire acknowledgment of orders to washington. the forty-fourth united states infantry was at that time in the far west, in a country that at times teemed with adventure for uncle sam's soldiers. here we must take leave of lieutenant dick prescott and of lieutenant greg holmes, united states army, for their cadet days are over and gone. readers, however, who wish to meet these sterling young americans again, and who would also like to renew acquaintance with two former members of dick & co., tom reade and harry hazelton, will be able to do so in volume number five of the _young engineers' series_, entitled: "_the young engineers on the gulf_." in this very interesting volume the young engineers and the young army officers will be found to have some very startling adventures together. readers will also be able to learn more of the careers of dick prescott and greg holmes, as army officers, in the "_boys of the army series_." some of their campaigns will be described very fully, for these splendid young officers served as officers and instructors of the "_boys of the army_." the end dick prescott's second year at west point or finding the glory of the soldier's life h. irving hancock contents chapters i. the class president lectures on hazing ii. plebe briggs learns a few things iii. greg debates between girls and mischief iv. the o.c. wants to know v. "i respectfully decline to answer, sir" vi. greg prepares for flirtation walk vii. the folks from home viii. cadet dodge hears something ix. spoony femme--flirtation walk x. the cure for plebe animal spirits xi. lieutenant topham feels queer xii. under a fearful charge xiii. in close arrest xiv. friends who stand by xv. on trial by court-martial xvi. a verdict and a hop xvii. "a liar and a coward" xviii. the fight in the barracks xix. mr. dennison's turn is served xx. a discovery at the riding drill xxi. pitching for the army nine xxii. greg's secret and another's xxiii. the committee on class honors xxiv. conclusion chapter i the class president lectures on hazing leaving the road that wound by the officers' quarters at the north end, turning on to the road that passed the hotel, a hot, somewhat tired and rather dusty column of cadets swung along towards their tents in the distance. the column was under arms, as though the cadets had been engaged in target practice or out on a reconnaissance. the young men wore russet shoes, gray trousers and leggings, gray flannel shirts and soft campaign hats. their appearance was not that of soldiers on parade, but of the grim toilers and fighters who serve in the field. their work that morning had, in fact, been strictly in line with labor, for the young men, under captain mcaneny, had been engaged in the study of field fortifications. to be more exact, the young men had been digging military trenches---yes---digging them, for at west point hard labor is not beneath the cadet's dignity. just as they swung off the road past the officers' quarters the young men, marching in route step, fell quickly into step at the command of the cadet officer at the head of the line. now they marched along at no greater speed, but with better swing and rhythm. they were, in fact, perfect soldiers---the best to be found on earth. past the hotel they moved, and out along the road that leads by the summer encampment. the brisk command of "halt" rang out. immediately afterwards the command was dismissed. carrying their rifles at ease, the young men stepped briskly through different company streets to their tents. three of these brought up together at one of the tents. "home, sweet home," hummed greg holmes, as he stepped into his tent. "thank goodness for the luxury of a little rest," muttered dick prescott. "rest?" repeated tom anstey, with a look of amazement. "what time have you, now, for a rest?" "i can spare the time to stretch and yawn," laughed dick. "if i am capable of swift work, after that, i may indulge in two yawns." "look out, or you'll get skinned for being late at dinner formation," warned greg. there was, in truth, no time for fooling. these cadets, and their comrades, had reached camp just on the dot of time. but now they had precious few minutes in which to cleanse themselves, brush their hair and get into white duck trousers and gray fatigue blouses. the call for dinner formation would sound at the appointed instant and they must be ready. sound it did, in short time, but it caught no one napping. nearly everyone of the young men in camp had just returned from a forenoon's work, and hot and dusty at that. but now, as the call sounded, every member of three classes stepped from his tent looking as though he had just stepped from an hour spent in the hands of a valet. not one showed the least flaw in personal neatness. moreover, the tents which these cadets had just quitted were in absolute order and wholly clean. at west point no excuse whatever is accepted for untidiness of person or quarters. with military snap and briskness the battalion was formed. then at brisk command, the battalion turned to the left in column of fours, marching down the hot, sun-blazed road to cadet mess. despite the heat and the hard work of the forenoon---these cadets had been up, as they we every day in summer, since five in the morning---spirits ran high at the midday meal, and chaffing talk and laughter ran from table to table. the meal over, the battalion marched back to camp. there were a few minutes yet before the afternoon drills. a few minutes of leisure? yes, if such an easy act as dressing in uniform appropriate to the coming drill, may be termed leisure. "drills are going to be called off, i reckon," murmured greg, poking his head outside the khaki colored tent after he had put himself in readiness. "what's up?" demanded anstey, lacing a legging. "the sky is about the color of ink over old crow's nest," reported greg. just then there came a vivid flash of lightning, followed, in a few seconds, by a deep, echoing roll of thunder. the summer storms along this part of the hudson river sometimes come almost out of the clear sky. "i'm always thankful for even the smallest favors," muttered anstey, with a yawn. "we'll have to make up this drill some other day, when it's hotter," dick observed, but he nevertheless dropped on to a campstool with a grunt of relief. yes; each of these three cadets could now have a campstool of his own in quarters, for prescott, holmes and anstey were all yearlings. and a yearling is "some one" in the cadet corps. for the first few days after his release from the plebe class the yearling is quite likely to feel that he is nearly "the whole thing." by degrees, however, the yearling in summer encampment discovers that there is a first class of much older cadets above him. there are no second classmen in summer encampment, until just before the time to break camp and return to barracks for the following academic year. members of the new second class---men who have successfully passed through the first two years of life at the united states military academy---are allowed two months and a half of summer furlough, during which time they return to their homes. readers of the foregoing volume in this series, _"dick prescott's first year at west point"_, are already familiar with the ordeals, the hard work, the sorrows and the few pleasures, indeed, of plebe life at west point. these readers of the former volume recall just how dick and greg reached west point in march of the year before; how they passed their entrance examinations and settled down to fifteen months of plebedom. such readers recall the fights in which the new men found themselves involved, the hazing, laughable and otherwise, will be recalled. our former readers will recollect that about the only pleasure that dick prescott found in his plebedom lay in his election to the presidency of his class---position that carries more responsibility than pleasure for the poor plebe leader of his class. but now all was wholly and happily changed. dick, greg and anstey were yearlings, entitled to real and friendly recognition from the upper classmen. it is only seldom that yearlings are accused of b.j.-ety (freshness), for about all of that is taken out of the cadet during his plebedom. but the greatest sign of all to the new yearling is that now, instead of finding himself liable to hazing at any time, he is now the one who administers the hazing. it is rare that a first or second classman takes the trouble to haze a plebe. a first or second classman may notice that a plebe is a little too b.j. if so, the first or second classman usually drops a hint to a yearling, and the latter usually takes the plebe in hand. so far, our young friends had been yearlings just three days. they had not, as yet, exercised their new function of hazing any plebes. the first three days in camp had been too full of new and hard duties to permit of their doing so. as greg looked out of the tent, the wind suddenly sprang up, driving a gust of big raindrops before it. in another moment there was a steady downpour. cadet corporals in raincoats darted through the company streets, carrying the cheering word that drills were suspended until change of orders. "i hope it rains all afternoon, then," gaped anstey, behind his hand. "it's a rest for mine---you bunkies (tentmates) permitting." anstey stretched himself on his bed and was soon sound asleep. in summer encampment, taps sound at 10.30, and first call to reveille sounds at five in the morning. six hours and a half of sleep are none too much for a young man engaged at hard drilling and other work. the cadet, when his duties, permit, may, however, snatch a few minutes of sleep at any time through the day. cadets in camp quickly get the knack of making a few minutes count for a nap. "it's going to be a good one," declared greg, as the rain settled down into a monotonous drumming against the shelter flap over the tent. "a long one, too," spoke prescott hopefully. "greg, i actually believe that the wind is growing cool." "don't speak about it," begged greg. "i'm superstitious." "superstitious?" "yes; if a rain comes up just after dress parade and guardmount, then it'll keep up the rest of the evening, when we might be enjoying ourselves after a strenuous day of work. but if you get to exulting over the rain that is to get us out of a drill or two, or bragging about a cool breeze getting lost around here in the daytime, then the raindrops cease at once, the wind dies down, and the sun comes out hotter than it has been before in a week!" dick took another look outside. "then i won't say that this rain is going to last all afternoon, but it is," dick smiled. "now, you've spoiled it all!" cried greg. "say, holmesy, old spectre!" hailed a laughing voice across the street. "hullo!" greg answered. "haven't a cold, have you?" "no." "don't feel that you're marked for pneumonia?" "what are you driving at furlong?" greg called back. "come along over, if you can brave the storm!" called yearling furlong. "you and the rest." "shall we go over, dick?" asked greg, turning around. "yes; why not? if nothing else, we'll leave anstey in peace for his big sleep. duck out. i'll be on your heels." the flap across the way was thrown open hospitably as greg entered, followed by cadet prescott. "where's old mason and dixon?" demanded furlong, alluding to the fact that anstey was a virginian. "he has turned in for a big sleep," greg informed their hosts. "great!" chuckled furlong. "let's peep in and throw a bucket of water over him. he'll wake up and think the tent is leaking." "don't you dare!" warned dick, but he said it with a grin that robbed his rebuke of offence. "old mace (short for 'mason and dixon') has been tired out ever since being on guard the first night in camp. he actually needs the big sleep. i believe this rain is for his benefit." "say that again, and put it slowly," protested furlong, looking bewildered. griffin and dobbs, the other two yearlings who tented with him, laughed in amusement. "now, that we've lured the class president in here," continued cadet furlong, "we'll call this a class meeting. a quorum isn't necessary. you've got my campstool, mr. president, so we'll consider you in the chair. may i state the business before the meeting?" "proceed, mr. furlong," requested prescott gravely. "then, sir, and gentlemen-----" began furlong. "the chair calls you to order!" interrupted dick sternly. "will the chair kindly explain the point of order?" "it is out of order to make any distinction between the chair and 'gentlemen.'" "i yield to the---the pride of the chair," agreed furlong, with a comical bow. "mr. chairman and other gentlemen, the question that i wish to put is-----" cadet furlong now paused, glancing solemnly about him before he continued: "what are we going to do with the plebes?" dick dropped his tone of presiding officer as he answered: "i take it, miles---pardon me, _furlong_, that your question really means, what are we going to do to the plebes?" "same thing," contended the other yearling. "why should we do anything to them?" asked dick gravely. "why should we---say, did you hear the man?" appealed furlong, looking around him despairingly at the other yearlings. "why should we do anything to the plebes? and yet, in a trusting moment, we elected old ramrod to be president of the class! why should we---o-o-o-o-h!" cadet furlong made a gurgling sound in his throat, as though he were perishing for lack of air. "prescott isn't serious," hinted griffin. "yes, i am," contended dick, half stubbornly. "griffin, what did you think of yearlings---last year?" "what i thought, last year," retorted cadet griffin, "doesn't much matter now. then i was an ignorant, stupid, unregenerate, unsophisticated, useless, worthless and objectionable member of the community. i hadn't advanced far enough to appreciate the very exalted position that a yearling holds by right." "we now know, quite well," broke in dobbs, "that it is a yearling's sacred and bounden duty to lick a plebe into shape in the shortest possible order. though it never has been done, and never can be done inside of a year," he finished with a sigh. "do you seek words of wisdom from your class president?" cadet prescott inquired. "oh, yes, wise and worthy sir!" begged furlong. "then this is almost the best that i can think of," dick went on. it will never be possible to stamp out wholly the hazing of plebes at west point. but we fellows can make a new record, if we will, by frowning on all severe and needless forms of hazing. i had the reputation of getting a lot of hazing last year, didn't i?" "you surely did, old ramrod," murmured furlong sympathetically. "at times, then, my heart ached for you, but now, with my increased intelligence, i perceive how much good it all did you." "i took my hazing pretty well, didn't i?" insisted dick. "all that came your way you took like a gentleman," agreed dobbs. "at that time," went on prescott, "i made up my mind that i'd submit, during my plebedom. but i also made up my mind---and it still my mind---that i'd go very slow, indeed, in passing the torment on to the plebes who followed me." dick spoke so seriously that there was an awkward pause. "i don't want you to think that i'm going to set up as a yearling saint," dick added. "i don't mean to say that i may not put a single plebe through any kind of pace. what i do mean is that i shall go very slowly indeed in annoying any plebe. i shan't do it, probably, unless i note a case of such utter b.j.-ety that i feel bound to bring the plebe quickly to his senses." "you cast a gloom over us," muttered furlong. "so far we haven't done any hazing. we were thinking of ordering a plebe in here, and starting in on him, so as to get our hands in. we need practice in the fine art." "don't let me interfere with your pursuit of happiness," begged dick, with mock politeness. "but, seriously, old ramrod, are you as strong for the plebe as we have just been led to believe? are you prepared to take the plebe to our heart and comfort him---instead of training him?" "do you believe we ought to take the plebe right into our midst, and condole with him until we get him over his homesickness? do you feel that we should overlook all the traditional b.j.ety of the plebe, and admit him to full fellowship without any probation or instruction?" "no," spoke dick promptly. "i don't believe in patting the plebe on the shoulder and increasing his conceit. when a candidate first comes to west point, and is admitted as a cadet, he is one of the most conceited simpletons on earth. he has to have that all taken out of him, i admit. he must be taught to respect and defer to upper classmen, just as he will have to do with his superior officers after he goes from here out into the service. the plebe must be kept in his place. i don't believe in making him feel that he's a pet. i do believe in frowning down all b.j.-ety. i don't believe in recognizing a plebe, except officially. but i don't believe in subjecting any really good fellow to a lot of senseless and half cruel hazing that has no purpose except the amusement of the yearlings. now, i think i've made myself clear. at least, i've said all that i have to say on the subject. for the rest, i'll listen to the ideas of the rest of you." there was silence, broken at last by greg, who said: "i think i agree, in the main, with prescott." "oh, of course," grunted dobbs, in a tone which might mean that greg holmes was but the "shadow" of dick prescott. greg looked quickly at dobbs, but saw nothing in the other's face that justified him in taking open offence. somehow, though none of the others said anything to that effect, cadet prescott began to feel that he was a bit in the way at a conference of this sort. he didn't rise to leave at once, but he swung around on his campstool near the door. without throwing the flap open, prescott peeped through a slit-like opening. as he did so he saw something that made his eyes flash. the rain was pouring a little less heavily now. down the company street came a cadet with a pail of water. it was mr. briggs, a round faced, laughter loving, somewhat roly poly lad of the plebe class. just as mr. briggs was passing the tent in which anstey lay making up some needed sleep, a snore came out. briggs halted, glancing swiftly up and down the company street. no upper classman being in sight, mr. briggs peeped into the tent. he saw anstey, asleep and alone. instantly raising the flap just enough, mr. briggs took careful aim, then shot half the contents of the pail of water over the chest and face of yearling anstey. dick prescott watched unseen by the b.j. plebe. mr. briggs fled lightly, but swiftly four tents down the line and disappeared into his own quarters. from across the way, came a roar of wrath. anstey was up, bellowing like a bull. yet, roused so ruthlessly from a sound sleep, it took him a few seconds to realize that his wetting must be due to human agency. then anstey flew to the tent door, looking out, but the chuckling plebe was already in his own tent, out of sight. "after what i've just said," announced dick grimly, "i think i know of a plebe who requires some correction." "listen to our preacher!" jeered furlong. chapter ii plebe briggs learns a few things "anstey!" called prescott softly across the company street. "oh, was it you idiots?" demanded the virginian, showing his wrathful looking face. "no," replied dick. "come over as quickly as you can." it took anstey a few minutes to dry himself, and to rearray himself, for the virginian's sense of dignity would not permit him to go visiting in the drenched garments in which he had awakened. "which one of you was it?" demanded anstey, as he finally entered the tent of furlong and his bunkies. "no one here," dick replied. "the other gentlemen don't even know what happened, for i haven't told them." so anstey withdrew his look of suspicion from the five cadets. no cadet may ever lie; not even to a comrade in the corps. any cadet who utters a lie, and is detected in it, is ostracized as being unfit for the company of gentlemen. so, when dick's prompt denial came, anstey believed, as he was obliged to do. "it was a plebe, mace," continued dick. "i'll have all but his life, then!" cried the southerner fiercely. "i wouldn't even think of it. the offender is only a cub," urged dick. "if you accept my advice, mace, you won't even call the poor blubber out. we'll just summon him here, and make the little imp so ashamed of himself that the lesson ought to last him through the rest of his plebedom. i'm cooler than you are at this moment, mace, but none the less disgusted. will you let me handle this affair?" "yes," agreed anstey quickly. as for furlong, griffin and dobbs, it was "just nuts" for them to see their class president, lately so stately on the subject of hazing, now actually proposing to take a plebe sternly in hand. the three bunkies exchanged grins. "tell us, mace," continued dick, "have you had any occasion to take mr. briggs in hand at any time? "so it was mr. briggs?" demanded anstey angrily, turning toward the door. "wait! have you taken mr. briggs in hand at any time?" "yes," admitted anstey. "when you and holmesy were out, last evening, i had mr. briggs in our tent for grinning at me and failing to say 'sir' when he addressed me." "you put him through some performances?" "nothing so very tiresome," replied anstey. "i made him brace for five minutes, and then go through the silent manual of arms for five more." "humph! that wasn't much!" grunted furlong. "i guess that was why mr. briggs felt that he had to get square," mused dick aloud. "but a plebe is not allowed to get square by doing anything b.j." again anstey turned as if to go out, but dick broke in: "don't do it, mace. try, for the next half hour, to keep as cool as an iceberg. trust the treatment of the impish plebe to us. greg, old fellow, will you be the one to go down and tell mr. briggs that his presence in this tent is desired immediately?" plebe briggs was alone in his tent, his bunkies being absent on a visit in another tent. mr. briggs was still grinning broadly as he remembered the roar with which anstey had acknowledged the big splash. but of a sudden mr. briggs's grin faded like the mist, for greg was at the doorway. "mr. briggs, your presence is desired at once at mr. furlong's tent." "yes, sir," replied the plebe meekly. he got up with an alacrity that he did not feel, but which was the result of the new soldierly habit. mr. briggs threw on his campaign hat and a raincoat, but, by the time he was outside of the tent, holmes was just disappearing under canvas up the company street. "i guess i'm in for it," muttered the plebe sheepishly, as he strode up the street. "confound it, can a yearling see just as well when he's asleep as when he's awake?" he halted before furlong's tent, rapping on the pole. "mr. briggs, sir." "come in, mr. briggs." the plebe stepped into the tent, drawing himself up and standing at attention. for some seconds none of the yearlings spoke. in fact, only dick looked at the fourth classman. "mr. briggs," demanded prescott at last, "where is your bucket?" "in my tent, sir." "you will fill it, and report back here with it at once." "very good, sir." "now, what on earth is coming?" quaked the plebe, as he possessed himself of his bucket and started for the nearest tap. in the shortest time possible the young man reported hack at the tent, his bucket as full of water as it would safely carry. "set the bucket down, mr. briggs, at the rear of the tent." the plebe obeyed, then stood once more at attention. "mr. briggs," continued the president of the yearling class, "it was you who threw water over mr. anstey?" "i am not obliged to answer that, sir," replied the plebe. "you're quite within your rights there, mister," dick admitted. "but i looked out of this tent just in time to see you do it. have you any wish to deny it now?" "no, sir." "mister, you have given us the impression that you are altogether to b.j.-ish to amount to anything in the cadet corps. your sense of humor is bubbling over, but your judgment is so small that it would roll around inside the eye of a needle. this is a serious condition, and we judge that your health will be sadly affected if the condition is not promptly cured. one the first symptoms to be subdued is that of a swollen head. the head needs reducing in size. take off your hat, and kneel in front of the bucket." this mr. briggs did, meekly enough, now. there is never any sense in a mere plebe refusing to follow the commands of a yearling. "you will remain in that kneeling posture, mister, unless you are released from it. now, thrust your head down into the water, as far as you can without interfering with your breathing. remain in that position. take your hands off the floor, sir, and do not rest them on the floor again. continue with your head in soak until you are directed to do otherwise." even anstey had to look grimly satisfied with this punishment. the unhappy plebe certainly did present a most laughable yet woeful appearance. it seemed impossible to keep this position, without occasional steadying by the hands, but it had to be done. if the reader does not consider it a hard feat to kneel thus, with one's head immersed in the water, the reader can easily satisfy his curiosity on the point. having thus put the plebe in soak, the yearlings all turned away from him, conversing among themselves on one subject and another. yet, had the plebe ventured to raise his head somewhat out of the water, or to seek support from his hands, he would quickly have discovered that he was being effectively if covertly watched. minute after minute the plebe remained "in soak." to him it seemed, of course, like hours. at last, when human endurance of the briggs brand could last no longer, the plebe gave an expected lurch sideways, falling flat, upsetting the bucket and causing much of the water flow along his own neck and beneath his underclothing. "mister, you are not on your knees, as directed," exclaimed cadet prescott. "i---i am sorry, sir, but i couldn't help falling over," replied crestfallen mr. briggs, standing at attention beside his overturned bucket. he wriggled slightly, in a way eloquently suggestive of the water that was trickling over his skin under his clothing. "did you get wet, mister?" asked dick. "yes, sir." "skin wet?" "yes, sir." "now, that is really too bad, mister," continued prescott in a tone that hinted at a great deal of sympathy. "you mustn't be permitted to get chilled. exercise is what you need." dick paused. "poor, young mr. briggs stood mute, blinking back. "milesy, may mr. briggs have the use of your piece for a few minutes?" "why, surely," declared cadet furlong in a tone of great cordiality. "mr. briggs, take mr. furlong's piece, and go through the silent manual of arms," ordered the president of the yearling class. mr. briggs picked up the rifle that furlong pointed out to him. then, trying to look very grave in order to hide the extreme sheepishness that he really felt, mr. briggs brought the rifle up to port arms. "proceed through the manual, mister," dick counseled. "and keep going until we decide that you have done it long enough to put you past the danger of pneumonia." standing stiffly, the plebe started through the manual of arms. as soon as he had gone once through, with west point precision in every movement, the plebe started in all over again. "now, do this to the stationary marching, mister," added dick gravely, as though prescribing something for the very immediate benefit of the luckless fourth classman. with that, mr. briggs began to "march," though not stirring from the spot on which he was stationed. left, right! left, right! left, right! his feet moved, in the cadence of marching. at the same time the victim was obliged to raise his feet. "bring the feet up higher and more smartly, mister," directed dick. passing the rifle through every movement of the manual of arms, lifting his feet as high as he could, and yet obliged to bring them down noiselessly to the floor, plebe briggs quickly began to drip with perspiration. yet his inquisitors sat by with the judicial gravity of drill sergeants. for ten minutes mr. briggs continued this grotesque work. he knew better than to stop; it would not be wise, even, to send any appealing glances at his inquisitors. "halt!" called prescott softly, at last. briggs stopped, holding himself at attention after he had allowed the butt of the rifle to touch the floor noiselessly. "mister, return mr. furlong's piece." the plebe obeyed, wondering what next was in store for him. prescott noted that mr. briggs's legs were trembling under him. "that is all, for the present, mister," announced the class sergeant. "but you will hold yourself in readiness, in case we call you out for a soiree this evening." "yes, sir," assented the plebe. "you may go." mr. briggs judged that he had better salute the yearling class president very carefully as he passed out with his bucket. this he did, then hastened down the company street. this time, when he had vanished behind his own tent flap, mr. briggs didn't indulge in any grimaces or chuckles. instead, he made haste to get off his dripping garments and to get out others, after he had enjoyed a rub down. "serves me right!" muttered the plebe. "i had been getting along first rate, with nobody bothering me. then i had to get that b.j. streak on this afternoon. now, i suppose i'm a marked plebe!" chapter iii greg debates between girls and mischief "considering that you are the noble class president, who had just made us feel so ashamed over our thoughts of hazing," muttered mr. furlong, "i must say, prescott, that i don't look upon you as any tyro at hazing." "this case was very different," dick answered quietly. "this plebe, briggs, was caught in a very rank piece of b.j.-ety. we couldn't let his offence go by. we hazed him for a straight cause, not merely for being a plebe. what i object to is annoying plebes simply because they are green men." "but what about that soiree you mentioned to the plebe?" demanded griffin eagerly. "i told him only to be ready if called," prescott made reply. "i had no intention of bringing him over for a soiree this evening, unless the plebe does something else raw in the meantime." a "soiree" is an institution of the summer encampment. the plebe who is in for a soiree may be either a man who has committed some direct offence against the upper classmen, or a plebe who has been observed to be simply too b.j. in general. mr. plebe is directed to present himself at the tent of some upper classman. several yearlings are here gathered to receive him. he is taken in hand in no gentle way. he is rebuked, scored "roasted." he is made to feel that he is a disgrace to the united states military academy, and that he never will be a particle of value in the service. mr. plebe is hauled over the coals in a fashion that few civilians could invent or carry out. very likely, on top of all the lecturing, the man will be severely hazed. he is also quite likely, especially if he show impatience, to be called out for a fight. the b.j.-est plebe, after a soiree by capable yearlings, is always afterwards observed to be a very meek plebe. the rain continued so long that not only were afternoon drills escaped, but dress parade as well. it was not, in fact, much before supper time that the rain stopped and the sun came out briefly. but the brief period of relaxation had been appreciated hugely throughout camp. three quarters of the cadets under canvas had found time for at least a two hours' sleep. when the battalion marched back from supper, and was dismissed, the young men turned to for their evening of leisure and pleasure. over at cullum hall there was to be a hop for the evening. not all cadets, however, attend hops at any time. not long after supper many of the cadets began to dress carefully. "going to the hop, old ramrod?" inquired mr. furlong, standing just outside his tent while he fitted a pair of white gloves over his hands. "not to-night," returned dick indifferently. "why, do you know, you haven't shown your face at hop yet?" furlong demanded. "yet when we were under instruction in the plebe class, you turned out to be one of our best dancers." "oh, i'll be in at one of the hops, later on in the summer," responded prescott. "one?" gasped furlong. "oh, you wild, giddy thing! you're going to do better, aren't you, holmesy?" continued furlong, as dick's old chum came out, fitting on a pair of white gloves. "i'm going over and put my head in danger of being punched, i suppose," grinned greg. "i'm going to have the nerve to 'stag it' tonight." the man who "stags it"---that is, does not escort any young woman friend to the hop, must needs dance, if at all, with the girl some other cadet has "dragged." this sometimes causes bad feeling. "i'm going to drag a 'spoony femme' tonight," declared furlong, contentedly. "she's no 'l.p.,' at that." "dragging a femme" is to escort a young woman to the hop. if she be "spoony," that means that she is pretty. but an "l.p." is a poor dancer. "hotel?" inquired greg. "yes," nodded mr. furlong, turning to leave. "miss wilton. i don't believe you've met her. unless she dislikes your looks i may present you to her." "do," begged greg. "i'd enjoy going through a few dreamy numbers." mr. furlong, having permission to go to the hotel for miss wilton, started off, moving at his best soldier's step. after registering at the hotel office, in the book kept for that purpose, as every cadet is required to do, mr. furlong hoped for several minutes of talk with his pretty partner, either in a corner of the parlor, or on the veranda. only the parlor and the veranda are open to cadets having permission to call at the hotel. greg, having no companion to go after, brought out his stool and seated himself beside dick in front of the tent. "why don't you go over to the hop tonight, dick?" greg asked. "mainly because i don't wish to," replied prescott, with a smile. "granted. but i am rather wondering why you don't wish to." "i think you can keep a secret, greg," replied his old gridley chum, looking quizzically at holmes. "greg, i'm too awfully lonesome to trust myself at the hop tonight. "eh? why, old ramrod, the hop ought to be the very place to lose that lonesome feeling." "just what i'm afraid of," responded prescott. "you---eh---huh! you're talking riddles now. "greg, a cadet can't marry. or, if he does, his marriage acts as an automatic resignation, and he's dropped from the cadet corps." "i know all that," holmes assented. "now, here at west point, with this nearly male-convent life, a fellow often gets so blamed lonesome that almost any girl looks fine to him, greg. first thing he knows, a cadet, being a natural gallant, anyway, goes so far in being spoons with some girl that he has to act like a gentleman, then, and declare intentions. a fellow can't show a nice girl a whole lot of spoony attentions, and then back off, letting the girl discover that he has been only fooling all summer. you've heard, greg, of plenty of cadets who have engaged themselves while here at the academy." "yes," nodded greg. "there's no regulation against a cadet becoming engaged to a girl. the regulation only forbids him to marry while he's a cadet." "now, a fellow like one of us either goes so far, in his lonesomeness, that he's grateful to a bright girl for cheering him and imagines he's in love with her; or else he finds that the girl thought he was in love with her, and she expects him to propose. greg, i don't want to make any mistakes that way. it's easy for a cadet to capture the average girl's heart; it's his uniform, i suppose, for women always have been weak when uniforms enveloped fellows who otherwise wouldn't attract their notice. greg, i wonder how many cadets have been lonesome enough to propose to some girl, and afterwards find out it was all a mistake? and how many girls fall in love with the uniform, thinking all the while that it's the fellow in the uniform? how many cadets and girls recover from the delusion only in after years when it's too late. i tell you, greg, when a fellow gets into this cadet life, i think the practice of going too often to a hop may be dangerous for cadets and girls alike! "i'll get cold feet if i listen to you long," laughed yearling holmes grimly. "i wonder if i'd better pull these gloves off and stay where i am?" "i didn't have any idea of seeking to persuade you," dick replied. "if you feel proof against the danger, run right over to cullum and enjoy yourself." "i was just thinking," mused greg, "of a promise you and dave darrin made some girls back in gridley." "i remember that promise," nodded dick. "you and darrin promised laura bentley and belle meade that you'd each invite them to hops, you to west point and dave to annapolis, just as soon as either one of you had a right to attend hops." "i know," nodded prescott. greg was silent. after a few moments dick ventured: "greg, i kept that promise the day we moved into encampment---the first day that i was a yearling." "oh! are laura and belle coming on west point soon?" holmes asked eagerly. "i don't know. i'll be mighty glad when i do know. but undoubtedly darrin has invited them to annapolis, too. now, it may be that, even if the girls can get away to travel a bit, they can't go to west point and to annapolis in the same season. so the girls may be trying to make up their minds---which." "i hope they come here," murmured holmes fervently. "so do i," prescott replied promptly. "dick---do you---mind if i ask a question," demanded greg slowly. "no," smiled dick, "for i think i know what it is." "are you---is laura---i mean-----" "you wonder whether laura and i had any understanding before i left gridley? that's what you want to know?" "that is what i was wondering." "there is no understanding between us--not the least," prescott replied. "i don't know whether laura would consent to one, now or later. i don't know myself yet, either, greg. i want to wait until i have grown some in mind. laura bentley is such a magnificent girl that it would be a crime to make any mistake either as to her feelings or mine." "do you think good old dave and belle meade had any understanding before dave left gridley?" "dave went away after we did," prescott answered. "so i can't be sure. but i don't believe dave and belle are pledged in any way." "funny game, the whole thing!" sighed greg, rising. he had drawn off one of his white lisle-thread gloves, but now he was engaged in putting it on again. "confidence deserves to be paid in the same coin, greg," warned his chum. "did you leave any girl---back in gridley---or elsewhere." "dick, old ramrod," replied cadet holmes, frankly, as he finished drawing on his glove, "i'm unpledged, and, to the best of my belief, i'm wholly heart free." "look out that you keep so for two or three years more, then," laughed dick, and holmes, nodding lightly, strode away. despite the hop, there were some visitors in camp that evening. dick was presently invited over to join a group that was entertaining three college boys who had dropped off at west point for two or three days. greg spent an hour or so at the hop. he was introduced to miss wilton, a pretty, black-eyed little girl, and danced one number with her. he presently secured another partner. but too many of the cadets were "stagging it" that night. there were not feminine partners enough to go around. "my cue is to cut out, i guess," mused greg, finding himself near the entrance to the ballroom. once outside, greg drew off his gloves, thrusting them in under the breast of his gray uniform coat. he wasn't quite decided whether to go back to cullum later. but at present he wanted to stroll in the dark and to think. "i reckon i'll take dick's line of philosophy, and cut girls a good deal," decided greg. "yet, at west point in the summer, it's either girls or mischief. mischief, if carried too far, gets a fellow bounced out of the academy, while girls---i wonder which is safer?" still guessing, cadet holmes wandered a good way from cullum hall, and was not again seen that night on the polished dancing floor. * * * * * * * * anstey had gone visiting some other yearlings. dick, after leaving the college boys and their hosts, felt that a slow stroll outside of camp would be one of the pleasantest ways of passing the time until taps at 10.30. even after the rain, the night was close and sultry. "don't you sing, prescott?" called a first classman as dick passed near the head of the color line. "some of our glee-club fellows are getting together to try some old home songs." but dick shook his head. though he possessed a fair voice, the singing of sentimental or mournful ditties was not in his line that night. he heard the strumming of guitars and mandolins as he left camp behind. dick did not hurry, even to get away from the music. he kept on up the road, and by the hotel, but was careful not to enter the grounds, though three or four yearlings called gayly to him from the hotel veranda. he had no permission for tonight to visit the hotel. "i'm not going to get into a row with the k.c. for a stupid little violation like that," he muttered. presently dick's stroll took him over in the neighborhood of "execution hollow," the depression in the ground below where the reveille gun is stationed. suddenly dick halted, an amused look creeping into his face. "now, who'd suspect good old greg of getting into sheer mischief, all by himself?" the class president asked himself. for holmes was bending a bit low, a hundred yards or so away, and stealing toward the fieldpiece that does duty as reveille gun. "it would be a shame to bet on what greg's up to---it would be too easy!" muttered prescott, standing behind a flowering bush at the road's edge. "greg is going to load the reveille gun, attach a long line to the firing cord, and rig it across the path here, so that some 'dragger,' coming back from seeing his 'femme' home, will trip over the cord and fire the gun. the dragger can't be blamed for what he didn't do on purpose, and cute little greg will be safe in his tent. but if greg should happen to be caught it might mean the bounce from the academy! and, oh, wow!" cadet prescott's heart seemed to stop beating. glancing down the road he saw a man standing, there, in the olive drab uniform of the army officer. captain bates, of the tactical department, was quietly watching unsuspecting cadet holmes. chapter iv the o.c. wants to know as has been said, cadet prescott felt as though his heart had stopped beating. in another instant mischievous cadet holmes would actually be slipping a shell into the reveille gun, if it were not already loaded, and then attaching a cord, to lay a trap for some other unsuspicious cadet. captain bates, who was quietly looking on, would have mr. holmes red handed. charges would be preferred. undoubtedly greg would soon be journeying homeward, his dream of the army over. dick could not call out and warn greg. that would be a breach of discipline that would recoil surely upon mr. prescott's head, making him equally guilty with his chum. yet, to see greg walk unsuspectingly into the "tac.'s" hands in this fashion! it was not to be thought of. for two or three seconds all manner thoughts played through dick's mind. but, no matter what happened to him, loyalty would not allow him to stand by a mere mute spectator of greg's downfall. prescott felt sure that he himself had not yet been seen by the army officer. slipping out from behind the bush, cadet prescott stepped briskly along the path, bringing one hand sharply to his cap in salute. "captain bates, have i your permission to speak, sir?" dick prescott's voice, though not unduly loud, carried like a pistol shot to greg's alert ears. young mr. holmes did not immediately change his course, start or do anything else that would betray alarm. yet, ere captain bates's voice could be heard in reply, greg had swung slowly around, and he came toward the path. "permission is granted, mr. prescott," replied captain bates---but, oh, how coldly he spoke. the army officer seemed trying to look mr. prescott through and through, for bates thoroughly suspected dick of a bold stroke to save his friend from watchful tac. eyes. "there was a question that came up among some of the yearlings in camp today, sir," dick went on, very respectfully. "i found myself ignorant, as were some of the others, as to the correct answer to the question. as you are the officer in charge of the encampment, i have made bold, sir, to ask you the answer." "is it a matter relating directly to military tactics or discipline, mr. prescott?" asked captain bates, speaking as coldly as before. "indirectly, sir, i think." "then state the question, mr. prescott." greg, having reached the path, halted at attention several yards away from his bunkie. "the question that came up, sir," continued dick, and he was speaking the truth, for the question had been discussed, "is whether there is any regulation, or any tacit rule that requires a cadet of the upper classes to attend any stated number of hops in the season, or during the year? "no cadet, mr. prescott, is required to attend any hop unless he so elects. the single exception would be that any cadet, having once made an engagement to attend a hop, would be bound by his word to attend, unless he had received proper release from that engagement. such release, in nearly all instances, would come from the young woman whom the cadet had invited to attend a hop with him." "thank you, sir." again dick saluted very respectfully. "any other questions, mr. prescott?" "no, sir." dick saluted carefully. captain bates returned the salute, and turned to go. cadet holmes, waiting until he found himself once more in range of the tactical officer's vision, raised his hand to his cap in very correct salute. this salute, also, captain bates returned, and then strode on toward camp. "you came near missing me, holmesy," dick remarked carelessly and in a low voice, though he felt very certain that his tone overtook the departing tac. in silence, at first, greg and dick turned and walked in the opposite direction together. "going to load the signal gun, eh, greg!" chaffed prescott. "yes," confessed white-faced holmes, a quiver in his voice. "it's a childish sport, and a dangerous one. better leave it to the fellows who are tired of being at west point," advised dick quietly. "oh, what a debt i owe you, old ramrod!" cried greg fervently. "not a shadow of a debt, greg. you'd have done just the same thing for me." "yes, if i could have been quick enough to think of it. but i probably wouldn't have figured it out as swiftly as you did." "yes, you would," dick retorted grimly, "for it was the only way. what's that bulging out the front of your coat, greg?" "the cord," greg confessed, with a sheepish grin. "better get rid of it right where you are. even a fishline is rope enough to hang a cadet when he gets into trouble too close to the reveille gun." greg had barely tossed away the coil of cord when----bang! bang! bang! bang! bang! bang! the fusillade ripped out within a hundred yards of where they now stood. dick and greg halted in amazement. they did not start, or jump, for the soldier habit was too firmly fixed with them. but they were astounded. as they stood there, staring, more explosions ripped out on the night air, over by battle monument. cadets prescott and holmes could see the flashes, also, close down near the ground, as though an infantry firing squad were lying prostrate and firing at will. bang! bang! bang! the fusillade continued. behind the two cadets sounded running footsteps. "hadn't we better duck?" demanded greg. "no; it would look bad. we had no hand in this, and we can stick to our word." over at camp, orders were ringing out. though the two cadets near battle monument heard indistinctly, they knew it was the call for the cadet guard. now the nearest runner passed them. it was captain bates, on a dead run, and, as bates was not much past thirty, and an athlete, he was getting over the ground fast. as he passed, bates, without slackening speed, took dick and greg in with one swift glance. back in gridley dick and greg certainly would have dashed onward to the scene of the excitement. as young soldiers, they knew better. their presence over by battle monument had not been officially requested. yet, as it was not time for taps, the cadets could and did stand where they were. two different armed forces were now moving swiftly forward to reinforce the o.c., as the officer in charge is termed. two policemen of the quartermaster's department---enlisted men of the army, armed on with revolvers in holsters---ran over from the neighborhood of the nearest officers' quarters. cadet corporal haynes and the relief of the guard, moving at double quick, passed dick and greg on the path. "some fellows touched off firecrackers," whispered greg to his chum. "number one cannon crackers," guessed prescott. they could see captain bates take a dark lantern from one of the quartermaster's police detail, and scan the ground closely all around where the cannon crackers had been discharged. "nothing more doing," muttered yearling prescott. "we may as well be going back to camp, greg. but we'll lose a heap of that six hours and a half of sleep tonight." "think so?" demanded holmes moodily. "know it. the tac. saw us twice on this path, and he has us marked. the o.c. and the k.c. (commandant of cadets) will hold their own kind of court of inquiry tonight, and you and i are going to be grilled brown." "we didn't set the cannon crackers off; we didn't see anyone around the monument, and we don't know anything about it." "all true," nodded dick. "but we'll have to say it in all the different styles of good english that we can think of." dick and greg reached the encampment, and passed inside the limits, just before they heard the guard marching back. then all was ominously quiet over at the tent of the o.c., captain bates. tattoo had gone some time ago. now the alarm clock told the bunkies that they had just three minutes in which to get undressed and be in bed before taps sounded on the drum. "it's a shame, too," muttered dick in an undertone. "we won't be any more than on the blanket before the summons from the o.c. will arrive." "here it comes, now," whispered greg, nudging his bunkie. but it was anstey, their tentmate, hastening to be undressed in time against taps. "what was the row?" asked the virginian. "cannon crackers over at battle monument," replied dick. "we were over there at the time." "you were?" asked anstey quietly, but shooting at them a look of amused suspicion. so many cadets were now seeking their tents that our three bunkies did not notice that one footstep ceased before their door, for a moment, then passed on. the man outside was bert dodge, also of the dodge was a former gridley high school boy and a bitter enemy of dick's. the origin of that enmity was thoroughly told in the _high school boys series_. during the plebe year dodge, who was a fellow of little honor or principle had done his best to involve prescott in serious trouble with the military academy authorities, but had failed. dodge, however, had succeeded in escaping detection, and had succeeded in passing on from the plebe to the yearling class. anstey, however, who had been dodge's roommate in the plebe year, was firmly resolved that he would not be roommate to dodge when they returned to cadet barracks the next year. dodge hated all three of the bunkies in this tent, but dick prescott he hated more than the other two combined. "yes; we were near the spot," dick said, answering anstey's question. "but we didn't set off the crackers, or have anything to do with the matter. we don't even know, or have a guess, as to who the offenders were." though dodge knew, in his soul, that he could believe prescott, it was with an evil smile that bert now hastened on, gaining his own tent. taps sounded, and fifteen minutes more went by. it began to look as though the battle monument affair would be allowed to go by until morning. greg was asleep, and dick was just dozing off, when there came a sharp step in the company street. the step had an official sound to it. that step halted, suddenly, before the door of the tent of our three bunkies. "by order of the commandant of cadets," sounded the voice of cadet corporal haynes. "mr. prescott and mr. holmes will turn out with all due speed, and report at the office of the officer in charge." "yes, sir," acknowledged prescott, and nudged drowsy, half-awake greg. "yes, sir," replied holmes. dick leaped up, lighting the candle. then he gave a slight kick that was enough to bring holmes apart from his blanket. hastily, though with soldierly neatness, the two yearlings dressed themselves, then stepped out into the night, prepared to face the rapid-fire gun of official curiosity. chapter v "i respectfully decline to answer, sir." "mr. prescott reports, sir." "mr. holmes reports, sir." saluting, the two yearlings stepped into the tent of the o.c., then halted at attention. two officers returned their salutes. captain bates sat at his desk. lieutenant colonel strong, commandant of cadets, sat back in lower chair at the right of captain bates's desk. "mr. prescott," began captain bates, transfixing the yearling with his burning eyes, "you and mr. holmes were close to battle monument when the firecrackers were discharged there this evening. "yes, sir," dick admitted. "what do you know about the affair?" "only this, sir: that, after passing you, we walked along the same path until we turned in not far from the monument. we were walking toward it when we heard the discharges, and saw the flashes." "had you been nearer to the monument at any time through the evening, mr. prescott?" "no, sir." dick answered with great promptness. "mr. prescott, have you sufficiently considered my question and your reply?" "yes, sir." "i will put a question of another kind. did you see, do you know, or have you any knowledge of any kind, of those who placed the firecrackers by the monument, or who set them off?" "absolutely no knowledge, sir, on any point you mention," dick rejoined promptly. "did you have any knowledge that such a breach of discipline was being planned." "i did not, sir." "mr. prescott!" it was colonel strong who spoke. dick wheeled about, saluted, then stood at attention. "a serious offence against military discipline has been committed at battle monument tonight. have you any knowledge about the matter which, if in our possession, would aid in any way in clearing up the mystery surrounding this offence? "i have absolutely no knowledge of any form, sir, except that, as i stated, while mr. holmes and i were walking toward the monument, we heard the reports and saw the flashes." "you realize the full import of your statement, mr. prescott?" pressed the k.c. "i do, sir." "then, on your honor as a cadet and a gentleman, you declare that your statement is true?" "i do, sir," cadet prescott replied. the pledge he had just given is the most solemn that is exacted of a united states military cadet. usually, the cadet's plain word is accepted as ample, for the sense of faith and honor is paramount at west point. a cadet detected in a lie would be forced out of the cadet corps by the ostracism of his own comrades. "that is all, for the present, mr. prescott." dick respectfully saluted the k.c., then the o.c., next wheeled and marched out of the tent, going straight to his own tent. prescott would gladly have remained, but he had been dismissed. it was twenty minutes later when greg crept back into the tent and began to undress. "how about it?" whispered prescott. "i was asked more questions, but all of the same import," holmes answered in a whisper. "did the o.c. make you tell on yourself, about being over by the reveille gun?" "no; i thought some of his questions led that way, but my other answers stopped him in that line. as a last resort i would respectfully have declined to say anything to incriminate myself." as was afterwards learned, dick and greg were the only witnesses examined that night. captain bates had followed the only trail at which he could guess, and had learned nothing. * * * * * * * * "mr. prescott and mr. holmes both have the usual excellent reputation of cadets for truthfulness, haven't they, captain?" asked colonel strong. "yes, colonel." "then i am afraid we shall get no further in this investigation." "unless, sir, my questions were so badly put as to give them a chance of shielding themselves without giving untruthful answers. i shall sleep on this matter tonight, colonel. i don't want these young men to think they can put such an easy one right over my head." "i wish you luck, bates. but i'm afraid you've shot off your only round of ammunition, and have found it a blank charge. good night." "good night, sir." "mr. prescott was clever enough to prevent my pouncing on mr. holmes at the reveille gun tonight," mused the o.c. "i can hardly suspect mr. prescott of untruthfulness, but i wonder whether he has been clever enough to baffle me in this monument affair, without telling an absolute untruth?" for nearly a half an hour the o.c. lay awake, reviewing the method he had followed in questioning cadet prescott. in the morning, after breakfast, there were a few minutes of leisure in camp before the squads or platoons marched away for the first drills. "you were on the grill, last night, old ramrod?" asked furlong, in a chuckling whisper. "yes," dick nodded. "you couldn't tell anything?" "i knew less than nothing to tell." "you didn't see us, last night, as we slipped away from the monu-----" "shut up, you sun-scorched idiot!" cried prescott sharply, under his breath. "i don't want to know anything about it now." "oh, that's all right, i suppose," said mr. furlong, looking furtively towards bert dodge, who was standing some distance off. the very thought that he was now practically certain, morally, at least, who one of the perpetrators of the monument affair was, made dick uneasy. he knew there was still a danger that he and greg might be summoned again to the tent of the o.c. bert dodge saw, from a distance, the whispered talk between dick and mr. furlong; he also saw the latter's quick, stealthy glance. now, dodge, from having tried to visit furlong the night before, knew that the young man had returned from the hop, for he had seen furlong go into his tent shortly after ten. dodge also knew that furlong had been absent from camp at the time of the monument discharges. "furlong is one of the offenders," thought bert, "and prescott is roasting him about it. i suppose our highly conceited class president thinks it his place to lecture all the jokers in the class. but how would it be possible, without getting myself into trouble, to pass on the hint that prescott knows more than he is telling?" it didn't take a fellow with all of cadet dodge's natural meanness very long to invent a plan that looked feasible. sauntering along near the guard tent, dodge encountered a classmate with whom he was on fairly good terms, mr. harper, who was waiting to fall in when the next relief of the guard was called. "prescott was on the grill last night, i hear," began bert. "so i hear," nodded harper. "i guess he dodged the o.c. cold," chuckled dodge. "he denied any knowledge of the monument business, i've heard," replied harper. bert chuckled. "that sounds like old prescott," laughed bert. "and i'll bet he managed it without telling any lies. i know prescott of old. our family once lived in the same town with him, you know. prescott was one of the biggest jokers in our high school. and he never got caught in those days. prescott was always the artful dodger." "what do you mean by that!" asked harper. "you don't mean that prescott is untruthful." "oh, no, not at all," laughed bert. "but, if i could put him on the rack, and get the whole thing, unreservedly, out of richard prescott, i'd be willing to bet, in advance, that he knows just who set off the cannon crackers last night." dodge was careful not to speak so that he could be overheard by prescott or furlong, yet he was certain that, on the still morning air around the guard tent, his voice was carrying sufficiently to penetrate to the other side of the khaki walls of the o.c.'s tent. "prescott is the clever one, and the loyal one to all but tacs.," laughed bert to harper, as he strolled away. dodge hoped that the o.c. was in his tent. it is true---captain bates was there. having drawn the flap, and being in the act of enjoying his morning newspaper, the o.c. heard. "hang it, i felt last night that, while answering me truthfully, mr. prescott was proving the possession of sufficient cleverness to keep me off the monument trail, just as he foiled my catching mr. holmes," mused the o.c. "and i said as much last night to colonel strong." at that moment the flap of the tent was lifted and the k.c. returned the salute of his subordinate, who had promptly leaped to his feet. in a few swift, low words, captain bates repeated the conversation he had just overheard. "that bears out what you thought last night, bates," rejoined the k.c. "i think there is nothing for it but to have mr. prescott in here and put him on the wheel again. rack him, bates!" "i've just time, colonel to catch mr. prescott before the drill squads go out. corporal of the guard!" hailed the o.c., looking out from his tent. in another moment a very erect young member of the guard was striding around the head of the encampment, and then down one of the company streets. dick, in front of his tent, in field uniform, received the summons and responded at once. "caught him!" quivered bert dodge. "no if that infernal humbug will get hot-headed and answer the o.c. rashly, there may be something good coming in the punishment line! it would be a source of wild joy if i could get dick prescott on the wrong flank with the tacs.!" the instant that dick reported, and found himself in the presence of his two inquisitors of the night before, he knew that some hint of his new knowledge must have reached the tactical department. "mr. prescott, last night," began captain bates, "you denied absolutely having any knowledge as to the persons who set off firecrackers near battle monument." "yes, sir." "i have since gained good reason to think," went on the o.c., "that you know who at least one of the perpetrators was." mr. prescott remained silent. "why do you not reply, mr. prescott?" "i didn't understand, sir, that you had asked me a question." captain bates flushed. he hadn't asked a question, in question form, and he saw how neatly this cadet had "caught" him. but that only served to increase the suspicion of both officers present that mr. prescott was a very clever witness who was successfully contriving to keep something back. "mr. prescott, do you now know who was responsible for the monument affair of last night?" insisted the o.c. "i don't know sir," replied dick, putting all proper emphasis on the word. "yet you suspect?" "i suspect one man, sir," dick responded without attempt at concealment. "is the one you suspect a cadet?" "yes, sir." "his name?" broke in lieutenant colonel strong. dick prescott whitened a bit. he knew the chances he was taking now, but he replied, in a clear, steady voice: "i very respectfully decline to answer, sir!" chapter vi greg prepares for flirtation walk "for what reason, sir?" demanded the k.c. sharply. prescott opened his mouth, closed it again, without speaking, then at last asked slowly: "sir, may i state my reasons in my own way?" "proceed, mr. prescott." "my suspicion concerning a certain man, sir, does not cover a really direct suspicion that he had a hand in the affair. his remark led me only to infer that the man was present." "that does not tell me, mr. prescott, why you have refused to answer the question that i put to you," insisted colonel strong. "my reason, sir, for respectfully declining to answer is twofold: first, i do not know whether i am legally required to state a suspicion only. my second reason, sir, is that to state the name of the man i suspect would make me, in my own eyes, and in the eyes of my comrades, a tale-bearer." since the k.c. had started this line of questioning, captain bates remained silent. so, too, did the k.c. for some moments after dick had finished. it was the first problem that faced the tactical officers---much harder one than it would considered in civilian life. in the first place, it is one of the highest west point ideals never to treat a cadet with even a trace of injustice. the young man who is being trained to be an officer, and who will, in time, be placed over other men, above all must be just. in no other way can the cadet learn as much about justice as by being treated with it. as is the case with an accused man in the civil courts, no cadet may be forced to testify in way that would incriminate himself. when it comes to testifying against another the question has two aspects. the tale-bearer, the informer, is not appreciated in the military world. he is loathed there, as in civil life. yet the refusal of one cadet to testify against another might be carried, insolently, to the point of insubordination. so, when a cadet, under questioning, refuses to give evidence incriminating another cadet, his reason may be accepted; or, if it appear best to the military authorities, he may be warned that his reason is not sufficient, and then, if he still refuses to answer, he may be proceeded against as for disobedience of orders. it is a fine point. the k.c. found it so at this moment. dick prescott stood rigidly at attention, a fine, soldierly looking young fellow. his face, his eyes, had all the stamp of truth and manliness. yet the suspicion had arisen with these two tacs. that mr. prescott was a young man who was extremely clever in giving truthful answers that shielded offending cadets. "you have stated your position unreservedly and exactly, mr. prescott?" inquired colonel strong at last. "yes, sir." "you are certain that you have not more than the merest suspicion of the cadet off whom you have been speaking? "i am absolutely certain, sir." "how does it happen, mr. prescott, that you have this suspicion, and absolutely nothing more?" a cadet is not permitted to hesitate. he must answer not only truthfully, but instantly. so dick looked the k.c. full in the eyes as answered: "a cadet, sir, started to say something, and i shut him up." "because you did not wish to know more?" "yes, sir," prescott admitted honestly. captain bates fidgeted almost imperceptibly; in other words, as much as a military man may. there were a few questions that he wanted to ask this cadet. but it was bates's superior officer who was now doing the questioning. the k.c. remained silent for perhaps half a minute. then he said: "that is all, at present, mr. prescott." saluting the k.c., dick next made a slight turn which brought him facing captain bates, whom he also saluted. both officers returned his salute. dick wheeled and marched from the tent. as he passed through the camp the cadet face had in it a soldierly inexpressiveness. even bert dodge, who covertly scanned prescott from a distance, could not guess the outcome of the "grilling." "may i ask, colonel, weather you agree with my opinion of mr. prescott?" inquired captain bates. "your idea that he is an artful dodger?" "yes, sir." "if he is," replied lieutenant colonel strong, "then the young man is so very straightforwardly artful that he is likely to give us a mountain of mischief to handle before he is brought to book." "if i can catch him at anything by fair means," ventured captain bates, "then i am going to do it." "you are suspicious of mr. prescott?" "why, i like the young man thoroughly, sir; but i believe that, if we do not find a means of curbing him, this summer's encampment will be a season of unusual mischief and sly insubordination." perhaps there was something of a twinkle in colonel strong's eye as he rose to leave the tent. "if you do catch mr. prescott, bates, i shall be interested in knowing the particulars promptly." dick returned to his tent to find his bunkies gone to drills. the summons before the o.c. had relieved prescott from the first period of drill. on dick's wardrobe box lay two letters that the mail orderly had left for him. both bore the gridley postmark. the home-hungry cadet pounced upon both of them, seating himself and examining the handwriting of the addresses. one letter was from his mother. cadet prescott opened that first. it was a lengthy letter. the young man ran through the pages hurriedly, to make sure that all was well with his parents. now dick held up the other letter. this also was addressed in a feminine hand---as most of a cadet's mail is. it was a small, square envelope, without crest or monogram, but the paper and cut were scrupulously good and fine. it was the kind of stationery that would be used by girl brought up in a home of refined surroundings. dick broke the seal with a consciousness of a little thrill that he had not felt in opening his mother's letter. dick did not have to look for the signature; he knew the penmanship. "my dear mr. prescott," began the letter. ("hm!" muttered the reader. "it used to be 'dick'") "your note came as a delightfully pleasant surprise," dick read on ("now, i wonder why it should have been a surprise? great scott! now, i come to think of it, i hadn't written her before since last february!") "of course we are going to drop all other plans for a flying visit to west point," the letter ran on. "belle is simply delighted with the idea. she has heard from mr. darrin, but he suggests september as the best time for us to visit annapolis. so mother will bring belle and myself to west point. we can spend two or three days there. we shall arrive late on the afternoon on-----" as dick read the date, he gave a start. "why, they'll be here tomorrow afternoon," throbbed prescott. then and there prescott stood up in the low-ceilinged tent and tossed his campaign hat up to the ridgepole. that piece of headgear didn't have far to travel, but dick accompanied it with an "hurrah!" uttered almost under his breath. "won't greg be the tickled boy!" murmured prescott; joyously. "some one from home---and folks that we both like!" presently some of the drill squads returned to camp. greg and anstey came in, warm and curious. "did you get into any trouble with the o.c., old ramrod?" questioned anstey in his soft voice. "i don't believe i did," dick answered. anstey nodded his congratulations. "greg, old fellow, guess what's going to happen soon?" demanded prescott. "i'd rather you'd tell me." "folks from home! mrs. bentley, laura and belle meade will be here late tomorrow afternoon! "great!" admitted cadet holmes, but to dick's ear his chum's enthusiasm seemed perfunctory. "we'll drag femmes to the hop tomorrow night, eh, greg?" "anything on earth that you say, old ramrod," agreed holmes placidly, then stepped out of his tent to visit across the way. "spoony femmes?" inquired anstey. "spooniest ever!" dick declared. "l.p.?" "not on your coming shoulder-straps!" retorted prescott, an eager look in his eyes. "and say, anstey, you're going to the hop tomorrow night, aren't you? "hadn't thought so," replied the other quietly. "anything else on?" "nothing particular." "then be at the hop, anstey, old bunkie--do! i want you to meet both the young ladies, and dance at least a couple of numbers with each." "i reckon i'd go through fire or water for you, or holmesy," murmured the virginian quietly. "oh, it isn't going to be anything like such an ordeal as that," laughed dick happily. "just wait until you've seen the young ladies. that's all!" "as they-----" anstey paused. then he went on, after considering: "as they come from home, old ramrod, i should think you and holmesy would want them all to yourselves." "but don't you understand, you uncivilized being," demanded dick, chuckling, "that we can't dance all the numbers with the girls? it would be a slight on the girls if only two men wanted to dance with them. besides, we want to show them all that's best about west point. we want them to meet as many as possible the very best fellows that are here." "my deepest thanks, suh, for the compliment," replied anstey, with a deep bow. "well, that describes you, doesn't it?" demanded dick. "we want these girls to carry away with them the finest impression possible of good old west point!" when evening came, and prescott and holmes strolled through camp, listening to the band concert, dick wanted to talk all the time about the coming visit of the girls. greg answered, though it struck his chum that holmes was merely politely enthusiastic. "say, dick," whispered greg presently, with far greater enthusiasm than he had been displaying, "look at that black-eyed, perfectly tinted little doll that is walking with griffin! "stroll around and meet them face to face presently, then," grinned dick. "griff won't mind." "the deuce he won't" growled greg. "i'd have a scrap on my hands, besides being voted a butter-in." "try it," advised prescott, giving his chum a little shove. "i tell you, griff won't mind. her name is griffin, too. she's his sister." a moment later prescott turned and tried to gulp down a great chuckle. for greg, without another word, had left him, and now was strolling along with an air of slight absorption, yet his course was so managed as to bring mr. holmes face to face with griffin. at least a dozen other gray and white-clad young men were also to be observed manoeuvring so as to meet griffin casually. thus it happened that greg was but one of a group. observing this, holmes increased his stride. "hullo, holmesy!" cried griffin, with great cordiality. "glad to encounter you. i've just been telling my sister about some of the best fellows. della, i present mr. holmes. mr. holmes, my sister!" greg lifted his cap in the most polished manner that he had been able to acquire at west point, while a dozen other men scowled at griffin, who appeared not to see them. miss adele griffin was presently chatting most animatedly about her new impressions of west point and the united states military academy. "holmesy, you know so much more about things than i do," pleaded griffin sweetly, "just be good to dell for an hour, won't you? you're one of the best-informed men here. now, mind you, dell! no fun at mr. holmes's expense. look out for her, holmesy!" with that griffin "slid away" as gracefully and neatly as though he hadn't been planning to do it all along. "your brother has always been mighty pleasant to me, but he never was as downright good before," murmured greg, looking down into the big black eyes that glanced laughingly up into is face. "oh, if you are ordinarily observant," laughed miss griffin, "just keep your eyes on a level, and you'll be able, in five minutes, to understand why he is so good to you in the present instance." nevertheless, it was fully ten minutes before they met griff again. that young man was talking, with all animation, to a tall, rather stately blonde young lady. "my brother," remarked miss griffin, "is good boy, but he is calculating, even in his goodness. "i don't like to hear a word said against griff," protested greg, "for i feel that i'm under the greatest obligation of my life to him." miss griffin laughed easily, but she glanced up challengingly into the eyes of her tall escort. miss griffin had heard of the gallantries of west point's men, and didn't propose to be caught. "you must find the cadets a good deal below your expectations?" remarked mr. holmes inquiringly. "no; they're a wholly charming lot," replied the girl. "oh, that word 'lot' simply escaped me. yet it does seem rather apt. don't you think, mr. holmes, that the wearing of identical uniforms gives the young men rather the look of a 'lot'?" greg felt just a bit crestfallen, but he wasn't going to show it. "why, i don't know," he replied slowly. "some of the young ladies who come here seem able to distinguish units in the lot." "differences in height, and variations in the color of hair and eyes? is that it?" asked miss griffin, with an air of mild curiosity. "why, perhaps we're like chinamen?" laughed greg good-naturedly. "pig-tailed and blue-bloused chinese all look alike at first glance. gradually, however, one is able to note individual peculiarities of appearance." "yes, i guess that's it, mr. holmes," replied the girl musingly. "now, i won't ask you to tax yourself unpleasantly in distinguishing one cadet from another," greg went on bravely. "but i am hoping, with all my heart, that you'll know me the next time you meet me." "i can tell you how to make certain," responded miss griffin demurely. "then i shall be your debtor for life!" "wear a red carnation in your blouse, and carry a white handkerchief in your left hand." "you're cruel," sighed greg. "why?" demanded miss griffin. "both tests that you suggest are against cadet regulations. let me suggest a better test?" "if you can?" challenged miss griffin. the band, at this moment, was playing a strauss waltz. the young people had strolled just a bit beyond the encampment, and now greg compelled a halt under the added shadow of a big tree. "the test i long to suggest," replied greg, "is so exacting that i hesitate to ask it." "my curiosity is aroused," complained miss griffin. "i had it in mind to ask you to look up into my face until you are certain that you will recognize it again." "mercy!" gasped the black-eyed beauty. "i knew i was presumptuous and inconsiderate," admitted greg meekly. none the less, miss griffin laughed and stood looking coyly up into mr. holmes's face. but at last, feeling absurd, miss griffin shifted her glance. "i knew i was asking too much," remarked greg in a tone of resignation. "you couldn't stand it, could you?" laughing merrily, miss griffin turned her look upward again, meeting greg holmes's gray eyes. then, after a few moments, she remarked thoughtfully: "my brother was over-solicitous in fearing that i would embarrass you in the least." "are you going to be at the hop tomorrow night?" greg asked. "i---would like to." "can it be possible," queried mr. holmes, "that i am so fortunate as to be discreet in asking whether i may escort you there?" "if you care to be so charitable, mr. holmes." greg had a moment's uneasy impulse to seize her hand by way of answer. fortunately, he restrained himself. "if i call for you at the hotel tomorrow evening, miss griffin, may i hope that you will recognize me?" he challenged. "i will take another look and make sure," she laughed softly, glancing up archly into greg's face. as the concert drew to a close greg had to make a decent show of trying to find griffin, and he succeeded. griffin was still with the tall blonde. griffin had permission to go to the hotel, and greg didn't. so greg strolled with miss griffin until near the hotel grounds. then he bade her a cordial good night, and griff escorted both "femmes" to the hotel. "what do you think of holmesy?" asked griffin of his sister. "he's quite agreeable," replied adele griffin. "very soldierly, if i am any judge. i wonder how he will look in a second lieutenant's uniform?" as our three bunkies prepared for bed that night prescott remarked: "tomorrow, greg, we'll see the folks from home! i hope you'll do nothing, though, to make dave darrin dislike you." "i won't," promised greg solemnly. then: "oh, great---jove! i've-----" "well?" demanded dick. "what have you done? "i've asked another femme to accept my drag to-morrow night! "miss griffin?" "yes!" "anstey," continued dick, turning quickly to hide a frown, "i shall have to draft you!" "i was bo'n and reared a gentleman, suh!" replied the virginian, with cordial gravity. chapter vii the folks from home two tall, superbly erect young men, showing the soldier in every line of bearing, stepped jauntily along the road leading to the hotel just before five o'clock. each wore the fatigue cap of the cadet, the trim gray, black-trimmed blouse of the cadet uniform. their white duck trousers were the spooniest as to spotlessness and crease. dick and greg went straight to the hotel office. "the register, please," asked prescott, for the clerk's back was turned over some work that he was doing. this was not a request for the hotel register but for the cadet register. understanding, the clerk turned and passed a small book known as the cadet register. he opened it to the page for the day, while prescott was reaching for a pen. in this register both young men inscribed their names. each had secured permission from the o.c. to visit the hotel. at the close of every day, a transcript of the day's signatures by cadets is taken, and this transcript goes to the o.c. the clerk will send no cards for cadets who have not first registered. the transcript of registry, which goes to the o.c., enables the latter to make sure that no cadets have visited the hotel without permission. prescott laid down his visiting card. holmes laid another beside it. "are mrs. bentley, miss bentley and miss meade here?" queried dick. after consulting the hotel register the clerk nodded. "our cards to mrs. bentley, please." "front! fifty-seven!" called the clerk to a bellboy. "thank you," acknowledged prescott. "wheeling, the young men turned from the office, striding down the hotel veranda side by side. they turned in at the ladies' entrance, then, caps in hand, stood waiting in the corridor. it is a rule that a cadet must enter no part of the hotel except the parlor. he must see his friends either there, or on the veranda. there is a story told that a general officer's wife visited west point, for the first time, to see her son, a new cadet at west point. the plebe son called---with permission---sent up his card, and was summoned to his mother's room. he went. a few minutes later there was a knock at the door. the clerk stood there, apologetic but firm. "i am very sorry, madam, but the regulations provide that your son can visit you only in the parlor." "but i am the wife of major general blank!" exclaimed the surprised lady. "but, mrs. blank, your son is a cadet, and subject to the regulations on the subject. he must either go to the parlor at once, or leave the hotel instantly. if he refuses to do either i am forced to telephone to the tactical officer in charge." the general's wife was therefore obliged to descend to the parlor with her plebe son. no other room but the parlor! this prohibition extends even to the dining room. the cadet may not, under any circumstances, accept an invitation from a friend or relative to take a sociable meal with either. "tyrannous" and "needlessly oppressive," are terms frequently applied by outsiders to the rules that hedge in cadets, but there is a good reason behind every regulation. two or three minutes later a middle-aged woman came slowly down the staircase, gazing about her. at last her glance settled, with some bewilderment on dick and greg, who were the only two cadets in the corridor. "why, i believe you must be mr. prescott and mr. holmes!" exclaimed mrs. bentley, moving forward and holding out both hands. "yes; i am certain of it," she added, as dick and greg, bowing gracefully from the waistline, smiled goodhumoredly. "mercy! but how you boys have grown! i am not sure that it is even proper to call you boys any longer." "if we were boys any longer, mrs. bentley, i am sure you would be in doubt," laughed dick easily. "yes; you see, cadets, under their training here, usually do shoot up in the air. we have some short, runty cadets, however." just then there was a flutter and a swish on the stairs. laura bentley and belle meade came gliding forward, their eyes shining. "yes; i know you both and could tell you apart," cried laura, laughing, as she held out her hand. "but what a tremendous change!" "do you think it is a change for the better?" asked dick, smiling. "oh, i am sure that it is. isn't it, belle? a how wonderfully glad i am to see you both again." dick gazed at laura with pride. he had no right to feel proud, except that she was from gridley, and that she had come all the way to west point to see him in his new life. laura bentley, too, had changed somewhat, though not so much as had her cadet friends. she was but a shade taller, somewhat rounder, and much more womanly in an undefinable way. she was sweeter looking in all ways---dick recognized that much at a glance. her eyes rested upon him, and then more briefly upon greg, in utter friendliness free from coquetry. "can't you get excused and take us over to dress parade?" asked belle. dick turned to look more closely at miss meade. yes; she, too, was changed, and wholly for the better as far as charm of appearance and manner went. both girls had lost the schoolgirl look. they were, indeed, women, even if very young ones. "we can hardly get excused from any duty," dick smiled. "but to-day---a most unusual thing---there is no dress parade." "no parade?" exclaimed mrs. bentley in a tone of disappointment. "no; the officers are entertaining some distinguished outside visitors at cullum hall this afternoon, and the band is over at cullum," greg explained. "i am so sorry," murmured mrs. bentley. "but you will be here until the close of tomorrow afternoon?" asked dick eagerly. "we had planned to go away about eleven in the forenoon," replied mrs. bentley. "then you girls would miss a stroll along flirtation walk," suggested cadet prescott. "it is a very strange thing for a young lady to go away from west point and confess that she has not had cadet escort along flirtation walk." "then we must stay until to-morrow afternoon; may we not, mother?" pleaded laura. "yes; for i wish you to see the most of west point and its famous spots." "then to-morrow afternoon you will be able, also, to see dress parade," dick suggested. "do you forget that tomorrow is sunday? asked mrs. bentley. "no; we have dress parade on sunday." mrs. bentley looked puzzled. to her it seemed almost sacrilegious to parade on sunday! "wait until you have seen our dress parade," greg begged. "then you will understand. it is really as impressive as a religious ceremony; it is the last honors of each day to our country's flag." "oh," murmured mrs. bentley, looking relieved. by this time the little party had moved out on to the veranda. "as there is no dress parade this afternoon," urged dick, "may we not take you over, and let you see our camp from the outside. then, after supper, we may, if you wish, take you to the camp for a look before going to the hop." "as to supper," went on mrs. bentley, "you two young gentlemen must come to the hotel a take the meal with us. wait; i will send word to the office that we shall have guests." "if you do, you will give the clerk cause for a jolly smile," explained prescott, smiling. "no cadet can possibly eat at the hotel. there are many regulations that will surprise you, mrs. bentley. i will explain as many as occur to me." prescott walked between mrs. bentley and laura, while greg came along with belle just behind them. "are you taking me to the hop tonight, mr. holmes?" asked belle with her usual directness. poor greg, seasoned cadet though he was, flushed uncomfortably. "i should be," stammered greg, "but it happens that i am already engaged to drag---to escort a young lady to tonight's hop." "i like that word 'drag' better than 'escort'," laughed belle. "but mr. anstey, our tentmate, is to escort you tonight," greg made haste to explain. "that is the first i have heard of it," replied belle, with an odd smile. "does mr. anstey know about it, either?" "don't make fun of me," begged holmes quickly. "miss meade, there are many customs here that are strange to outsiders. but they are very old customs." "some of them, i suppose," laughed belle, "so old that they should be forgotten." "all cadets are regarded as gentlemen," hurried on greg. "therefore, any cadet may be a suitable escort for a young woman. if one cadet has two young lady friends coming to the hop, for instance, he asks one of his comrades to escort one of his friends. why, a cadet who, for any reason, finds himself unable to attend a hop, after he has invited a young lady, may arrange with anyone of his comrades to call for the young lady in his place." "what if she should decline the unknown substitute who reported to fill the task?" teased belle. "it would betray her unfamiliarity with west point," replied greg, with more spirit than belle had expected from this once very quiet young man. "miss meade, we look upon a our comrades here as gentlemen. we regard the man whom we may send in our place as being more worthy than ourselves. isn't it natural, therefore, that we should expect the young lady to feel honored by the substitution in the way of escort? "wholly so," belle admitted. "if i have said anything that sounded inconsiderate, or too light, you will forgive me, won't you, mr. holmes?" "you haven't offended, and you couldn't," greg replied courteously; "for i never take offence where none is meant, and you would be incapable of intending any." the young people ahead were talking very quietly. laura, indeed, did not wish to talk much. she was taken up with her study of the changed---and improved---dick prescott. "do you know, dick," she asked finally, "i am more pleased over your coming to west point than over anything else that could have happened to you." "why?" dick asked. "because the life here has made such a rapid and fine change in you." "you are sure it has made such a change?" dick inquired. "yes; you were a manly boy in gridley, but you are an actual man, now, and i am certain that the change has been made more quickly here than would have happened in any other life." "one thing i can understand," pursued laura. "the life here is one that is full of purpose. it must be. it takes purpose and downright hard work to change two young men as you and greg have been changed." by this time the little party was close to the west, or road side of the encampment. "isn't that bert dodge over there?" asked laura, after gazing rather intently at a somewhat distant cadet. "that is mr. dodge, laura." "do you care to call him over to speak with us?" asked mrs. bentley. "if you wish it," dick responded evenly. laura looked at him quickly. "are you and mr. dodge no better friends here than at gridley?" she asked in a low tone. "mr. dodge and i are classmates, but we are thrown together very little," dick replied quietly. "i do not think we care about speaking with mr. dodge, do we, mother?" inquired laura. "there is no need to," replied mrs. bentley. at that moment bert dodge espied the little party. after a short, but curious stare, bert turned and came toward them. chapter viii cadet dodge hears something it was an embarrassing position. so, at least, thought laura bentley. "let us walk on," she suggested, turning as though she had not seen dodge. "humph!" muttered dodge, turning his own course. "the girls are showing their backs to me. humph! not that i care about them particularly, but folks back in gridley will be asking them if they saw me, and they'll answer that they didn't speak with me. there's no use in running into a snub, out here in the open. but it's easy! i'll stag it at the hop tonight, and i can get within range before they can signal me to keep away." smiling grimly, dodge went to his tent. after a while it was necessary for dick and greg to take their friends back to the hotel, for the cadets must be on hand punctually for supper formation. "mr. anstey and i will call for you at 7:30, if we may," said dick. "we shall be ready," laura promised. "and that we may not keep you waiting, we'll be down on the veranda." and waiting they were. dick and anstey found mrs. bentley and the girls seated near the ladies' entrance. anstey, the personification of southern grace and courtesy, made his most impressive greetings to the ladies. his languid eyes took in laura bentley at a glance, almost, and he found her to be all that prescott had described. belle meade won anstey's quick approval, though nothing in his face betrayed the fact. at first glance, it appeared that both girls were very simply attired in white, but they had spent days in planning the effects of their gowning. everything about their gowning was most perfectly attuned. above all, they looked what they were---two sweet, wholesome, unaffected young women. "we have time now for a short stroll to camp," proposed prescott. "if you would like it, you can see how we live in summer. the camp is lighted, now." so they strolled past the heads of the streets of the camp. at the guard tent, dick and anstey explained the routine of guard duty, in as far as it would be interesting to women. they touched, lightly, upon some of the pranks that are played against the cadet sentries. wherever mrs. bentley and the girls passed, cadet friends lifted their caps to the ladies with prescott and anstey, the salutes being punctiliously returned. bert dodge was in a rage. he could not get so much as the courtesy of a bow from these girls whom he had known for years. he was being cut dead and he knew it, and the humiliation of the thing was more than he could well bear. a half hour later, he saw the party coming, and discreetly took himself out of sight. "i can play my cards at the hop," he muttered. the over to cullum hall, through the dark night, the little party strolled, one of many similar parties. once inside cullum hall, prescott and anstey, looking mightily like young copies of mars in their splendid dress uniforms, conducted the ladies to seats at the side of the ballroom. dick and anstey next took the ladies' light wraps and went with them to the cloak room, after which they passed on to the coat room and checked their own caps. laura and belle gazed about them with well-bred curiosity---mrs. bentley, too---at the other guests of the evening, who were arriving rapidly. the scene was one of animated life. it would have been hard to say whether the handsome gowns of the young ladies, or the cadet dress uniforms, gave more life and spirit to the scene. as prescott and anstey returned across the ballroom floor the orchestra started a preliminary march. both young cadets fell unconsciously in step close to the door, and came marching, side by side, soldierly---perfect! "what splendid, manly young fellows!" breathed laura admiringly to belle. her mother, too, heard. "be careful, laura," advised her mother, smilingly. "don't lose your heart to a scrap of gray cloth and a brass button." "don't fear," smiled miss bentley happily. "when i lose my heart it shall be to a man! and how many of them we see here tonight mother!" nearly with the precision of a marching platoon the two young men halted before the ladies. yet there was nothing of stiff formality about either prescott or anstey. they stood before their friends, chatting lightly. "tell us about some of the other hops that you have attended before," begged belle meade. "but we haven't attended any," dick replied. "do you recall my promise in gridley, miss bentley---that i would invite you to my first hop as soon as i was eligible to attend one?" "yes," nodded laura smilingly. "this is my first hop," dick said, smilingly. "mine, too," affirmed anstey. "gracious!" laughed belle merrily. "i hope you both know how to dance." "we put in weary lessons as plebes, under the dancing master," laughed dick. "but you danced well in gridley," protested laura. "thank you. but the style is a bit different at west point." "you make me uneasy," pouted belle. "then that uneasiness will vanish by the time you are half through with the first number." "there comes mr. holmes," discovered laura. "what a remarkably pretty girl with him." "mr. griffin's sister," said dick. "isn't that mr. dodge?" murmured laura. dick only half turned, but his sidelong glance covered the doorway. "yes; he appears to be stagging it." bert presently disappeared. as a cadet always claims the first number or two with the young lady whom he has "dragged" hither, "staggers" have to wait until later in the programme. then, presently the music for the opening dance struck up. dick had already presented furlong, a "stagger," to mrs. bentley, so that she was not left alone. furlong had asked the pleasure of a dance with laura's mother, but mrs. bentley, with instinctive tact, realized that the older women did not often dance at cadet hops. so she begged mr. furlong to remain with her and tell her about the cadet hops. as the music struck up, and dick bent before her, he thrilled with the grace and unaffected friendliness with which laura rose and rested one hand on his shoulder. she was a woman, and a magnificent one! away they whirled, anstey and belle following. "i greatly enjoyed the high school hops of former days," sighed laura, "but this is finer." "same escort," murmured dick. "same name, but in many ways much changed," laughed miss bentley. "dick, i am so glad you came to west point." "so am i," he answered simply. the first two numbers they danced together, then changed partners for the third dance. between times, greg had appeared with miss griffin and introductions had followed. dick's fourth number was danced with miss griffin, while anstey led her out for the fifth. for that fifth dance dick introduced one of his classmates to laura, and, during that dance, prescott stood and chatted with mrs. bentley. he saw to it that laura's mother was very seldom without company through the evening. the sixth dance dick enjoyed with laura. "i had a reason for waiting and asking for this dance," he murmured in her ear. "yes?" challenged laura. "i discovered that it is the longest number on the programme. i would dearly love the next number, also, but i must not make the evening too dull and prosy for you. will you trust me to select your partner for the next dance?" "i am wholly in your hands," smiled miss bentley. after dick had conducted laura to a seat beside her mother he stepped away to find sennett, of the yearling class. "sennett," murmured dick banteringly, "i have seen you casting eyes at miss bentley." "i fear i must plead my guilt, old ramrod. are you going to present me?" "for the next dance. i think, if you are very much on your guard, sennett, you will pass for enough of a gentleman for a few minutes." "i'll call you out for that on monday," retorted the other yearling, in mock wrath. "but, for the present, lead me over that i may prostrate myself at the feet of the femme." so dick stood beside mrs. bentley and watched laura dance with one of the most popular fellows of the class. as sennett and laura returned to mrs. bentley, cadet dodge suddenly slipped up as though from nowhere. "miss bentley," he murmured, bowing before laura, after having greeted her mother, "i am presumptuous enough to trust that you remember me." "perfectly, mr. dodge," replied laura in her even tones. "how do you do?" she did not offer her hand; within the limits of perfectly good breeding it was her privilege to withhold it without slight or offence. "how have you been since the old high school days?" "perfectly well, thank you." "and you, mrs. bentley?" asked dodge, again bowing before her mother. "very well, thank you, mr. dodge," replied mrs. bentley, who subtly took her cue from her daughter. "now, miss bentley, you are not going to leave a broken heart behind you at west point?" urged bert softly. "you are going to let me write my name on your dance card---even if only once." "you should have spoken earlier, mr. dodge," laughed laura. "every dance, if not already taken, is good as promised." yearling dodge could not conceal his chagrin. at that moment belle meade returned with one of the tallest cadets on the floor. bert greeted her effusively. belle returned the greeting as evenly and as perfectly as laura had done---but nothing more. "miss meade, you are going to be tenderhearted enough to flatter me with one dance?" begged dodge. "oh, i am so sorry!" replied belle, in a tone of well-bred regret that carried with it nothing more than courtesy, "but i'm promised for every dance." cadets prescott and sennett had turned slightly aside. so had belle's late partner. dodge knew that they were laughing inwardly at his waterloo. and anstey and greg, who stood by at this moment, appeared to be wearing inscrutable grins. dodge made his adieus hurriedly, walking up the ballroom just ahead of furlong, who also had observed. bert felt sure so many of his comrades had seen and enjoyed his plight that his fury was at white heat as he stepped just outside the ballroom. furlong came after him, looking at him quizzically. "we staggers have a hard time of it, eh, dodge?" grinned mr. furlong. "are you referring to the two femmes i was just billing?" shot out dodge impetuously. "oh, they're very inconsequential girls!" mr. furlong drew himself up very straight, his eyes flashing fire. "you dog!" he exclaimed, in utter disgust. yearling dodge turned ghastly white. "you---you didn't understand me. let me explain," he urged. "you can't explain a remark like yours," muttered mr. furlong over his shoulder, as he turned his back on bert. to be called a "dog" has but one sequence in cadet world. bert dodge had to send his seconds to mr. furlong before taps. though they must have loathed their task, had they known the whole story, the seconds made arrangements with mr. furlong's representatives. before reveille the next morning bert dodge stood up for nearly two rounds before the sledgehammer fists of mr. furlong. when it was over, dodge sought cadet hospital, remaining there until monday morning, and returning to camp looking somewhat the worse for wear. along with truth, honor and courtesy, tenderest chivalry toward woman is one of the fairest flowers of the west point teaching. fellows like yearling dodge cannot be taught. they can only be insulted to the fighting point, and then pummelled. cadet furlong went to considerable inconvenience, though uncomplainingly, for two young women whom he had not the pleasure of knowing. chapter ix spoony femme---flirtation walk "so this is flirtation walk?" asked belle meade. the four young people---anstey was one of them---had just turned into the famous path, which begins not far to the eastward of the hotel. it was between one and two o'clock on sunday afternoon. "this is flirtation walk," replied mr. anstey. "but is one compelled to flirt, on this stroll?" asked belle, with a comical pout. "by no means," anstey hastened to assure her. "yet the surroundings often bring out all there may be of slumbering inclination to flirt." "where did the walk ever get such a name?" pursued belle. "really, you have to see the first half of it before you can quite comprehend," the virginian told her. "i suppose you have been over this way times innumerable?" teased miss meade. "hardly," replied anstey seriously. "i have been a yearling only a few days." "but is a plebe forbidden to stroll here?" "if a plebe did have the brass to try it," replied anstey slowly, "i reckon he would have to fight the whole yearling class in turn." laura caught some of the conversation, and turned to dick. "haven't plebes any rights or privileges?" she asked. "oh, yes, indeed," replied prescott gravely. "a plebe is fed three meals a day, like anyone else. if he gets hurt he has a right to medical and surgical attendance. he is allowed to attend chapel on sunday, just like an upper classman, and he may receive and write letters. but he mustn't butt into upper-class privileges." "poor plebe!" sighed sympathetic laura. "lucky plebe!" amended dick. "weren't you fearfully glum and homesick last year? "some of the time, desperately so." "yet you believe it is right to ignore a plebe, and to make him so wretched?" "the upper classmen don't make the plebe wretched. the plebe is just on probation while he's in the fourth class---that's all. the plebe is required to prove that he's a man before he's accepted as one." "it all seems dreadfully hard," contended laura. "it is hard, but necessary, if the west point man is to be graduated as anything but a snob with an enlarged cranium. laura, you remember what a fuss the 'blade' made over me when i won my appointment? now, almost every new man come to west point with some such splurge made about him at home. he reaches here thinking he's one of the smartest fellows in creation. in a good many cases, too, the fellow has been spoiled ever since he was a baby, by being the son of wealthy parents, or by being from a family distinguished in some petty local social circles. the first move here, on the part of the upper classmen, is to take all of that swelling out of the new man's head. then, most likely, the new man has never had any home training in being really manly. here, he must be a man or get out. it takes some training, some probation, some hard knocks and other things to make a man out of the fellow. he has to be a man, if he's going to be fit to command troops." anstey, who had been walking close behind his comrade, added: "the new man, if he has been spoiled at home, usually comes here with a more or less bad temper. he can't talk ugly here, or double his fists, or give anyone black looks---except with one invariable result." "what?" asked both girls eagerly. "he must fight, as soon as the meeting can be arranged," replied anstey. "that sounds rather horrible!" shuddered laura. "does it?" asked dick dryly. "we're being trained here for fighting men." "but what do they fight about?" inquired belle. "well, one man, who probably will never be thought of highly again," replied anstey, "spoke slightingly of a girl at the hop last night. the cadet who heard him didn't even know the girl, but he called the cadet a 'dog' for speaking that way of a woman." "what happened?" inquired laura. "the man who was called a 'dog' was, according to our code, compelled to call his insulter out." "are they going to fight?" asked belle eagerly. "the 'dog' was whipped at the first streak of daylight this morning," the virginian answered. "that particular 'dog' is now in a special little kennel at the hospital. hasn't he learned anything? he knows more about practical chivalry than he did last night." "this talk is getting a bit savage," laughed dick. "let me call your attention to the beauty of the view here." the view was, indeed, a striking one. the two couples had halted at a rock-strewn point on the walk. the beauty of the woods was all about them. through the trees to the east they could see the hudson, almost at their feet, yet far below them. looking northward, they saw a noble sweep of the same grand river, above the bend. "come forward a bit" urged anstey of belle. "i want to show you a beautiful effect across the river." as they passed on, just out of sight, greg holmes came along, talking animatedly with miss griffin. at sight of laura, greg halted, and the four young people chatted. at last holmes and miss griffin passed on to speak to belle. "i feel as if i could spend an entire day on this beautiful spot," murmured laura contentedly. "let me fix a seat for you," begged dick, spreading his handkerchief on a flat rock. laura thanked him and sat down. dick threw himself on the grass beside the rock. then laura told him a lot of the home-town news, and they talked over the high school days to their hearts' content. "i don't know that i've ever seen such a beautiful spot as it is right at this part of the walk," spoke laura presently, after a few couples had strolled above them. "and such beautiful wild flowers! look at the honeysuckle up there. i really wish i could get some of that to take back to the hotel. i could press it before it withered." "it is easily enough obtained," smiled dick, rising quickly. "o-o-o-h! don't, please!" called miss bentley uneasily, for dick, after examining the face of the little cliff for footing, had begun to scale up toward the honeysuckle. "hold your parasol---open," he directed, looking down with a smile. in another moment he was tossing down the beautiful blossoms into the open parasol that miss bentley held upside down. "how would you like some of these ferns?" dick called down, pulling out a sample by the roots and holding it out to view. "oh, if you please!" several ferns fell into the upturned parasol. then dick scrambled down, resuming his lounging seat on the grass, while laura examined her treasures and chatted. "what a splendid, thoroughbred girl she has become!" kept running through prescott's mind. every detail, from the tip of her small, dainty boot, peeping out from under the hem of the skirt, up to the beautiful coloring of her face and the purity of her low, white feminine brow dick noted in turn. he had never seen laura look so attractive, not even in her dainty ball finery of the night before. he had never felt so strongly drawn toward her as he did now. he longed to tell her so, and not lightly, either, but with direct, manly force and meaning. though cadet prescott's face showed none of his temptation, he found himself repeatedly on the dangerous brink of sentimentality. since coming to west point he had seen many charming girls, yet not one who appealed to him as did this dainty one from his own home town and the old, bygone school days. but dick tried to hold himself back. he had, yet, nothing to offer the woman whom he should tell of his love. he was by no means certain that he would finally graduate from the military academy. without a place in life, what had he to offer? would it be fair or honorable to seek to capture the love of this girl when his own future was yet so uncertain? yet caution and prudence seemed more likely to fly away every time he glanced at this dear girl. in desperation dick rose quickly. "laura," he said softly, "if we remain here all afternoon there is a lot that we shall fail to see. are you for going on with our walk?" laura bentley looked up at him with something of a little start. perhaps she, too, had been thinking, but a girl may not speak all that passes in her mind. "yes," she answered; "let us keep on." dick, as he walked beside her, was tortured with the feeling that laura bentley might not wait long before making her choice of men in the world. some other fellow, more enterprising than he, might----"but it wouldn't be fair!" muttered prescott to himself. "i have no right to ask her to tie herself for years, and then perhaps fail myself." laura thought her cadet companion appeared a bit absent minded during the rest of the walk. who shall know what passes in a girl's innermost mind? perhaps she divined what was moving in his mind. as they passed by the coast battery, then came up by battle monument, and so to the hotel, they found greg and anstey leaning against the veranda railing, chatting with belle and miss griffin. these latest arrivals joined the others. mrs. bentley at last came down and joined them. thrice, in duty bound, dick glanced at his watch. the third time a sigh full of bitterness escaped him. "this is the meanest minute in my life," he declared. "it is time to say good-bye, for we must get back to camp and into full-dress uniform for parade." "but shall we not see you after parade? asked laura, looking up quickly, an odd look flitting over her face. "no; we are soldiers, and move by schedule," signed dick. "after parade there will be other duties, then supper. and you are going at the end of parade!" bravely prescott faced the farewells, though he knew more of the wrench than even laura could have guessed. "but you will come again in winter?" he murmured in a low voice to laura. "if mother permits," she answered, looking down at her boot tip, then up again, smiling, into his face. "mrs bentley, you'll bring the girls here again, this winter, won't you?" appealed dick. "if dr. bentley and belle's parents approve, i'll try to," answered the matron. then came the leave-takings, brief and open. with a final lifting of their caps dick and the others turned and strode down the path. laura and belle gazed after them until the young men had disappeared into the encampment. but you may be sure the girls were over on the parade ground by the time that the good old gray battalion had turned out and marched over, forming in battalion front. it was a beautiful sight. mrs. bentley wasn't martial, but as she looked on at that straight, inflexible wall of gray and steel, as the band played the colors up to the right of line, the good matron was thinking to herself: "what a pity that the country hasn't a thousand such battalions of the flower of young american manhood! then what fear could we know in time of war?" the girls looked on almost breathlessly, starting at the boom of the sunset gun, then thrilling with a new realization of what their country meant when the band crashed out in the exultant strains of the "star spangled banner" and the stars and stripes fluttered down at west point, to rise on another day of the nation's life. it was over, and the visitors took the stage to the railway station. what a fearfully dull evening it seemed in camp! dick had never known the time to hang so heavily. he would almost have welcomed guard duty. over in another tent near by a "soiree" was in full but very quiet blast, for that bumptious plebe, mr. briggs, had been caught in more mischief, and was being "instructed" by his superiors in length of service. prescott, however, didn't even look in to see what was happening. * * * * * * * * "isn't west point life glorious, belle?" asked laura eagerly as the west shore train carried them toward new york. "fine!" replied belle enthusiastically. "but still---wait until we have seen annapolis." at ten o'clock the next morning the young ladies and mrs. bentley were traveling in a pullman car, on another stage of their journey. "i wonder what our young cadets are doing?" laura wondered aloud, as she leaned forward. "enjoying themselves, you may be sure," mrs. bentley replied promptly, with a smile. "that summer encampment seems like one long, huge lark," put in belle meade. "it must be great for young men to be able to enjoy themselves so thoroughly." "i wonder just what our young men are doing at this moment?" persisted laura. "well, if they're not dressing for something," calculated mrs. bentley, "you may be sure they're moving about looking as elegant as ever and making themselves highly agreeable in a social way." ye gods of war! at that very moment dick, in field uniform, and dripping profusely under the hot sun, was carrying a long succession of planks, each nearly as long and heavy as he could manage, to other cadets who waited to nail them in place on a pontoon bridge out over an arm of the hudson. greg holmes was one of four young men toiling at the rope by which they were endeavoring to drag a mountain howitzer into position up a steep slope near crow's nest, while anstey, studying field fortification, was digging in a trench with all his might and main. chapter x the cure for plebe animal spirits so the weeks slipped by. up at five in the morning, busy most of the time until six in the evening, the cadets of the first, third and fourth classes found ample time to enjoy themselves between dark and taps, at 10.30, except when guard duty or something else interfered. much of the "idle" time through the day was spent in short naps, to make up for that short six hours and a half of regular night sleep. yet all the young men seemed to thrive in their life of hard work and outdoor air. hazing was proceeding merrily, so far as some of the yearlings were concerned. perhaps half of the class in all engaged in two or more real hazings through the summer. a few of the third classmen became almost inveterate hazers. but dick prescott, true to the principles had stated at the beginning of the encampment, hazed a plebe only when he believed it to be actually necessary in order to keep properly down some bumptious new man. dodge returned from hospital after a very short stay there. word had spread through the camp. though dodge, who admitted frankly that his thrashing had been deserved, managed to keep a few friends, but was avoided by most of the yearlings. since he had taken his medicine so frankly, he was not, however, "cut." one afternoon, when dick had been dozing on his mattress for about ten minutes, during a period of freedom from drill, the tent flap rustled, and yearling furlong looked in. "what is it?" called dick. "sorry if i've roused you, old ramrod," murmured the caller. "that's all right, milesy. come in and rest yourself. you won't mind if i keep flat, will you? "not in training for sick report?" asked furlong, glancing down solicitously. but he saw the glow of robust health glowing through the deep coat of tan on prescott's face. "my appetite doesn't resemble sick report," laughed dick. "but, while you don't really look ill, milesy, it's very plain that you have something serious on your mind. out with it! "i guess that will make me feel better," assented furlong, with a sigh. "it's all that little plebe beast, mr. briggs." "surely he hasn't been hazing you?" inquired prescott, opening his eyes very wide. "no, no; not just that, old ramrod," replied furlong. "but mr. briggs is proving a huge disappointment to me. i've done my best to make a meek and lowly cub of him, but he won't consent to fill his place. now, that little beast made a good enough get away with his studies during the three months before camp. he mastered all the work of the soldier in ranks. at bottoms mr. briggs is really a very good little boy soldier. but he's so abominably and incurably fresh that he should have gone to annapolis, where there's always some salt in the breeze. "what has mr. briggs been doing now?" asked dick with interest. "what doesn't mr. briggs do?" sighed furlong mournfully. "instead of sleeping nights, that beast must lie awake, devising more ways of being unutterably fresh. but now he's contaminating his bunkie, mr. ellis." "evil company always did work havoc with good manners," nodded dick. "so mr. ellis has gone bad, has he?" "do you know," continued furlong severely, "that three mornings ago, when jessup, of our class, was dressing at forty horsepower so he wouldn't miss reveille formation, that he stepped into two shoes full of soft soap, and had to go out sloshing into line in that shape, just because he couldn't spare the time to take his shoes off and empty them? "yes," nodded prescott. "we suspected haverford, of the first class, of that, because jessup, on guard, challenged haverford when haverford was trying to run the guard after taps." "haverford nothing," retorted furlong. "he's above such jobs. no, sir! this afternoon jessup ran plumb into mr. ellis when that little beast bunkie of the other beast, mr. briggs, was just in the act of dropping soft soap into the shoes that aldrich will wear to dress parade today. "where on earth did mr. ellis get hold of soft soap?" demanded prescott, raising himself on one elbow. "you're entirely missing the problem, old ramrod!" grunted furlong wrathfully. "the question is, how can we possibly soak such habits out of mr. ellis and mr. briggs?" "perhaps it can't be done," suggested dick. "it must be done!" uttered furlong savagely. "well, i can't think of any yearling better suited to the task that you are, milesy!" "one man? or one tentful, isn't equal to any such gigantic piece of work!" retorted furlong. "ramrod, you've got to appoint a class committee to take these two baboons in hand. it ought to be done this very night, too. now, sit up, won't you, and get your thinking cap on?" "have you talked with any of the other men?" "yes; and they all agree that a soiree must be given to mr. ellis, and that you should be present." "what is the call for me, milesy? "you are the class president." "but this is no affair that involves the honor of the class. therefore, as president, i cannot see that there is any call for me." "it is the feeling with all the members of the yearling class that you should be present." prescott looked at his visitor intently for a moment. dick understood, now. he had taken "too little" interest in the hazing of b.j. plebes, and the class did not want to see its president shirk any duties that might be considered his, either as yearling or as class president. "very good, milesy," replied dick quietly. "you may inform all anxious inquirers that i'll be on hand. where and at what hour?" "eight o'clock, in dunstan's tent." "very good." furlong arose with a satisfied look on his face. he had, in fact, been deputed by others to make sure that prescott would be on hand. there is always a good deal of risk attendant on hazing. it may lead to discovery---and dismissal. "i wonder if some of the fellows think i keep away from hazing simply because i'm afraid of risking my neck?" yawned dick. "they practically insist on my sitting in to-night, do they? oh, well!" the hop took more men away from camp than usual that night. other cadets met friends from the hotel or officers' quarters at post number one. but over in dunstan's tent a considerable group of yearlings gathered. a few, in fact, were obliged to stand outside. this they did in such a way as not to attract the attention of the o.c. or any chance tac. dick was there, and with him were holmes and anstey, to both of whom had been conveyed a hint as strong as that which had reached the class president. furlong, griffin and dobbs were in the tent. jessup and aldrich were there as a matter of fact. on the still night air came the clanging of eight on the big clock down in the group of barracks and academic building. just as the strokes were pealing forth plebes briggs and ellis came up the street and stood at the front pole of dunstan's tent. "come in, beasties," summoned furlong. "we are awaiting you." neither plebe looked over joyous as the pair entered. "stand there, misters," ordered dick, pointing to the space that had been reserved for the victims of the affair. "now, misters, there is some complaint that you have mistaken west point for a theatrical training school. the suspicion is gaining ground that you two beasties imagine you have been appointed here as comedians. is that your delusion?" "no, sir," replied mr. briggs and mr. ellis in one solemn breath. "then what ails you, misters?" demanded dick severely. both plebes remained silent. "answer me, sirs. you first, mr. briggs." "i think we must have been carried away by excess of animal spirits, sir," replied mr. briggs, now speaking meekly enough. "animal spirits?" repeated dick thoughtfully. "there may be much truth and reason in that idea. camp life here is repressive of animal spirits, to be sure. we who are your mentors to some extent should have thought of that. mr. briggs, you shall find relief for your animal spirits. mr. ellis, what is your defence?" "i thought, sir---thought-----" with the yearling president's eyes fixed on him in stern, searching gaze, the once merry little mr. ellis became confused. he broke off stameringly. "that's enough, mr. ellis," replied the class president. "you admit that you thought. now, no plebe is capable of thinking. your answer, mister, proves you to be guilty of egotism." then dick, with the air of a judge, yet with a mocking pretence of gentleness and leniency sounding; in his voice, turned back to plebe briggs. "mr. briggs, you will now proceed to relieve your animal spirits by some spirited animal conduct. the animal that you will represent will be the crab. down on your face, mister!" flat on the floor lay mr. briggs. the yearlings outside, at the tent doorway, scenting something coming, peered in eagerly. "now, spread out your arms and legs, mister, just as any good crab should do. raise your body from the floor. not too much; about six inches will do. now, mister, move about as nearly as possible in the manner of a crab. stop, mister! don't you know that a crab moves either backwards or sideways? it will not give enough vent to your animal spirits unless you move exactly as your model, the crab, does. try it again, mister, and be painstaking in your imitation." mr. briggs presented a most grotesque appearance as he crawled about over the floor in the very limited space allowed him by the presence of so many others. the yearlings enjoyed it all in mirthful silence. "as for you, mister," continued dick, turning upon the uncomfortable mr. ellis, "your self-conceit so fills every part of your body that the only thing for you is to stand on your head. go to the rear tentpole and stand on your head. you may brace your feet against the pole. but remain on your head until we make sure that all the conceit has run out of you!" mr. briggs was still "crabbing it" over the floor. every minute the task became more irksome. "up with you, mister," prescott admonished. "no self-respecting crab, with an abundance of animal spirits, ever trails along the ground like that." after some two minutes of standing on his head mr. ellis fell over sideways, his feet thudding. "up with you, sir," admonished dick. "you are still so full of egotism that it sways you like the walking beam of a steamboat. up with you, mister, and up you stay until there is no ballast of conceit left in you." crab-crab-crab! mr. briggs continued to move sidewise and backward over the tent flooring. mr. ellis was growing frightfully red in the face. but prescott, from the remembrance of his own plebe days, knew to a dot how long a healthy plebe could keep that inverted position without serious injury. so the class president, sitting as judge in the court of hazing, showed no mercy. some of the yearlings who stood outside peering in should have kept a weather eye open for the approach of trouble from tac. quarters. but, as the ordeals of both of the once frisky plebes became more severe, the interest of those outside increased. crab-crab-crab! continued mr. briggs. it seemed to him as though his belt-line weighed fully a ton, so hard was it to keep his abdomen off the floor, resting solely on his hands and feet. mr. ellis must have felt that conceit and he could never again be friends, judging by the redness of his face and the straining of his muscles. an approaching step outside should have been heard by some of the yearlings looking in through the doorway, but it wasn't. then, all in an instant, the step quickened, and lieutenant topham, o.c. for the day, made for the tent door! chapter xi lieutenant topham feels queer yearling kelton barely turned his head, but he caught sight of the olive drab of the uniform of the army officer within a few feet. pretending not to have seen the officer, cadet kelton drew in his breath with a sharp whistle. it was not loud, but it was penetrating, and it carried the warning. swift as a flash prescott caught upside-down mr. ellis, and fairly rolled him out under the canvas edge at the back of the tent. greg instantly shoved the prostrate mr. briggs through by the same exit. fortunately both plebes were too much astonished to utter a sound. "crouch and scowl at me, greg---hideously whispered alert-witted dick." as he spoke, prescott swiftly crouched before holmes. dick's hands rested on his knees; he stuck out his tongue and scowled fiercely at holmes, who tried to repay the compliment with interest. although all the yearlings in the tent had been "scared stiff" at kelton's low, warning signal, all, by an effort, laughed heartily, their gaze on prescott and holmes. "yah!" growled dick. "perhaps i did steal the widow's chickens, and i'll even admit that i did appropriate the pennies from her baby's bank. but that's nothing. tell 'em about the time you stole the oats from the blind horse's crib and put breakfast food in its place." everyone of the yearlings in the tent knew that trouble stood at the door, and that they must keep up the pretence. there was a chorus of laughter, and two or three applauded. "i did---admit it," bellowed greg. "but you stand there and admit the whole shameful truth about the time that you-----" "attention!" called kelton, turning, then recognizing lieutenant topham and saluting. "the officer in charge!" on the jump every yearling inside turned and stood rapidly at attention. "gentlemen, i'm sorry to have spoiled the show," laughed lieutenant topham. he had seen the shadows of briggs and ellis on the canvas, and had expected to drop in upon a different scene. but now this tac. was wholly disarmed. he honestly believed that he had stumbled upon a party of yearlings having a good time with a bit of nonsensical dialogue. "mr. prescott! mr. holmes!" "sir?" answered both yearlings, saluting. "i will suggest that you two might work up the act you were just indulging in. you ought to raise a great laugh the next time a minstrel show is given by the cadets." "thank you, sir"---from both "performers." lieutenant topham turned and passed on down the company street. the two expelled plebes, in the meantime, had a chance to slip off silently. even had briggs and ellis been inclined to "show up" their hazers, they knew too well the fate that would await such a pair of plebes at the hands of the cadet corps. "that shows how easily a suspicious man's eyes may deceive him," mused lieutenant topham as he walked along. kelton now allowed his gaze to follow the retreating o.c., while the yearlings in the tent stood in dazed silence. they were still panting over the narrow escape from a scrape that might have cost them their places on the roll of the battalion. "safe!" whispered kelton. "you may thank your deliverers." then, indeed, the other yearlings pressed about prescott and holmes, hugging them and patting them extravagantly. when lieutenant topham returned to his tent, he found captain bates there, with a visitor. by the time that he had stepped inside, topham also discovered the presence of the k.c. likewise engaged. "i've just had a good lesson in the pranks that a man's eyes and ears may play upon him," announced topham, unbelting his sword. then he related, with relish, the occurrence at dunstan's tent. "humph!" grunted captain bates. "you say mr. prescott was there?" "yes, captain." "then, topham, you didn't really see very much of what happened, after all," half jeered captain bates. "if prescott was there, the crowd had a plebe on hand, depend on it." "but i would have seen the plebe." "not when you have to contend with a man like mr. prescott! if he had a tenth of a second's warning it would be enough for him to roll the plebe out at the back of the tent." "now, i think of it," confessed lieutenant topham slowly, "i think i did hear a slight sound at the back of the tent." "you didn't investigate that sound, mr. topham?" "why, no, sir. i thought i was looking at the whole show." "instead of which," chuckled captain bates, "you saw only the curtain that had just been rung down, and the author of the piece bowing to the audience." "well, i'll be---switched!" ejaculated mr. topham, dropping into his chair. "mr. prescott has the reputation of being the cleverest dodger in the yearling class," declared the k.c., in a dry voice. "it was bates who first discovered that quality in mr. prescott, but i must admit that he has convinced me. tomorrow a new cadet corporal will be appointed, and the fact published in orders. the new corporal takes the place of corporal ryder, who has been busted (reduced). mr. prescott would have been appointed corporal, but for his reputation for dodging out of the biggest scrapes of his class. so mr. dodge is to be the new cadet corporal." "oh, you sly old ramrod!" dunstan was murmuring ecstatically, back in that other tent. "when i think of all the yearlings who've been dropped for hazing in past years! if each class had only had a prescott all of those yearlings would have been saved to the service!" but dick, though he did not know it, had a reputation in the tac. department which had just prevented his attaining to the honor that he desired most---appointment as cadet corporal. chapter xii under a fearful charge cadet corporal dodge took his new appointment as a triumph in revenge. of late he had been growing even less popular. he determined to be a martinet with the men in ranks under him. he made the mistake that all petty, senseless tyrants do. the great disciplinarian is never needlessly a tyrant. * * * * * * * * the summer in camp passed quickly after july had gone. in all, miss griffin made four visits to west point that summer. greg became her favored and eager escort, to the disappointment of fifty men who would have been glad to take his place. both cadet holmes and mr. griffin's very pretty sister kept up their attitudes of laughing challenge to each other throughout the summer. it was impossible to see that either had scored a deep impression on the other. not even to his chum did greg confide whether miss griffin had caught his heart. mr. griffin, her brother, could hardly venture a guess to himself as to whether his sister cared for the tall and manly looking holmes. but when miss griffin had reached the end of her last summer visit to west point she told greg that she would not be there again for some time to come. "at least," asked greg, "you'll be here again when the winter hops start?" "i cannot say," was all the reply miss adele griffin would make. "in three weeks she goes back to the seminary in virginia," said griff, when greg spoke to him about the matter. "dell won't see west point before next summer. our people are not rich enough to keep dell traveling all the time." whether greg was crestfallen at the news no one knew. greg had never believed, anyway, in wearing his heart on his sleeve---"just for other folks to stick pins in it, you know," was his explanation. there came the day when the furloughed second class marched over to camp. very quickly after that all classes were back in cadet barracks, and the charming summer of mars had given place to the hard fall, winter and spring of the academic grind. the return to studies found both greg and dick forced to do some extra hard work. mathematics for this year went "miles ahead" of anything that the former gridley boys had encountered in high school. had they been able to pursue this branch of study in the more leisurely and lenient way of the colleges, both young men might have stood well. as it was, after the first fortnight greg went to the "goats," or the lowest section in mathematics, while dick, not extremely better off, hung only in the section above the goat line. as the fall hops came on greg went to about three out of every four. "a fellow can bone until his brain is nothing but a mess of bone dust," he complained. "dick, old chum, you'd better go to hops, too." dick went to only one, in october. he stagged it, whereas greg often dragged. but prescott saw no girl there who looked enough like laura bentley to interest him. his standing in class interested him far more than hops at which a certain gridley girl could not be present. laura had written him that she and belle might be at a hop early in december. "i'll wait and look forward to it," decided dick. but he said nothing, even to greg. holmes was showing an ability to be interested in too many different girls, prescott decided. but it may be that holmes, knowing that griffin corresponded with his pretty, black-eyed little sister, may have been intentionally furnishing subjects for the news that was despatched to a virginia seminary. "come on, old ramrod," urged greg one saturday night, as he gave great heed to his dressing. "you'll bone yourself dry, staying here all the time with smith's conic sections. drop that dry math. rot and stag it with me over at cullum tonight. you can take math. up again after chapel tomorrow." "thank you," replied prescott, turning around from the study table at which he was seated. "i don't care much for the social whirl while there's any doubt about the january exams. it would be no pleasure to go over to cullum. there'll be real satisfaction if i can look forward to better marking this coming week." dick spent his time until taps at the study table. but when he closed the book it was with a sigh of satisfaction. "if i can only go through a few more nights as easily as i have tonight, i'll soon astound myself by maxing it" (making one of the highest marks), he told himself. "i think i'm beginning to see real light in conic sections, but i'll have the books out again tomorrow afternoon." * * * * * * * * "well?" challenged holmes gayly, as he entered their room after the hop. "i believe i'm going to turn over a new leaf and max it some," grinned prescott. "don't!" expostulated greg, with a look of mock alarm. the daily marks were not posted until the end of the academic week, but prescott knew, when monday's recitation in mathematics was over, that he had found new favor in the eyes of captain abbott, the instructor. on tuesday again he was sure that he had landed another high mark. greg caught some of the fire of his chum's example, and he, too, began to bone so furiously that he decided to drop the hops for the time. wednesday again dick marched back in mathematics section with a consciousness that he had not fumbled once in explaining the problem that he had been ordered to set forth the blackboard. "i hear that you're going to graduate ahead of time, and be appointed professor in math.," grinned greg. "well, i'm at least beginning to find out that some things are better than hops," laughed dick happily. "greg, if i can kill math. to my satisfaction this year, i shan't have another doubt about being able to get through and graduate here!" it was the end of november by this time, and dick, on thursday of this successful week, received a letter to the effect that laura and belle would arrive at west point on saturday afternoon at one o'clock. the news nearly broke up prescott's three hours of study that thursday evening. however, he fought off the feeling of excitement and hampering delight. when dick marched with his section into mathematics friday morning he felt a calm confidence that he would keep up the average of his fine performance for the week. "mr. furlong, mr. dunstan, mr. prescott and mr. gray, go to the blackboards," ordered captain abbott. "the other gentlemen will recite from their seats." stepping nimbly over to the blackboard, in one corner of which his name had been written, dick picked up the chalk, setting down the preliminaries of the problem assigned to him. then his chalk ran nimbly along over the first lines of his demonstration. at last he stopped. captain abbott, who was generally accredited with possessing several pairs of eyes, noted that mr. prescott had halted. for some moments the young man went anxiously over what he had already written. at last he turned around, facing the instructor, and saluted. "permission to erase, sir?" requested prescott., captain abbott nodded his assent. picking up the eraser, dick carefully erased the last two lines that he had set down. then, as though working under a new inspiration, he went ahead setting down line after line of the demonstration of this difficult problem. only once did he halt, and then for not more than thirty seconds. dunstan went through a halting explanation of his problem. then captain abbott called: "mr. prescott!" taking up the short pointer, dick rattled off the statement of the problem. then he plunged into his demonstration, becoming more and more confident as he progressed. when he had finished captain abbott asked three or four questions. dick answered these without hesitation. "excellent," nodded the gratified instructor. "that is all, mr. prescott." as dick turned to step to his seat he pulled his handkerchief from the breast of his blouse and wiped the chalk from his hands. all unseen by himself a narrow slip of white paper fluttered from underneath his handkerchief to the floor. "mr. prescott," called captain abbott, "will you bring me that piece of paper from the floor?" dick obeyed without curiosity, then turned again and gained his seat. the instructor, in the meantime, had called upon mr. pike. while pike was reciting, haltingly, captain abbott turned over the slip of paper on his desk, glancing at it with "one of his pairs of eyes." anyone who had been looking at the instructor at that moment would have noted a slight start and a brief change of color in the captain's face. but he said nothing until all of the cadets had recited and had been marked. "mr. prescott!" the instructor then called dick rose, standing by his seat. "mr. prescott, did you work out your problem for today unaided?" "i had a little aid, last night, sir, from mr. anstey." "but you had no aid in the section room today?" "no, sir," replied dick, feeling much puzzled. "you understand my question, mr. prescott?" "i think so, sir." "in putting down your demonstration on the blackboard today you had no aid whatever?" "none whatever, sir." "at one stage, air. prescott, you hesitated, waited, then asked permission to erase? after that erasure you went on with hardly a break to the end of the blackboard work." "yes, sir." "and, at the time you hesitated, before securing leave to erase, you did not consult any aid in your work?" "no, sir." "this piece of paper," continued captain abbott, lifting the slip, "fell from your handkerchief when you drew it out, just as you left the blackboard. that was why i asked you to bring it to me, mr. prescott. this paper contains all the salient features of your demonstration. can you explain this fact, mr. prescott?" the astounded yearling felt as though his brain were reeling. he went hot and cold, all in a flash. in the same moment the other men of the section sat as though stunned. all lying, deceit and fraud are so utterly detested at west point that to a cadet it is incomprehensible how a comrade can be guilty of such an offence. it seemed to prescott like an age ere he could master his voice. "i never saw that paper, sir, before you asked me to pick it up!" "but it dropped from under your handkerchief, mr. prescott. can you account for that?" "i cannot, sir." captain abbott looked thoughtfully, seriously, at cadet richard prescott. the instructor had always liked this young man, and had deemed him worthy of all trust. yet what did this evidence show? in the meantime the cadets sat staring the tops of their desks, or the covers of their books. the gaze of each man was stony; so were his feelings. prescott, the soul of honor, caught in such a scrape as this! but there must be some sensible and satisfactory explanation, thought at least half of the cadets present. "have i permission to ask a question, sir?" asked dick in an almost hollow voice. "proceed, mr. prescott." "is the paper in my handwriting, sir?" "it is not," declared the instructor. "most of it is in typewriting, with two figures drawn crudely in ink. there are three or four typewriting machines on the post to which a cadet may find easy access. you may examine this piece of paper, mr. prescott, if you think that will aid you to throw any light on the matter." dick stepped forward, lurching slightly. most of the silent men of the section took advantage of this slight distraction to shift their feet to new positions. the noise grated in that awful silence. how dick's hand shook as he reached for the paper. at first his eyes were too blurred for him to make out clearly what was on the paper. but at last he made it all out. "i am very sorry, sir. this paper tells me nothing." captain abbott's gaze was fixed keenly on the young man's face. white-faced prescott, shaking and ghastly looking, showed all the evidences of detected, overwhelmed guilt. innocent men often do the same. "you may return the paper and take your seat, mr. prescott." as prescott turned away he made a powerful effort to hold his head erect, and to look fearlessly before him. it was a full minute, yet, before the bugle would sound through the academic building to end the recitation period. dick was not the only one in this section room who found the wait intolerable. but at last the bugle notes were heard. "the section is dismissed," announced captain abbott. dunstan, the section marcher, formed his men and led them thence. no man in the section held his head more erect than did prescott, who was conscious of his own absolute innocence in the affair. yet, when he reached his room, and sank down at his study table, a groan escaped dick prescott. his head fell forward, cushioned in his folded arms. thus holmes found him on entering the room. "why, old ramrod, what on earth is the matter?" gasped greg. a groan from his chum was the only answer. at that moment another step, brisk and official, was heard in the corridor. there was a short rap on the door, after which unwine, cadet officer of the day, wearing his red sash and sword, stepped into the room. "mr. prescott, you are ordered in close arrest in your quarters until further orders." "yes, sir," huskily replied prescott, who had struggled to his feet and now stood at attention. as unwine wheeled, marching from the room, dick sank again over his study table. "dick, old ramrod," pleaded greg terrified, "what on earth-----" "greg," came the anguished moan, "they're going to try to fire me from west point for a common cheat---and i'm afraid they'll do it, too!" chapter xiii in close arrest ever since greg holmes first came to west point he had been learning the repose and the reserve of the trained soldier. yet if ever his face betrayed utter abandonment to amazement it was now. cadet holmes gazed at his chum in open-mouthed wonder. "by and by," uttered greg fretfully, "you'll tell me the meaning of this joke, and why mr. unwine should be in it, too." it was several minutes before prescott turned around again. when he did there was a furious glare in his eyes. "greg, old chum! this is no joke. you heard unwine. he was delivering an official order, not carrying an april-fool package." "well, then, what does it all mean?" demanded greg stolidly, for he began to feel dazed. "but, first of all, old ramrod, aren't you going to get ready to fall in for dinner formation?" mechanically, wearily, dick obeyed the suggestion. as he did so he managed to tell the story of the section room to horrified greg. "see here," muttered cadet holmes energetically, "you didn't do anything in the cheating line. every fellow in the corps will know that. so you'll have to set your wits at work to find the real explanation of the thing. how could that paper have gotten in with your handkerchief?" "i don't know," replied dick, shaking his head hopelessly. "well, you've got to find out, son, and that right quick! there isn't a moment to be lost! you didn't cheat---you wouldn't know how do a deliberately dishonest thing. but that reply won't satisfy the powers that be. you've got to get your answer ready, and do it with a rush." "perhaps you can also suggest where the rush should start," observed prescott. "yes; i've got to suggest everything that is going to be done, i reckon," muttered greg, resting a chum's loyal hand on dick's shoulder. "old ramrod, you're too dazed to think of anything, and i'm nearly as badly off myself. say, did anyone, to your knowledge, have your handkerchief?" cadet richard prescott wheeled like a flash. his face had gone white again; he stared as though at a terrifying ghost. "by the great horn spoon, greg-----" "good! you're getting roused. now, out with it! "there were a lot of us standing about in the area, a little before time for the math. sections to start off." "yes? and some other fellow handled your handkerchief?" "bert dodge found himself without one, and asked me for mine, to wipe a smear of black from the back of his hand." "which hand?" "the left." "it doesn't really matter which hand," greg pursued, "but i asked to make sure that your mind is working." "oh, my mind is working," uttered dick vengefully. "but what else happened about that handkerchief? "dodge used it, then started to tuck it into his own blouse. i grinned and reminded him that the handkerchief would fit better inside my blouse." "and then?" "just then the call sounded, and we had to jump. dodge handed me back the handkerchief with a swift apology, and raced away to join his section." "and you?" "i tucked the handkerchief in my blouse." "now, do some hard thinking," insisted holmes. "did you take that handkerchief out again until the unlucky time just after you had turned away from the board after explaining in math.?" dick remained silent, while the clock in the room ticked off the seconds. "i am sure i did not," he replied firmly. "no; that was the next time that i took my handkerchief out." "huh!" muttered greg. "we've got our start. and it won't be far to the end, either. cheer up, old man!" at that instant the call for formation sounded. the young men were ready and turned to leave the room on the jump. as they did so, greg muttered in a low tone: "say nothing, but hold up your head and smile. don't let anyone face you down. not ten fellows in the corps will even guess that you could possibly be guilty of anything mean!" wouldn't they? west point cadets have such an utter contempt for anything savoring of cheating or lying that the mere suspicion is often enough to make them hold back. as the cadets moved to their places in the formations scores of cadets passed prescott. short as the time had been, the news was already flying through the corps. usually dick had a score of greetings as made his way to his place in line. today dozen cadets who had been among his friends seemed not to see him. dick recoiled, inwardly, as though from a stinging blow in the face. none of his comrades meant to be cruel. but most of them wanted to make sure that the seemingly reliable charge was not true. they must wait. utterly dejected, prescott marched to dinner. on his way back to barracks a new and overwhelming thought came to him. laura bentley and her mother, and belle meade were due at the hotel the next afternoon, and he and greg had arranged to drag the girls to the saturday-night hop. "greg, i can't leave quarters," muttered dick huskily, as he threw himself down at his desk and began to write rapidly. "you'll have to attend to sending this telegram for me." "on the jump!" assented greg, the telegram was addressed to laura bentley, and read: "don't come to west point tomorrow. my letter will explain." "i'll send it before the drawing lesson," greg uttered, and vanished. confined to quarters in close arrest, cadet prescott put in more than two miserable hours endeavoring to get that letter written. but he couldn't get it penned. then a knock came the door, and a telegram was handed in. it read: "wife and girls have left for shopping trip in new york. don't know where to reach them." it was signed by dr. bentley. the yellow paper fluttered from prescott's hands to the floor. mechanically he picked it up and carried it to his study table. "i can't stop them," he muttered dismally. "nor shall i be out of close arrest by that time, either. there's nothing i can do. i can't even see them---and i've been looking forward to this for months!" again dick prescott buried his head in his arms at the study table. to have laura come here at the time when he was in the deepest disgrace that a cadet may face! greg came back to find his chum pacing the floor in misery. "well, it can't be helped," muttered holmes philosophically. "of course you and anstey can drag the girls to cullum." "surely," muttered holmes listlessly, "if the girls would go at all under such circumstances." "i've made their trip a mockery and a bitter disappointment," groaned dick. "no, you haven't ramrod," retorted greg. "fate may be to blame, but you can't be held accountable for what you didn't do. have no fear. i'll see to the ladies tomorrow afternoon. but i'm a pile more interested in knowing what is to be done in your case. the superintendent and the k.c. may see the absurdity of this whole thing against you, and order your arrest ended." "but that won't clear me, greg, and you know it. there would still be the suspicion in the corps, and---o greg!---i can't endure that suspicion." "pshaw, old ramrod, you won't have to, very long. we'll bust this whole suspicion higher than any kite ever flew. see here, dodge is responsible for your humiliation, and we'll drag it all out of him, if we have to tie him up by the thumbs!" a knock at the door, and anstey entered. "i really couldn't get here before, old ramrod. but i'd cut you in a minute if i thought it really necessary to come here and tell you that i don't believe any charge of dishonor against you, prescott, could possibly be true." "it's mighty pleasant to have every fellow who feels that way come and say so," muttered dick gratefully, as he thrust out his hand. another knock at the door. cadet prescott must report at once at the office of the k.c. down the stairs trudged dick, across the area, and into the office of the commandant of cadets. "i want to know, mr. prescott," declared that officer, "whether you can throw any added light in regard to the occurrence in captain abbott's section room this morning." dick had to deliberate, swiftly, as to whether he should say anything about having loaned mr. dodge his handkerchief briefly. "i reckon i must speak of it," decided the unhappy cadet. "i mean to have dodge summoned, if i'm tried, so i may as well speak of it now." that, and other things, dick stated. the k.c. listened gravely. it was plain from the officer's manner that he believed prescott was going to have difficulty in establishing his innocence. "that is all, mr. prescott," said the k.c. finally. dick saluted and returned to his room. in the few minutes that had elapsed, anstey had done much. in the room were a dozen yearlings who were known to be among dick's best friends. all shock his hand, assuring him that nothing could shake their faith in him. it was comforting, but that was all. "you see, old ramrod," muttered greg, when the callers had left, "there are enough who believe in you. now, you've got to justify that faith by hammering this charge into nothingness. someone has committed a crime---a moral crime anyway. in my own mind dodge is the criminal but i'm not yet prepared to prove it." in the meantime cadet albert dodge was over in the k.c.'s office, undergoing a rigid questioning. dodge freely admitted the episode of handkerchief borrowing but denied any further knowledge. when bert returned to barracks he was most bitter against dick. to all who would listen to him dodge freely stated his opinion of a man who would seek to shield his own wrong-doing by throwing suspicion on another. "there were plenty who saw me borrow the handkerchief," contended dodge stormily. "whoever saw me take it also saw me return it. i'll defy any man to state, under oath, that i returned more than the handkerchief." "how did the smear happen to be on your hand?" asked dunstan, who, besides belonging to the same mathematics section with prescott was also a warm personal friend. bert hesitated, looked uneasy, then replied: "how about the smear? why---i don't know it may have come from a match." "yes, what about that smear? how did it come there?" cried greg, when dunstan repeated dodge's words. through greg's mind, for hours after that, the question insistently intruded itself: "how about that smear?" yet the question seemed to lead to nothing. the next morning, saturday, it was known, throughout cadet barracks, that a general court-martial order for prescott would be published that afternoon. on the one o'clock train from new york came mrs. bentley, laura and belle. they entered the bus at the station, and were driven up, across the plain, to the hotel. after dinner, the girls waited in pleasant expectancy for dick and greg to send up their cards. greg's card came up, alone. anstey was back in quarters with dick. chapter xiv friends who stand by "well?" cried dick, darting up, his eyes shining wildly when greg finally threw open the door. "oh, bosh!" cried greg jubilantly. "do you think those girls are going to believe anything against you?" "what did they say?" demanded dick eagerly. "well, of course they were dazed," continued greg. "in fact, mrs. bentley was the first to speak. what she said was one word, 'preposterous!'" "there's a woman aftah my own heart, suh," murmured anstey. "belle got her voice next," continued greg. "what she said was: "'you're wrong, mrs. bentley. it isn't even preposterous.'" "miss meade surely delighted me, the first time i ever saw her," murmured anstey. "laura looked down to hide a few tears," continued greg. "but she brushed them away and looked up smiling. 'i'm sorry, sorry, sorry for dick's temporary annoyance,' was what laura said. 'but of course i know such deceit would be impossible in him, so i shall stay here until i know that the military academy authorities and the whole world realize how absurd such a suspicion must be.'" "she's going to remain here?" faltered dick. "all three of 'em are. they couldn't be driven off the reservation by a file of infantry, just now. but both of the girls insisted on sending you a note. which will you have first?" "don't trifle with me, greg," begged prescott. anstey rose to go. "don't take yourself off, anstey old fellow. just pardon me while i read my notes." dick read laura's note through, thrilling with the absolute faith that it breathed: "dear dick: don't be uneasy about us, and don't worry about yourself, either. i couldn't express what i think about the charges, without having a man's license of speech! but you know all that i would write you. just keep up the good old gridley grit and smile for a few days. we are going to be here to attend that court-martial, and to give you courage from the gallery---but i don't believe you need a bit. faithfully, laura." belle's note was much shorter. it ran: "dear dick: what stupid ideas they have of comedy here at west point!" and, as belle knew that she wasn't and couldn't be dick's sweetheart, she had not hesitated to sign herself, "lovingly, belle." dick passed each note in turn to anstey. "your town suhtinly raises real girls!" was the southerner's quiet comment. dick felt like a new being. he was pacing the floor now, but in no unpleasant agitation. "did you impress the girls with the knowledge that i begged them to go to the hop tonight?" asked prescott, stopping short and eyeing greg. "did you think i'd forget half of my errand, old ramrod?" demanded holmes indignantly "i delivered your full request, backed by all that i could add. at first mrs. bentley and laura were shocked at the very idea. but belle broke in with: 'if we didn't go, it would look as if we were in mourning for some one. we're not. we're just simply sorry that a poor idea of a farce keeps dear old dick from being with us tonight. if we don't go, dick prescott will be more unhappy about it than anyone else in the wide world.'" "miss meade suhtinly doesn't need spectacles," murmured anstey. "she can see straight!" "so," continued greg, "i'm going to drag laura tonight, and anstey is going to do the same for belle." "and we'll suhtinly see to it that they have, outside of ourselves, of course, the handsomest men in the corps to dance with!" exclaimed anstey. "if any fine and handsome fellow even tries to get out of it, i'll call him out and fight him stiff, suh!" "i'm glad you have persuaded the girls to go," nodded dick cheerily. "that will give me a happier evening than anything else could do just now." "what will you do this evening, dick?" asked greg. "i? oh, i'll be busy---and contented at the same time. tell that to laura and belle, please." yet it was with a sense of weariness that dick turned out for supper formation. there were more pleasant greetings as he moved to his place in ranks, and that made him feel better for the moment. at his table at cadet mess he was amiably and cheerily included in all the merry conversation that flew around. then back to quarters dick went, and soon saw greg and anstey, looking their spooniest in their full-dress uniforms, depart on the mission of dragging. prescott hardly sighed as he moved over to the study table. he read over a score of times the notes the girls had sent him. then came an orderly, who handed in a telegram. dick opened this with nervous fingers. his eyes lit up when he found that it came from annapolis. the message read: _"dear old dick! you're the straightest fellow on earth! we know. don't let anybody get your goat!_" _"darrin and dalzell, third class, u.s. naval academy."_ "dear old gridley chums!" murmured the cadet, the moisture coming to his eyes. "yes, they should know me, if anyone does. those who know me best are all flocking to offer comfort. then---hang it!---i don't need any. when a fellow's friends all believe in him, what more is there to ask? but i wonder how the news reached annapolis? i know---belle has telegraphed dave. she knew he'd stand by me." it was a very cheery prescott to whom anstey and holmes returned. anstey could remain but an instant, but that instant was enough to cheer the virginian, the change in prescott was so great. in the few moments left before taps sounded, greg told his chum all he could of the hop, and of the resolute conduct of laura and belle in refusing absolutely to be downcast. "have you sent any word home?" asked greg. "to my father and mother? not a word! nor shall i, until this nightmare is all over," breathed dick fervently. "laura wanted to know," holmes explained. "of course mrs. bentley had to send some word to her husband, to account for their longer absence, but she cautioned dr. bentley not to let a word escape." to himself, as he reached up to extinguish the light, greg muttered: "i believe that unhanged scoundrel, dodge, will see to it that word reaches gridley!" in this conjecture holmes must have been correct, for, the next forenoon, there came a telegram, full of agony, from prescott's mother, imploring further particulars at once. mrs. prescott's dispatch mentioned a "rumor." "that's dodge's dirty work," growled holmes. "so that fastens the guilt of this whole thing upon him---the dirty dog!" yet how to fasten any guilt upon dodge? or how force from him any admission that would aid to free cadet prescott from the awful charge against him that had now been made official? that sunday, greg, besides paying a long visit in the hotel parlor, and seeing to the dispatch of dick's answer to his mother, also called, under permission, at the home of lieutenant topham, of the tactical department. prescott had decided to ask that officer to act as his counsel at the court-martial. prescott's case looked simple enough. nor did the judge-advocate of the court-martial need much time for his preparation of the case. the judge-advocate of a court-martial is the prosecuting officer. theoretically he is also somewhat in the way of counsel for the defence. it is the judge-advocate's duty to prosecute, it is also his duty to inquire into any particulars that may establish the innocence of the accused man. mr. topham at once consented to act as dick's counsel, and entered heartily into the case. "but i don't mind telling you, mr. prescott," continued lieutenant topham, as he was talking the matter over with dick in the latter's room, "that both sides of the case look to me, at present, like blank walls. it won't be enough to clear you of the charge as far as the action of the court goes. we must do everything in our power to remove the slightest taint from your name, or your position with your brother cadets will never be quite the same again." "i know that full well, sir," cadet prescott replied with feeling. "though the court-martial acquit me, if there lingers any belief among the members of the cadet corps that i was really guilty, then the taint would not only hang over me here, but all through my subsequent career in the army. it is an actual, all-around verdict of 'not guilty, and couldn't be,' that i crave sir." "you may depend upon me, mr. prescott, to do all in my power for you," promised lieutenant topham. chapter xv on trial by court-martial tuesday was the day for the court-martial. in the army there is little patience with the law's delays. a trial must move ahead as promptly as any other detail of the soldier's life. nothing can hinder a trial but the inability to get all the evidence ready early. in cadet prescott's case the evidence seemed so simple as to require no delay whatever. the weather had been growing warmer within a short time. when dick and greg awoke at sound of reveille, they heard the heavy rain no sign of daylight yet. when the battalion turned out and formed to march to breakfast a more dispiriting day could not be imagined. the rain was converting deep snow into a dismal flood. but dick barely noticed the weather. he was full of grit, burning with the conviction that he must have a full vindication today. it was when he returned to barracks and the ranks were broken, that dick discovered how many friends he had. fully twoscore of his classmates rushed to wring his hand and to wish him the best kind of good luck that day. yet at 7.55 the sections marched away to mathematics, philosophy or engineering, according to the classes to which the young soldiers belonged. then prescott faced a lonely hour in his room. "the fellows were mighty good, a lot of them," thought the accused cadet, with his first real sinking feeling that morning. "yet, if any straw of evidence, this morning, seems really to throw any definite taint upon me, not one of these same fellows would ever again consent to wipe his feet on me!" such is the spirit of the cadet corps. any comrade and brother must be wholly above suspicion where his honor is concerned. had dick been really guilty he would have been the meanest thing in cadet barracks. at a little before nine o'clock lieutenant topham called. to cadet prescott it seemed grimly absurd that he must now go forth in holiday attire of cadet full-dress uniform, white lisle gloves and all---to stand before the court of officers who were to decide whether he was morally fit to remain and associate with the other cadets. but it was the regulation that a cadet must go to court, whether as witness or accused, in full-dress uniform. "i'm going to do my best for you today, mr. prescott," declared lieutenant topham, as they walked through the area together. into the academic building counsel and accused stepped, and on to the great trial room in which so many cadets had met their gloomy fates. at the long table sat, in full-dress uniform, and with their swords on, the thirteen army officers of varying ranks who composed the court. at one side of the room sat the cadet witnesses. these were three in number. mr. dunstan and mr. gray were there as the two men who had occupied blackboards on either side of prescott the friday forenoon before. cadet dodge was there to give testimony concerning the handkerchief episode in the area of barracks before the sections had marched off to math. captain abbott, of course, was there, to testify to facts of his knowledge. never had there been a more reluctant witness than that same captain abbott, but he had his plain duty to do as an army officer detailed at the united states military academy. lieutenant topham and dick, on entering, had turned toward the table reserved for counsel. for a moment, dick prescott had raised his face to the gallery. there he beheld mrs. bentley, laura and belle, all gazing down at him with smiling, friendly faces. dick could not send them a formal greeting. but he looked straight into the eyes of each in turn. his smile was steady, clear and full of courage. his look carried in it his appreciation of their loyal friendship. among the visitors there were also the wives of a few army officers stationed on the post. nearly all of these knew prescott, and were interested in his fate. among the spectators up there was one heavily veiled woman whom dick could not see from the floor as he entered the room. nor did that woman, who had drawn back, intend that he should see her. the president of this court-martial called it promptly to order. the members of the court were sworn, then the judge-advocate took his military oath. it was then announced that the accused cadet wished to have lieutenant topham represent him as counsel. to this there was no objection. in a twinkling the judge-advocate was again on his feet, a copy of the charge and specifications in his hand. facing the president of the court, standing rigidly at attention, his face expressionless, his bearing every whit that of the soldier, cadet richard prescott listened to the reading of the accusation of dishonor. in an impressive tone the president of the court asked what plea the accused cadet wished to enter. "the accused offers, to the charge and specifications, a blanket plea of 'not guilty,'" replied lieutenant topham. captain abbott was first called and sworn. in concise, soldierly language the instructor told the events of the preceding friday forenoon. he described the dropping of the slip of paper, and of his request that it be handed to him. "the paper," continued the witness, "contained a crude, brief outline of the demonstration which mr. prescott had just explained so satisfactorily that i had marked him 2.9." "which is within one tenth of the highest marking?" suggested the judge-advocate. "yes, sir." "had you noted anything in mr. prescott conduct or performance at the blackboard that indicated any uncertainty, at any time, about the problem he was demonstrating?" "when he had gone a little way with the writing down of the demonstration," replied captain abbott, "mr. prescott hesitated for some moments, then asked permission to erase, which was given." "did he then go straight ahead with his work?" "to the best of my observation and remembrance, he did, sir." "had mr. prescott been doing well previously?" asked the judge-advocate. "only during the last week, sir. during the last week he displayed such a new knowledge and interest in mathematics that i was prepared, on his last week's marks, to recommend that he ascend two sections in his class." "is it not true, captain, that mr. prescott, in the last week, showed such a sudden, new proficiency as might be accounted for by the possibility that he had then begun to carry written 'cribs' to the class? "his progress last week was such as might be accounted for by that supposition," replied the witness reluctantly. "that is all, captain." lieutenant topham then took the witness in hand, but did not succeed in bringing out anything that would aid the cause of the accused cadet. "cadet dunstan!" called the judge-advocate. dunstan stepped forward and was sworn. he had testified that, during the blackboard work, he had stood beside mr. prescott. dunstan was positive that he had not seen any slip of paper in prescott's hands. "did you look his way often, mr. dunstan "not directly, sir; i was busy with my own work." "yet, had mr. prescott had a slip of paper held slyly in either hand, do you think you would have seen it? "i am positive that i would, sir," replied cadet dunstan. under the questioning of lieutenant topham, dunstan stated that he had witnessed prescott's loan of his handkerchief to dodge before the sections formed to march to mathematics section room. "in what condition, or shape, did mr. dodge return mr. prescott's handkerchief?" ask lieutenant topham. "the handkerchief was crumpled up, sir." "so that, had there been a paper folded in it, the paper very likely would not have been visible?" "the paper most likely would not have been visible, sir." "in what form was the handkerchief handed to mr. dodge by mr. prescott?" "i am almost certain, sir, that mr. prescott passed it holding it by one corner." "so that, had there been any paper in it at that time, it would have fallen to the ground?" "yes sir." "what did mr. prescott do with the handkerchief when it was returned to him." "my recollection, sir, is that mr. prescott took his handkerchief without examining it, and thrust it into his blouse." "are you sure that he did so?" "i cannot state it with absolute certainty, sir. it is my best recollection, sir." bert dodge had sat through this testimony trying to look unconcerned. yet around the corners of his mouth played a slight, greenish pallor. the testimony of the cadets had not been looked for to be very important. now, however, the president of the court regretted that he had not excluded from the room all of three cadet witnesses except the one under examination. cadet gray was next called. he was able to testify only that, while at the blackboard, mr. dunstan had stood on one side of cadet prescott and the present witness on the other side. mr. gray was strongly of the belief that, had prescott been slyly using a written crib, he (gray) would have noted the fact. mr. gray had not been a witness to the handkerchief-loaning incident before formation of sections. "cadet dodge!" dodge rose and came forward with a distinct swagger. he was plainly conscious of the cadet corporal's chevrons on his sleeve, and plainly regarded himself as a superior type of cadet. he was sworn and questioned about the handkerchief-borrowing incident. he admitted the borrowing of the handkerchief to wipe a smear of dirt from the back of his hand. as to the condition of the handkerchief at the time of its return, mr. dodge stated his present belief that the handkerchief was very loosely rolled up. then lieutenant topham took the witness over. "would the handkerchief, when you handed it back, have held this slip of paper?" questioned mr. topham, holding up the slip that had brought about all of prescott's present trouble. "it might have, sir, had the paper been crumpled as well." "did you hand the handkerchief back with a paper inside of it?" "not according to any knowledge of mine, sir." "was there a paper in the handkerchief, mr. dodge, when mr. prescott passed his handkerchief to you?" "to the best of my belief, sir, there was not." "now, pay particular heed, if you please mr. dodge," requested lieutenant topham, fixing his gaze keenly on the witness. dodge tried not to look apprehensive. "did you have any paper in your hand while you had mr. prescott's handkerchief in your own possession?" "no, sir," replied dodge with emphasis. "did you, knowingly, pass the handkerchief back to the accused cadet with any paper inside of it, or touching it in any way?" "no, sir!" lieutenant topham continued for some seconds to regard mr. dodge in silence. the witness began to lose some of his swagger. then, abruptly, as though firing a pistol, lieutenant topham shot out the question: "how about that smear of dirt on your hand, mr. dodge? how did it come to be on the back of your hand?" if mr. topham had looked to this question to break the witness down he was doomed to disappointment. "i do not know, sir," dodge replied distinctly. "i am of the opinion, sir, that it must have come from the blacking on one of my shoes as i put it on before leaving my room." there was no more to be gained from dodge. he was excused. now, dick prescott rose a was sworn, that he might testify in his own behalf. yet he could do no more, under the military rules of evidence, than to deny any guilty knowledge of the slip of paper, and to repeat the handkerchief-loaning recital substantially as dunstan had given it. this closed the testimony. the president of the court announced that a recess of ten minutes would be taken, and that the room and gallery would be cleared of all except members of the court and the counsel for the accused. as dick turned to leave, he again turned his face toward the gallery. he saw his gridley friends and looked bravely into their eyes, smiling. then he caught sight of a veiled woman up there, who had risen, and was moving out. dicks started; he could not help it, there was something so strangely familiar in that figure and carriage. the cadet witnesses had already left, and we returning to barracks. lieutenant topham touched prescott's arm and walked with him to the corridor. "i shall do my best for you, you may be sure, mr. prescott," whispered the cavalry officer. "may i ask, sir, what you think of the chances? "candidly, it looks to me like almost an even toss-up between conviction and acquittal." dick's face blanched. then he turned, with starts the veiled woman was moving toward him with uncertain steps. "lieutenant topham, i did not know my mother was to be present, but i am almost positive that is she." now, the veiled woman came a few steps nearer, looking appealingly at dick. "i am told, sir, that my son is in close arrest," she called, in a voice that thrilled the cadet. "but i am his mother. may i speak with him a moment?" mother and son were clasped in each other's arms for a moment. what they said matters little. then cadet richard prescott returned to his bleak room in barracks. chapter xvi a verdict and a hop then followed days full of suspense for many besides the accused cadet. prescott went mechanically at his studies, with a dogged determination to get high markings in everything. yet over mathematics more than anything, he pored. he fought out his problems in the section room grimly, bent on showing that he could win high marks without the aid of "cribs." he was still in arrest, and must remain so until the finding of the court-martial---whatever it was---had been duly considered at washington and returned with the president's indorsement. all this time dick's mother and three faithful gridley friends remained at the west point hotel. dick could not go to them; they could not come to him, but notes might pass. prescott received these epistles daily, and briefly but appreciatively answered them. then he went back furiously to his studies. grit could do him little good, except in his studies, if he were fated to remain at west point. grit could not help him in the settling of his fate. either the court-martial had found him guilty, or had found him innocent, and all the courage in the world would not alter the verdict. in the section room in mathematics, captain abbott did not show this cadet any disfavor or the opposite. the instructor's manner and tone with prescott were the same as with all the other cadets. when going to formations some of the cadets rather openly avoided prescott. this cut like a knife. but evidently they believed him probably guilty, and they were entitled to their opinions. he must possess himself with patience for a few days; there was nothing else to do. so the week rolled around again to saturday. now here were two afternoons when the young cadet might have gone to his mother and friends at the hotel, had he not been in arrest. there was to be a hop that night, but he could not "drag" the girl who had been so staunch and sweet. on this saturday, when he need not study much, dick found himself in a dull rage with his helplessness. the day was bright, clear, cold and sunny, but the young cadet's soul was dark and moody. would this suspense never end? dinner was to him merely another phase of duty. he had no real appetite; he would have preferred to sit brooding at his study table. the meal over, the battalion marched back, halting, still in formation, at the north side of barracks near the sally-port. the cadet captain in command of the battalion read some unimportant notices. dick did not even hear them. he knew his fate was not to come to him through this channel. while the reading was going on the adjutant of the military academy came through the sally-port leisurely, as soon as he saw that the men were still in ranks. dick did not see the adjutant, either. if he had, he might hardly have heeded the presence of that army officer, the personal representative of the superintendent. but, just as the cadet captain let fall the hand in which he had held the notices the adjutant called out crisply: "don't dismiss, captain! hold the companies!" between two of the companies stepped the adjutant, then walked to the front of center. drawing, a paper from his overcoat, the adjutant began to read. it was a "special order." even to this prescott listened only with unhearing ears---at first. then, though he betrayed no more audible interest than did any of the other men in gray, dick prescott found his head swimming. this special order referred to his own case. it was a report of the findings, these findings having been duly approved. cadet richard prescott's head began to whirl. the bright day seemed darkening before his dimmed vision, until he heard, unmistakably, the one word: "acquitted!" what followed was a further order releasing him from arrest and restoring him to the usual cadet privileges. "that is all, captain," added the adjutant, folding the order and returning it to his overcoat. "dismiss the companies when ready." "dismiss the companies!" came from the cadet battalion commander. the separate commands of the various company commanders rang out. ranks were broken---and friends in gray crowded about the yearling. then the corps yell was called for and given, with his name added. some of the cadets slipped in through the sally-port, sooner than join in the demonstration. "thank you all---it's jolly good of you!" cried prescott huskily. as soon as these comrades in arms would let him, he broke through and made for his room. "hooray!" yelled greg, turning loose. and cadet anstey thrust his head into the room long enough to add: "hooray!" but dick, half stripped above the waist, was at the washstand, making a thorough toilet, though a hurried one. greg waited, his eyes shining. "it's mighty good of you all," cried dick, as he was pulling on his cadet overcoat. "i wish i could stop and talk about it---but there a duties that can't be hurried fast enough." "give my regards," called holmes jovially after prescott. crossing the barracks area, dick strode into cadet guard-house, nimbly mounting the stairs to the second floor. here he stood in the office of the o.c. saluting, he carefully phrased his request for leave to visit friends at the hotel. this being granted, dick went down the stairs at the greatest speed consistent with military dignity under the circumstances. out through the north sally-port and along the road running between officers' quarters and parade ground he hurried. by the time he had walked to the hotel he had cooled off his first excitement somewhat. he signed in the cadet register, then laid down his card. "to mrs. prescott, please." as ebony-visaged "front" vanished from the office, dick turned and walked to the ladies' entrance, passing thence into the parlor. dick's mother was found at the dining table. so were her gridley friends. all were finishing a light meal without appetite when the card was laid by mrs. prescott's plate. "my boy, dick---here?" she cried brokenly rising as quickly as she could. mrs. prescott passed quickly from the dining room, though her friends were close at her heels. so they all rushed in upon the solitary young cadet standing inside the parlor by a window. as he heard them coming, dick wheeled about. there was a tear in his eye, which deceived them. halting, a few feet away, these eager ones stared at him. dick tried to greet them in words, but he couldn't at first. it was laura who found her voice first. "dick! tell us in a word!" but belle meade gave miss bentley a somewhat vigorous push forward. "use your eyes, laura!" rebuked belle vigorously. "in the first place, mr. prescott is here. that means he's here by permission or right. in the second place, you ninny---he still has the uniform on!" "that's right," laughed dick. "yes, mother, and friends, the court-martial's finding was wholly favorable to me." "humph!" demanded belle scornfully. "why shouldn't it be? wouldn't you expect thirteen old west point graduates to know as much as four women from the country?" belle's hearty nonsense put an end to all tension. mrs. prescott met and embraced her son. the others crowded about, offering congratulations. that night dick and greg "dragged" the gridley girls to the cadet hop at cullum, and anstey was a favored one on the hop cards of both girls. mrs. prescott and mrs. bentley looked on from the gallery. "it's the jolliest hop i've been to," declared dick with enthusiasm. "humph!" muttered holmes. "of course it is. you old boner, you've never been but to three hops! "i understand," teased belle, "that you're much more of a veteran, mr. holmes, than your chum is." cadet dodge "missed" that hop. chapter xvii "a liar and a coward" long, indeed, did the memory of that hop linger with cadet dick prescott. it had come as the fitting, cheering ending of his great trouble---the hardest trouble that had assailed him, or could assail him, at the united states military academy. "well, you've been vindicated, anyway," muttered greg cheerily, one day. "so you needn't look as thoughtful as you do half of the time these present days." "have i been vindicated, greg?" asked dick gravely. "what did the court say? and you're still wearing the uniform that uncle sam gave you, aren't you? "vindication, greg, means something more that a court-martial verdict of acquittal." "what more do you want?" "greg, the verdicts of all the courts-martial sitting between here and manila wouldn't make some of the men of this corps believe that i innocent." "g'wan!" retorted cadet holmes impatiently. "i see it, greg, old chum, if you don't." "you're morbid, old ramrod!" "greg, you know the cheery greeting, in passing, that one man here often gives another when he likes and trusts that man. well, some of own classmates that used to give me the glad hail seem to be thinking about something else, now, when they pass me." "who are they?" demanded greg, his fists doubling. "you'd provoke a fight, if i told you," retorted dick. "this isn't a matter to fight about." "then you don't know much about fighting subjects," grumbled cadet holmes, as he leaned back and opened his book of everlasting mathematics. "let me see, greg; have you any show to get out of the goats in math.?" "i'm in hopes to get out and step into the next section above," replied greg. "i've been working hard enough." "then you'd better waste no thoughts on pugilism. calculus will bring you more happiness." "calculus was never designed to bring anyone happiness," retorted greg sulkily. "it's a torment invented on purpose to harrow the souls of cadets. what good, any way, will calculus ever be to an officer who has a platoon of men to lead in a charge on the enemy?" this could not very well be answered, so dick dodged the subject. "remember the january exams., old fellow," warned dick. "and the general review begins monday. that will show you up, if you don't keep your nose in math. and out of books on the queensbury rules." "funny how bert dodge keeps up in mathematics, and yet takes in all the pleasures he can find," rumbled on greg, as he turned the pages of his book, seeking what he wanted. "dodge is in the section just under the stars, and i hear he has dreams of being in the star section after the january ordeals." "dodge always was a rather good student at gridley high school" rejoined prescott. "but he never led our class there in the high school mathematics, which is baby's play compared with west point math." "well, he gets the marks now," sighed dick. "i wish we could, too." the academic part of the cadet's year is divided into two halves. the first half winds up in january. during the last few weeks before the period for the winter examination, there is a general review in some of the subjects, notably in mathematics. this general review brings out all of a man's weak points in his subject. incidentally, it should strengthen him in his weak points. now, if, in the general review, a cadet shows sufficient proficiency in his subject, he is not required to take the examination. if he fails in the general review in mathematics, he must go up for a "writ," as a written examination is termed. and that writ is cruelly searching. if the young man fails in the "writ," he may be conditioned and required to make up his deficiencies in june. if, in june, he fails to make up all deficiencies, he is dropped from the cadet corps as being below the mental standards required of a west point graduate. neither dick nor greg stood high enough in mathematics to care to go on past january conditioned. both felt that, with conditions extending over to the summer, they must fail in june. "i'd sooner have my funeral held tomorrow than drop out of west point," greg stated. prescott, while not making that assertion, knew that it would blast his dearest hopes life if he had to go down in the academic battle. dodge, who was so high in mathematics that he need have little fear, was circulating a good deal among his classmates these days before christmas. "that hound, prescott, made a slick dodge to drag me into his disgrace," dodge declared, to those whom he thought would be interest in such remarks. "it was a clever trick! couldn't put me in disgrace, for there is no breach of regulations in borrowing a handkerchief for a moment. but prescott made so much of that handkerchief business that it served his purpose and dragged him out safely before the court." "do you think prescott was really guilty of a crib?" asked one of dodge's hearers. "i can't prove it, but i know what i think," retorted dodge. "his effort to draw me into the row shows what kind of a fellow he is at bottom." "i'd hate to think that prescott would really be mean enough for a crib." "think what you like, then, of course. but a fellow guilty of one meanness might not stop at others." dodge talked much in this vein. cadets are not tale-bearers, and so little or none of this talk reached dick's ears until furlong came along, one day, in time to hear dodge holding forth on his favorite subject. yearling furlong halted, eyeing cadet dodge sternly, keenly. "well," demanded dodge, "what's wrong?" "i don't know exactly," replied furlong, with a quizzical smile. "i think, though, that the basic error lay in your ever having been born at all." dodge tried to laugh it off as a pleasantry. he had met furlong once, in a fight, and had no desire to be sent to cadet hospital again with blackened eyes. "i don't want to mind other people's business, dodge," continued furlong coolly, "but you're going a bit too far, it seems to me, in what you say about prescott. why should you seek to blacken the character of one of our best fellows, and the president of our class?" "because he tried to blacken mine," retorted dodge boldly. "he didn't. all he did, at the court-martial, was to explain the adventures of his handkerchief just before that piece of paper fell to the floor of the section room." "wasn't that an insinuation against me?" demanded cadet dodge. "not unless your character here is on such a very poor foundation that it can't stand any suspicions," replied furlong coldly. "now, see here, dodge, the general review is on, and prescott can't spare any time on private rows. after the general review is over, if i hear any more about your roasting prescott, i'm going to call on you to go with me to prescott's presence, and repeat your statements to his face. i don't want to stir up any needless personal trouble, dodge, but i declare myself now as one of old ramrod's friends. any slander against him must be backed up. i trust you will pardon my having been so explicit." furlong turned on his heel, striding away. the cadets to whom dodge had been talking bitterly looked at bert curiously. a good many men in the corps would have promptly resented such remarks as furlong's, and to the limit, by calling him out. "queer how many friends, of some kinds, a fellow like prescott can have," laughed dodge sneeringly. "not at all," spoke up one of dodge's listeners. "everyone always knows where prescott stands, and he'll back up anything he says. furlong is another man of the same stamp." with that the last speaker turned on his heel and walked away. for some days after that, bert dodge was more careful of his utterances. the general reviews came and passed. by sheer hard, undistracted work, both dick and greg succeeded in pulling through without having to go up for writs. for some reason dodge did not do quite as well in the general review, and was forced to drop down a couple of sections. he still stood well, however, in math. in the next week after the dangerous examination period dick prescott began to forge upwards in mathematics. he was now in the section fourth removed from the goats, and greg was up in the section next above the goats. on the afternoon of the friday when the markings had been posted dodge met dennison, also of the yearling class. "say, what do you think, dodge, of prescott beginning to shoot up through the sections toward you? he'll soon be marching at your side when math. is called." "he'll bear watching," nodded dodge sagely. "that's what i feel about it," replied dennison. "prescott isn't the kind of man who can climb high in mathematics, and do it honestly," continued dodge. "either he has the old crib at work again, or has hit on a safer way of working crib." "of course he has," nodded dennison. "we ought to post the class---especially prescott own section comrades. they can catch him, if they're sharp, and then pass the word through the class without bothering the authorities. if prescott is doing such things he must be driven from west point." "he will be---see if he isn't," retorted bert sullenly. "i'm going to pass the word to the class." "and i'll post the men in the same section with him," promised dennison. "why not post prescott first?" demanded a cold voice. a cadet had halted behind the pair. "oh, you, furlong?" snarled dodge, turning. "yes," replied cadet furlong. "and i told you, on a former occasion, what i thought about back-biters." "be careful, furlong!" warned dennison angrily. "at your service, sir, any time," coolly replied furlong, though he was a head shorter than dennison, who was one of the big athletes of the yearling class. "but the class ought to know some truths," retorted dodge harshly. "here comes some of the class now," replied furlong, as seven yearlings, on their way back from the library, turned in at the sally-port. "tell them for a start, dodge, and i'll listen. hold on there, fellows. oh, you there, prescott? that's lucky. dodge has some 'facts' he thinks the class ought to know, and i want you to hear them. now, dodge, turn around and repeat what you were just saying." there was no help for it. dodge had to speak up, or be considered a cur that bit only in the dark. so, with a show of defiance, dodge spoke hotly giving a very fair repetition of what he had lately said. prescott stood by, his fists clenched, his face white, but without interrupting or making any move. "now, state what you said, mr. dennison," requested furlong coldly. thus cornered, dennison, too, had to state truthfully what he had just been saying. there was a pause. some of the yearlings looked straight ahead. others glanced curiously at the principals in this little drama of cadet life. none of them took furlong to be anything more than the stage manager. "have you said all you have to say, mr. dodge?" demanded cadet prescott. "yes," flared bert. "have you anything that you wish to add, mr. dennison?" demanded dick, wheeling upon his other foe in the corps. "nothing more, at present," replied dennison coolly. he realized how much bigger and more powerful he was than dick prescott. "then, as for you, mr. dodge," continued prescott, fixing his old-time enemy with a cold eye, "you're a liar and a coward!" dodge doubled his fists, springing forward, but two of the yearlings caught him and dragged him back, for old ramrod's back was already turned. dick was eyeing his other detractor. "you, mr. dennison," continued prescott, "are a dirty scandal-monger, a back-biter and a source of danger to the honor of the cadet corps!" chapter xviii the fight in barracks "let go of me!" roared dennison, as two men held him. "let me at that-----" "any name that you would see fit to call me, dennison, wouldn't sting," retorted dick. "you have forfeited the right to have your opinion considered a gentleman's." "don't you ever call names?" hissed dennison. "only to the faces of the men to whom the names are applied," retorted dick. "and that's right," agreed furlong heartily. "we've been classmates nearly two years, and i've heard old ramrod say disagreeable things, once or twice, behind men's backs. but it was never until after he had said the same thing to the man's face." "this isn't fair," fussed dennison, "to hold me back after i've been insulted." by this time, half a dozen more cadets had stopped. three of the newest comers were yearlings, one was a second classman and two were first classmen. "will you let me act as one of your friends, old ramrod?" asked cadet furlong. "i think you've proved your right, on this and other occasions," laughed dick quietly. "go ahead, please, milesy." "this is not place for a fight," continued furlong, "and this crowd had better break up, or we shall be seen and there'll be an inquiry from the tactical department. as prescott's friend, i will say that he is prepared to give full satisfaction to both men. in fact, if they didn't demand it, he would." before so many, bert dodge had to appear brave. "i demand the first meeting for satisfaction," bert insisted. "and i think you may count on getting the first meeting," nodded furlong coolly. "now, mr. dodge, to whom shall i look as your friend?" "let me act!" begged dennison hoarsely. "go ahead, dennison," replied dodge, who felt that he would draw some comfort from having this big athlete of the class for a backer. "now, break up, please, gentlemen," begged furlong. "we don't want and wind of this to blow to official quarters. dennison, i invite you to come to my room." like soldiers dismissed from ranks, the sudden gathering in the sally-port dispersed. dick went on to his own quarters. "now, that's what i call huge!" chuckled greg holmes, as soon as he heard the news. "but see here, old ramrod, i'm to be your other second?" "of course," nodded dick. "then i'm off for furlong's room at once. and again---hooray!" there being nothing to prevent a prompt meeting, it was arranged to take place that evening at 8.30. in the subdivision where furlong lived there was an empty room up on the plebe floor. sharp to the minute of 8.30 the men were at hand. packard, of the first class, had agreed to act as referee. maitland, second class, held the watch. dodge and prescott were in their corners, stripped for the fray. nelson, of the third class, was dodge's other second. both men looked in fine condition as they waited for the referee to call the bout. both had received the same amount of bodily training, some of it under captain koehler at the gymnasium, and a good deal more of it in infantry, cavalry, artillery and other drills. over the chests and between the shoulder blades of both men were pads of supple muscles. both men were strong of arm, though neither too heavy with muscle to be quick and active. "gentlemen," announced referee packard, "this fight is to be to a finish, with bare hands. rounds, two minutes each. time between rounds one minute. there will be no preliminary handshaking. are you ready, gentlemen?" "ready!" quivered dodge. "ready," softly replied prescott, a smile hovering over his lips. "time!" dodge came forward nimbly, his head well down and his guards well placed. prescott was straighter, at the outset, and his attitude almost careless, in appearance. dick had been a clever fighter back in the old high school days. dodge, since coming to west point, had vastly improved both in guard and in offence. it was dodge who led off. he was not by any means a physical coward, and possessed a good deal of the cornered kind of courage of the fighting rat. dodge's first two or three blows were neatly parried. then he began to mix it up in a lively way, and three heavy blows landed on dick's body. but dodge didn't get back out of it unscathed. one hard thump on his chest, in particular, staggered him. then at it again went both men, fire in dodge's eye, mockery in dick's. the blows fell fast and furious, until the lookers-on wanted to cheer. there was little of foot work, little of getting away. it was heavy, forceful give-and-take until failing wind compelled both men to draw back. they kept at it, but sparring for wind until the call of time came. both men were then hustled back into their corners, sponged, kneaded, fanned. a minute was mighty short time in which to recover fighting trim from such mauling as had been exchanged. "time!" biff, bump, pound! it was the style of fighting that dodge was forcing, and it had to be met. yet all the time dick was alert, watching for a chance to land a stinging blow somewhere except on the torso. just before the close of the second round prescott thought he saw his chance. feinting with his left, he drove in a hook with his right, aimed for bert's nose. it touched, instead, on the lip, not a hard blow, but a tantalizing one. as the men drew back at the call of time a blotch of red was seen on bert's lower lip. when he came back for the third round, that lip was puffing fast. "third round, time!" again bert dodge started in with his heavy body tactics. but this time dick himself changed the style. with swift, clever foot-work he danced all around his now furious opponent. dodge could follow the swift style, too, however, and defended himself, finally coming back with the assault. half way through the round dick received a sharp tap on his nose that brought the red. stung, prescott became only the cooler. for some time he fought for the opening that he wanted, and got it at last, though dodge's guarding left prevented the blow from landing with quite all the force with which it had been driven. dick's middle knuckles raked that already swollen lip, but the lower knuckles landed against the tip of dodge's jaw with a force which, while not complete, nevertheless sent bert to the floor, where he lay on his side. "one, two, three, four-----" began maitland, his gaze on the slipping second hand of his watch. "take the full count, bert!" warned dennison. "nine, ten!" finished maitland. in that instant dodge was on his feet again, head down and working with great caution. "time!" the third round ended ere prescott could put in any finishing touches. yet, under the skillful hands of his seconds, dodge came up rather smilingly at the call for the opening of the fourth. there was almost murder in dodge's eyes now. he felt that he was the better man, and yet he had been getting slightly the worst of it so far. but he would show them! yet, after forty seconds of this work, when dodge had just let fly a blow intended to land over prescott's heart, his fist touched only air and he lurched forward. in the same instant dick swung a smashing blow on bert's left ear. bert went down, lying there like a log. in the silence that followed the finish of the count, and the referee's awarding words, dick prescott's voice broke in, as soft and cool as ever: "in fifteen minutes, mr. dennison, i'll be ready for _you_!" chapter xix mr. dennison's turn is served furlong sprang forward to protest. "see here, old ramrod, don't be foolish." "i can handle it as well tonight as at any time," dick laughed as coolly as ever. "but you've taken a lot of punishment." "fifteen minutes is all i need, with seconds like you and greg." "will it be fair to yourself, prescott?" demanded packard. "wholly," replied dick unconcernedly. "let him alone," urged greg. "old ramrod always knows what he's doing." "i'm not sure that we can get dodge out of here and attended to, and be already for the start in fifteen minutes," replied packard. "fifteen, twenty, twenty-five," insisted dick. "whatever time is necessary, so that we start in time to be through before taps." "what do you say, dennison?" asked packard. "i? oh, i'll be ready," grinned the athlete. "will you serve dennison?" asked packard, turning to nelson "yes; of course." "then, nelson, confer with dennison and see whom he wants to serve with you. the rest of us will work over dodge. whew! look that ear puff up while you watch it!" "beauty, isn't it?" asked greg grimly. "it will be a cauliflower decoration, all right." nelson went scurrying, soon returning with anderson. any yearling would gladly have served tonight, in order to see what doughty dick prescott would do against his second man in the same evening. with nelson and anderson came two other yearlings who had agreed to see dodge safely to the door of cadet hospital. bert dodge had been brought around at last. he was a bit dazed, but he grinned, as he went out, when dennison murmured in his ear: "never you mind, old man. i'll take care of prescott. i'll twist the ramrod into a figure 8." "we must proceed as promptly as possible, gentlemen," rapped out mr. packard. "we must be finished before taps." "dennison will be finished, by that time," muttered greg in a cheerful undertone. holmes had never provoked a senseless fight. he was good-natured almost to a fault. yet, when a fight became inevitable, greg could act as principal or second with equal cheeriness. nelson had brought back with him togs for dennison, and that athlete was quickly ready. every minute of the time had been utilized well in getting, dick prescott in condition for his second scrap of the evening. his nose-bleed had been stopped, but it was wind and lung power that he wanted most. he had taken some heavy body thumping, but rest and rubbing had worked out most of the soreness. "get up and kick a bit. see what you can do," advised furlong. dick went through a few irregular gymnastics. "there's one good thing about old ramrod," declared greg, in a grinning undertone. "he's always ready, every minute of the time!" sharply, quickly, now, the combatants were brought face to face. at the call of time, dennison sailed in; dick leaped forward. dennison was amused, more than half contemptuous over the easiness of the work that he thought had come to him. but he felt in honor bound to make the thing short. in the first place, he had to avenge dodge. in the second place, it would reflect upon himself if dennison allowed prescott to string the battle out. some sharp cracks were given and taken, and many more dodged or struck aside, when, up close to the end of the first round, prescott landed one between the big fellow's eyes that made him see stars. right in close prescott followed, before his opponent could recover. but the time-keeper's call prevented further doings. "he's a mosquito, that's all," growled denison to nelson, in the corner. "go in and swat him, then," grinned nelson. "watch me!" "remember, then, that skeeters are dodgers." "i'll saw him off, this time," grumbled the big fellow. the call of time brought both men forward. but dick, the same quiet smile on his face, had planned new tactics with furlong during that minute's rest. now, dick struck dennison, not very heavily, on the right shoulder. the next time it was a tap on the right chest. dennison strove to resent these indignities, but prescott had a definite plan of sustained assault, and the big fellow could not read it in advance. twice dick got caught by swings, though he was not sadly troubled. he was lanching in, lightly, all over the less vital parts on his man now. it did dennison no harm, but the impudence of it stung the big fellow. "time!" "that's the b.j.-est skeeter i ever saw," grinned nelson, as he sprayed water over dennison's biceps. "you quit, nelse!" "all right. don't get mad at me. just catch prescott on your face and mash him!" again the men were called to the center of the room. they eyed each other, "measured arms" in a few useless passes, then settled down to business. on dick's part that business was to dodge about as before, touching lightly here and there. dennison's effort was to swing in one hard, sufficient blow. just thirty-five seconds from the start of the round dick found his opportunity, and took it. his right smashed in fearfully on the end of the big fellow's jaw bone, just under the ear. bump! dennison's big, muscular body hit the floor like the falling of a tree. maitland counted, for he knew the big fellow couldn't rise in ten seconds after a blow like that. "nine, ten," finished the time-keeper, and dropped his watch into his pocket. "i award the fight to mr. prescott," announced packard. "now, what are we going to do with this big hulk?" that was a problem. it would hardly do to take another cadet to hospital that night. anyway dennison would need a stretcher, and four cadets to carry him, for he still lay on the floor in a stupor, from which the usual methods of reviving a man after a knockout failed to bring him. it was just ten minutes before taps when dennison was finally brought around and helped to his feet. "where's prescott?" asked dennison, after he had gulped down a glass of water. "here," answered dick, stepping forward. "prescott, i don't suppose i'm very clear headed yet," rambled on dennison. "but i want to apologize for my words this afternoon. and---i'm glad you whacked me right tonight. perhaps i'll really learn something from it. but my apologies, anyway." "say no more," begged dick, tendering his hand. "it is all forgotten." dick received hasty congratulations from the late officials of the fights. then they, and prescott and his friends, disappeared quickly to quarters. dennison was helped to his room. when the subdivision inspectors went through with their bulls-eye lanterns immediately after taps, they found all present save cadet albert dodge. dodge passed a painful couple of hours until opiates won out and he passed into drugged sleep. in one respect dodge got far less out of the fight than had dennison. bert had not even learned, convincingly, that prescott was a man to let alone. chapter xx a discovery at the riding drill having once got a hard gait in mathematics, dick went steadily on and up until he reached one of the middle sections. there he stopped. it was as high as he could go, with all this competition from the brightest young men in the country. greg, too, managed to get well away from the goats, and so was happy. through the winter the yearlings, in detachments, had attended the riding hall regularly during the afternoons. most of the men, as spring came along, had proven themselves very good cadet horsemen, though all would have chance to learn more during the two years yet ahead of them. dodge, who rode in the same detachment with dick and greg, was credited with being the poorest rider in the class. "when you get to be an officer, mr. dodge, you'll have to take the yearly walking test for three days. you'll get over the ground quicker and safer than you would on a horse," remarked the cadet corporal. "oh, well, sir, i'm going into the doughboys, anyway," grinned dodge. "it will be a good many years before i can get up far enough in the line to be called upon to ride a horse." the "doughboys" are the united states infantry. no company officer in the infantry mounted; only the field and staff officers of the doughboys are provided with mounts. one cloudy friday afternoon cadet corporal haskins marched a yearling detachment down to the riding hall. captain hall, their instructor, was already in saddle. he turned to receive the report of haskins after the detachment had been halted at the edge of the tan-bark. "stand to horse!" ordered captain hall. the men of the detachments sprang over, each leading out his mount for the afternoon. "prepare to mount!" instantly each young man stood with one foot in stirrup, one hand at the animal's mane, and one at saddle. "mount!" in perfect unison the yearling cadets swung themselves up into saddle, their right feet searching for and then resting in the stirrup boxes. then, at the command, haskins led his men out in single file. thus they circled the riding hall twice at a walk. "trot!" came captain hall's command. a few rounds of this was followed by the command, "gallop!" around and around the hall the cadets rode, every man but one feeling the blood tingling with new life through his arteries. it was glorious to stride a horse and to ride at this gait! glorious, that is, for all except one man. dodge rode at the tail end of the line, on a fiend of a horse that had proven disastrous to more than one green rider. as the "gallop" was ordered, dodge's mount showed a longing to bolt and dash up to the head of the line. dodge, throbbing uneasily, reined in hard. his horse began to chafe as it found itself forced back. in another moment dodge was lagging behind. "keep the pace, mr. dodge! keep the pace, sir!" called out captain hall. bert obeyed, but in fear. he did not know at what instant this uneasy animal would rear and unhorse him. at last the detachment was halted and the line faced about. now the detachment rode in reverse direction around the tan-bark. by this means dodge became the leader. through the walk and the trot, he managed to get along all right, though he was nervous. "stick to your saddle, mr. dodge!" called captain hall. "don't bump it, sir. settle down and ride steadily." then, an instant later, just as dodge was beginning to feel secure: "gallop!" dodge's wild mount gave a snort, then bolted. "whoa, you unruly beast!" roared dodge. behind him rode the detachment, grimly merry, though with not a flicker of a smile showing. bert's horse pulled away, and bolted, with dodge tugging at the bridle. greg, riding behind him, endeavored to bridge the gap. "steady, mr. holmes!" shouted the cavalry instructor. "you may set the pace until mr. dodge regains control of his mount." straight around the tan-bark went dodge and his mount, until the animal was in danger of colliding with haskins' mount. "hard on your off rein, mr. dodge! swing out into the center and bring your horse down!" ordered captain hall sternly. bert managed to swing out of the line, but that was all. he shot along on the inside, for the horse seemed to have a notion that it was racing the entire detachment, lap by lap. "have you utterly lost control of your horse, mr. dodge?" shouted captain hall. plainly enough the young man had, for, at that moment, the beast, its mouth sore from the continued tugging against the bits, slackened its pace, then plunged on its forefeet, throwing its heels high in the air. with a gasp of terror dodge struck the tan-bark, one shoulder landing first. but he still retained the bridle, and was dragged. the vicious animal wheeled, rearing, and its fore-feet came down aimed at dodge's face. dick prescott was the nearest cadet horseman at this moment. suspecting what might happen, prescott had swung his own mount sharply out of line, riding straight after dodge. "drop your bridle!" called dick sternly. then, just as dodge's horse was bringing its fore-feet down, prescott rode against the angry animal, striking it against the flank and shoving it sideways and back. the brute's forefeet struck the tan-bark, but more than two feet from dodge's head. bert had presence of mind enough to roll to one side. in an instant prescott was down out of saddle, holding his own splendidly disciplined mount by the bridle while he bent over his class-mate. dodge lay on the tan-bark, his uniform awry and dirty, and his face blanched with fear of the horse. "are you much hurt, dodge?" asked dick. "no, confound you!" muttered bert under his breath. as if to prove his lack of injury, he sat up, then rose to his feet. "mount, mr. prescott, and join the line," noting all with quick eyes. "mr. dodge, recapture your horse, mount and fall in." that was the discipline of the tan-bark. if a cadet falls from a horse and has no bones broken, or no other desperate injury, he must wait until his horse comes around, catch it and mount again. if the horse be excited and fractious, all the more reason why the cadet should capture the beast and mount instantly. a horse must always be taught that a cavalryman is his master. the riderless brute had fallen in at the tail of the line now, behind cadet corporal haslins, and was going along peaceably enough---until bert dodge made a lunge for the bridle. then the beast shied, and got past. "run after your horse, mr. dodge; catch him and mount him," called captain hall, fuming that this episode should steal away drill time from the other more capable young horsemen. "mr. dodge," rapped out the cavalry instructor sharply, after bert had made two more efforts to get hold of the bridle, "are you waiting for a groom to bring your horse to you?" at this some of the pent-up merriment broke loose. half a dozen yearlings chuckled aloud. "silence in ranks!" ordered the instructor sharply. then, patiently, though with more that a tinge of rebuke in his tone, the captain added: "mr. dodge, you've taken all the time we can spare you, sir. catch that horse instantly and mount!" by sheer good luck bert managed to obey. but his nerve was gone for the afternoon. he made a sad bungle of all the work, though he was not again unhorsed. there was bareback riding, and riding by pairs, in which latter feat one man of each pair passed his bridle to the comrade beside him, then rode with folded arms. then came riding by threes, with the center man holding the bridles from either side, while each of the outer men rode with folded arms. then, cautiously, the men were taught to stand on the bare backs of their horses and to move at a walk. by and by they would be required to ride, standing, at a gallop. all through this drill, dick prescott rode with precision, power, and even grace. yet never had his mind been further from the present work than it was this afternoon. had bert dodge known more of what prescott had seen as the former lay for that instant on the tan-bark, dick's enemy would have fallen from his horse in a delirium of fear. for, as bert fell in the center of the tan-bark the left sleeve of his coat had been pushed back, exposing the white linen cuff. from the inner hem of that cuff, up to the middle, dick prescott had gazed, for an instant only, on row after row of small, evenly lettered words or rows of numerals. prescott had not had time to bend close enough to see which. yet no sooner had dick vaulted back into saddle again than the remembrance of that cuff flashed upon him. "dodge has been excelling in daily recitations, yet can't do as well at general review!" flashed hotly through prescott's mind. "and dodge, the high-souled one who loathes cribs! if that writing on his cuff isn't a crib of today's math., then i'm a plebe!" the thought would not down, even for a moment. dick became wilder in his thoughts the more he thought about it. "the cribber! and he sought to blast me here on a false charge of cribbing. for now i know in my soul that he put that paper crib in my handkerchief that friday morning months ago!" dick's indignation, as he rode, was more than personal. true, he longed to show up the sneak who had nearly wound up another and honest cadet's career here at west point. but there was an even higher purpose in prescott's mind at the same time. the corps of cadets loathes a cribber as it does any other kind of cheat or liar. it is justly regarded as a moral crime for any cadet, knowing another to be a sneak, stand by and silently allow that sneak to graduate into the brotherhood of the army. "dodge, you cur, every minute, now, is bringing you nearer your own merited disgrace," muttered dick savagely. "as soon as this detachment is dismissed at barracks i'll denounce you before all the fellows. i'll insist that you expose that cuff---and you'll have to do it!" once prescott caught himself wondering whether he might not fail through being too hasty. was it barely possible that the writing on bert dodge's left cuff was wholly innocent? "no! i'm not making any mistake, and i'll prove it to my own satisfaction!" throbbed this cadet who had waited patiently all these months for complete vindication before the corps. never had dick known such relief at being dismissed from riding drill. the detachment formed under haskins' orders, and marched up the road from riding hall, across the street to the academic building, and then, with corporal haskins still at the head, turned in at the east sally-port. but here, right at the entrance to the port, stood chaplain montgomery. "corporal haskins," called the chaplain, as he returned the cadet officer's smart salute, "will you excuse mr. prescott that i may speak with him? "mr. prescott, fall out!" came haskins' command. with a feeling of horror and anguish dick fell out, saluting chaplain montgomery, for the chaplain, though an ordained minister of the church, was also, by virtue of his post of chaplain, a captain of the united states army. on moved the detachment, the feet of the cadets moving at a rhythmic beat as these perfect young soldiers moved on across the barracks area. and all chaplain montgomery had to say to cadet prescott was to tell him in which bound file of a magazine at the y.m.c.a. could be found an article about which dick had asked the churchman a fortnight before. dick returned thanks, though he meant no disrespect to the kindly chaplain. then, saluting, he hurried on after the detachment. but more than a fatal minute had been lost at the sally-port, and now the detachment was dismissed. the men had been in their rooms for at least forty-five seconds. "no use to go to dodge now!" thought dick despondently. "whether he knows that i saw that cuff or not, he has removed it and has it safely hidden by this time. oh, if chaplain montgomery could have been a hundred yards further away at that moment!" it was no use to lament. dick concluded to wait and bide his time. the chance might yet come to catch bert dodge red handed. "though, if he suspects that i saw his exposed cuff, he'll take pains that there is not further chance!" decided cadet prescott. after that he went to his room, where he told greg what he had discovered. "it's suspicious---mightily so," declared holmes. "but it isn't proof---not yet!" nevertheless, greg, once he had heard, could not get the matter out of his mind either! chapter xxi pitching for the army nine "dick, old fellow, this is going to be a gridley day for us! it will carry us back to the good old high school days!" cadet greg holmes was radiant as he moved about their room in quarters that saturday morning while preparing for the call to breakfast formation. until one o'clock these young men of west point would be busy in the section rooms, as on other week days. but the afternoon of saturday belonged to pleasure---on this saturday to sport! lehigh university was sending over the strongest baseball nine it could put up, in the effort to beat west point on the military academy's diamond. "it'll seem just like good old gridley high school days," repeated greg. "yes," smiled dick darkly, "with the same rascal, bert dodge, to keep my thoughts going." "dodge won't be in the game, anyway." "he wasn't much in gridley, either," smiled dick darkly. "oh, well, forget him until the game is over." morning recitations passed off as usual. it was when the cadets came back from dinner, first, there was a brief inspection, after which cadets, with leave to visit the west point hotel, or officers' homes, strolled away to meet young women friends. "i'm due to be only a rooter today," sigh greg, as he saw his roommate start off to the gym to meet the other members of the nine. "your luck may change," rejoined dick. "you'd better go along to the gym. you're the sub. shortstop, you know, and meacham may not be on deck. better come along, now." "i will, then; i wasn't going over until just before time to get into togs and sit on the bench." up to this time, neither prescott nor holmes had judged their academic standing to be good enough to make it safe for them to enter into sports. this winter and spring, however, had found them "safe" enough for them to go into training with the baseball squad. dick had tried for the position of pitcher, but kennedy had been chosen, while prescott had gone to second base. tatham was the sub. pitcher. "say, have you seen the lehighs?" demanded furlong, as the chums joined the crowd at the gym. "they're big fellows. they weigh a ton and a half to our ton." "lightness and speed count for more than beef in this game," smiled prescott. "lehigh has sent some huskies, all right, and they look as if they'd give us a tough battle." in baseball and football west point plays college teams. the college men are generally older and much heavier. besides, the college men, not having the same intense grind at their institutions, are able to devote four or five times as much actual time to the work of training. despite these handicaps, the west point team generally holds its own end up very well indeed. the west point men have one advantage; they are always in training, for which reason their bodily condition is always good. it is in the finer points of the technique of the game that the united states military cadets suffer from less practice. maitland, of the second class, was captain of the team this year. he was a much disturbed man when dick and greg reached the gym. "what ails maitland?" dick asked furlong. "haven't you heard? kennedy is a great tosser, but he has his bad days when his wrist goes stale. and tatham, the sub., fought his way through a poor dinner, but then he had to give up and go to hospital. he's threatened with some kind of fever, we hear. that leaves us without a sub. today." "oh, does it?" thought prescott. with quick step and eager eye he sought captain maitland, who was also catcher for the nine. "mr. maitland, i understand you're without a satisfactory sub. pitcher for today?" "confound it, yes; we're praying for the strength of kennedy's wrist." "you may remember that i tried for pitcher." "i know you did," replied maitland gloomily. "but the coaches thought kennedy and tatham ahead of you." "if kennedy should go bad today," pressed dick eagerly, "i trust you will be willing order me in from second to the box. i know that i won't disappoint you. ebbett and dunstan are both good men at second." captain maitland looked thoughtful. "i'm afraid, prescott, if kennedy does happen to go stale, we'll have to call on you." "i won't disappoint you, if you do, captain!" then maitland turned to regard meacham, who was entering at that moment. "what on earth ails you, meacham?" demanded the worried captain of the nine. "i was at a loot party last night," confessed meacham miserably. "overeating yourself---when you're in training, man?" "honestly, maitland, i didn't believe the little that i put down was going to throw me. there wasn't a murmur until eleven this morning, and i felt sure that was going to work off. but it won't, and, oh, my!" west point's shortstop put his hands over his belt line, looking comically miserable. but to captain maitland there was no humor in the situation. "you're a fine one!" growled maitland. "oh, holmesy! come over here, please. you haven't been teasing your stomach, have you?" "i don't know that i have a stomach," replied greg promptly. "you'll play shortstop today, then." half an hour later, the lehigh fellows were out on the field, going through some practice plays. below the center of the grandstand, the west point band was playing its most spirited music. the seats reserved for officers and their families, and for invited guests, were filling up rapidly. at the smaller stand, over at the east side of the field, lehigh had some two hundred friends and rooters. now on to the field marched the corps of cadets, filing into the seats reserved for them, just north of the officers' seats. now, the band began to play the u.s.m.a. songs, the cadets joining in under the leadership of the cheer-master. then, amid a storm of west point yells, the army nine strode on to the field. things moved quickly now. lehigh won the toss and went to bat. kennedy appeared to be in excellent form. he struck out the first two lehigh men at bat. the third man, however, gained first on called balls. the fourth man at bat drove a two-bagger, and now second and third were occupied. as the fifth of the lehigh batsmen stepped up to the plate, the lehigh cheers resounded, and west point's rooters sat in tense silence. what was the matter with kennedy? but the army pitcher struck out his man, and lehigh went out to grass without having scored. lehigh's revenge, though, was swift. three west point men were struck out almost as rapidly as they could move to the plate. in the second inning both sides got men to bases, but neither side scored. in the third lehigh took one solitary run, but it looked well on the score-board at the north end of the field. west point, in the last half of the third, put men on first and second, but that was all. by the fourth inning, kennedy was pitching a bit wildly. maitland gazed at his comrade of the battery with anxious eyes. lehigh began to grin with the ease of the thing now. one after another men walked to bases on called balls, until all of the bags were occupied. suddenly kennedy, after taking a twist on the ball, signaled maitland. the captain turned the umpire and spoke. "kennedy's old trick! he's gone stale and tatham is down at hospital," passed from mouth to mouth among the home rooters. "now, what's left for us?" after a brief conversation with the umpire maitland signaled. dick prescott came bounding in from second, to receive the ball from kennedy, while ebbett was seen racing out to second. "play ball!" called the umpire crisply. "oh, pshaw!" called one of the cadets. "in training season prescott tried for pitcher and the coaches turned him down. now we're done for today!" spirits were gloomy among the west point rooters. yet, within a few moments, they sat up, taking notice. dick, with his nerves a-tingle, his eye keen, measured up the lehigh batsman and sent in one of his old-time, famous gridley spit-balls. it looked slow and easy. the lehigh man swung a well-aimed crack at the ball. "strike one," announced the umpire. again prescott turned his wrist and twirled. "strike two!" then an outcurve. "strike three! out!" lehigh began to look with some interest at this new, confident pitcher. the next lehigh man to bat met a similar fate. so did the third man. now, the west point yells went up with new force and purpose. the corps yell rose, loud and thunderous, followed by three cries of "prescott!" in their half of the inning, west point put men on first and second, but that was the best they could do. so it dragged along to the seventh inning. army rooters were now sure that west point's star pitcher had been found at last, and that lehigh would have rare luck to score again today. but west point didn't seem able to score, either, and lehigh had the one needed dot. as army went to bat greg took up the stick and swung it expectantly. "do something, greg," dick had whispered. "i'm the second man after you, and i'll back you if you can get a start. remember the old gridley days of victory. get some of that same old ginger into you!" holmes, as he swung the stick over the plate, seemed to feel himself back on the old athletic field of gridley high school. and these stalwart college boys before him seemed to him to be the old, old tottenville high school youngsters. one strike greg essayed and lost. at the second offer, he hit the ball a sharp crack and started. he reached first, but as he turned, the ball fell into the hands of lehigh's second baseman, and greg fell back to safety at first. ebbett, who followed, hit at the third offer, driving the ball almost under the feet of lehigh's right-fielder. as that man seized it he saw that greg was within kicking distance of second bag, so he threw to first and ebbett was out. dick now stepped confidently forward. he looked at lehigh's tired pitcher with a challenging smile. at the first offer, prescott struck the leather sphere---crack! in an instant greg was in motion, while dick raced as though bent on catching his chum. the ball had gone out over the head of center, who was now faithfully chasing it across outfield. greg came in and hit the plate amid a cyclone of army enthusiasm. the band was playing in sheer joy. dick kicked second bag, then darted back as he saw the ball drop into the hands of the lehigh catcher, who promptly sent it spinning straight into the third baseman's hands. then maitland gained first on called balls, and furlong did the same, which advanced prescott to third. now carson came up with the stick, sending out a slow grounder. in like an apache runner came prescott, kicking the plate just before the ball dropped. from the seats of the army came the triumphant yell: "north point, east point, south point, west point---_two points_!" the next army man struck out, but west point was breathing, now, with score two to one. "don't let lehigh put another dot on the card, prescott, and you'll be our pitcher this year," promised maitland. "wait and see if the visitors can get any more from us," laughed dick coolly. he felt that he had his old gridley winning gait on now. he proved it by striking out three straight in the first half of the eighth. but west point did not score, either, in that inning. then came lehigh, grim and desperate, to bat for the ninth time. the first man dick struck out. but even his wrist seemed to be treacherous now. the second lehigh man offered at nothing, and went to first on called balls. so did the second, and a third man, and the bags were filled. maitland glanced appealingly at dick. the new batsman, at the second offer, drove a slow grounder. greg holmes raced forward for it, like a deer. as he caught it up there was no perceptible pause before he sent it straight into maitland's hands, and the man headed for the plate was out. but the three bags were again full. another lehigh man hit one of dick's drives, but only faintly with the edge of his bat, and he went out on a foul hit. "now, i'm going to strike this new man out," resolved dick desperately, steeling nerves and muscles for the effort. "strike one!" called the umpire. "ball one! ball two! strike two! strike three! out!" it was over, and lehigh, covered with chagrin, gave up the contest, while a pandemonium of army cheers went loose. two to one! "prescott, i guess you're our pitcher here-after" called maitland hoarsely. "and you, holmesy, for shortstop!" dick prescott found himself the center of a swift rush of cadets. then he was hoisted aloft, and rushed off the field in triumph and glory, while the corps yell rang out for him. over in the gym. prescott was forced to hold an impromptu reception. greg got much of the ovation. captain verbeck, the head coach, came up to grasp dick's hand. "prescott, i don't understand how you ever got by us. but maitland wants you for our star pitcher after this, and you'll have to be. it was the greatest army game, from the box, that i've seen in many a year." "say, you fellows," greeted anstey, breaking into their room after the chums had returned to barracks, "you two had better go over today, and the men who are to drag the spooniest femmes tonight are all plotting to write you down on the dance cards of their femmes." "that's the best reason in the world for keeping away from cullum, then," laughed dick. "but i mean it seriously," protested anstey. "so do i," replied dick "i'm really a committee of one, sent here by some of tonight's draggers," protested the virginian. "tell them of your non-success, then, do," urged dick. "for i'm not going to cullum tonight. are you, greg?" "ye-es," returned holmes promptly. then, suddenly, he paused in his moving about the room. he now stood looking at his left hand, on which appeared a small smear of black. "no!" suddenly uttered greg. "i'm not going. i've changed my mind---and for the best reasons possible." "now, what on earth has made you so excited?" demanded anstey wonderingly. chapter xxii greg's secret and another's "are you going to the hop tonight?" asked holmes, looking up with gleaming eyes from the smear on the back of his hand. "no," admitted anstey. "can you keep a secret? "yes, suh; suhtinly." "then come here at 8.15 to-night." "what are you talking-----" "i'm not talking, _now_," retorted greg with a resolute tone in his voice. "like a wise man, i'm going to do some thinking first. but you call around this evening. it'll be worth your while." anstey looked and felt highly mystified. it must be something both sudden and important to make greg change his mind so swiftly. for cadet holmes, who, in his home town, had not been exactly noted for gallantries to the other sex, had, in the yearling class, acquired the reputation of being a good deal of a "spoonoid." this is the term applied to a cadet who displays a decided liking for feminine company. "i can see that it isn't any use to ask you anything now," went on anstey. "it isn't," greg returned promptly. "i'm never secretive against you, anstey, old man and the only reason i don't talk at once is that i don't know just what i want to say. but remember---8.15. by that time i think i shall have solved myself into a highly talkative goat yearling." rap-tap! at the door, and furlong and dunstan dropped in. "want to tell you what i think about your pitching, old ramrod," announced furlong. "it's rotten!" glowed dunstan cheerfully "and your shortstop work, holmesy-----" "what kindergarten nine did you play with last?" insisted furlong. "i was just making up my mind not to pitch again this season," grinned cadet prescott. "why not?" furlong demanded. "milesy," laughed dick, "you should never go out on a kidding expedition until you're sure you're josh-proof yourself. do you think anything less than the coaches and the team captain could stop me from pitching? but i sorry for ken, if i'm to supplant him." "you needn't be. kennedy is glad. he hopes to make the cavalry, and he says he wants to train that wrist for wielding a sabre." "can you two near-plebes find time to drop in this evening, at just 8.15?" demanded greg. "certain idea! what's up, holmesy?" "it isn't a feed," declared greg. "but i think you'd be sorry afterwards if you failed to come." "we'll be here," promised dunstan. "then i guess our party will be complete," mumbled the mysterious greg. "say, holmesy," nudged dunstan, "how did you get that smear on the back of your hand? do you know, it looks like the famous one that cadet dodge rubbed off with a borrowed handkerchief, once on a time." "does it?" asked greg innocently. "be good enough to loan me your handkerchief, then?" "not much!" growled dunstan, backing away. "the loaning of personal linen seems on its way to becoming a court-martial offence." when the visitors had left, dick turned on his chum, demanding curiously: "what's the game for tonight, anyway, greg?" "you didn't see how i got this smear on my hand, did you, old ramrod?" "no." "then i'm not going to tell you at present," replied greg, going to his washbowl and pouring in water. "but the way i got it set me to thinking. "about what?" "well, about the way bert dodge got his hand smeared back in the days of ancient history. and, old ramrod, i believe that following up the clue may lead to some other discoveries that will possess a vital interest for you." "but-----" "no more at present! that's a special order," affirmed greg. "be good, like the rest, and wait until 8.15 to-night." at supper, in cadet mess hall, the talk all naturally turned to the diamond game with lehigh that afternoon. the army, at the outset, had hardly expected to win against that year's lehigh nine. when the game was well under way, army hopes had been still lower. now, the talk was all on how prescott and holmes had saved the game to the army. even maitland, without a trace of jealousy, conceded them most of the credit. "what has cherubic, spoonoid holmesy got up his sleeve for 8.15?" asked dunstan in an undertone of anstey. "i reckon, suh, you'll have to apply for particulars to the information and security service, suh," replied the virginian. "to the best of my belief, suh, the secret is all mr. holmes's." so no more questions were asked. but at 8.15, to the second, furlong and dunstan tapped on the prescott-holmes door, and, as they did so. anstey turned at the head of the stairs. punctuality is one of the cardinal virtues of the soldier; to be a half minute late is a grave breach of etiquette; to be five minutes late amounts almost to a crime. "now, holmesy, we want light," insisted furlong. "at first blush," returned greg, "some of you may not like the job. it is nothing more nor less than a visit to dodge's room, while he and blayton are absent at the hop." "it is an extreme measure, surely," murmured dunstan. anstey remained silent, waiting for further particulars. "what i would call to your attention," went on greg, "is that my roommate, old ramrod, was nearly bounced out of west point for something he never did. i believe, and probably you all do, that mr. dodge played an evil and guilty part in what became nearly a tragedy." "i wouldn't put anything mean beyond dodge," replied furlong. "now, i believe i can take you to dodge's room. both he and brayton are absent at the hop. brayton has always been a decent fellow, i don't believe he admires dodge any too much, but he has to put up with his roommate. now, in that room i hope to find evidence which will prove that dodge is not fit to be a member the corps of united states military academy cadets. will you come with me and look for the proof?" "i suhtinly will, suh," replied the virginian promptly. "if anstey will go on a job like that," muttered dunstan, "then i guess it's a proper undertaking for gentlemen." "i thank you, suh," nodded the virginian gravely. "then come along, all hands," begged greg. "if we find anything of the sort that i expect to, then there will be witnesses enough to prove the find to the satisfaction of the class and of the corps." feeling like so many conspirators, this committee of five moved along to dodge's room. greg went a little ahead and tapped. had dodge been there it would not have interfered seriously with his plans. but there was no answer, so holmes pushed open the door, turning the gas half on and lighting it. "this afternoon," declared greg, "i dropped a stub of a pencil in our room. it fell on the bricks of the floor of the fireplace, and rolled into the space between two of the bricks. in getting that pencil out i got on the back of my hand the smear that you all saw. "fellows, i've been thinking for weeks and months about that smear on the back of mr. dodge's hand. when i saw the one on the back of my own hand it occurred to me at once how mr. dodge might have got that black spot on his hand. it came over me, all in a flash. i knew that brayton and mr. dodge would be out of the way this evening at the hop. dodge has a hiding place somewhere in this room. from the past history of the academy we know that favorite hiding places have always been under the bricks of the fireplaces. for use in the winter time the hiding place must be in the outer edge of the brick flooring, close up to where it joins the boards. in such a hiding place the fire wouldn't harm the hidden objects. now, some of you might help me to see what we can find." anstey, with a gravely judicial air, knelt beside holmes. together they tapped back and forth over the bricks with rulers taken from the study tables. "this is the brick that hides the place, i reckon, suh," announced the virginian rather deliberately. "let's pry it up, then," suggested greg. but the brick resisted rather strenuous efforts. "that's odd, in itself," muttered holmes. "almost of the bricks in these fireplaces come up as easily as a naval apprentice's dinner. anse, we've got to work at this brick until we have loose. it surely hides something." "we mustn't damage either the wooden or brick flooring," warned furlong. "if we did find anything, after all, think of the row dodge could raise over the vandalism in his room." so the time slipped by, faster than any of them knew. but these five cadets, now satisfied that the obdurate brick really did hide a secret toiled on with no thought of surrender. at last they struck the combination. the brick back of the one that so resisted their efforts was finally pried up, after a good deal of effort. this opening laid bare a neat but powerful spring. had they had, at the outset, the whole secret of this spring, they could have raised the resisting brick in a second's time. "get it up---must have a look!" cried prescott hoarsely. it was greg who raised the brick that had resisted their efforts for so long. underneath cadet holmes found a collection of things that chained the attention of all, as each took eager looks in turn. "going to put the stuff back, for the present?" asked anstey, with an odd quiver in his voice the honorable virginian was upset by what he had seen. "not never!" retorted greg with ungrammatical emphasis. "it won't be just the thing for old ramrod and myself to have it, either. milesy, you and dunstan take it along with you. now, old ramrod, just what had we better do?" "i don't see anything for it but to root out again after taps and the subdivision inspector's visit tonight," muttered dick, who was alternately pale and flushed over the discovery, and all that it meant. "gentlemen, will you come softly to my room fifteen minutes after the sub-division inspector's official visit at taps?" greg and anstey restored the bricked flooring of the fireplace so that nothing indicated the late search. then, dunstan and furlong carrying away the discovered stuff, the five prowlers turned out the gas and separated. chapter xxiii the "committee on class honor" at a few minutes after eleven, that same april night, five cadets fully dressed stole down the corridor, and the leader laid a hand on dodge's doorknob. in another moment they had stepped inside and their arrival awakened cadet brayton. "plebes' quarters next floor up, brothers," called brayton in drowsy good nature. "i'm sorry to say, brayton, we're on the right floor, and in the right room," responded dunstan. "but this visit won't bother you!" the noise of voices awoke bert dodge with start. he awoke with a snort, then sat bolt upright, peering in the dark. "wh---who's there?" he demanded hoarsely. "a committee on class honor, mr. dodge," replied furlong, while anstey added, with ironic politeness: "don't be alahmed, suh. we do not believe you to be possessed, suh, of any of the commodity of which we are in search." "brayton" asked greg, "will you be good enough to slip into your bathrobe and hang your blankets over the window? then we can have some light. that's one thing we're going to need," he added significantly. "don't you do it, bray," broke in dodge stiffly. "as for you fellows, the best thing you can all do is to go back to your cradles. bray and i want to sleep the night through. and you've no business here, anyway." "i'm afraid you've missed the point, suh?" replied anstey with bored patience. "that is exactly why we're here, suh---because we have business here." brayton had slipped into his bathrobe and was now crossing the room with blankets on one arm. "chase 'em out, bray; don't hang any blankets for them to run a light behind," begged dodge. "i'm afraid i'd better," murmured brayton, as he stood on a chair and reached up to put the blankets in place. didn't you hear the announcement that this is a committee of honor? the class has a right to send one to any man, and prescott, the class president, is here. there, those blankets will hold and shut in all light. turn on the gas, holmesy, if you will." "you'd better get into robe and slippers, too, mr. dodge," hinted dunstan strongly. "our business is with you, and i think you'll feel more at ease on your feet." "what is all this nonsense about, anyway growled dodge, as he slipped out of bed and wrapped himself in his dressing gown. "that's what we'll ask you to explain," retorted greg. "but let us go about this in a regular manner. in the first place, brayton, please understand that you are not being investigated. it is mr. dodge who is under suspicion." "yes; under fine suspicion!" snarled dodge. "you mean i'm to be the victim of a plot hatched by my two old enemies back in the home town." but greg, ignoring him, turned to his chum. "dick, old ramrod, as you're the aggrieved one, i don't suppose you can exactly act as class president in this case. but you can designate some other member of the class to act in your place." "then i'll name mr. anstey," replied dick. "i believe he will be satisfactory to everyone." "not to me!" snapped bert dodge, his uneasy gaze roving from one face to another. "the class president can't name his own substitute." "silence!" commanded brayton, turning on his roommate. "of course the class president can delegate his duties, temporarily, to another." "take this matter in charge, mr. anstey," begged dick, turning to the virginian. "mr. dodge," continued the virginian, "be good enough, suh, to pay good heed to what i have to say. that will be necessary, in fairness to yourself, suh. i'll begin at the beginning." anstey began with the handkerchief-borrowing episode in barracks area. he dwelt upon the accusation against cadet prescott, the court-martial, and the further fact that even the verdict of acquittal had not, at first, been fully accepted by all members of the corps of cadets clearing dick of the fearful suspicion against his honor. "what has all this to do with me?" snarled dodge. "is prescott trying to revive his old and infamous hints against me? "wait a moment, mr. dodge," continued anstey patiently. "now will now move along to the drill in the riding hall yesterday afternoon." anstey then described the bared cuff that prescott had seen on dodge's left wrist. "that's a lie," rasped out dodge. but anstey heeded him not; prescott merely smiled. but the sight of that smile maddened dodge, who sprang up, crying: "yes! you think you have it all cooked up against me, dick prescott! but you'll find that truth and right will win." dick did not answer, but anstey, looking impressively at the culprit, declared: "mr. dodge, tonight, while you were away, we pried up that brick!" every vestige of color fled from bert's face. he seemed about to fall, but he clutched at the chair back and remained standing. "of course, mr. dodge, you know what we found there. brayton, you don't so you will interested in seeing the things. milesy, be good enough to spread the collection on that table. here, you see, first of all, is the cuff of yesterday. even the writing, in india ink, remains on it. and here are reddish stains, made by the impact of that cuff with the tan-bark of the riding hall. here are slips of paper on which the main features of the hardest math. problems of each day have been noted down, ready for writing on a cuff. here is the water-proof ink and the pen with which the writing on the cuff was done. and here are some other slips of paper, evidently older, on which other problems have been written out more fully. these older slips of paper contain problems of last november and early december---the time when prescott was in his deep trouble. now, these older slips are of paper just like the piece that fell from the handkerchief that prescott took out of his blouse on that tragic day. somewhere in the files the authorities have that slip that figured in the charges at prescott's trial by general court-martial. i imagine, on comparison, that slip will be found to be on paper identical with these slips containing older problems. and you will note that these older slips are written on with a typewriting machine, with crude figures drawn in, just as in the case of the slip that figured prescott's trial. now, mr. dodge, isn't it plain to even the dullest mind that you have been systematically cribbing at math., and that it is to that fact you owe your present high standing in the yearling class?" "now that i think of it," remarked brayton, turning and fixing his roommate with a frigid, hostile stare, "i have, on at least two occasions, entered this room just in time to see mr. dodge spring up hastily from near the fireplace. but i am a dull-witted fellow, i suppose, and i didn't suspect. "have you anything to say, mr. dodge?" demanded anstey. "nothing," barely gasped the detected wretch. "then i will say something instead, suh," continued the virginian. "i would rather the task fell to someone else, but this work has been delegated to me, and i must see it through, suh. mr. dodge, we are all satisfied that you are a miserable, lying, sneaking hound, suh, not worthy to associate with gentlemen. we are satisfied, suh, that you are without honor or principle, and that you will never be fit to become an officer of the army." "now, see here, fellows," broke in dodge in a whining tone, "if you'll be generous and give me another chance, i can live this down." "then you admit that which we have been stating against you, do you, suh?" questioned the virginian. "it will be best for you to be wholly honest, suh! "yes---yes---i---admit---it," cried dodge brokenly. "but i didn't deliberately plan for prescott's undoing---on my honor, i didn't! what happened was this: when i took prescott's handkerchief with one hand, i had that crib in the other hand. after using the handkerchief, i found that i couldn't pass it back without either letting the crib be seen, or else tucking the crib into the handkerchief. so i had to do the latter thing. but that was as far as i was guilty---on my honor, gentlemen!" "then you expect us to believe in the honor of a cadet who dishonors himself by sneaking cribs into a section room?" demanded anstey with mild but withering sarcasm. "give me just one more chance, gentlemen!" faltered dodge. "i pledge you my word that, henceforth, i'll do everything that is creditable and honorable, and nothing that isn't!" "we have a somewhat different proposition for you, mr. dodge," observed the virginian. "we want no more of your stripe. we would degrade the entire army, and the whole people of the united states of america if we allow you to remain here. tomorrow, at an early hour, you will hand in your resignation as a cadet, to take effect upon acceptance. if you fail, we will lay before the superintendent and the commandant of cadets all the evidence that we have against you, including your own confession. you will then have to face a general court-martial and be dismissed from the service in the deepest disgrace that can come to a cadet." bert dodge sank to his knees, holding his clasped hands up before him. "don't insist on that, gentlemen! don't! spare me the disgrace! spare my parents! "mr. dodge," replied anstey sternly, "honor is the watchword in the united states military academy, and all through the army. we couldn't spare a dishonorable wretch like you, suh, without sharing in your disgrace. and i have not told you all that we require. as soon as you have gone to your home you will write a letter to the superintendent, exonerating mr. prescott from all suspicion in that fearful affair. you will admit that you alone were guilty. according to custom, that letter will be read before the battalion in special orders and the entire corps will then know how fully cadet prescott is worthy of being one of us." "write that letter?" demanded dodge, leaping to his feet, but cowering. "never! you are taking an unfair, unmanly, ungenerous advantage of me! you shall never have any such letter from me!" chapter xxiv conclusion still patiently anstey turned to greg. "mr. holmes, will you be kind enough to go to the room of mr. packard of the first class, also mr. maitland, of the second class, and present my very respectful compliments? will you ask both gentlemen if they can make it convenient to come here, forthwith, on a matter of corps honor?" greg departed. he was back within five minutes, simply nodding. very soon mr. packard and mr. maitland appeared. they listened silently while anstey laid the story before them. then packard glanced at the second classman. "shall i speak for us both, maitland?" "if you please." "mr. anstey, and gentlemen," continued packard, "this is primarily a matter affecting your own third class, and should be settled by the members of your class. but, in its broader scope, the conduct to which mr. dodge has confessed affects the entire corps. mr. dodge charges that you are abusing your power. maitland and i beg to differ with him. mr. anstey, you have done the only thing that can be done in such a case of infamy and dishonor. mr. dodge will, of course, send in his resignation tomorrow; it will be much easier for him than facing disgrace of a more public kind through a published verdict of a general court-martial. as soon as mr. dodge has reached his home he will also write that letter exonerating mr. prescott; i am sure he will. if he does not, the corps will then take steps to turn the evidence over to the representative of the associated press, and of the largest newspapers in the country. in other words, mr. dodge, by refusing to write that letter, will face a vastly larger exposure all through the country. now, maitland, as this is, first of all, a class matter, i feel that we have offered enough. gentlemen, if you have no further need of us, we will withdraw." the self-appointed committee of the yearling class withdrew a moment after, furlong and dunstan carrying with them the evidence. bert dodge tendered his resignation promptly. within a week the notice of its acceptance by the secretary of war was published before the battalion, and dodge skulked away, alone, unregretted and utterly crushed, to the railway station. during the last few days he had been "cut" by every man in the corps. three days after his departure the superintendent of the united states military academy received a letter that caused him much astonishment. in this letter dodge briefly confessed that he, and he alone, was the guilty party in that cribbing affair, and dick prescott had had no guilty share or knowledge in the incident. "hm!" mused the superintendent, a grim smile passing over his face. "this dodge business has all the ear-marks of another affair of army honor settled unofficially by the corps of cadets." dodge's letter was published in a special order then read before the corps of cadets, and the affair was closed. dick and greg continued to play in the army nine the rest of that spring. it was one of the most brilliant of army seasons on the diamond, and much of the credit was due to yearlings prescott and greg. baseball was at last cut short by the arrival of the busy graduation season. immediately after the proud and happy graduating class had left to take up its new life in the scattered army of the united states, the yearling class dropped that designation and became the new second class at west point. as members of the new second class, these happy youngsters laid aside their uniforms for two and a half months, and, in citizens' clothes, made their rush away from the military academy to begin the summer furlough that comes but once in the cadet's more than four years of academy life. that evening found greg and dick in new york city. happy as small boys, they looked at the great city in genuine glee. "i feel like rubbing my eyes, greg, old chum!" laughed dick. "are we dreaming, or can such large cities actually be?" "it seems to me that i have a remembrance of large towns in some previous stage of existence, somewhere in the universe," sighed holmes ecstatically. "but this town is bigger, noisier, fuller of life and fun than anything i can recall." "we have until midnight before the home train leaves," pursued dick. "home! now, that is something of which i have a much keener recollection!" cried greg, his eyes moistening. "dick, i'm afraid that, if there were a train earlier than midnight, even the big town wouldn't detain me." "but there isn't an earlier train, greg, and there are no taps or sub-division inspectors tonight. what shall we do?" "first of all, then," proposed greg gleefully, "let us see if there is a place in new york where they know the meaning of the big feed." "and then the theater!" chuckled dick. "which we'll reach in one of those wonderful vehicles that the natives call taxicabs!" they found a place without difficulty. "then to walk along broadway with its flashing lights; then the railway station!" "the train!" "home in the morning!" "we'll start with a taxi," proposed greg. "here's an empty one coming. here, chauffeur. yes! the waldorf!" what befell our cadets thereafter will be reserved for the next volume in this series, which is published under the title, "_dick prescott's third year at west point; or, standing firm for flag and honor._" this story will be a rare treat, one that will make the blood bound faster in the arteries of any real american boy. a narrative of surpassing interest and thrilling adventures in the military cadet's life is promised. the end note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see 36099-h.htm or 36099-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36099/36099-h/36099-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36099/36099-h.zip) transcriber's note: "lieut. frederick garrison" is a pseudonym used by upton sinclair. [illustration: "'the cadets of this academy, miss adams,' said he, 'do not speak to mr. mallory.'" (see page 90)] a cadet's honor or mark mallory's heroism by lieut. frederick garrison, u. s. a. author of "off for west point," "on guard," "a west point treasure," etc. [illustration: boys' own library] philadelphia david mckay, publisher 610 south washington square copyright, 1903 by street & smith a cadet's honor contents chapter page i--a "yearling" meeting 7 ii--mark's mysterious visitor 19 iii--trouble for mark 26 iv--the explanation 38 v--mark in disgrace 46 vi--indian's re-examination 58 vii--the examination of the parson 66 viii--the rescue party 72 ix--heroism of the parson 76 x--more troubles 81 xi--disadvantages of "coventry" 85 xii--the embassy of the parson 91 xiii--preparations for the battle 99 xiv--the affair at the fort 109 xv--two plebes in hospital 117 xvi--the parson's indignation 124 xvii--indian in trouble 133 xviii--to the rescue 146 xix--the alliance is completed 156 xx--indignation of the yearlings 162 xxi--a mild attempt at hazing 171 xxii--the bombshell falls 177 xxiii--in the shadow of dismissal 185 xxiv--a letter 193 xxv--a swimming match 204 xxvi--the finish of a race 211 xxvii--what mark did 219 xxviii--mark meets the superintendent 231 xxix--the seven in session 239 xxx--the move into camp 248 xxxi--"first night" 257 xxxii--conclusion 268 a cadet's honor chapter i. a "yearling" meeting. the whole class came to the meeting. there hadn't been such an important meeting at west point for many a day. the yearling class had been outrageously insulted. the mightiest traditions of the academy had been violated, "trampled beneath the dust," and that by two or three vile and uncivilized "beasts"--"plebes"--new cadets of scarcely a week's experience. and the third class, the yearlings, by inherent right the guardians of west point's honor, and the hazers of the plebe, had vowed that those plebes must be punished as never had plebes been punished before. the first and third classes of cadets had gone into summer camp the previous day, immediately after the graduation exercises. from that date, the middle of june to july 1, they have a comparative holiday, with no drills and no duties except guard-mounting, dress parade toward evening, and inspections. and it was during the first of the holiday mornings that the above-mentioned "meeting" was held, beneath the shady trees of trophy point, a short distance from the camp. "i move," shouted a voice in the crowd, "that we elect bud smith chairman." the motion was carried with a shout, and bud smith, just out of hospital by the way, was "boosted" up onto one of the guns, which served as the "chair." bud smith was a tall, heavily-built youth with a face covered by court-plaster and "contusions," as the results of a west point fight are officially designated by the hospital surgeon. "this meeting will please come to order," said the chairman. "and the gentlemen will oblige me by keeping quiet and not compelling me to use my voice much. for i am--er--not feeling very well to-day." and bud illustrated his statement by gently mopping his "contusions" with a damp handkerchief. "we have met," began the chairman, as soon as this formality was over--"we have met, i believe, to consider the cases of three 'beasts,' powers, stanard and mallory, by name (a low groan from the class), and to consider the best method of reducing them to submission. i don't think it is necessary for me to restate the complaints against them, for you are probably all as familiar with the incidents as i. 'texas' powers, or as he calls himself, jeremiah, son o' the honorable scrap powers, o' hurricane county, texas, must be disciplined because he fails to understand what is expected of him. he dared to order a superior officer out of his room, and last monday morning he succeeded in defeating no less than four men in our class--myself among them." and cadet smith again mopped his "contusions," and went on. "of course we have got to find somebody to whip him. then, too, stanard lost his temper and attacked half a dozen of our class, for no other reason on earth than that they tied him in a sack and carried him out onto the cavalry plain. he, too, was victorious, i am told. and then, last of all, but of all the offenders most insolent and lawless, comes----" the chairman paused solemnly before he pronounced the name. "mark mallory." and the storm of hisses and jeers that followed could have been heard at barracks. it was evident that the yearlings had no love for mark mallory, whoever mark mallory might be. "mark mallory commenced his tricks," the chairman continued, "even before he was a cadet. he was impudent then. and the other day he dared to act as powers' second. and, worse than all, yesterday, to show how utterly reckless and b. j. he is, he deliberately locked bull harris and baby edwards up in an icehouse, with the intention of making them absent at taps and compelling them to remain imprisoned all night. it was only by the merest accident, they succeeding in forcing the door, that this plan was frustrated. now, gentlemen, this thing is about as serious as it can possibly be. mark mallory's conduct shows that he's gotten the idea into his head that not only can he avoid being hazed, but even turn the tables upon us and bid us defiance. his attack upon the two cadets was absolutely unprovoked. bull told me personally that he had not attempted to haze him, and had not even spoken to him. it was a pure case of freshness and nothing else. and he's got to be licked for it until he can't stand up." bud smith finished his speech amid a round of applause, and then fell to soothing his "contusions" again. it may as well be stated here that bull harris' account of the incident that was just now causing so much talk was an absolute falsehood. as told in a previous volume, entitled "off for west point," bull and his gang had made an attempt to lock mark up, and had failed, and been locked up themselves instead. that was all. but bull and his gang saw fit to omit that part of the story. it was safe, for no one could gainsay it; mark's account was not asked for. "i move, mr. chairman," said corporal jasper, rising, "that inasmuch as mallory seems to be the leader of this fool business, that we lick him first, and that, too, to-morrow morning. for it's growing worse every minute. the plebes are getting so downright b. j. that a fellow can't even give an order without fearing to be disobeyed. to-morrow morning, i say. and i call for some one to volunteer." the young officer's motion took the crowd's fancy. "who'll fight him? who'll fight him?" became the cry, and was followed by a chorus of names offered as suggestions. one was predominant, and seemed to be the most popular. "williams! billy williams. get up, billy! speech!" and "billy" arose from the ground as the cry grew louder, and said that he was "very much honored," and that if the class really selected him he would be most happy to do the best he possibly could. "hooray! billy's going to lick him! 'ray for billy." "i move, mr. chairman, that a committee be appointed to convey the challenge on behalf of the class." "carried," said the chairman. "i appoint corporal jasper and cadet spencer. this meeting stands adjourned." and the yearlings scattered, bearing "billy williams" off in triumph. the committee, much as it hated to, was obliged to delay the sending of the challenge. there were two reasons: in the first place, mark mallory, together with the rest of the plebes, was being bullied and tormented just then in the course of a squad drill; and, in the second place, one of the committee, cadet spencer, was engaged in doing the bullying, having been appointed "on duty over plebes." after supper, however, came a blissful half hour of rest to the last-named unfortunates; and then the three yearlings gathered together, took an extra quantity of dignity, and sallied forth to find the three "b. j.'s." "b. j.," it may be added, is west point for fresh, and stands for "before june." entering barracks, the committee made straight for mark mallory's room and knocked. "come in, thar!" shouted a voice. there were four occupants in the room. one was a round, fat-faced boy with an alarmed, nervous look, cadet joseph smith, of indianapolis, commonly known as "indian." in a chair by the window sat a still more curious figure, a lank, bony individual with ill-fitted, straying clothes and a long, sharp face. upon his big, bulging knees rested a leather-bound volume labeled "dana's geology," and opened at the tertiary fossiliferous strata of the hudson river valley. "parson" peter stanard was too much interested to notice the entrance of the cadets. he was trying to classify a cyatho phylloid coral which he had just had the luck to find. sprawled upon the bed was another tall, slender fellow, his feet hoisted up on the pile of blankets at the foot. all the committee saw of "texas" powers was a pair of soles, for texas didn't care to move. the fourth party was a handsome, broad-shouldered chap, with curly brown hair. and to him corporal jasper, the spokesman, addressed himself. "mr. mallory?" said he. mr. mallory bowed. "we have come as a committee representing the yearling class." "i am honored," said mr. mallory. "pray do not feel so in the least," said corporal jasper, witheringly. "the class desires to express, in the first place, its entire displeasure, both as a class and as individuals, at your unprovoked conduct toward two of its members." "um," said mark, thoughtfully. "and did the two members tell you the attack was unprovoked?" "they did." "then i desire to express, in the first place, my entire displeasure, both as a class and as an individual, at being thus grossly misrepresented." "bully!" came the voice from behind the mattress. "in short," continued mark, "i desire to call the statement of messrs. harris and edwards a downright, unmitigated and contemptible lie." "sock it to 'em!" chuckled the voice from the mattress. "wow!" "well put!" added "parson" stanard. "worthy of the great patrick henry himself." "bless my soul!" chimed indian, ready to run. cadet jasper took it coolly, like the gentleman he was. "it is customary, mr. mallory," he said, calmly, "for a man to have to earn the right to call a higher class man a liar." "i am quite ready, sir," responded mr. mallory. "that is fortunate. the class offers you such an opportunity. we are directed to bring a challenge from cadet williams, of the third class, to meet him at fort clinton at four o'clock to-morrow morning." "i will consider it a favor," said mark, politely, "if you will be good enough to inform the class that i am most happy to accept." "an' look a yere," cried texas, mark's chum, raising his head and peering out between his feet. "look a yere! whar do i come in, in this bizness?" "your seconds?" inquired jasper, not noticing the interruption. "mr. powers and mr. stanard." "and is there any other information?" "none." "remember, fort clinton at four a. m." "i shall be there without fail. and i thank you for your trouble in the matter." cadets jasper and spencer bowed and withdrew, while the four "beasts" sat and looked at each other in silence. "well," mark said, at last, "what do you think of it?" "think?" growled texas. "i think it's a skin, that's what i think. an' it's jest like you an' your luck, mark mallory!" and, so saying, texas kicked the mattress off the bed. "if you don't do that feller williams, whoever he is, in the first round, i'll kick you out an' do it myself!" "but who is this williams?" inquired mark, as he picked up the mattress and threw it at texas. "does anybody here know?" "i do," said the "parson," reverently depositing dana on the floor. "i do know, and i shall, forsooth, be very happy to tell you about him. williams is, in the first place, as to physical proportions, the largest man in his class; in the second place, he is the best all-around man----" "all round like indian?" inquired texas, gravely. "inasmuch as," continued the "parson," "he won a considerable proportion of the olympic contests, which are celebrated here under the designation of 'the spring games.'" "that sounds promising," said mark, thoughtfully. "i wonder if he can fight." "as to his pugilistic abilities, i am by no means so accurately informed, but if my conjecture be of any value whatsoever, i should be inclined to infer, from the fact that our enemies, the representatives of tyranny and oppression, who are endeavoring to reduce us to submission, have selected him as their champion and representative in arms, that----" "he's a beaut," put in texas, to save time. "and i only wish i'd had mark's luck." "and i wish," added the boston student, "that i could contrive to account for the presence of this cyathodhylloid fossil in a sandstone of tertiary origin." it was not very long after this that "tattoo" sounded. but before it did the little band of rebels up in the barracks had time to swear eternal fealty, and to vow by all that man held dear to be present "at fort clinton at four a. m. to-morrow," there, as the "parson" classically put it, to fire a shot for freedom that should be heard around the world. mark swore it, and indian, too; texas swore it by the seventeen guns which were stowed away in his trunk, and by the honor of his father, "the honorable scrap powers, o' hurricane county;" and peter stanard swore it by bunker hill and, yea, even by lamachus, he of the gorgon's crest. and then the meeting adjourned. chapter ii. mark's mysterious visitor. these were days of work for the plebes at west point--days of drilling and practicing from sunrise to night, until mind and body were exhausted. and it usually happened that most of the unfortunates were already sound asleep by the time "tattoo" was sounded, that is, unless the unfortunates had been still more unfortunate, unfortunate enough to fall into the clutches of the merciless yearling. when "taps" came half an hour later, meaning lights out and all quiet, there was usually scant need for the round of the watchful "tac," as the tactical officer is designated. it happened so on this night. the "tac" found all quiet except for the snoring. and, this duty over, the officer made his way to his own home; and after that there was nothing awake except the lonely sentry who marched tirelessly up and down the halls. the night wore on, the moon rose and shone down in the silent area, making the shadows of the gray stone building stand out dark and black. and the clock on the guardhouse indicated the hour of eleven. it was not very many minutes more before there was a dark, shadowy form, stealing in by the eastern sally-port, and hugging closely the black shadows of the wall. he paused, whoever it was, when he reached the area, and waited, listening. the sentry's tramp grew clear and then died out again, which meant that the sentry was back in the hallway of the barracks, and then the shadowy form stepped out into the moonlight and ran swiftly and silently across the area and sprang up the steps to the porch of the building; and there he stood and waited again until once more the sentry was far away--then stepped into the doorway and crept softly up the stairs. the strange midnight visitor was evidently some one who knew the place. he knew just the room he was going to, also, for he wasted not a moment's time, but stole swiftly down the hall, and stopped before one of the doors. it was the room of cadets mallory and powers. doors at west point are never locked; there are no keys. the strange visitor crouched and listened cautiously. a sound of deep and regular breathing came from within, and, hearing it, he softly opened the door, entered and then just as carefully shut it behind him. having attended to this, he crept to one of the beds. he seemed to know which one he wanted without even looking; it was mark mallory's. and then the stranger leaned over and gently touched the occupant. the occupant was sleeping soundly, for he was tired; the touch had no effect upon him. the visitor tried again, and harder, this time with success. mark mallory sat up in alarm. "ssh! don't make a sound," whispered the other. "i've got a message for you. ssh!" it is enough to alarm any one to be awakened out of a sound sleep in such a manner, and at such a time, and mark's heart was thumping furiously. "who are you?" he whispered. the figure made no answer, but crept to the window, instead, where the moonlight was streaming in. and mark recognized him instantly as one of the small drum orderlies he had seen about the post. half his alarm subsided then, and he arose and joined the boy at the window. "here," said the boy. "read it." and so saying, he shoved a note into the other's hand. mark took it hurriedly, tore it open and read it. it took him but a moment to do so, and when he finished his face was a picture of amazement and incredulity. "who gave you this?" he demanded, angrily. "ssh!" whispered the boy, glancing fearfully at the bed where texas lay. "ssh! you may wake him. she did." "now, look here!" said mark, in a recklessly loud voice, for he was angry, believing that the boy was lying. "now, look here! i've been fooled with one letter this way, and i don't mean to be fooled again. if this is a trap of those cadets, as sure as i'm alive, i'll report the matter to the superintendent and have you court-martialed. remember! and now i give you a chance to take it back. if you tell me the truth i'll let you go unhurt. now, once more, who gave you this?" and mark looked the trembling boy in the eye; but the boy still clung to his story. "she did, indeed she did," he protested. "where?" asked mark. "down at her house." "why were you there?" "i live there." mark stared at the boy for a moment more, and bit his lip in uncertainty. then he turned away and fell to pacing up and down the room, muttering to himself. "yes," he said, "yes, i believe she wrote it. but what on earth can it mean? what on earth can be the matter?" then he turned to the boy. "do you know what she wants?" he inquired. "no, sir," whispered the other. "only she told me to show you the way to her house." "is anything the matter?" "i don't know; but she looked very pale." and mark turned away once more and fell to pacing back and forth. "shall i go?" he mused. "shall i go? it's beyond cadet limits. if i'm caught it means court-martial and expulsion. there's the 'blue book' on the mantel staring at me for a warning. by jingo! i don't think i'll risk it!" he turned to the boy about to refuse the request; and then suddenly came another thought--she knew the danger as well as he! she knew what it meant to go beyond limits, and yet she had sent for him at this strange hour of the night, and for him, too, a comparative stranger. surely, it must be a desperate matter, a matter in which to fail was sheer cowardice. at the same time with the thought there rose up before him a vision of a certain very sweet and winsome face; and when he spoke to the boy his answer was: "i'll go." he stepped to the desk, and wrote hastily on a piece of paper this note to texas: "i'll be back in time to fight. explain later. trust me. "mark." this he laid on the bureau, and then silently but quickly put on his clothes and stepped to the door with the boy. mark halted for a moment and glanced about the room to make sure that all was well and that texas was asleep, and then he softly shut the door and turned to the boy. "how are we going to get out?" he demanded. "come," responded the other, setting the example by creeping along on tiptoe. "come." they halted again at the top of the stairway to wait until the sentry had gone down, and then stole down and dodged outside the door just as the latter turned and marched back. flattened against the wall, they waited breathlessly, while he approached nearer and nearer, and then he halted, wheeled and went on. at the same moment the two crept quickly across the area and vanished in the darkness of the sally port. "now," said the drum boy, as they came out on the other side, "here we are. come on." mark turned and followed him swiftly down the road toward highland falls, and quiet once more reigned about the post. there was one thing more that needs to be mentioned. it was a very simple incident, but it was destined to lead to a great deal. it was merely that a gust of wind blew in at the window of the room where texas slept, and, seizing the sheet of paper upon which mark had written, lifted it gently up and dropped it softly and silently behind the bureau, whither mark had thrown the other note. and that was all. chapter iii. trouble for mark. time has a way of passing very hurriedly when there is anything going to happen, especially if it be something disagreeable. the hands of the clock had been at half-past eleven when mark left. it took them almost no time to hurry on to midnight, and not much longer to get to two. and from two it went on to three, and then to half-past. the blackness of the night began to wane, and the sky outside the window to lighten with the first gray streaks of dawn. not long after this time up in one of the rooms on the second floor of barracks, division 8, the occupant of one of the rooms began to grow restless. for the occupant had promised himself and others to awaken them. and awaken he did suddenly, and turned over, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. "mark! oh, mark!" he called, softly. "git up, thar! it's time to be hustlin'!" there was no answer, and texas got up, yawning, and went to the other bed. "git up thar, you prize fighter you!" and as he spoke he aimed a blow at the bed, and the next moment he started back in amazement, for his hand had touched nothing but a mattress, and texas knew that the bed was empty. "wow!" he muttered. "he's gone without me!" and with this thought in his mind he rushed to his watch to see if he were too late. no, it was just ten minutes to four, and texas started hastily to dress, wondering at the same time what on earth could have led mark to go so early and without his friend. "that was the goldurndest queer trick i ever did hear of in my life, by jingo!" it took him but a few short moments to fling his clothes on; and then he stepped quickly across the hall and entered a room on the other side. "i wonder if that parson's gone with him," he muttered. the "parson" had not, for texas found him engaged in encasing his long, bony legs in a pair of trousers that would have held a dozen such. "are you accoutered for the combat?" he whispered, in a sepulchral tone, sleepily brushing his long black hair from his eyes. "where is mark?" "the fool's gone up there without us!" replied the texan, angrily. "without us!" echoed stanard, sliding into his pale sea-green socks. "bless my soul!" echoed a voice from the bed--indian was too sleepy to get up. "bless my soul, what an extraordinary proceeding!" "come on," said texas. "hurry up." the "parson" snatched up his coat and made for the door. "i think," said he, halting at the door in hesitation. "i think i'll leave my book behind. i'll hardly need it, do you think?" "come on!" growled texas, impatiently. "hurry up!" texas was beginning to get angry, as he thought, over mark's "fool trick." the two dodged the sentry without much trouble; it is probable that the sentry didn't want to see them, even if he did. they ran hastily out through the sally port and across the parade ground, texas, in his impatience, dragging his long-legged companion in tow. they made a long detour and approached fort clinton from behind the hotel, in order to avoid the camp. hearing voices from inside the embankment, texas sprang hastily forward, scrambled up the bank, and peered down into the inclosure. "here they are," called one of the cadets, and then, as he glanced at the two, he added: "but where's mallory?" and texas gazed about him in blank amazement. "where is he?" he echoed. "where is he? why, ain't he yere?" it was the cadets' turn to look surprised. "here?" echoed corporal jasper. "here! why, we haven't seen him." "hain't seen him!" roared texas, wild with vexation. "what in thunder!" "wasn't he in your room?" inquired somebody. "no. he was gone! i thought, of course, he'd come out yere." and texas fell to pacing up and down inside the fort, chewing at his finger nails and muttering angrily to himself, while the yearlings gathered into a group and speculated what the strange turn in the affair could mean. "it's ten to one he's flunked," put in bull harris, grinning joyfully. some such idea was lurking in texas' mind, too, but it made him mad that any of his enemies should say it. "if he has," he bellowed, wheeling about angrily and facing the cadet. "if he has it's because you've tricked him again, you ole white-legged scoundrel you!" texas doubled up his fists and looked ready to fight right then; bull harris opened his mouth to answer, but jasper interposed: "that's enough," said he. "we can settle this some other time. the question is now about mallory. you say, mr. powers, you've not the least idea where he is?" "if i had," responded texas, "if i had, d'you think i'd be hyar?" jasper glanced at his watch. "it's five minutes after now," said he, "and i----" he got no farther, for texas started forward on a run. "i'm a goin' to look fo' him!" he announced. and then he sprang over the embankment and disappeared, while the cadets stood about waiting impatiently, and speculating as to what mark's conduct could mean. poor stanard sat sprawled out on top of the earthworks, where he sat down in amazement and confusion when he discovered that mark was not on hand; and there he sat yet, too much amazed and confused to move or say anything. meanwhile texas was hurrying back to barracks with all the speed he could command, his mind in a confused state of anxiety and doubt and anger. the position of humiliation in which mark's conduct had placed him was gall and wormwood to him, and he was fast working himself into a temper of the texas style. he rushed upstairs, forgetting that such a thing as a sentry existed. he burst into the room and gazed about him. the place was empty still, and texas slammed the door and marched downstairs again, and raced back to the fort. the cadets were still waiting impatiently, for it was a good while after four by this time. "find him?" they inquired. "no, i didn't!" snapped texas. "no fight, then," said jasper. "it's evident he's flunked." "wow!" cried texas! "no fight! what's the matter with me?" and, suiting the action to the word, he whipped off his coat. "not to-day," responded jasper, with decision. "you'll have your chance another day." "unless you run home, too," sneered harris. texas' face was fiery red with anger, and he doubled up his fists and made a leap for the last speaker. "you coyote!" he roared. "you an' me'll fight now!" bull harris started back, and before texas could reach him half a dozen cadets interfered. williams, the would-be defender of his class, seized the half-wild fellow by the shoulders and forced him back. "just take it easy," he commanded. "just take it easy. you'll learn to control yourself before you've been here long." texas could do nothing, for he was surrounded completely. bull harris was led away, and then the rest of the cadets scattered to steal into camp, but texas snatched up his coat in a rage, and strode away toward barracks, muttering angrily to himself, the "parson" following behind in silence. the latter ventured to interpose a remark on the way, and texas turned upon him angrily. "shut up!" he growled. "mind your business!" stanard gazed at him in silence. "i guess i'll have to knock him down again," he said to himself. but he didn't, at least, not then; and texas pranced up to his room and flung himself into a chair, muttering uncomplimentary remarks about mark and west point and everything in it. it was just half-past four when he entered, and for fifteen minutes he sat and pounded the floor with his heel in rage. texas was about as mad as he knew how to be, which was very mad indeed. and then suddenly there was a step in the hall and the door was burst open. texas turned and looked. it was mark! texas sprang to his feet in an instant, all his wrath aflame. mark had come in hurriedly, for he had evidently been running. "what happened----" he began, but he got no further. "you confounded coward!" roared texas. "whar did you git the nerve to show yo' face round hyar?" "why, texas?" exclaimed mark, in amazement. texas was prancing up and down the room, his fingers twitching. "i jest tell you, sah, they ain't no room in my room fo' a coward that sneaks off when he's got a fight. now i----" "i left word for you," said mark, interrupting him. "word for me! word for me!" howled the other. "you're a--a--a liar, sah!" mark's face was as white as a sheet, but he kept his temper. "now, texas," he began again, soothingly. "now, texas----" "take that, too, will ye?" sneered texas. "you're coward enough to swallow that, too, hey? wonder how much more you'll stand. try that." and before mark could raise his arm the other sprang forward and dealt him a stinging blow upon the face. mark stepped back, his whole frame quivering. "how much?" he repeated, slowly. "not that." and then, just as slowly, he took off his coat. "fight, hey?" laughed texas. "wow! ready?" he added, flinging his own jacket on the floor and getting his great long arms into motion. "ready?" "yes," said mark. "i am ready." and in an instant the other leaped forward, just as he had done at fort clinton, except that he omitted the yelling, being indoors with a sentry nearby. physically two fighters were never more evenly matched; no one, to look at them, could have picked the winner, for both were giants. but there was a difference apparent before very long. texas fought in the wild and savage style of the prairie, nip-and-tuck, go-as-you-please; and he was wild with anger. he had swept the yearlings at fort clinton before him that way and he thought to do it again. mark had another style, a style that texas had never seen. he learned a good deal about it in a very few minutes. texas started with a rush, striking right and left with all the power of his arms; and mark simply stepped to one side and let the wall stop texas. that made texas angrier still, if such a thing can be imagined. he turned and made another dash, this time aiming a savage blow at his opponent's head. in it was all the power of the texan's great right arm, and it was meant to kill. mark moved his head to one side and let the blow pass, stopping the rush with a firm prod in the other's chest; then he stepped aside and waited for another rush. for he did not want to hurt his excited roommate if he could help it. a repetition of this had no effect upon texas, however, except to increase his fury, and mark found that he was fast getting mad himself. a glancing blow upon the head that brought blood capped the climax, and mark gritted his teeth and got to work. texas made another lunge, which mark dodged, and then, before the former could stop, mark caught him a crushing blow upon the jaw which made his teeth rattle. texas staggered back, and mark followed him up rapidly, planting blow after blow upon the body of his wildly striking opponent. and in a few moments texas, the invincible texas, was being rapidly pummeled into submission. "i'll leave his face alone," thought mark, as he aimed a blow that half paralyzed the other's right wrist. "for i don't want the cadets to know about this." and just then he landed an extra hard crack upon the other's chest, and texas went down in a corner. "want any more?" inquired mark, gravely. texas staggered to his feet and made one more rush, only to be promptly laid out again. "i guess that's enough," thought mark, as the other lay still and gasped. "i guess that's enough for poor texas." and so saying, he took out his handkerchief, wiped the blood from his face, and then opened the door and went out. "i'm sorry i had to do it," he mused; "sorry as thunder! but he made me. and anyhow, he won't want to fight very soon again." chapter iv. the explanation. mark had barely reached the head of the stairs before the morning gun sounded, and five minutes later he was in line at roll call with the rest of his class. it is needless to say that texas was absent. texas woke up a while later, and staggered to his feet, feeling carefully of his ribs to make sure they were not really broken. and then he went out and interviewed a sentry in the hall. "look a yere, mister," said he. "where's this yere place they call the hospital?" the sentry directed him to await the proper hour, and texas spent the rest of that day, reported by the surgeon as "absent from duty--sick--contusions." and the whole class wondered why. mark noticed that the cadets were looking at him at breakfast; and he noticed that the members of his own class were rather distant, but he gritted his teeth and made up his mind to face it out. "if even texas called me a coward," he mused, "i can't expect the rest of 'em to do otherwise." and so it seemed, for that same morning just after breakfast corporal jasper and cadet spencer paid a visit to mark. "the class would like, if you please, mr. mallory," said the former, "an explanation of your conduct this morning." "and i am sorry to say," responded mark, just as politely, "that i am unable to give it. all i can say is that my conduct, though it may seem strange and mysterious, was unavoidable. if you will allow me, i shall be pleased to meet mr. williams to-morrow." "we cannot allow it," said jasper, emphatically, "unless you consent to explain your action and can succeed in doing it satisfactorily, which you will pardon me for saying i doubt very much, you stand before the academy branded as a coward." "very well," said mark, "let it be so." and he turned away, and all through that long, weary morning and the afternoon, too. cadet mallory was in coventry, and not a soul spoke a word to him, except cadet spencer, at drill. and he was frigid. cadet powers was released from the hospital "cured" that evening after supper, and he limped upstairs to his room, and sat down to think about himself, and to philosophize upon the vanities of life and the follies of ambition. mark did not come up until "tattoo" sounded, and so texas had plenty of time. he felt very meek just then; he wasn't angry any more, and he'd had plenty of time also to think over what a fool he had been in not listening to mark's explanation of his absence. for texas had been suddenly convinced that mark was no coward after all. while he sat there, a piece of paper sticking out from under the bureau caught his eye. texas was getting very neat recently under west point discipline; he picked that paper up, and read as follows: "i'll be back in time to fight. explain later. trust me. "mark." "oh!" cried texas, springing up from his chair and wrenching a dilapidated shoulder. "he told me he did that--and i called him a liar!" texas walked up and down, and mused some more. then it occurred to him there might be more paper under that bureau to explain things. he got down, painfully, and fished out another crumpled note. and he read that, too: "dear mr. mallory: i am in deep trouble, and i need your aid at once. you can tell how serious the trouble is by the fact that i ask you to come to me immediately. if you care to do a generous and helpful act pray do not refuse. sincerely yours, "mary adams." mary adams was a girl well known to many of the cadets. the letter was roughly scrawled on a pad, and when texas finished reading it he flung it on the floor and went and glared at himself in the mirror. "you idiot!" he muttered, shaking his fist at himself. "here them ole cadets went an' fooled mark mallory again, an' you--bah!" texas was repentant through and through by that time; he grabbed up his cap savagely and made for the door, with a reckless disregard for sore joints. he hobbled downstairs and out of barracks, and caught mark by the arm just as mark was coming in. "well, texas?" inquired mark, smiling. "fust place," said texas, briefly, "want to thank you fo' lickin' me." "welcome," said mark. "second place, do it ag'in if i ever lose my temper." "welcome," said mark. "third place, i want to 'pologize." "what's up? what's happened to convince you?" "nothin' much," said texas, "only i been a' findin' out what a fool i am. hones' now, mark," and as mark looked into the other's pleading gray eyes he saw that texas meant it. "hones' now, this yere's fust time i ever 'pologized in my life. i'm sorry." and mark took him by the hand. they were friends again from that moment. "i jist saw that second note from mary adams upstairs," explained texas, "an' then i knowed them ole cadets had fooled you that way ag'in. say, mark, you're mos' as big a fool as me--mos'." "that note was genuine," answered mark. and then as he saw texas' amazement, he led him aside and explained. "i'll tell you about it," said he, "for i can trust you not to tell. but i can't explain to the rest of the class, and i won't, either, though they may call me a coward if they choose. "a drummer boy came up here last night--or, rather, this morning. he woke me up and gave me that note, swore it was genuine, too, and i believed him in the end. as you see, mary adams wanted to see me, and she was in a desperate hurry about it. well, i debated over it for a long time; at first i thought i wouldn't, for i was afraid of court-martial; but then as i thought of her in distress i made up my mind to risk it, and i went. as it turned out, old man, you'd have been ashamed of me if i hadn't. there are worse things than being called a coward, and one of em's being a coward. "i found her in great trouble, as she said. she has a brother, a fellow of about twenty-two, i guess. she lives with her widowed mother, and he takes care of them. i think they are poor. anyway, this brother had gotten two or three hundred dollars from his employer to take a trip out west. he had fallen in with a rather tough crowd down in the village, and they were busy making him spend it as fast as he could. that was the situation." "it was tough," commented texas. "the problem was to get him away. the girl hadn't a friend on earth to call on, and she happened to think of me. she begged me to try to get him away. and i'll tell you one thing, too, texas. the cadets say she's a flirt and all that. she may be. i haven't had a chance to find out, and i don't propose to; but a girl that thinks as much of her brother as she does, and does as much for him, is not beyond respect by a good sight. i was really quite taken with her last night." "beware the serpent," put in texas, laughing. "she's pretty, i'm told. go on." "well, i found him, after a couple of hours' search, in a tough dive, with a crowd of loafers hanging on to him. i got him out, but i had to knock down----" "hey!" cried texas, springing up in excitement. "had a fight, did ye? why didn't you take me 'long?" "i didn't know i was going to fight," said mark, laughing. "and did you lick 'em?" "i only had to lick two, and then the rest ran." texas sighed resignedly, and mark went on: "i took him home, as i said, and left him with her. i got home just in time for reveille." "time to have me call you names and to lick me blue, for the same which i have jest thanked yo," added texas, his eyes suspiciously moist. "an' look a yere, ole man"--texas slung his hand around to his hip pocket and "pulled" a beautiful silver-mounted revolver, loaded "to the brim"--"look a yere, mark. this yere gun, i ain't ever gone out 'thout it fo' ten year. she's a----" "you don't mean to say you've had it on up here!" "sho'," said texas, "an' i come near usin' it on you, too. mark, you dunno how a texas man is with a gun. mos' of 'em 'ud ruther sell their wives. an' i'm a goin' to give you this to show that--er--that ther' ain't no hard feelin's, you know." "and i'll take it," said mark, getting hold of texas' other hand at the same time--"take it, if it's only to keep you from carrying it. and there aren't any hard feelings." chapter v. mark in disgrace. "in my excursions into the various fields of knowledge i have never yet had occasion to investigate the alleged discoveries of phrenological experimentalists, and yet----" the speaker paused for a moment, long enough to sigh mournfully. then he continued: "and yet i had, i think, sufficient perception of character as delineated by the outlines of physiognomy to recognize at once the fact that the person to whom we refer is in no way a coward." "i wish i had, parson," responded his companion, ruefully rubbing a large lump upon his forehead. "i wish i had." the thin, learned features of the first speaker found it difficult to indicate any amusement, and yet there was the trace of a smile about his mouth as he answered. "you say he 'licked' you, to use your own rather unclassic phrase?" he inquired. "licked me? wow! he gave me, sah, the very worst lickin' i ever got in my life--which is very natural, seeing that when a feller gits licked down in texas they bury him afterward. i reckon i'd be a gunnin' fo' him right now, if 'twarn't seein' it's mark mallory. why, man, a feller can't stay mad with mark mallory long!" it was just dinner time and parson and texas were sitting on the steps of barracks, waiting for the summons and talking over the events of the previous day. "and how did this encounter originate?" inquired the parson. "all in my foolishness!" growled texas. "you see yesterday morning when he didn't turn up to fight that 'ere yearling fellow williams, i thought 'twas cause he was scared. an' so i got mad an' when he did turn up i went fo' him. an' then i went fo' the hospital." "his conduct did seem unaccountable," rejoined the other. "and yet somehow i had an instinctive intuition, so to speak, that there was an adequate reason. and one is apt to find that such impressions are trustworthy, as, indeed, was most obviously demonstrated and consistently maintained by the german philosopher, immanuel kant. are you acquainted with kant's antinomies?" the parson added, anxiously. "no," said powers. "i ain't. they ain't got to texas yit. but i wish i'd had more sense'n to git mad with mark. i tell you i felt cheap when he did explain. i kain't tell you the reason yit, but you'll know it before long. all i kin say is he went down to cranston's." "to cranston's? i thought we weren't allowed off the grounds." "we ain't. but he took the risk of expulsion." "and another, too," put in the parson, "the risk of being called a coward an' being ostracised by the cadets." "i dunno 'bout the astercizin' part," said texas, "but i know they called him a coward, an' i know they cut him dead. there won't even a plebe speak to him, 'cept me an' you an' injun. an' it's what i call durnation tough now, by jingo!" "it don't worry me very much," put in a voice behind them. the two turned and saw mark looking at them with an amused expression. "it don't worry me much," he repeated. "i guess i can stand it if you'll stand by me. and i think pretty soon i can get another chance at williams, and then----" "if ye do," cried the excitable texan, springing up, "i'll back you to murder him in jist about half a minute." "it won't be so easy," responded mark, "for williams is the best man in his class, and that's saying a great deal. but i'll try it; and in the meantime we'll face out the disgrace. i can stand it, for really there isn't much privation when you have three to keep you company." "i reckon," put in texas, after a moment's thought, "i reckon we'll have to put off aformin' o' thet ere new organization we were a-talkin' 'bout. cuz we kain't git anybody to join ef they won't any of 'em speak to us." "i guess we three are enough for the present," said mark, "at least while all the cadets leave us alone. and if they try to haze us i think we can fight about as well as the rest of them. then there's indian, too, you know; i don't think he can fight much, but he's----" "now, see here!" cried an indignant voice from the doorway, "now see here, you fellows! i think that's real mean, now, indeed i do. didn't i tell you fellows i was going to learn to fight?" he expostulated. "didn't i? bless my soul, now, what more can a man do?" mark winked slyly to his companions, and put on his most solemn air. "do?" he growled. "you ask what more can a man do? a man might, if he were a man, rise up and prove his prowess and win himself a name. he might gird up his loins and take his sword in his hand and sally forth, to vindicate his honor and the honor of his sworn friends and allies. that is what he might do. and instead what does he do? in slothfulness and cowardice he sits and suffers beneath the rod of tyranny and oppression!" mark finished out of breath and red in the face. "bless my soul!" cried indian. "such a course is by no means entirely unprecedented," put in stanard, solemnly. "it is common in the mythology of antiquity and in the legends of mediã¦val times. such was the course of hercules, and thus did sir galahad and the knights of the round table." poor joe smith was gazing at the two speakers in perplexity. he wasn't quite sure whether they were serious or not, but he thought they were, and he was on the verge of promising to go out and kill something, whether a cadet or a grizzly, at once. the only trouble was that the tall, sedate-looking officer of the day, in his spotless uniform of gray and white and gold with a dazzling red sash thrown in, strode out of the guardhouse just then; a moment later came the cry, "new cadets turn out!" and indian drew a breath of relief at being delivered from his uncomfortable situation. saturday afternoon is a holiday at west point. the luckless plebe, having been drilled and shouted at for a week, gets a much-needed chance to do as he pleases, with the understanding, of course, that he does not happen to fall into the hands of the yearlings. if he does, he does as they please, instead. saturday afternoon is also a holiday time for the yearling, too, and he is accustomed to amuse himself with variety shows and concerts, recitations and exhibition drills, continuous performances that are free, given by the "beasts," the "trained animals," or plebes. it may be well at the start to have a word to say about "hazing" at west point. hazing is abolished there, so people say. at any rate, there are stringent measures taken to prevent it. a cadet is forbidden in any way to lay hands upon the plebe; he is forbidden to give any degrading command or exact any menial service; and the penalty for breaking these rules is dismissal. the plebe is called up daily before the tactical officer in charge of his company, and asked if he has any complaint to make. such are the methods. the results are supposed to be a complete stopping of "deviling" in all its forms. the actual result has been that when a yearling wants to "lay hands upon the plebe" he does it on the sly--perhaps "yanks" him, as one peculiar form of nocturnal torture is termed. when the yearling wants some work done, instead of "commanding" he "requests," and with the utmost politeness. if he wants his gun cleaned he kindly offers to "show" the plebe how to do it--taking care to see that the showing is done on his own gun and not on the plebe's. and the plebe is not supposed to object. he may, but in that case there are other methods. if he reports anybody he is ostracised--"cut" by every one, his own class included. this being the case, we come to the events of this particular saturday afternoon. "there were three wily yearlings set out one summer's day to hunt the plebe so timid in barracks far away." only in this case there were half a dozen instead of three. now, of all the persons selected for torment that year, with the possible exception of mark and texas, the two "b. j.'s," indian was the most prominent. "indian," as he was now called by the whole corps, was a _rara avis_ among plebes, being an innocent, gullible person who believed implicitly everything that was told him, and could be scared to death by a word. it was indian that this particular crowd of merry yearlings set out to find. mark and texas, it chanced, had gone out for a walk; "parson" stanard had, wandered over to the library building to "ascertain the extent of their geological literature," and to get some information, if possible, about a most interesting question which was just then troubling him. and poor joe smith was all alone in his room, dreading some visitation of evil. the laughing crowd dashed up the steps and burst into the room. indian had been told what to do. "heels together, turn out your toes, hands by your sides, palms to the front, fingers closed, little fingers on the seams of the trousers, head up, chin in, shoulders thrown back, chest out. here, you! get that scared look off your face. whacher 'fraid of. if you don't stop looking scared i'll murder you on the spot!" and with preliminary introduction the whole crowd got at him at once. "can you play the piano? go ahead, then. what! haven't got any? why didn't you bring one? what's the use of being able to play the piano if you haven't a piano? can you recite? don't know anything? you look like it. here, take this paper--it's a song. learn it now! why don't you learn it? what do you mean by staring at me instead of at the paper? there, that's right. now sing the first six verses. don't know 'em yet? bah, what will you do when you come to trigonometry with a hundred and fourteen formulas to learn every night? have you learned to stand on your head yet? what! didn't i tell you to do it? who taught you to stand on your feet, anyhow? why don't you answer me, eh? let's see you get up on that mantelpiece. won't hold you? well, who said it would? what's that got to do with it? no! don't take that chair. vault up! there. now flap your wings. what! haven't got any? what kind of an angel are you, anyhow? flap your ears. let's hear you crow like a hen. hens don't crow? what do you know about hens, anyway? were you ever a hen? well, why weren't you? were you ever a goose, then? no? well, you certainly look like it! why don't you crow when we tell you? what kind of crowing is that--flap your arms, there. have you got any toothpicks? what! no toothpicks? don't suppose you have any teeth, either. oh, so you have toothpicks, have you? well, why did you say you didn't? take 'em out of your pockets and row yourself along that mantelpiece with 'em. 'fraid you'll fall off, eh? well, we'll put you up again. humpty dumpty! row fast now! row! get that grin off your face. how dare you smile at a higher classman! you are the most amazingly presumptuous beast that i ever heard of. get down now, and don't break any bones about it, either!" all these amazing orders, rattled off in a breath, and interspersed with a variety of comment and ejaculation, poor indian obeyed in fear and trembling. he was commanded to fall down, and he fell; he was commanded to fall up, and he protested that the law of gravitation----"bah! why don't you get the law repealed?" he wiped off a smile from his terrified face and threw it under the bed. then, gasping, spluttering, he went under and got it. he strove his very best to go to sleep, amid a variety of suggestions, such as which eyes to shut and which lung to breathe through. this went on till the ingenuity of the cadets was nearly exhausted. then one individual, more learned than the rest, chanced to learn the identity of the indian's name with that of the great mormon leader. and instantly he elbowed his way to the front. "look here, sir, who told you to be a mormon? you're not a mormon? got only one wife, hey? none? then what sort of a mormon are you? why have you got a mormon's name? did you steal it? don't you know who joseph smith was? no? not you, the great joseph smith! suppose you think you're the great joseph smith. well, now, how on earth did you ever manage to get into this academy without knowing who joseph smith was? didn't ask you that, you say? well, they should have! fellow-citizens and cadets, did you ever hear of such a thing? there must be some mistake here. the very idea of letting a dunce like that in? why, i knew who joseph smith was about seventy-five years ago. gentlemen, i move you that we carry this case to the academy board at once. i shall use my influence to have this man expelled. i never heard of such a preposterous outrage in my life! not know joseph smith! and he's too fat to be a cadet, anyhow. what do you say?" "come ahead! come ahead!" cried the rest of the mob, indignant and solemn. and almost before the poor indian could realize what they were doing, or going to do, the whole crowd arose gravely and marched in silence out of the room, bent upon their direful mission of having the army board expel indian because he had never heard of joseph smith, the mormon prophet. and indian swallowed every bit of it and sat and trembled for his life. chapter vi. indian's re-examination. it was a rare opportunity. the six yearlings made for camp on a run, and there an interesting conference was held with a few more choice spirits, the upshot being that the whole crew set out for barracks again in high spirits, and looking forward to a jolly lark. they entered the building, causing dire fear to several anxious-looking plebes who were peering out of the windows and wondering if this particular marauding party was bound in their direction. it was one of the empty rooms that they entered, however, and there they proceeded to costume one of their number, putting on a huge red sash, some medals, a few shoulder straps borrowed for the occasion, and, last of all, a false mustache. this done, they hastened over to the room where the unfortunate "mormon" still sat. the "officer" rapped sharply on the door. "come in," a voice responded weakly; the cadets came. "mr. smith, sir?" inquired the personage with the mustache. "yes, sir," said indian, meekly, awed by the man's splendor. "i have been requested by certain of the cadets of the united states military academy to investigate the circumstance of your alleged passing at the recent examination. i have been informed by these same gentleman that when questioned by them you exhibited stupidity and ignorance so very gross as to cause them to doubt whether you have any right to call yourself a cadet at all." here the cadets shook their heads solemnly and looked very stern indeed. "bless my soul!" cried indian. "in order to consider these very grave allegations," continued the other, "a special meeting of the army board was first convened, with the following result:" here the speaker paused, cleared his throat pompously, and drew forth a frightfully official-looking envelope, from which he took a large printed sheet with the west point seal upon the top. "united states military academy, west point, june 20th," he read--that is the way all "orders" begin. "cadet joseph smith, of indianapolis, indiana, it has just been ascertained, was admitted to the duties of conditional cadet through an error of the examining board. a re-examination of cadet smith is hereby ordered to be conducted immediately under the charge of the lord high chief quartermaster of the academy. by order of the academy board. ahem!" the lord high chief quartermaster finished, and cadet smith sank down upon the bed in horror. "sir!" shouted the officer, "how dare you sit down in the presence of your superiors? get up, sir, instantly!" indian "got," weak-kneed and trembling. "the examination will be held," continued the cadet, "in the observatory building, at once. gentlemen, you will conduct mr. smith there and await my arrival." the bogus officer desired time to change his uniform, as he knew it would be risky to cross the parade in his borrowed clothing. now the observatory building is situated far away from the rest of the academy, upon the hillside near fort putnam. and thither the party set out, the cadets freely discussing the probable fate of the unhappy plebe. it was the almost unanimous verdict that one who was so unutterably stupid as never to have heard of the great joseph smith would not stand the ghost of a show. all of which was comforting to the listening victim. the observatory was deserted and lonely. the door was locked, and the party gained entrance by the windows, which alone was enough to excite one's suspicion. but indian was too scared to think. the lord high chief quartermaster presently slipped in, once more bedecked with medals and mustache. the examining party got to work at once in a very businesslike and solemn manner. the physical examination was to come first, they said. it had been the opinion of the army board that mr. smith was far too fat to make a presentable cadet. the surgeons were busy that afternoon in trying to piece together several plebes who had been knocked all to pieces by the yearlings for being too "b. j."--this was the explanation of the lord high chief quartermaster--and so it would be necessary to examine indian here, and at once, too. and if it were found, as, indeed, would most probably be the case, that he was too fat, why then it would be necessary for him to reduce weight immediately. several schemes were suggested as to how this might be done. there was the shylock, the shakespearian method, of a pound of flesh from near the heart. cadet corporal so-and-so suggested that several veal cutlets from the legs--each an inch thick--would serve. a veal cutlet an inch thick he estimated--his great grandfather on his mother's other side had been a butcher, he stated--would weigh three pounds. then acting cadet sergeant somebody-else suggested a turkish bath, the jockey's method, together with very violent exercise. this plan was adopted finally as being the least likely to be fatal in its results. but just then somebody suddenly thought of the fact that it would be best to weigh the subject first, which was considered a good idea, but for the fact that they had no scales. this trouble "feazed" the crowd at first. then the lord high chief quartermaster said that he was a first-rate judge of weight, having slaughtered hogs in his youth, and could tell by the feel. so mr. joseph smith must be immediately "boosted" up and balanced upon the cadet's outstretched hand, there to be shaken and otherwise tested, while the man below made audible calculations by means of trigonometrical formulas as to what was his actual weight. the result of this experiment, as might have been expected, was by no means very definite. the lord high chief, etc., thought the weight was too much, but he couldn't be sure. and then cadet "admiral" jones proposed another scheme. he had been a juggler "when he was young;" he was used to tossing heavy weights; in fact, he just happened to know that he could throw three hundred pounds exactly twelve feet, the height of the ceiling. it was obvious, therefore, that if indian weighed over that he would not reach the ceiling; but if he should go through the ceiling that would mean just as clearly that he was under the limit and need not "reduce." in vain did the frightened boy protest that he weighed only one hundred and fifty; the test must be made, and made it was. indian's terrified form did not once get near the ceiling, and so reduce he must. the cadets formed a circle about the room. "now," said the commanding official, "now you must manage to reduce weight quickly this way, or we shall try the veal cutlet scheme. so you'll find it best to hurry. we want you to run around the outside of this circle. we'll give you just ten and one-quarter minutes by my watch (which runs very fast, by the way) to get around fifty times. and in the course of that you must manage to perspire fifteen pounds of weight (enough to make you go through the ceiling). this is equal to half a gallon of water. now then! take off your coat, sir. ready! set!! go!!! why don't you start, sir? there now! hurry up! one second--two seconds--three--four--fi'--six--sev'n--eight--nine--ten--'leven! faster! faster!! hurry up! one minute! you haven't lost a pound yet! what! out of breath already? faster! that's right! keep it up now!" the scene at this stage of the "examination" is left to the imagination; indian, wild-eyed, panting and red, plunging wildly around in a dizzy circle of a dozen laughing cadets. and in the center the lord high with his watch slowly telling off the minutes. "two minutes there, two minutes! come now, hurry up! don't begin to lag there! why don't you stop that panting? there goes the first drop of perspiration. hooray, there's another! it'll soon be a gallon now. two and a quarter!" poor joseph kept it up to five, by which time he was so dizzy that he could not stand up; which was the best reason in the world why he sank down utterly breathless in the corner. and there he lay gasping, the cadets in vain trying to get him to rise. "i think," said the presiding officer, nearly convulsed with laughter--"i think that is reduction enough for the present, and i say we proceed to the 'mental.'" a conference was held over in one corner of the room, as to what the questions should be; and then in an evil hour (for them) an idea struck one of the cadets. "see here, fellows," said he. "i think he's been examined enough. let's get somebody else. let's get---who's that learned chap?" "stanard?" "oh, yes, stanard! the parson! let's get him." the idea took with a rush. it would be so much more fun to fool the learned parson! and in a minute or two half the party, including the lord high chief quartermaster, was on its way back to barracks to hunt up the new victim, while the rest stayed to resuscitate indian and to write out a list of questions for the "mental examination." chapter vii. the examination of the parson. the "examining board" had the good luck to come upon the parson in a secluded spot near the observatory. the parson had left the library for a walk, his beloved dana under his arm and the cyathophylloid coral in one of his pockets. the "committee" made a rush at him. "mr. stanard?" inquired the lord high, etc. mr. stanard bowed in his grave, serious way, his knees stiff, and his head bobbing in unison with his flying coat tails. "mr. stanard, i have been sent by the army board to read the inclosed notice to you. ahem!" mr. stanard peered at the speaker. his mustache fooled the parson, and the parson bowed meekly. once more the cadet took out the official envelope and with a preliminary flourish and several "ahems!" began to read: "united states military academy, west point, june 20th. cadet peter stanard, of boston, massachusetts, it has just been ascertained, was admitted to the duties of conditional cadet through an error of the examining board. a re-examination of cadet stanard is hereby ordered to be conducted immediately under the charge of the--ahem!--superintendent of ordnance, in the observatory building. by order of the academy board. ahem!" now, if cadet peter stanard had been a cadet just a little longer he would never have been taken in by that device, for cadet peter stanard was no fool. but as it was, he did not see that the order was absurd. he went. again the procession started with the same comments as before; this time, however, the door was not locked, and the party entered, sought out another room where stood several solemn cadets at attention, respectfully saluting the superintendent of ordnance, ex-lord high. "cadet stanard," said the latter, "take a chair. here is pencil and paper. what is that book there. geology? well, give it to me until afterward. now, mr. stanard, here are ten questions which the board expects you to answer. these are general questions--that is, they are upon no particular subject. the board desires to test your general stock of information, the--ahem!--breadth, so to speak, of your intellectual horizon. now you will be allowed an hour to answer them. and since i have other duties in the meantime, i shall leave you, trusting to your own honor to use no unfair means. mr. stanard, good-day." mr. stanard rose, bobbed his head and coat tails and sat down. the superintendent marched out, the cadets after him. the victim heard a key turn in the door; the parson glanced at the first question on the paper-"i. when are cyathophylloid corals to be found in fossiliferous sandstone of tertiary origin?" "by the bones of a megatherium!" cried the parson, "the very thing i was looking for myself and couldn't find." and forthwith he seized his pencil, and, without reading further, wrote a ten minutes' discourse upon his own researches in that same line. "that's the best i can do," said he, wiping his brow. "now for the next." "ii. name any undiscovered island in the pacific ocean." the parson knitted his brows in perplexity and reread the question. "undiscovered," he muttered. "undiscovered! surely that word is undiscovered. u-m-yes! but if an island is undiscovered how can it have any name? that must be a mistake." in perplexity, the parson went on to the next one. "iii. if a dog jumps three feet at a jump, how many jumps will it take him to get across a wall twelve feet wide?" "iv. in what year did george washington stop beating his mother?" a faint light had begun to dawn upon stanard's mind; his face began to redden with indignation. "v. what is strategy in warfare? give an example. if you were out of ammunition and didn't want the enemy to know it, would it be strategy to go right on firing?" "vi. if three cannibals eat one missionary, how many missionaries will it take to eat the three cannibals?" "vii. if a plebe's swelled head shrinks at the rate of three inches a day, how many months will it be before it fits his brains?" and stanard seized the paper, tore it across the middle and flung it to the floor in disgust. then he made for the door. "there's going to be a fight!" he muttered. "i swear it by the seven hills of rome!" the parson's blood was boiling with righteous indignation; he had "licked" those same cadets before, or some of them, and he meant to do it again right now. but when he reached the door he halted for a moment to listen to a voice he heard outside. "i tell you i cannot do it! bless my soul!"--the parson recognized the sound. "i tell you i have lost enough weight already. i can't run again. now, i'll go home first. bless my soul!" "oho!" said the parson. "so they got poor indian in this thing, too. um--this is something to think over." with his usual meditative manner he turned and took his seat again, carefully pulling up his trousers and moving his coat tails as he did so. clearing his throat, he began to discuss the case with himself. "it is obvious, very obvious, that my condition will in no way be ameliorated by creating a suspicion in trying to make a forceful exit through that locked door. "it would be a more efficacious method, i think, in some way to manage to summon aid. perhaps it would be well to endeavor to leave in secret." and with this thought in mind he went to the window. "it would appear," he said, gravely, as he took in the situation, "that the 'high-thundering, olympian zeus' smiles propitiously upon my plan." and with this classic remark he stuck one long shank out of the window, followed it with another just as long, and stood upon the cornice over the door of the building, which chanced to be in reach. from there he half slid, half tumbled to the ground, arose, arranged his necktie carefully, gazed about him solemnly to hear if any one had seen him, and finally set out at a brisk pace for barracks, taking great, long strides, swinging his great, long arms, and talking sagely to himself in the meanwhile. "when the other two members of our--ahem!--alliance are made aware of the extraordinary condition of affairs," he muttered, "i think that i am justified in my hypothesis when i say there will be some excitement." there was. chapter viii. the rescue party. mark and texas were seated on the steps of barracks when the parson came through the sally port. the two were listening to the music of the band at the saturday afternoon hop in the academy building, and also watching several cadets paying penalties by marching sedately back and forth in the area. stanard strolled in slowly with no signs of excitement. he came up and sat down beside the two in his usual methodical way. "good-afternoon, gentlemen," said he. "good-afternoon. i have something to deliberate upon with you if it is perfectly agreeable." it was agreeable, and so the parson told his story, embellishing it with many flourishes, classical allusions and geological metaphors. and when he finished texas sprang up in excitement. "wow!" he cried. "let's go up thar an' clean out the hull crowd." "it is best to deliberate, to think over our plan of attack," returned the parson, calmly, and with a mild rebuke in his tone, which reminded texas of his promise never to get excited again, made him sit down sheepishly. "i think," put in mark, "that we ought to think up some scheme to scare 'em off, or get away with indian, or something. it's a harmless joke, you know, so what's the use of fighting over it?" "oh," growled texas, in disgust. "if we could only manage to turn the tables on them," continued mark. "shut up a while, and let's think a few minutes." and then there was silence, deep and impressive, while everybody got his "ratiocinating apparatus," as the parson called it, to work. mark was the first to break it. "look here, parson," said he, "what's the name of all those chemicals of yours that you hid up the chimney for fear the cadet officers 'd make you give 'em up?" the parson rattled off a list of unpronounceable names, at the mention of one of which mark sprang up. "get it! get it! you long-legged boston professor, you!" he shouted. "never mind why! but i've got something in my pocket that'll--gee whiz! hurry up!" the parson did as he was commanded, and in about as much of a hurry as was possible for him. and mark tucked the bottle under his coat and the three set off in haste to the rescue, texas grumbling meanwhile and wanting to know why in thunderation a square stand-up fight wasn't just as good as anything. an indian war party could not have made a more stealthy entrance than did the three. they climbed in one of the windows on the lower floor, the basement, and then listened for any sound that might tell them what was going on above. they heard voices conversing in low tones, but no signs of hazing; the reason of that fact being that indian was just then locked in another room hard at work on his "mental examination," the same one that had been given to stanard. and poor indian was striving his best to think of the name of any undiscovered island which he had ever heard of. mark took the big bottle from under his coat, set it on the floor and took out the cork. from his pocket he took a paper containing a thick black powder. this he poured carefully into the bottle, put in the cork, and then turned and made a dash for the window. outside, the three made for the woods nearby and hid to watch. "just wait till enough of that dissolves," said mark. "just wait." meanwhile, upstairs, the hilarious cadets were chuckling merrily over the predicament of their two victims. the lord high, etc., and superintendent had carefully timed the hour that the parson was to have for his answers; the hour was up, and the official had arisen, turned the key, and was in the very act of opening the door when suddenly-bang! a loud report that shook the doors and windows of the building and made the cadets spring up in alarm. they gazed in one another's frightened faces, scarcely knowing what to think. and then up the stairway slowly rolled a dense volume of heavy smoke, that seemed to fill the building in an instant. "fire! fire!" yelled the whole crowd at once, and, forgetting both their victims in the mad excitement, they made a wild dash down the stairs for the door. "fire! fire!" rang out their cries, and a moment later a big bell down at barracks sounded the alarm--"fire! fire!" and over in the woods three conspirators sat and punched one another for joy. chapter ix. heroism of the parson. the cadets of the academy are organized into a fire department for the safety of the post. it is the duty of the cadets upon the sounding of the alarm--three strokes of the bell, or a long roll on the drum, or three shots, as the case may be--to fall into line immediately and proceed to the scene of the fire. one brigade has charge of a hand engine, another forms a bucket line, etc. west point was, of course, thrown into the wildest excitement on the instant that the cry was raised. the cadets poured in from every direction, and in a few moments were on the way at double-quick. army officers, the soldiers of the regular army at the post, infantry and cavalry, all made for the scene. the observatory building was found to be in imminent peril, apparently; there were no flames in sight, but smoke was pouring from every crevice. prompt and quick to act, some heroic young cadet leaped up the steps and burst in the door with an ax, though it was not locked and needed only a turn of the knob to open it. the moment an opening was made a cloud of smoke burst forth that drove the party back before it, and at the same instant a cry of horror swelled up from the fast-arriving crowd. with one accord everybody glanced up to one of the windows on the floor above. there stood a figure, nothing but the head visible in the smoke, a figure of a badly-frightened lad, yelling at the top of his lungs for help! help! help! and the crowd gazed at him in terror. it was indian, apparently in peril of his life! who should save him? who? the thought was in everybody's mind at the moment, and yet every one hesitated before that barrier of blinding smoke. and then--then suddenly a roar of cheers and shouts swelled up as a hero came to the fore. when every one else trembled this hero alone was bold. he had dashed wildly from the woods, a tall, lanky, long-haired figure. he had fought his way through the craven crowd, his coat tails flying and his long elbows working. he had dashed up the steps, his light green socks twinkling with every stride. and now, while the crowd shouted encouragement, he plunged desperately into the thick of the smoke and was lost to view. the crowd waited in breathless suspense--one minute--two--and still the imperiled lad stood at the window and the hero did not appear. could it be that he was lost--overcome by smoke and flame? the throng below hated to think of it and yet--no, there he was! at the doorway again! had he failed to accomplish his noble purpose? had he been driven back from the work of rescue? no! no! he had succeeded; he had gotten what he wanted! as he dashed wildly out again the people saw that he carried under his arm a great, leather-bound volume. "dana's geology" was safe! and a moment or two later somebody put up a ladder and the unfortunate "mormon" climbed down in haste. meanwhile, what of the fire? encouraged by the example of the "hero," the cadets rushed in to the attack. but, strange to say, though they had hand engines and buckets and ladders, they could find no fire to attack. several windows having been smashed, most of the smoke had escaped by this time--there had really been but very little of it, anyway, just enough for excitement. there is a saying that where there is smoke there must be flame, and, acting on this rather dubious statement, the gallant fire brigade hunted high and low, searching in every nook and corner of the building, and even searching the desk drawers to see if perchance the cunning fire had run away and hidden there. and still not a sign of flame. the mystery got more and more interesting; the whole crowd came in--the smoke having all gone by this time--to see if, perchance, a little more diligent search might not aid; and the people kept coming until finally the place was so packed that there was no room for the fire anyway. and so finally every one gave it up in disgust and went home, including the gallant fire brigade. and the three conspirators in the woods went, too, scarcely able to hide their glee. "it's jest one on them ole cadets!" vowed texas. of course, the army board ordered a strict investigation, which was made--and told nothing. all that was found was a few bits of broken glass in one room, and an "examination paper" in another. indian was hauled up, terrified, to explain; he described his hazing, but steadfastly refused names--which was good west point etiquette--he vowed he knew nothing about the fire--which was the truth--also west point etiquette. and since indian was mum, and there was no one else to investigate, the investigation stopped, and the affair remained a west point mystery--a mystery to all but three. chapter x. more troubles. "no, sir! i wouldn't think of it, not for a moment. the fellow's a coward, and he don't deserve the chance." and cadet corporal jasper brought his fist down on the table with a bang. "no, sir," he repeated. "i wouldn't think of it!" "but he wants to fight!" exclaimed the other. "well, he had a chance once; why didn't he fight then? that's what i want to know, and that's what he won't tell us. and as far as i'm concerned mallory shall lie in the bed he's made. i wouldn't honor him with another chance." it was an afternoon late in june, and the two speakers were discussing some ice cream at "the dutchwoman's" and waiting for the call to quarters before dress parade. "if that fellow," continued corporal jasper, "had any reason on earth for getting up at midnight, dodging sentry and running out of barracks, to stay till reveille, except to avoid fighting you that morning, now, by jingo! i want to know what it is! the class sent me to ask him, and he simply said he wouldn't tell, that's all. his bluff about wanting another chance won't work." "well, if we don't," protested williams, the other man, a tall, finely-built fellow, "if we don't, he'll go right on getting fresh, won't he?" "no, sir, he won't! we'll find a way to stop him. in the first place, he's been sent to coventry. not a man in the academy'll speak to him; he may not mind that for a while, but i think he won't brave it out very long. just you watch and see." "the only trouble with that," said williams, "is that he's not cut by all the fellows. i've seen three of the plebes with him." "what!" cried the other, in amazement. "who?" "well, there's that fellow he seconded in the fight----" "texas, you mean?" "yes, texas. then that long-legged scarecrow stanard was out walking with him this very day. and i saw that goose they call the indian talking to him at dinner, and before the whole plebe class, too." "well, now, by jingo! they'll find it costs something to defy the corps!" exclaimed jasper. "it's a pretty state of affairs, indeed, if three or four beasts can come up here and run this place as they please. they'll find when an order's given here they'll obey, or else they can chase themselves home in a hurry. that fellow mallory must be a fool! there's never been a plebe at this academy's dared to do half what he's done." "that's why i think it would be best to lick him. i'm not sure i can do it, you know, but i think it would be best to try." "that fellow started out to be b. j. at the very start," growled the excitable corporal, after a moment's thought. "right at the very start! 'baby' edwards was telling me the other day how way last year this fellow met with an accident--fell off the express or something--and while he was staying down at the falls baby and a couple of other fellows thought he was a candidate, and started in to haze him. he was sassy as you please then. and after that he went out west, where he lives, and did some extraordinary thing--saved an express, i believe, and sent in an account to a paper for a lot of money. of course that got him dead stuck on himself, and then he goes and wins a cadetship here and thinks he can run the earth. he was so deucedly b. j. he had to go and lock edwards and bull harris in an icehouse down near the falls!" "you see what's happened now," he continued, after a moment's pause. "your challenge brought him up with a round turn, and he saw his bluff was stopped. he was afraid to fight, and so he hid, that's all. but, by jingo, he'll pay for it if i've got anything to say in the matter!" and the little corporal made the dishes on the table rattle. corporal jasper and cadet williams had finished their council and their ice cream by this time, and arose to go just as the roll of drum was heard from "camp mcpherson." the two strolled off in the direction of the summons, jasper just as positive and vehement as ever. "you shan't fight him," he declared. "and if sending him to coventry doesn't do any good, we'll find some other way, that's all! and we'll keep at him till he learns how to behave himself if it takes the whole summer to do it." this was the young cadet officer's parting vow, as he turned and entered his tent. chapter xi. disadvantages of "coventry." "sir, the parade is formed!" thus spoke the cadet adjutant as he approached the lieutenant in command, and a moment later, at the word, the battalion swung around and marched across the campus. it was the evening dress parade of perhaps the best drilled body of troops in the country, and west point was out in holiday attire to see it. seated on the benches beneath the trees on the western edge of the parade ground was a crowd of spectators--visitors at the post and nearly the whole plebe class besides. for this was saturday afternoon holiday, and the "beasts" had turned out in a body to witness the performance of what they were all hoping some day to be. it was a "mighty fine" performance, and one that made those same beasts open their eyes with amazement. spotless and glittering in their uniforms were the cadets, and they went through all manner of difficult evolutions in perfect unison, marching with lines as straight and even as the eye could wish. it is a pretty sight, a mass of gray in a setting of deep green--the trees that encircle the spot, and it made the poor homesick "beasts" take a little interest in life once more. among these "beasts" were mark and texas. they sat under the trees a little apart from the crowd and watched the scene with interest. mark had seen dress parades before; texas had not, and he stared with open eyes and mouth, giving vent to an exclamation of amazement and delight at intervals. "look a' yere, mark," he cried, "d'you think we'll ever be able do that a' way. honest, now? i think i'll stay!" "even after you get through fightin?" laughed mark. "i don't think i want to fight any more," growled texas, looking glum. "since you an' me fit, somehow fightin' ain't so much fun." "what's the fun o' fightin' ef you git licked?" he added, after a moment's thought. "i never tried it," said the other, laughing. "but i suppose you'll be real meek now and let them haze you." "yaas!" drawled texas, grinning. "yes, i will! them ole cadets git after me, now, by jingo, i'll go out there an' yank some of 'em out that parade an' lick them all t'once. but say! look at that chap on a horse." "that chap's the commandant," said mark, "and he's going to review the parade for a change." "i wish i was in it," exclaimed texas, "an' i wish i knew all that rigamarole they're doin' now"--that "rigamarole" being the manual-at-arms. "i jest believe if i had somebody to teach me 'cept that 'ere yellin' tomcat of a cadet spencer i'd learn in a jiffy, dog on his boots!" "there he is now," said mark, "in the second line there. and there on the outside with his chevrons is corporal jasper, 'the committee.' they look very different when they're in line." "nothin' 'd make that red-headed, freckle-faced coyote of a drill-master look different," growled texas. "i jes' wish he was bigger'n me so's i could git up a scrap with him. jest think o' that little martinet a yellin' at me an' tellin' me i didn't have any sense. to-day, for instance, d'you remember, he was tryin' to show indian how to march an' move his legs, an' indian got twisted up into a knot; an' durnation, jist because i laughed, why he rared round an' bucked fo' an hour! what's the harm in laughing, anyhow?" and texas glared so savagely at his tormentor as the line swept by just then that mark concluded there was no harm and laughed. "you're getting to be very stupid company, texas," said he. "you never do anything but growl at the cadets. i wish i had some diversion." and mark turned away in mock disgust and glanced down the archway of trees. "here she comes," he said, after a moment's pause. "that's she walking up the path with a cadet and another girl." texas turned as mark spoke, and looked in the direction of his nod. "so that's mary adams!" he exclaimed. "well! well! that's the girl you dodged barracks for, and risked your commission, and missed the fight, and got called a coward, and sent to coventry, and lots else. i swear!" "that's the one," said mark, smiling. "she's stunning pretty," added texas, as the trio drew near. "gee-whiz! i don't blame you." "i liked her right well myself," admitted the other. "that is after i saw her with that brother of hers. she certainly is a good sister to him. but the cadets say she's something of a flirt, and wicks merritt advised me to leave her alone, so i guess i shall." "sunday school teacher!" said texas, laughing. "we'll have to call you parson, instead of stanard. but i guess you're right. that's not a very beautiful looking cadet she's with." the three were passing then, and mark arose. "i guess i'll have to go speak to her," said he. "she's beckoning to me. wait a moment." texas watched his friend approach the group; he could not hear what was said, however, and so he turned away to watch the parade. by doing it he missed an interesting scene. mary adams welcomed mark with a look of gratitude and admiration that mark could not fail to notice. she had not forgotten the magnitude of the service he had done for her. and then she turned to her two companions. "miss webb," she said, "let me present mr. mallory." the other girl bowed, and mary adams turned to the cadet. "mr. murray, mr. mallory," said she. and then came the thunderclap. mark put out his hand; the cadet quietly put his behind his back. "the cadets of this academy, miss adams," said he, "do not speak to mr. mallory. mr. mallory is a coward!" it was a trying moment; mark felt the blood surge to his head, his fingers twitched and his lip quivered. he longed to spring at the fellow's throat and fling him to the ground. it was a natural impulse. texas would have done it. but mark controlled himself by the effort of his life. he clinched his hands behind him and bit his tongue, and when he spoke he was calm and emotionless. "miss adams," he said, "mr. murray and i will settle that later." the two girls stared in amazement, "mr. murray" gazed into space, and mark turned without another word and strode over to where his friend was sitting. "texas!" he muttered, gripping him by the shoulder. "texas, there's going to be a fight." "hey!" cried texas, springing to his feet. "what's that? whoop!" chapter xii. the embassy of the parson. "what's happened?" cried texas, as soon as he'd managed to get calm enough to talk coherently. "what's happened?" "sit down," said mark, laughing in spite of himself. "sit down and stop your dancing. everybody in the place is staring at you." texas sat, and then mark described to him just what had happened. as might have been expected, he was up in arms in a moment. "where is that feller? now, look a 'yere, mark, leggo me. thar he goes! say, if i don't git him by the neck an'----" the excitable youth was quieted after some ten minutes' work or so, and immediate danger was over. "and now," said mark, "where's the parson?" "over in library," responded the other, "a fossilizin'. what do you want with him?" "you be good," said mark, "and i'll let you see. come on." they found the parson as texas had said, and they managed to separate him from the books and drag him over to barracks. then mark, who by this time had recovered his usual easy good-nature, told of "mr. murray's" insult again. "now, i haven't the least objection," he continued, "of being sent to coventry. in fact, so long as it means the cadets' leaving me alone, i rather like the idea. but i don't propose to stand a thing like that which just happened for a moment. so there's got to be a fight, and if they won't let me, i'll have to make 'em, that's all." "um," said the parson, looking grave. "um." "now, as for that fellow murray," added mark, "i don't propose to fight him." "wow!" shouted texas. "what in thunder do you mean? now if you don't, by jingo! i'll go and do it myself!" "take it easy," said mark, laughing. "you see, williams is the man the class has selected to beat me; he's the best fighter. now, if i beat anybody else it won't do me the least bit of good; they'd still say i'm afraid of williams. so i'm going to try him first. how's that, texas?" "reckon you're right," admitted powers, rather sheepishly. "i 'spose you'll let me go and arrange it, hey?" "i'd as soon think of sending a dynamite bomb," laughed mark. "you'd be in a fight before he'd said three words. that's what i wanted the parson for. i think he'd be grave and scholarly even if they ate him." "thank you," said the parson, gravely. "i should try." "wow!" growled texas. and thus it happened that the parson set out for "camp mcpherson," a short while later, his learned head full of prize fighting and the methods and practice of diplomacy. it was rather an unusual thing for a plebe to do--this venturing into "camp;" and the cadets stared at the parson, wondering what an amount of curiosity he must have to go prospecting within the lines of the enemy. the parson, however, did not act as if curiosity had brought him; with a businesslike air and a solemn visage he strode down the company street, and, heedless of the cadets who had gathered at the tent doors to see him, halted in front of one before which he saw "billy" williams standing. "mr. williams?" said the parson. mr. williams had been engaged in vigorously drying his face; he paused, and gazed up out of the towel in surprise, and one of his tent mates, cadet captain fischer, ceased unwinding himself from his long red sash and stared. "my name is stanard," said the parson--"peter stanard." "pleased to meet you," said williams, stretching out a long, brawny arm. there was a twinkle in the yearling's eye as he glanced at the skinny white fingers which stanard put out in return. and, taking in the stranger's lank, scholarly figure, williams seized the hand and squeezed with all his might. he expected to hear a howl, but he was disappointed. the parson drew up his "prehensile muscles," as he called them. the result was that cadet williams turned white, but he said nothing about it, and invited the stranger into his tent. the parson deposited himself gently in one corner and drew up his long legs under him. then he gazed out of the tent and said--"ahem!" "warm day," said williams, by way of a starter. "it is not that the temperature is excessively altitudinous," responded the parson, "but the presence of a larger proportion of humidity retards perspiratory exudation." "er--yes," said williams. "yes, i think that's it." "i have come--ahem!" continued stanard, "as a representative of mr. mallory." the other bowed. "mr. mallory desires to know--if you will pardon my abruptness in proceeding immediately to the matter in hand--to know if it is not possible for you to fulfill a certain--er--engagement which you had with him." "i see," said williams, thoughtfully, and he tapped the floor with his foot for a minute or so. "mr. mallory, of course, understands," he continued at last, "that i have no grudge against him at all." "certainly," said the parson. "in fact, i rather admire mr. mallory, on the whole, though some of his actions have been, i think, imprudent. in this matter i am simply the deputy of the class." "exactly," said the parson, bowing profusely. "therefore, i fight when the class says so, and when they say no, what reason have i for fighting? now, the class thinks that mr. mallory has had chance enough, and----" "but they don't know the circumstances!" protested stanard, with more suddenness than was usual with him. "they do not," responded the other. "but they'd like to." "i do not know them myself," said the parson. "but i have faith enough in mr. mallory to take his word that it was unavoidable." "you must have a good deal," added williams, his handsome face looking grave, "a good deal to risk being sent to coventry." "i am willing. examples of yet higher devotion to a _fides amicus_, so to speak, are by no means extraordinary. take the popular instance of damon and pythias, or, if you look for one yet more conspicuous, i would mention prylocates and tyndarus, in the well-known play of 'the captive,' by plautus, with which you are doubtless familiar." and the parson closed his learned discourse with his favorite occupation of wiping his brow. "the risk is your own," responded the yearling, calmly. "you must not mind if the class resents your view of the case." there was a few moments' silence after that, during which the parson racked his head to think what to say next. "you refuse, then, to fight mr. mallory?" he inquired at last. "absolutely!" responded the other. "absolutely, until the class so directs." then the parson drew a long breath, and prepared for the culminating stroke. "what i say next, mr. williams," said he, "you will understand is said with all possible politeness and good feeling, but it must be said. mr. mallory has been insulted by some cadets as a coward. he must free himself from the suspicion. mr. williams, if a plebe should strike an older cadet, would that make a fight necessary?" "most certainly," said williams, flushing. "well, now, suppose he simply threatened to do so," continued stanard. "would that be cause enough?" "it might." "well, then, mr. williams, mr. mallory desires me with all politeness to beg permission to threaten to strike you." "i see," said the other, smiling at the solemn air with which the lank stranger made this extraordinary request. "i see. i have no objection to his so doing." "thank you," said stanard. "a fight is now necessary, i believe?" "er--yes," said williams. "i believe it is." the fact of the matter was that he saw that mark was in a position to force a fight if he chose, and the yearling was by no means reluctant, anyhow. "i thank you for your courtesy," he continued, bowing stanard out of the tent. "tell mr. mallory that i shall send my second to see him this evening. good-day." and stanard bowed and strode away with joy in his very stride. "we have met the enemy," was his report to mark. "we have met the enemy, and there's going to be a fight!" chapter xiii. preparations for the battle. it does not take long for news of so exciting a matter as a really important fight to spread among the corps. no sooner did the parson leave camp than cadets began to stroll in to find out why he had come, and, learning, they hurried off to discuss the news with their own tentmates. so it happened that by the time the cadets marched down to mess hall to supper every man in the battalion knew that mark mallory, the b. j. beast, had succeeded in getting another chance at "billy" williams. the plebes knew of it, too. when their rather ragged and scattered company fell in behind the corps at barracks, they were all talking about it, at least when the file closers weren't near. at supper nobody talked of anything else, and everybody in the room was eying mark and his stalwart opponent and speculating as to what the chances would be. "billy'll do him!" vowed the yearlings. "there's nobody in the class that stands more chance." and the plebes feared it would be that way, too, and yet there were a few at the tables discussing the matter in whispers, venturesome enough to say that perhaps maybe their classmate might win and to wonder what on earth would happen to him if he did. "it'll mean a revelation if he does!" they cried. "perhaps it'll even stop hazing." the mood of the irate little corporal, who had vowed not an hour before that mallory should not have another chance, may well be imagined. "i tell you, 'tis a shame!" he vowed to williams. "a shame! i don't see why in thunder you didn't hold out." "it's not my fault, jasper," responded the other, smiling good naturedly. "if you'll think a while, you'll see he was in a position to force a fight at any time he chose. if i refused to 'allow him to threaten to hit me,' as he put it, he could have threatened anyway, and then if that didn't do any good, he'd have actually to hit me, and there you would have been. it's a great deal better this way." "yes!" growled jasper. "that sounds all very well. but look where it puts me, by george! you'll have to get somebody else to arrange it. i won't. i went as a committee and told him he'd not get another chance, and i tell you now i'll not go take it back for anybody, and with that b. j. plebe especially." "perhaps he won't be so very b. j. after the fight," responded the other, smiling. "i don't know, of course, but i shall do my best." "if you don't," said the other, looking serious, "by jingo! we'll be in a thundering fix. there's nobody in the class can beat you, and that plebe'll have a walkover." this last sentiment of jasper's was the sentiment of the whole yearling class, and the class was in a state of uncertainty in consequence. texas was known to have whipped four cadets in one morning, and all of them good men, too; then there was a rumor out that mark and texas had had a quarrel and that the latter had gone to the hospital some five minutes later. the two facts put together were enough to make the most confident do some thinking. it is difficult for one who has never been to west point to appreciate what this state of affairs meant--because it is hard for him to appreciate the relation which exists between the plebe and the rest of the corps. from the moment of the former's arrival as an alarmed and trembling candidate, it is the especial business of every cadet to teach him that he is the most utterly, entirely and absolutely insignificant individual upon the face of the universe. he is shouted at and ordered, bullied, badgered, tormented, pulled and hauled, drilled and laughed at until he is reduced to the state of mind of a rabbit. if he is "b. j." about it, he is bullied the more; if he shows fight, he has all he wants, and is made meeker still. the result of it all is that he learns to do just as anybody else commands him, and never dares to sneeze unless he's asked you if he might. all of which is fun for the yearling. now, here was mark mallory--to say nothing of texas--who had come up to the point with an absurd notion of his own dignity, who had outwitted the yearlings at every turn, been sent to coventry--and didn't care a hang, and now was on the point of trying to "lick" the finest all-around athlete in the whole third class. it was enough to make the corps tremble--the yearlings, at any rate. the first class usually feels too dignified to meddle with such things. billy williams' ambassador put in an appearance on the following sunday morning, and, to mark's disgust, he proved to be none other than his old enemy, bull harris--sent, by the way, not because williams so chose, but because bull himself had asked to be sent. "mr. williams," said he, "says he'll give you another chance to run away." mark bowed politely, determined that harris should get as little chance for insult as possible. "he'll fight you to-morrow--fort clinton, at four, and if you don't come, by thunder! he'll find out why." mark's face grew white, but he only bowed again, and swallowed it. and just then came an unexpected interruption. "mr. mallory, as the challenged party, has the right to name the time." the voice was loud and clear, and seemed to have authority; harris turned and confronted cadet first captain fischer, in all his glory of chevrons and sword. now, the first captain is lord of west point--and harris didn't dare to say a word, though he was boiling within. "and, moreover," continued the imposing young officer, angrily, "you should remember that you came, mr. harris, as a gentleman and not as a combatant. mr. mallory, what is your wish?" "the time suits me," said mark, quietly. "good-day, mr. harris." and harris left in a very unpleasant mood indeed; he had meant to have no end of amusement at the expense of mark's feelings. "you've a hard row to hoe," said the cadet officer to mark, "and a hard man to beat. and you were foolish to get into it, but, all the same, i'll see that you have fair play." "and that," exclaimed texas to mark, as he watched the tall, erect figure of the cadet vanish through the sally port. "that is the first decent word i've heard from a cadet since i've been here. bully for fischer!" "it's probable," said mark, "that he knows harris as well as we. and now, old fellow," he added, "we've got nothing to do but pass time, and wait--and wait for to-morrow morning!" mark slept soundly that night in spite of the excitement. it was texas who was restless, for texas had promised to act as alarm clock, and, realizing that not to be on time again would be a calamity indeed, he was up half a dozen times to gaze out of the window toward the eastern sky, watching for the first signs of morning. while it was yet so dark that he could scarcely see the clock, he routed mark out of bed. "git up thar," he whispered, "git up an' git ready." mark "got," and the two dressed hurriedly and crept down the stairs, past the sentry--the sentry was a cadet, and kindly "looked the other way"--and then went out through the sally port to the parade ground. the plain was shrouded in mist and darkness, and the stars still shone, though there was a faint light in the east. the two stole past the camp--where also the sentries were blind--scaled the ramparts, and stood in the center of "old fort clinton." the spot was deserted and silent, but scarcely had the two been there a moment before a head peered over the wall nearest to the camp. "they're here," whispered a cadet, and sprang over. a dozen others followed him, and in a very few minutes more there were at least thirty of them, excited and eager, waiting for "billy" to put in an appearance. it was not long before billy came, and behind him his faithful chum, jasper, with a bucket of water, and sponges and towels enough for a dozen. about the same time stanard's long shanks appeared over the breastworks, and indian tumbled over a moment later. things were about ready then. "let's lose no time," said jasper, always impatient. "captain fischer will act as referee and timekeeper, if it's agreeable." no one could have suited mark more, and he said so. likewise, he stated, through his second, mr. powers, that he preferred to fight by rounds, which evidently pleased mr. williams. mr. williams was by this time stripped to the waist, his suspenders tied about him. and it was evidently as fischer had said. there was no finer man in his class, and he was trained to perfection. his skin was white and glistening, his shoulders broad and massive, and the muscles on his arms stood out with every motion. his legs were probably as muscular, too, thought mark, for williams held the record for the mile. the yearlings' hearts beat higher as they gazed at their champion's determined face. mark was a little slower in stepping up; when he did so the watching crowd sized him up carefully, and then there was doubt. "oh, gee, but this is going to be a fight!" was the verdict of every one of them. "marquis of queensberry rules," said fischer, in a low tone. "both know them?" mark nodded. "shake hands!" mark put out his, by way of answer, and williams gripped it right heartily. "ready?" and then the simple word "go." let us gaze about a moment at the scene. the ring is surrounded by earthworks, now grass-grown and trodden down, unkept since the revolutionary days, when west point was a gibraltar. old cannon, caissons and wagon wheels are scattered about inside, together with ramparts and wire chevaux-de-friezes which the cadets are practiced in constructing. in the southwest corner is a small, clear, smooth-trodden space, where the two brawny, white-skinned warriors stand. the cadets are forming a ring about them, for every one is too excited to sit down and keep quiet. the "outlooks," posted for safety, are neglecting their duty recklessly for the same reason, and looking in altogether. every eye is on the two. over in mark's corner sits texas, gripping his hands in excitement, wriggling nervously and muttering to himself. stanard is beside him with "dana's geology" as a cushion. the parson is a picture of calm and scholarly dignity, in direct contrast with our friend texas, who is on the verge of one of his wild "fits." "indian" is the fourth and only other plebe present, and indian is horrified, as usual, and mutters "bless my soul" at intervals. on the opposite side of the circle of cadets are jasper and another second, both breathlessly watching every move. nearby stands cadet captain fischer, calm and cool, critically watching the play. chapter xiv. the affair at the fort. the two began cautiously, like a pair of skillful generals sending out a skirmish line to test the enemy's strength and resource. this was no such battle as texas', a wild rush, a few mighty blows, and then victory. williams was wary as a cat, sparring lightly, and taking no risks, and the other saw the plan and its wisdom. "playing easy," muttered the referee, noting the half minute on his watch. "know their business, it seems." "wow!" growled texas. "what's the good o' this yere baby business? say, parson, ain't they never goin' to hit? whoop!" this last exclamation was caused by the real beginning of the battle. williams saw an unguarded face, and quick as thought his heavy arm shot out; the crowd gasped, and mark saw it. a sudden motion of his head to one side was enough to send the blow past him harmlessly, and a moment later the yearling's forward plunge was checked by an echoing crack upon his ribs. then for the rest of the round the excited cadets were treated to an exhibition of sparring such as they had never seen in their lives. feinting, dodging and parrying, the springing pair seemed everywhere at once, and their fists in a thousand places. the crowd was thrilled; even the imperturbable fischer was moved to exclamation, and texas in half a minute had seen more skill than his whole experience had shown him in his life. "look a thar! look a thar! he's got him--no--gad! whoop!" texas did as much dancing as the fighters themselves, and more talking than the whole crowd. captain fischer had to stop watching him long enough to tell him that the camp, with its sleeping "tacs," was only a few yards away. and then, as powers subsided, the cadet glanced at his watch, called "time!" and the two fighters went to their corners, panting. "what did ye stop for?" inquired texas, while the parson set diligently to work at bathing several red spots on his friend's body. "what kind o' fightin' is this yere? ain't give up, have you? say, mark, now go in nex' time an' do him. what's the use o' layin' off?" "a very superior exhibition of--lend me that court-plaster, please--pugilistic ability," commented the parson, bustling about like an old hen. and then a moment later the referee gave the word and they were at it again. this round there was no delay; both went at it savagely, though warily and skillfully as ever. blow after blow was planted that seemed fairly to shake the air, driven by all the power that human muscle could give. "won't last long at this rate," said the referee, sagely shaking his head. "give 'em another round--gee!" fischer's "gee" was echoed by the yearlings with what would have, but for the nearness of the camp, been a yell of triumph and joy. williams had seen a chance, and had been a second too quick for mark; he had landed a crushing blow upon the latter's head, one which made him stagger. quick to see his chance, the yearling had sprung in, driving his half-dazed opponent backward, landing blow after blow. texas gasped in horror. the yearlings danced--and then---"time!" said the imperturbable fischer. texas sprang forward and led his bewildered friend to a seat; texas was about ready to cry. "old man!" he muttered, "don't let him beat you. oh! it'll be the death of me. i'll go jump into the river!" "steady! steady!" said the parson; "we'll be all right in a moment." mark said nothing, but as his reeling brain cleared he gritted his teeth. "time," said the referee. and williams sprang forward to finish the work, encouraged by the enthusiastic approval of his half-wild classmates. he aimed another blow with all his might; mark dodged; the other tried again, and again the plebe leaped to one side; this repeated again and again was the story of the next minute, and the yearlings clinched their hands in disappointment and rage. "he's flunking!" cried one of them--bull harris--"he's afraid!" "he's fighting just as he ought," retorted captain fischer, "and doing it prettily, too. good!" and then once more the crowd settled into an anxious silence to watch. the story of that minute was the story of ten. mark had seen that in brute force his adversary was his equal, and that skill, coolness and endurance were to win. he made up his mind on his course, and pursued it, regardless of the jeers of the yearlings and their advice to billy to "go in and finish him off." billy went, but he could not reach mark, and occasionally his ardor would be checked by an unexpected blow which made his classmates groan. "it's a test of endurance now," observed fischer, "and billy ought to win. but the plebe holds well--bully shot, by jove! mallory's evidently kept in training. time!" that was for the seventh round. "he's getting madder now," whispered mark to stanard, as he sat down to rest. "he wants to finish. if those fellows keep at him much more he'll sail in for a finish--and then, well, i'm pretty fresh yet." goaded on by his impatient classmates, williams did "sail in," the very next round. mark led him a dance, from corner to corner, dodging, ducking and twisting, the yearling, thinking the victory his, pressing closer and closer and aiming blow after blow. "watch out, billy, watch out," muttered the vigilant fischer to himself, as he caught the gleam in mark's eye. just then williams paused, actually exhausted; mark saw his chest heaving, and, a still surer sign, his lip trembling. "now, then!" whispered the parson at his back, and mark sprang forward. the yearling dodged, mark followed rapidly. there was a moment of vicious striking, and then the cadets gasped to see williams give way. it was only an inch, but it told the story--williams was tired. fischer gazed at his watch and saw that there was yet half a minute, and at the same moment he heard a resounding thump. mark had planted a heavy blow upon his opponent's chest, he followed almost instantly with another, and the yearlings groaned. williams rallied, and made a desperate fight for his life, but at the close of that round he was what a professional reporter would have termed "groggy." he came up weakly at the call. "don't be afraid of hitting him," the parson had said, afraid that mark's kind-heartedness would incline him to mercy. "there's too much at stake. win, and win in a hurry"--the parson forgot to be classical when he was excited. obedient to command, mark set out, though it was evident to him that he had the fight. while texas muttered and pranced about for joy, mark dealt his opponent another blow which made him stagger; he caught himself upon one knee, and mark stepped back and waited for him to rise. and then suddenly a pair of strong arms were flung about the plebe's waist and he felt himself shoved hurriedly along; at the same moment a voice shouted in his ear: "run, plebe, run for your life!" mark glanced about him in dimly-conscious amazement. he saw that the ring had melted into a number of cadets, skurrying away in every direction at the top of their speed. he heard the words, "a tac! a tac!" and knew the fight had been discovered by an army officer. a figure dashed up behind mark and caught him by the arm. it was fischer. "run for your life! get in barracks!" he cried. and with that he vanished, and mark, obeying, rushed across the cavalry plain and was soon lying breathless and exhausted in his room, where the wildly-jubilant texas joined him a moment later, just as reveille was sounded. "victory! victory!" he shouted. "wow!" and by breakfast time that morning every cadet in the corps was discussing the fight. and mark was the hero of the whole plebe class. chapter xv. two plebes in hospital. "say, tell me, did you do him?" the speaker was a lad with brown, curly hair and a laughing, merry face, at present, however, half covered with a swathing of bandages. he was standing on the steps of the hospital building at west point, and regarding with anxiety another lad of about the same age, but taller and more sturdily built. "i don't know that i did him," responded mark--for the one addressed was he--"i don't know that i can say i did him, but i believe i would have if the fight hadn't been interrupted." "bully, b'gee!" cried the other, excitedly slapping his knee and wincing with pain afterward. "gimme your hand! i'm proud of you, b'gee! my name's alan dewey, at your service." mark took the proffered hand, smiling at the stranger's joy. "my success seems to cause you considerable pleasure," he said. "yes, b'gee!" exclaimed dewey, "it does! and to every true and loyal plebe in the academy. you've brought honor to the name of plebe by licking the biggest yearling in the place, b'gee, and that means the end of hazing." "i'm not so sure of that," said mark. "i am," returned the other. "but say, tell me something about the fight. i wanted to come, only i was shut up in hospital. did williams put up a good one?" "splendid," said mark. "he ought to. they say he's champion of his class, and an all-round athlete. but you look as if you could fight some yourself." "he almost had me beaten once," said mark. "i thought i was a goner." "say, but you're a spunky chap!" remarked dewey, eying mark with an admiring expression. "i don't think there's ever been a plebe dared to do half what you've done. the whole class is talking about you." "is that so?" inquired mark, laughing. "i didn't mean to do anything reckless." "what's the difference," laughed the other, "when you can lick 'em all, b'gee? i wish i could do it," he added, rather more solemnly. "then, perhaps, maybe i wouldn't be the physical wreck that i am." "you been fighting, too?" inquired mark, laughing. "betcher life, b'gee!" responded the other, emphatically. "only i wasn't as clever at it as you." "tell me about it," said mark, with interest. "it happened last saturday afternoon, and i've been in hospital ever since, b'gee. some of the cadets caught me taking a walk up somewhere near what they call 'crow's nest.' and so they set out to have some fun. told me to climb a tree, in the first place. i looked at the tree, and, b'gee, there wasn't a limb for thirty feet, and the limbs there were rotten. there was one of 'em, a big, burly fellow with short hair and a scar on his cheek----" "bull harris!" cried mark. "yes," said dewey, "that's what they called him--'bull.'" "did you fight with him?" "betcher life, b'gee! he tried to make me climb that tree, and, b'gee, says i, 'i won't, b'gee!' then i lammed him one in the eye----" "bully!" cried mark, and then he added, "b'gee!" by way of company. "did he beat you?" "betcher life," cried the other. "that is, the six of 'em did." "you don't mean to say the crowd attacked you?" "that's what i said." "well, sir!" exclaimed mark, "the more i hear of that bull harris the bigger coward i find him. it's comforting to know that all the cadets aren't that way." "very comforting!" responded the other, feeling of the bandage on his swollen jaw. "very comforting! reminds me of a story i heard once, b'gee, of a man who got a thousand dollars' comfort from a railroad for having his head cut off." mark laughed for a moment, and then he fell to tapping the step thoughtfully with his heel. he was thinking over a plan. "i don't suppose you've much love for the yearlings," he remarked, at last. "bet cher life not," laughed the other. "i've about as much as a mother-in-law for a professional joke writer, b'gee! reminds me of a story i once heard--but go on; i want to hear what you had to say. tell my story later." "well, three friends of mine have formed a sort of an informal alliance for self-defence----" "bully, b'gee!" cried dewey, excitedly. "and i thought maybe you'd like to----" "join? bet cher life, b'gee! why didn't you say so before? whoop!" and thus it happened that member number five of the west point "alliance" was discovered. "i don't think this famous alliance is going to have much to do at the start," said mark, as soon as master dewey had recovered from his excitement, "for i rather fancy the yearlings will leave us alone for a time." "bet cher life, b'gee!" assented the other. "if they don't look out they won't have time to be sorry." "b'gee!" added mark, smiling. "do i say that much?" inquired the other, with a laugh. "i suppose i must, because the fellows have nicknamed me 'b'gee.' i declare i'm not conscious of saying it. do i?" "bet cher life, b'gee," responded mark, whereupon his new acquaintance broke into one of his merry laughs. "let's go around to barracks," said mark, finally--it was then just after breakfast time. "i expect they'll want me to report for drill. i thought i'd get off for the morning on the strength of my 'contusions,' as they call them. but the old surgeon was too sly for me. he patched me up in a jiffy." "what was the matter with you?" inquired dewey, dropping his smile. "one eye's about half shut, as you see," responded mark, "and then i had quite a little cut on the side of my head where williams hit me once. otherwise i am all right--only just a little rocky." "as the sea captain remarked of the harbor, b'gee," added the other. "but tell me, how's williams?" "pretty well done up, as the laundryman remarked, to borrow your style of illustration," mark responded, laughing. "they had to carry poor williams down here. he's in there now being fixed up. and say, you should have seen how queerly the surgeon looked at us two. he knew right away what was up, of course, but he never said a word--just entered us 'sick--contusions.' is that what you were?" "bet cher life, b'gee!" responded the other. "but he tried to get me to tell what was up. he rather suspected hazing, i think. i didn't say anything, though." "it would have served some of those chaps just right if you had," vowed mark. "you know you could have every one of them expelled." the two had reached the area of barracks by this time, and hurried over to reach their rooms before inspection. "and don't you mention what i've told you about this great alliance to a soul," mark enjoined. "we'd have the whole academy about our ears in a day." dewey assented. "what's the name of it?" he inquired. "haven't got any name for it yet," said mark, "or any leader either, in fact. we're waiting to get a few more members, enough for a little excitement. then we'll organize, elect a leader, swear allegiance, and you can bet there'll be fun--b'gee!" "come up to my room," he added, after a moment's pause, "as soon as you get fixed up for inspection, and i'll introduce you to the other fellows." with which parting word he turned and bounded up the stairs to his own room. chapter xvi. the parson's indignation. mark found his roommate and faithful second, texas, busily occupied in cleaning up for the morning inspection. texas wasn't looking for mark; it had been texas' private opinion that mark had earned a week's holiday by the battle of the morning, and that the surgeon would surely grant it. when mark did turn up, however, texas wasted no time in complaining of the injustice, but got his friend by the hand in a hurry. "ole man," he cried, "i'm proud of you! i ain't had a chance to say how proud i am!" "thanks," said mark, laughing, "but look out for that sore thumb--and for mercy's sakes don't slap me on that shoulder again. i'm more delicate than i look. and say, texas, i've got a new member for our secret society--b'gee!" texas looked interested. "he's a pretty game youngster," mark continued, "for when bull harris and that gang of his tried to haze him, he sailed in and tried to do the crowd." "oh!" cried texas, excitedly. "wow! i wish i'd 'a' been there. say, mark, d'ye know i've been a missin' no end o' fun that a'way. parson had a fight, an' i didn't see it; you had one daown to cranston's, an' i missed that; an' yere's another!" texas looked disgusted and mark burst out laughing. "'tain't any fun," growled the former. "but go on, tell me 'bout this chap. what does he look like?" "he's not as tall as we," replied mark, "but he's very good-looking and jolly. and when he says 'b'gee' and laughs, you can't help laughing with him. hello, there's inspection!" this last remark was prompted by a sharp rap upon the door. the two sprang up and stood at attention. "heels together, eyes to the front, chest out"--they knew the whole formula by this time. and cadet corporal jasper strode in, found fault with a few things and then went on to carry death and devastation into the next place. a few minutes later the parson strolled in. "yea, by zeus," began he, without waiting for the formality of a salutation. "yea, by apollo, the far-darting, this is indeed an outrage worthy of the great achilles to avenge. and i do swear by the bones of my ancestors, by the hounds of diana, forsooth even by jupiter lapis and the gemini, that never while i inspire the atmosphere of existence will i submit myself to so outrageous an imposition----" "wow!" cried texas. "what's up?" "sit down and tell us about it," added mark. "it is written in the most immortal document," continued the parson, without noticing the interruption, "that ever emanated from the mind of man, the declaration of independence (signed, by the way, by an ancestor of my stepmother), that among the inalienable privileges of man, co-ordinate with life and liberty itself, is the pursuit of happiness. and in the name of the seven gates of thebes and the seven hills of the eternal city, i demand to know what happiness a man can have if all his happiness is taken from him!" "b'gee! reminds me of a story i heard about a boy who wanted to see the cow jump over the moon on a night when there wasn't any moon, b'gee." mark and texas looked up in surprise and the parson faced about in obvious displeasure at the interruption. "in the name of all the olympian divinities and the inhabitants of charon and the styx," he cried, angrily, "i demand to know----" "come in," said mark, laughing. "excuse me for interrupting, parson, but this is mr. alan dewey, b'gee, member number five of our band of desperate buccaneers, if you please. mr. dewey, allow me to introduce you to the gentleman who 'reminded' you of that last story, mr. peter stanard, of boston, massachusetts, the cradle of liberty, the nurse of freedom, and the center and metropolis of the geological universe." the parson bowed gravely. "while i am, together with all true bostonians, proud of the reputation which my city has merited, yet i am----" "also to mr. jeremiah powers," continued mark, cutting the parson off in his peroration. "son o' the honorable scrap powers, o' hurricane county, texas," added texas, himself. young dewey shook hands all around, and then sat down on the bed, looking at mark with a puzzled expression on his face, as much as to say, "what on earth have i struck--b'gee?" mark saw his expression and undertook to inform him, making haste to start before the parson could begin again on the relative merits of boston and the rest of the civilized universe. "powers and stanard," said he, "are the members of our organization, together with indian, the fat boy." "i see," said dewey, at the same time thinking what a novel organization it must be. "there's indian now." indian's round, scared face peered in through the open doorway just then. he was introduced to number five, whereupon number five remarked 'very pleased to meet you, b'gee.' and indian echoed 'bless my soul!' and crept into the room and sat down in an inconspicuous corner. there was a moment's pause and then the parson commenced: "if i remember correctly, we were occupied when last interrupted, by--ahem! a rather facetious observation upon the subject of our solitary lunar satellite and quadruped of the genus bos--occupied i say in considering the position which the metropolis of boston has obtained----" "drop boston!" laughed mark. "we weren't on boston anyhow. boston came in afterward--as boston always does, in fact." "which reminds me, b'gee," put in the newcomer, "of a story i once heard of----" "drop the story, too!" exclaimed mark. "i want to know what the parson was so indignant about." "yes, yes!" put in texas. "that's what i say, too. and be quick about it. we've only ten minutes 'fore drill, an' if there's anybody got to be licked, why, we got to hustle." "well," said stanard, drawing a long breath. "well! since it is the obvious and, in fact, natural desire of the company assembled, so expressed by them, that i should immediately proceed to a summary and concise statement of the matter in hand, pausing for no extensive introductions or formal perorations, but endeavoring assiduously to impart to my promulgations a certain clarified conciseness which in matters of this peculiar nature is so eminently advantageous----" the parson was interrupted at this place by a subdued "b'gee!" from dewey, followed by a more emphatic "wow!" and a scarcely audible "bless my soul!" "what's the matter?" he inquired, stopping short and looking puzzled. "nothing," replied mark. "i didn't say anything." "oh!" said the parson. "excuse me. where was i? oh, yes, i was just saying i would be brief. gentlemen--ahem!--when i entered this room i was in a condition of violent anger. as i stated, an outrage had been offered me such as neither parmenides, nor socrates, nor even zeno, stoic of stoics, could have borne. and i have resolved to seek once more, as a prodigal son, the land of my birth, where science is fostered instead of being repressed as in this hotbed of prejudice and ignorance. i----" "what's up?" cried the four. "i am coming to that," said the parson, gravely, stretching out his long shanks, drawing up his trousers, and displaying his sea-green socks. "this same morning--and my friend indian will substantiate my statement, for he was there--a low, ignorant cadet corporal did enter into my room, for inspection, by zeus, and after generally displaying his ill-manners, he turned to me and conveyed the extraordinary information that, according to rules, forsooth, i must be deprived of the dearest object of my affections, solace of my weary hours, my friend in time of need, my companion in sickness, which through all the trials of adversity has stuck to me closer than a brother, my only joy, my----" "what?" cried the four, by this time wrought up to the highest pitch of indignation and excitement. "my one refuge from the cares of life," continued the solemn parson, "the one mitigating circumstance in this life of tribulation, the only----" "what? what? what?" "what? of all things what, but this? what but my life, my pride, my hope--my beloved volume of 'dana's geology,' friend of my----" and the roar of laughter which came then made the sentry out on the street jump in alarm. the laughing lasted until the cry came: "new cadets turn out!" which meant drill; and it lasted after that, too, so that cadet spencer, drillmaster, "on duty over plebes," spent the next hour or two in wondering what on earth his charges kept snickering at. poor texas was the subject of a ten-minute discourse upon "impertinence and presumption," because he was guilty of the heinous offense of bursting out laughing in the midst of one of the irate little drillmaster's tirades. chapter xvii. indian in trouble. what manner of torture is squad drill has already been shown; and so the reader should have some idea of what our five friends were going through. squad drill lasts for the first two weeks or so of plebe life--that is, before the move into camp. the luckless victims begin after breakfast, and at regular (and frequent) periods until night are turned out under the charge of some irascible yearling to be taught all manner of military maneuvers--setting up drill, how to stand, to face, and, in fact, how to walk. most people, those who have not been to west point, are under the delusion that they know how to walk already. it usually takes the luckless plebe a week to get that idea hammered out of his head, and another week besides to learn the correct method. the young instructor, presenting, by the way, a ludicrous contrast in his shining uniform of gray and white and gold, with his three or four nervous and variously costumed pupils, takes the bayonet of his gun for a drill stick and marches "his" squad over into a secluded corner of the area and thus begins the above-mentioned instructions: "at the word forward, throw the weight of the body upon the right leg, the left knee straight. at the word march, move the left leg smartly without jerk, carry the left foot forward thirty inches from the right, the sole near the ground, the toe a little depressed, knee straight and slightly turned out. at the same time throw the weight of the body forward (eyes to the front) and plant the foot without shock, weight of the body resting upon it; next, in like manner, advance the right foot and plant it as above. continue to advance without crossing the legs or striking one against the other, keeping the face direct to the front. now, forward, common time, march. depress the toe so that it strikes the ground at the same time as the heel (palms of the hands squarely to the front. head up)"--and so on. that is the way the marching exercise goes, exclusive, of course, of all interruptions, comments and witticisms on the instructor's part. the plebe begins to get used to it after the first week or so, when the stiffness rubs off, and then a certain amount of rivalry begins to spring up among various squads, and everybody settles down to the business of learning. the squads are consolidated later on, and gradually the class is merged into one company. such as they are, these drills, together with inspections, meals and "rests" (with hazing), occupy almost the entire time of the two weeks in barracks. and now for our five "rebels." that particular monday morning the plebes had an hour's rest before dinner, in which to do as they pleased (or as the yearlings pleased). and during this hour it was that one of "the five," the always luckless and unhappy one, got into trouble. the one was indian, or the mormon. indian, it seemed, was always thought of whenever there was any deviling to be done. the other plebes did as they were told, and furnished amusement on demand, but they always realized that it was all in fun. indian, however, was an innocent, gullible youth, who took everything solemnly, and was in terror of his unhappy life every moment of the day. and he was especially unfortunate this time because he fell into the hands of "bull" harris and his gang. it is not the intention of the writer to give the impression that all cadets at west point were or are like "bull" harris, or that hazing of his peculiar variety is an everyday affair. but it would be hard to find one hundred men without a cowardly, cruel nature among them. "bull" harris and his crowd represented the lower element of the yearling class, and made hazing their business and diversion. they were the especial dread of the plebes in consequence. bull had tried his tricks upon mark to his discomfort, and ever since that had left mark strictly alone, and confined his efforts to less vigorous victims, among which were dewey, and now indian. indian had selected a rather grewsome occupation, anyhow, at the particular moment when he was caught. it was just in keeping with the peculiarly dejected frame of mind he was in (after squad drill). he was wandering through the graveyard, which is situated in a lonely portion of the post, way off in the northwestern corner. some heroes, west point's bravest, lie buried there, and indian was dejectedly wondering if those same heroes would ever have stuck through plebe days in barracks if they had had a drill master like that "red-headed coyote," chick spencer. he had about concluded they would not have, when he heard some muffled laughter and the sound of running feet. a moment later the terrified plebe found himself completely surrounded by a dozen merry yearlings, out for a lark. prominent among them were bull and his toadying little friend, baby edwards. it is correct west point etiquette for a plebe, when "captured" to go meekly wherever desired. indian went, and the party disappeared quickly in the woods on one side, the captive being hidden completely in the circle of cadets. there was one person who had seen him, however, and that one person was the parson, who had been about to enter the gate to join his friend. and the parson, when he saw it, turned quickly on his heel and strode away back to barracks as fast as his long legs could carry him without loss of scholarly dignity. "yes, by zeus," he muttered to himself. "yea, by zeus, the enemy is fierce upon our trail. and swiftly, forsooth, will i hie me to my companions and inform them of this insufferable indignity." all unconscious of the learned gentleman's discovery, the yearlings meanwhile were hurrying away into a secluded portion of the woods; for they knew that their time was short, and that they would have to make haste. the terrified victim was pushed over logs and through brambles until he was almost exhausted, the captors meanwhile dropping dire hints as to his fate. "an indian he is!" muttered bull harris. "an indian!" (the plebe was as red as one then.) "he shall die an indian's death!" "that's what he shall!" echoed the crowd. "an indian! an indian! we'll burn him at the stake!" "he, he! the only good indian's a dead indian, he, he!" chimed in baby, chuckling at his own witticism. "he, he!" all this poor joseph did not fail to notice, and as was his habit, he believed every word of it. nor did his mind regain any of its composure as the procession continued its solemn marching through the lonely woods, to the tune of the yearlings' cheerful remarks. the latter were chuckling merrily to themselves, but when they were in hearing of their victim their tone was deep and awful, and their looks dark and savage. poor indian's fat, round eyes stared wider and rounder every minute; his equally round, red face grew redder, and his gasping exclamations more frequent and violent. "bless my soul!" he cried, "what extraordinary proceedings!" "ha! ha!" muttered the yearlings. "see, he trembles! behold how the victim pales!" a short distance farther in the woods the party came upon a small clearing. "just the spot!" cried bull. "see the tree in the center. that is the stake, and to that we will tie him, while the smoke ascends to the clouds of heaven." "just the spot!" echoed baby, chuckling gleefully. "it is quiet," continued bull, in a low, sepulchral tone. "yes, and his cries of agony will be heard by none. advance, wretched victim, and prepare to die the death which your savage ancestors did inflict upon our fathers. advance!" "advance!" growled the crowd. "bless my soul!" cried the indian. he was no more capable of advancing than he was of flying. his knees were shaking in violent terror. great beads of perspiration rolled from the dimples in his fat little cheeks. limp and helpless, he would have sunk to the ground, but for the support of his captors. "advance!" cried bull, again, stamping on the ground in mock impatience and rage. "bodyguard, bring forth the wretch!" in response to this order several of the cadets dragged the unhappy plebe to the tree and held him fast against it. bull harris produced from under his coat a coil of rope, and indian felt it being wrapped about his body. up to this point he had been silent from sheer terror; but the feeling of the rough rope served to bring before him with startling reality the awfulness of the fate that was in store for him. he opened his mouth and forthwith gave vent to a cry so weird and unearthly that the yearlings burst out into a shout of laughter. it was no articulate cry, simply a wild howl. it rang and echoed through the woods, like the hoot of an owl at night, or the strange, half-human cry of a frightened dog. and it died into a gasp that bull harris described as "the sigh of a homesick bullfrog." indian's musical efforts continued as the horrible rope was wound about his body. each wail was louder and more unearthly, more mirth-provoking to the unpitying cadets, until at last, when bull harris finished and stepped back to survey his work, the frightened plebe could be likened to nothing less than a steam calliope. the yearlings were so much amused by his powers that they resolved forthwith that the show must not stop. and so, without giving the performer chance to breathe even, they set to work diligently collecting sticks and leaves. "heap 'em up! heap 'em up!" cried bull. "heap 'em up! and soon shall the fire blaze merrily." naturally, since indian's shrieks and howls continued unabated in quantity or variety through all this, the yearlings were in no hurry to finish, but took care to prolong the agony, sport as they called it, as long as possible. so, while the red-faced, perspiring victim panted, grunted, howled, and wriggled, they piled the wood about him with exasperating slowness, rearranging, inspecting, and discussing the probable effect of each and every stick of wood they laid on. it was done, at last, however, and the result was a great pile of fagots surrounding and half covering the unfortunate lad. they were fagots selected as being the driest that could be found in the dry and sun-parched clearing. there was a moment or two later on when bull wished they had not been quite so dry, after all. the crowd stood and admired their work for a few moments longer, while indian's weird wails rose higher than ever. then bull stepped forward. "art thou prepared to die?" he inquired in his most sepulchral tone. indian responded with a crescendo in c minor. "he answereth not!" muttered the other. "let him scorn our questions who dares. what, ho! bring forth the torch! we shall roast him brown." "and when he is brown," roared another, "then he will cease to be smith!" "yes," cried bull, "for he will be dead. his bones shall bleach on the plains. on his flesh we will make a meal!" "an indian meal!" added baby, chuckling merrily over his own joke. "several meals," continued bull, solemnly. "there is enough of him for a whole _table d'hote_. how about that? aren't you?" "wow! wo-oo-oo-oooo!" wailed indian. "he mocks us!" cried the spokesman. "he scorns to answer. very well! we shall see. is the torch lit?" the torch, an ordinary sulphur match, was not lit. but bull produced one from the same place as the rope and held it poised. he waited a moment while the yearlings discussed the next action. "i say we let him loose," said one. "he's scared enough." "nonsense!" laughed bull, "i'm not going to stop yet. i'm going to set him afire." "set him afire!" echoed the crowd, in a whisper. "'sh! yes," responded the other. "not really, you know, but just enough to scare him. we'll set fire to the wood and then when it's begun to smoke some we'll put it out." "that's risky," objected somebody. "i say we----" "nonsense!" interrupted the leader. "if you don't want to, run home. i am." and so once more he turned toward the wretched captive, who still kept up his shrieks. "ha, ha!" he muttered, "thy time has come. say thy last prayer." with which words he stepped quickly forward, struck the match upon his heel, and after holding it for a moment knelt down before the pile of leaves and wood. "wow! wow!" roared indian. "stop! stop! help! wo-oo-oo!" another of those steam calliope wails. "he shrieks for mercy!" muttered bull. "he shrieks in vain. there!" the last exclamation came as he touched the match to the leaves, stood up and worked off to join his companions. "form a ring," he said, "and dance about him as he dies." the terror of indian can scarcely be imagined; he was almost on the verge of fainting as the hot choking smoke curled up and around his face. his yells grew louder and increased to a perfect shriek of agony. "don't you think we'd better stop it now?" inquired one of the yearlings, more timid than the rest. "rats!" laughed bull. "it's hardly started. i'll manage it." bull's "management" proved rather untrustworthy; for bull had forgotten to take into account the dryness of the twigs, and also another factor. the air had been still as he struck the match, but just at that moment a slight breeze swept along the ground, blowing the leaves before it. it struck the little fire and it seized one tiny flame and bore it up through the pile and about the legs of the imprisoned plebe. the next instant the yearlings were thrown into the wildest imaginable confusion by a cry from one of them. "look out! look out! his trousers are afire!" chapter xviii. to the rescue. things happened in a whirl of confusion after that. to the horrified cadets a thousand incidents seemed to crowd in at one moment. in the first place there was the terrified captive, bound helplessly to the tree, his clothing on fire, himself shrieking at the top of his lungs. then there were the yearlings themselves, all crying out with fright and alarm and rushing wildly in to drag the burning wood away. finally there were other arrivals, whom, in the excitement, the yearlings scarcely noticed. there were two of them; one tore a knife from his pocket and cut the rope in a dozen places, the other flung off his jacket and wrapped it quickly about indian's feet, extinguishing the flames. and then the two stood up and gazed at the rest--the frightened yearlings and their infuriated victim. infuriated? yes, wildly infuriated! a change had come over indian such as no one who knew him had ever seen before. the fire had not really hurt him; it had only ruined his clothing and scorched his legs enough to make him wild with rage. he had tugged at his bonds savagely; when he was cut free he had torn loose from the friendly stranger who had knelt to extinguish the fire, and made a savage rush at the badly scared cadets. indian's face was convulsed with passion. his arms were swinging wildly like a windmill's sails in a hurricane, while from his mouth rushed a volley of exclamations that would have frightened captain kidd and his pirate band. it made no difference what he hit; the fat boy was too blind with rage to see. he must hit something! if a tree had lain in his path he would have started in on that. as luck would have it, however, the thing that was nearest to him was a yearling--baby edwards. baby could have been no more frightened if he had seen an express train charging on him. he turned instantly and fled--where else would he flee but to his idol bull? he hid behind that worthy; bull put up his hands to defend himself; and the next instant indian's flying arms reached the spot. one savage blow on the nose sent bull tumbling backward--over baby. indian, of course, could not stop and so did a somersault over the two. there was a pretty _mãªlã©e_ after that. baby was the first to emerge, covered with dirt and bruises. indian got up second; he gazed about him, his rage still burning; he gave one snort, shook his head clear of the soil as an angry bull might; and then made another savage rush at baby. baby this time had no friend to hide behind; harris was lying on the ground, face down, as a man might do to protect himself in a cyclone. and so baby had no resource but flight; he took to his heels, the enraged plebe a few feet behind; and in half a minute more the pair were lost to sight and sound, far distant in the woods, indian still pursuing. it might be pleasant to follow them, for indian in his rage was a sight to divert the gods. but there was plenty more happening at the scene of the fire, things that ought not be missed. in the first place, who were the two new arrivals? it was evident that they were plebes--their faces were familiar to the cadets. but beyond that no one knew anything about them. they had freed their helpless classmate and saved him from serious injury, as has been told. they had done one thing more that has not been mentioned yet. one of them, the smaller, just after indian had broken loose, had reached over and dealt the nearest yearling he could reach a ringing blow upon the cheek. "take that!" said he. "bah jove, you're a cur." there was another _mãªlã©e_ after that. of course the setting fire to indian had been a pure accident; but the two strangers did not know it. they saw in the whole thing a piece of diabolical cruelty. the yearling the wrath chanced to fall upon was gus murray--and his anger is left to the imagination. he sprang at the throat of the reckless plebe; and the rest of the crowd rushed to his aid, pausing just for an instant to size up the pair. they did not seem "to be any great shucks." the taller was a big slouchy-looking chap in clothes that evidently bespoke the farmer, and possessing a drawl which quite as clearly indicated the situation of the farm--the prairies. having cut indian loose he was lounging lazily against the tree and regarding his more excitable companion with a good-natured grin. the companion was even less awe-inspiring, for one had to look at him but an instant to see that he was one of the creatures whom all well-regulated boys despise--a dude. he wore a high collar, ridiculously high; he was slender and delicate looking, with the correct fifth avenue stoop to his shoulders and an attitude to his arms which showed that he had left his cane behind only on compulsion when he "struck the point." and any doubts the yearlings may have had on this question were settled as the yearlings stared, for the object turned to the other and spoke. "aw say, sleepy," said he, "come help me chastise these fellows, don't ye know." as a fact there was but little choice in the matter, it was fight or die with the two, for at the same instant gus murray, wild with rage, had leaped forward and made a savage lunge at the dude. what happened then murray never quite knew. all he made out was that when he hit at the dude the dude suddenly ceased to be there. the yearling glanced around in surprise and discovered that his victim had slid coolly under his elbow and was standing over on the other side of the clearing--smiling. the rest of the crowd, not in the least daunted by murray's miss, rushed in to the attack; and a moment later a wild scrimmage was in progress, a scrimmage which defied the eye to comprehend and the pen to describe. the former never moved from the tree, but with his back flat against it and his great clumsy arms swinging like sledge hammers he stood and bid defiance to his share of the crowd. the dude's tactics were just the opposite. he was light and slender, and should have been easy prey. that was what bull harris thought as he hastily arose from the spot where indian had butted him and joined his eager comrades in the hunt. the hunt; a hunt it was, and no mistake. while the farmer stayed in one place, the dude seemed everywhere at once. dodging, ducking, running, he seemed just to escape every blow that was aimed at him. he seemed even to turn somersaults, to the amazed yearlings, who had been looking for a dude and not an acrobat. the dude did not dodge all the time, though; occasionally he would stop to cool the ardor of some especially excited cadet with a sudden punch where it wasn't looked for. once also he stuck out his foot and allowed bull harris to get his legs caught in it, with a result that bull's nose once more plowed the clearing. the writer wishes it were his privilege to chronicle the fact that the two put the eight to flight; or that indian, having put the baby "to sleep," returned to perform yet greater prodigies of valor. it would be a pleasure to tell of all that, but on the other hand truth is a stubborn thing. things do not always happen as they should in spite of the providence that is supposed to make them. the farmer, after a five-minute gallant stand, was finally knocked down--from behind--and once down he was being fast pummeled into nothingness. the dude--his collar, much to his alarm, having wilted--was in the last stage of exhaustion. in fact, bull had succeeded in landing a blow, the first of the afternoon for him. the dude was about to give up and perish, when assistance arrived. for these gallant heroes were not fated to conquer alone. the first warning of the arrival of reinforcements was not the traditional trumpet call, nor the roll of a drum, nor even the tramp of soldiers, but a muttered "wow!" this was followed by texas himself, bursting through the bushes like a battering ram. mark was at his side, and behind them came the parson. dewey, being rather crippled, brought up the rear. the four lost no time in questions; they saw two plebes in distress, and they had met indian on the warpath and learned the cause of the trouble. they knew it was their business to help and they "sailed right in" to do it. mark placed himself by the side of the panting "dude." texas and the parson made a v formation and speedily got the farmer to his feet and in fighting array once more. and after that the odds of the battle were more even. it was a very brief battle, in fact. a mere skirmish after that. mark's prowess was dreaded, and that of texas but little less. after texas had chased two yearlings into the woods, and mark had stretched out bull--that was bull's third time that afternoon--the ardor of the eight began to wane. it was not very long then before the attack stopped by mutual consent, and the combatants took to staring at each other instead. the rage of bull as he picked himself up and examined his damages must be imagined. "you confounded plebes shall pay for this," he roared, "as sure as i'm alive." "now?" inquired mark, smiling, rubbing his hands, and looking ready to resume hostilities. "it's a case of blamed swelled head, that's what it is," growled the other, sullenly. "which," added the parson's solemn voice, "might be somewhat more classically expressed by the sesquipedalian hellenic vocable--ahem!--megalacephalomania." with which interesting bit of information--presented gratis--the parson carefully laid his beloved "dana" on the ground and sat down on it for safety. "why can't you plebes mind your business, anyhow?" snarled gus murray. "that's what i say, too!" cried bull. "curious coincidence!" laughed dewey. "reminds me of a story i once heard, b'gee--i guess it's most too long a story to tell through. remind me of it, mark, and i'll tell it to you some day. one of the most remarkable tales i ever heard, that! told me by a fellow that used to run a sausage factory. it was right next door to a 'home for homeless cats,' though, b'gee, i couldn't ever see how the cats were homeless if they had a home there. they didn't stay very long, though. that was the funniest part of it. they used to sit on the fence near the sausage factory, b'gee----" dewey could have prattled on that way till doomsday with unfailing good humor. it made the yearlings mad and that was all he cared about. but by this time bull had perceived that he was being guyed, and he turned away with an angry exclamation. "you fellows may stay if you choose;" he said, "i'm going back to camp. and those plebes shall pay for this!" "cash on demand!" laughed mark, as the discomfited crowd turned and slunk off. chapter xix. the alliance is completed. having been thus easily rid of their unpleasant enemies, the plebes set out in high feather for home. "i must get back in time to dress for dinner, don't ye know," said the dude. "i'm 'bliged to yew fellows," put in the farmer, getting up from his seat with a lazy groan. "my name's methusalem zebediah chilvers, and i'll shake hands all raound." "and mine's chauncey van rensallear mount-bonsall, don't ye know," said the other, putting on his immaculate white gloves. "bah jove! i've lost a cuff button, quarreling with those deuced yearlings!" chauncey's cuff button was found at last--he vowed he wouldn't go to dinner without it--and then the party started in earnest, the two strangers giving a graphic and characteristic account of the scrimmage we have just witnessed. mark in the meantime was doing some thinking, wondering if here were not two more eligible members of the "alliance." while he was debating this question the "dude" approached him privately and began thus: "i want to say something to you," he said. "dye know, i can't see why we plebes suffer so, bah jove! i was thinking aw, don't ye know, if some of us would band together we could--aw--chastise the deuced cadets and----" master chauncey van rensallear mount-bonsall got no further, for mark came out then and told the secret. in a few moments the alliance had added number six and number seven. "and now, b'gee, i say let's organize, b'gee!" cried dewey. the sound of a drum from barracks put a stop to further business then, but before supper there was a spare half hour, and during that time the seven conspirators met in mark's room to "organize." indian was there, too, now calm and meek again. "in the first place," said mark, "we want to elect a leader." "wow!" cried texas, "what fo'? ain't you leader?" "i say, mark, b'gee!" cried dewey. "mark," said the parson, solemnly. "mark," murmured indian from the corner, and "mark" chimed in the two newcomers. "it seems to be unanimous," said mark, "so i guess i'll have to let it go. but i'm sure i can't see why you think of me. what shall we call ourselves?" that brought a lengthy discussion, which space does not permit of being given. the loyal legion, the sons of the revolution, the independents, the cincinnati--suggested by the classic parson--and also the trojan heroes--from the same source--all these were suggested and rejected. then somebody moved the seven rebels, which was outvoted as not expressive enough, but which led to another one that took the whole crowd with a rush. it came from an unexpected source--the unobtrusive indian in the corner. "let's name it 'the seven devils'!" said he. and the seven devils they were from that day until the time when the class graduated from the point. "three cheers for the seven devils!" cried dewey, "b'gee!" "now," said the parson, rising with a solemn look, "let us swear eternal fealty by all that man holds holy. let us swear by the stygian shades and the realms of charon, whence all true devils come. yea, by zeus!" "and we'll stand by one another to the death, b'gee," cried dewey. "remember, we're organized for no purpose on earth but to do those yearlings, and we'll lick 'em, b'gee, if they dare to look at us." "show 'em no mercy, don't ye know," said "chauncey." "and let's have a motto," cried indian, becoming infected with the excitement. "'down with the yearlings.'" "i suggest 'we die but we never surrender,' b'gee." "'_veni, vidi, vici_,'" remarked the parson, "or else '_dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_,' in the immortal words of horace, poet of the sabine farm." "a motto should be brief," laughed mark. "i can beat you all. i'll give you a motto in three letters of the alphabet." "three letters!" echoed the crowd. "three letters! what is it?" "it expresses all our objects in forming," said mark, "and we'll have lots of fun if we obey it. my motto is 'b. b. j.'" "bully, b'gee!" cried dewey, and the rest echoed his approval with a rush. that was, all except the unobtrusive indian in the corner. "i--i don't quite," he stammered, "quite see it. why is----" "ahem!" mark straightened himself up and put on his best professional air in imitation of the parson. "ahem! if you had lived in boston, and devoted yourself to the cultivation of the intellectualities--yea, by zeus!--instead of learning to lose your temper and chase yearlings like a wild texan---however, i'll explain it." "please do!" cried indian, innocently. "i'll never chase the yearlings again." "that's good! b. j. stands for 'before june,' and is west point slang for 'fresh.'" "i knew what b. j. means," put in indian. "what! then why didn't you say so and save me the trouble? the other b. is the present imperative of the verb to be; he was, being, been, is, am, ain't. and the only way i can explain what b. b. j. means is to say that it means be b. j., be b. j. with a vengeance, and when you get tired of being b. j., b. b. j. some more. do you see?" "er, yes," said indian. "and now," laughed mark, "since we're through, three cheers for the seven devils!" and that is the story of the forming of west point's first and only secret society, a society which was destined to introduce some very, very exciting incidents into west point's dignified history, the seven devils, b. b. j. chapter xx. indignation of the yearlings. "by george, he's the freshest plebe that ever struck this place!" the speaker was bull harris, and he was sitting on the steps of the library building along with half a dozen classmates, excitedly and angrily discussing the fight. "now i tell you mark mallory's got to be put out of this place in a week," continued the first speaker. "and i don't care how it's done, either, fair or foul." "that's just what i say, too!" chimed in baby edwards. "he's got to be put out in a week!" bull harris smiled benignly upon his toadying echo, while the rest of the gang nodded approvingly. "i'm sure everybody agrees that he's got to be taken down," put in somebody else. "the only trouble is i don't see how on earth it is to be done." "that's the worst of it!" snarled bull. "that fellow mallory seems to get the best of us everything we try; confound him!" "i'm sure such a thing has never been known at west point," said another. "just think of it! why, it's the talk of the post, and everybody's laughing at us, and the plebes are getting bolder every minute. one of them actually dared to turn up his nose at me to-day. think of it--at me--a yearling, and he a vile beast!" "it's perfectly awful," groaned bull. "perfectly awful! imagine a crowd of yearlings allowing themselves to be stopped while hazing a plebe--stopped, mind you, by half as many plebes--and then to make it a thousand times worse to have the fellow they were hazing taken away!" "and the yearlings all chased back to camp by a half-crazy texan," chimed in another, who hadn't been there and so could afford to mention unpleasant details. "yet what can we do?" cried baby. "we can't offer to fight him. he's as good as licked billy williams, and bill's the best man we could put up. that mallory's a regular terror." "mark mallory's got to be taken down." this suggestion was good, only rather indefinite, which indefiniteness was remarked by one of the crowd, merry vance, the cadet who had interposed the same objection before. merry was a tall, slender youth, with a whitish hue that suggested dissipation, and a fine, scornful curve to his lips that suggested meanness no less clearly. "it's all very well to say we've got to do him," said he, "but that don't say how. as i said, we can't find a man in our class to whip him fair. and we can't tackle him in a crowd because in the first place he seems to have his own gang, and in the second place none of us dares to touch him. i know i don't, for one." "pooh!" laughed bull, scornfully. "i'm not afraid of him." "me either!" chimed in the little baby, doubling up his fists. "all right," said the other. "only i noticed you both kept good and quiet when he stepped up to loosen indian." there was an awkward silence for a few minutes after that; bull harris could think of nothing to say, for he knew the charge was true; and as for baby edwards, he never said anything until after his big friend had set him an example. "we can't get him into any trouble with the authorities, either," continued vance at last. "in fact, i don't know what we are to do." "he's simply turned west point's customs topsy-turvy," groaned another. "why, when we were plebes nobody ever dared to think of defying a yearling. and this mallory and his gang are running the place. no one dares to haze a plebe any more." "talking about that," said gus murray, another yearling who had just strolled up. "talking about that, just see what happened to me not five minutes ago. met one of the confounded beasts--that fellow, by the way, we did up, though it don't seem to have done him the least bit of good--just as b. j. as ever. you know who i mean, the rather handsome chap they call dewey. he went to pass the color guard up at camp just now and he didn't raise his hat. the sentry called him down for it, and then as he went off i said to him: 'you ought to know better than that, plebe.' 'thank you,' says he, and when i told him he should say 'sir' to a higher cadet, what on earth do you suppose he had the impudence to say?" "what?" inquired the crowd, eagerly. "said he wouldn't do it because i hadn't said 'sir' to him!" "what!" "yes, indeed! did you ever hear of such impudence? why, i'll leave the academy to-morrow if that kind of thing keeps up." and with that dire threat gus murray seated himself on the steps and relapsed into a glum silence. "i heard you sat down on that mallory last saturday," observed some one at last. "that's what i did!" responded murray, brightening up at the mention of a less discouraging incident. "mary adams introduced me to him and i cut him dead. gee, but he was mad!" "wonder, if he'll try to make you apologize," said bull. "it would be just like him," put in merry. the other looked as if he didn't relish the possibility one bit; he turned the conversation quickly. "wait till he tries it," said he. "in the meantime i'm more interested in the great question, what are we going to do to take him down?" "can't think of a thing," said vance, flatly. "not a thing!" "by george!" cried bull. "i'm going to think of something if i die for it." "i'll shake with you on that," put in murray. "we won't rest till we get a plan." "let me in too," said vance. "and me too!" cried baby. and so it happened that when the informal assembly dissolved for supper it dissolved with but one idea in the mind of every cadet in the party--that mark mallory must be taken down! a plan came at last, one which was enough to do for any one; and when it came it came from a most unexpected source, none other than the baby, who never before in the memory of bull had dared to say anything original. the baby's sweet little brain, evolving the interesting problem, struck an idea which, so to speak, brought down the house. "i'll tell you what!" he cried. "i've a scheme!" "what is it?" inquired bull, incredulously. "let's soak him on demerits!" and with a look of delight bull turned and stared at murray. "by the lord!" he cried, "that's it. we'll soak him on demerits!" then the precious trio locked arms and did a war on the campus. "just the thing!" gasped bull, breathlessly. "murray's a corporal and he can do it! whoop!" "yes!" cried the baby. "and he was put over plebes to-day. will you do it, murray?" and murray lost no time in vowing that he would; bull harris felt then that at last he was on the road to victory. it is necessary to explain the system of discipline which prevails at west point. a cadet is allowed to receive only one hundred "demerits" during the first six months of his stay. these demerits are assigned according to a regular and inflexible schedule; thus for being late at roll call, a minor offense, a cadet receives two demerits, while a serious offense, such as disobedience of orders or sitting down on post while on sentry duty, brings ten units of trouble in its wake. these demerits are not given by the instructor or the cadet who notices the offense; but he enters the charge in a book which is forwarded to headquarters. the report is read out after parade that same day and posted in a certain place the next day; and four days later the superintendent assigns the demerits in all cases where "explanations" have not been received. the following is an example of an explanation: "west point, n. y., -----, 18--. report--bedding not properly folded at police inspection. "explanation--some one disarranged my bedding after i had piled it. i was at the sink at the time of inspection, and i readjusted the bedding upon my return. "respectfully submitted, "-------, "cadet ----, co. ----, ---class. "to the commandant of cadets." cadets usually hand in explanations, though the explanations are not always deemed satisfactory. reports are made by the army officers, and also by cadets themselves, file closers, section marchers and others. it was in this last fact that bull harris and his friend murray saw their chance. it very seldom happens that a cadet reports another except where the report is deserved; a man who does otherwise soon gets into trouble. but bull and his gang saw no obstacle in that; most of them were always head over heels in demerits themselves, including murray--though he was a "cadet-corporal." being thus, and in consequent danger of expulsion, they were reckless of possible trouble. and besides, bull had sworn to haze that plebe, and he meant to do it. the plan in brief was simply this: mark mallory must be demerited right and left, everywhere and upon every possible pretext, just or unjust--and that was all. the thing has been done before; there is talk of doing it whenever a colored lad is admitted to the point. and murray was the man to do it, too, because he had just been transferred and put "on duty over plebes." it was only necessary to give one hundred demerits. one hundred demerits is a ticket of leave without further parley or possibility of return. chapter xxi. a mild attempt at hazing. if cadet corporal murray had any doubts about the necessity for putting this very dirty scheme into practice, or if his not over squeamish conscience was the least bit troubled by the prospect, something happened that same evening which effectually squelched such ideas. it was after supper, during half an hour of so-called "rest," which is allowed to the over-drilled plebe. mr. murray, in whose manly breast still burned a fire of rage at the insult which "b. j." dewey had offered him, resolved in his secret heart that that same insult must and should be avenged. that evening he thought an especially favorable time, for dewey was still an "invalid," as a result of his last b. j. effort. with this purpose in view, cadet murray stole away from his companions and set out for barracks, around which the luckless plebes were clustered. arriving there, he hunted; he spent quite a while in hunting, for the object of his search was nowhere to be seen. he caught sight of mark and his "gang," but dewey was not among them. when he did find him at last it was a good way from that place--way up on flirtation walk; and then cadet murray got down to business at once. "look a here, b. j. beast!" he called. the object of this peremptory challenge turned, as also did his companion, the terrified indian--once more about to be hazed. the two stared at the yearling; a lady and gentleman passing glanced at him also, probably wondering what was in store for the luckless plebes; and then they passed on, leaving the place lonely, and deserted, just the spot for the proposed work. so thought the yearling, as he rubbed his hands gleefully and spoke again. "beast!" said he, "i want to tell you that you were very impudent to me to-day!" "strange coincidence!" cried dewey, with one of his merry laughs. "reminds me of a story i once heard, b'gee. two old farmers got stuck in a snowdrift--five feet deep, and getting deeper. says one of 'em, b'gee, 'it's c-c-c-cold!' 'b'gee!' cried the other. 'b'gee, naow ain't that pecooliar! jes' exactly what i was goin' to say myself, b'gee!'" cadet murray listened to this blithe recital with a frowning brow. "you think that's funny, don't you!" he sneered. "no, b'gee!" laughed dewey, "because i didn't write it. 'nother fellow told me that--the queerest chap i think i ever knew, he was. had a mother-in-law that used to----" "shut up!" cried murray, in anger, seeing that he was being "guyed." "b'gee!" cried dewey, "that's just what she didn't!" there was an ominous silence after that, during which the yearling glared angrily, and indian muttered "bless my soul!" "it's quite evident," began the former, at last, "that you are inclined to be fresh." "ink-lined to be fresh," added dewey, "as the stamped egg remarked when it was dated three days after it was laid. that's another far-fetched joke, though. still i've heard some more far-fetched than that--one a friend of mine read on an egyptian pyramid and brought home to tell for new. queer fellow that friend of mine was, too. he didn't have a mother-in-law, this one, but he slept in a folding bed, and, b'gee, that bed used to shut up oftener than the mother-in-law didn't. handsome bed, too--an inlaid bed--and it shut up whenever it was laid in, b'gee." dewey could have prattled on at this merry rate for an hour, for he knew more jokes--good ones--and could make up more bad ones on the spur of the moment than half a dozen ordinary mortals. but he was brought to a sudden halt just then, and muttered a suppressed "b'gee!" for the yearling, wild with anger, leaped forward and aimed a savage blow at his head. the plebe ducked; he was quick and agile in body as he was in mind. and then as the big cadet aimed another blow, he put up his one well arm--the other was in a sling--and defended himself to the best of his ability, at the same time calling indian to his aid. but before there was time for another move something else happened. dewey was debating whether discretion were not really the whole of valor, and whether it were not better to "run away and live to fight--or run away--some other day;" and indian was actually doubling up his fat little fists about to strike the first blow in his fat little life; when suddenly came a shout behind them, and a moment later a strong hand seized the advancing yearling by the back of his collar and flung him head first to the ground. cadet murray sprang to his feet again and turned purple with rage and soiled with dirt, to confront the stalwart form of mark, and mark rubbing his hands together and smiling cheerfully. "will you have any more?" he inquired, politely. "step right up if you will--and by the way, stop that swearing." "a very timely arrival," remarked dewey, smoothing his jacket. "very timely, b'gee! reminds me----" "bless my soul!" cried indian. "going, are you?" put in mark, as the discomfited murray started to slink away. "well, good-evening. i've had my satisfaction for being called a coward by you." "you shall pay for this," the furious cadet muttered. "pay for it as sure as i'm alive!" his threat was taken lightly by the plebes; they had little idea of what he meant when he spoke. and they were chatting merrily about the adventure as they turned and made their way back to barracks. "it only goes to show," was mark's verdict, "that an alliance is a first-rate idea. i saw that fellow prowling around barracks and i knew right away what he was up to. we've one more enemy, that's all." that was not all, by a good sight. the angry yearling hurried back to camp, nursing his feelings as he went; there he poured out the vials of his wrath into the ears of his two sympathetic companions, bull and the baby. and the three of them spent the rest of that evening, up to tattoo, discussing their revenge, thinking up a thousand pretexts upon which cadet mallory might be "skinned." there was a bombshell scheduled to fall into the midst of the "alliance" the next day. chapter xxii. the bombshell falls. nothing happened that evening; mark and his friends passed their time in serene unconsciousness of any danger, merrily discussing the latest hazing effort of the enemy. bull harris and his crowd did not put in appearance, or try to put their plot into execution, for the simple reason that there was no chance. the first "whack," so to speak, was scheduled for the a. m. inspection the next day. the only inspection at night is made by a "tac"--a practical officer--who goes the rounds with a dark lantern after taps to make sure that no plebes have been run away with. reveille and roll call the next morning passed without incident, except that cadet mallory was reported "late" at the latter function; the charge being true, no suspicions were awakened. after that came the march to mess hall, the plebe company, which was by this time able to march presentably though rather stiffly, falling in behind the rest of the corps. during that march "file closer" vance had occasion to rebuke cadet mallory for loud talking in ranks. it hadn't been loud, at least not very loud, but mark swallowed it and said nothing. breakfast passed without incident, and the plebes were marched back to barracks, there breaking ranks, and scattering to quarters to "spruce up" for inspection. mark and texas, who shared the same room, lost no time in getting to work at the sweeping and dusting and arranging. it seems scarcely necessary to say that there are no chambermaids at west point. cadets do their own room cleaning, "policing," as it is called, and they do it well, too. a simpler, barer place than a room in barracks it would be hard to imagine. bare white walls--no pictures allowed--and no wall paper--a black fireplace, a plain table, an iron bedstead, a washstand, two chairs, and a window is about the entire inventory. and every article in that room must be found placed with mathematical precision in just such a spot and no other. there is a "bluebook"--learned by heart--to tell where; and there are penalties for every infringement. demerits are the easiest things in the world to get; enough might be given at one inspection to expel. the signal, dreaded like poison by all plebes, that the time for inspection has come, is a heavy step in the hall and a single tap upon the door. it came that morning while the two victims-to-be were still hard at work. in accordance with orders each sprang up, stood at attention--heels together, head up, eyes to the front, chest out, etc.--and silently awaited developments. mark gasped for breath when he saw who it was that entered; cadet corporal jasper had been transferred and the man who was to do the work this time was none other than murray, next to bull harris, mark's greatest enemy on earth. cadet murray looked handsome in his spotless uniform of gray and white, with his chevrons of gold; he strode in with a stern and haughty look which speedily changed to one of displeasure as he gazed about him at the room. he took a rapid mental count of the possible charges he could make; and then glanced up at the name which is posted on the wall, telling who is "room orderly" for the week--and so responsible for the faults. it was mallory, and the yearling could scarcely hide a smile of satisfaction. "you plebes have had nearly two weeks now," he began, frowning with well-feigned displeasure, "in which to learn to arrange your rooms. the disorder which i see shows not only carelessness but actual insubordination. and i propose to make an example of you two for once and for all." the two victims were expected to say nothing; and they said it. but mark did a pile of thinking and his heart sank as he realized what his enemy might do if he chose. it is possible to find a thousand faults in the most perfect work if one only hunts long enough and is willing to split hairs. cadet corporal murray took out a notebook and pencil with obvious meaning. "in the first place," said he, "where should that broom be? behind the door, should it not? why is it not? i find that your bedding is piled carelessly, very carelessly. the blanket is not evenly folded; moreover, the bluebook states particularly that the blanket is to be placed at the bottom of the pile. you may see that it is not so. why, mr. mallory, i do not think it has ever happened to me to find a room so utterly disorderly, or a cadet so negligent! look at that bluebook; it belongs upon the mantelpiece, and i see it on the bed----" "i was reading it," put in mark, choking down his anger by a violent effort. and as he spoke the corporal's face grew sterner yet. "in the first place, sir," said he, "you have no business to be reading while awaiting inspection, and you know it--though i must say a more frequent study of that book would save you much trouble. in the second place, you are not expected to answer under such circumstances; the proper thing for you to do is to hand in the explanation to the authorities, and you know that, too. i am sent here to notice and report delinquencies and not to argue about them with you. i regret now that i shall be obliged to mention the fact that you remonstrated with an officer during inspection, a most serious charge indeed." and cadet corporal murray made another note in his book, chuckling inwardly as he did it. "what next?" thought the two plebes. there was lots more. the yearling next stepped over to the mantelpiece and ran his finger, with its spotless white glove, along the inner edge. texas had rubbed that mantel fiercely; yet, to get it so clean as not to soil the glove was almost impossible, and so the corporal first held up the finger to show the mark of dirt and then--wrote down "dust on mantel." there is no need to tell the rest in detail, but simply to say that while mark and his roommate gazed on in blank despair, their jubilant enemy made out a list of at least a dozen charges, which he knew would aggregate to at least half of the demerit maximum, and for every one of which there was some slight basis of justification. the yearling was shrewd enough to suspect this fact would prevent their being excused, for he did not think that mark would sign his name to a lie in his explanation. the disastrous visit was closed with a note--"floor unswept"--because three scraps of paper were observed peering out from under the table; and then without another word the cadet turned on his heel and marched out of the room. and mark and texas stood and stared at each other in utter and abject consternation. it was a minute at least before either of them spoke; they were both too dumfounded. the bombshell had struck, and had brought ruin in its path. mark knew now what was the power of his enemies; knew that he was gone. for with such a weapon as the one the cowardly murray had struck his dismissal was the matter of a week or less. already he was more than halfway to expulsion; already the prize for which he had fought so long and so hard was slipping from his grasp. and all on account of a cowardly crowd he had made his enemies because he had been strong and manly enough to do what he knew was right. it was a cruel fact and mark felt pretty bitter toward west point just then. as for texas, his faithful friend and roommate, texas said not one word; but he went to the chimney, up which he had hidden his sixteen revolvers for safety, calmly selected two of the biggest, and having examined the cartridges, tucked them safely away in his rear pockets. then he sat down on the bed and gave vent to a subdued "durnation!" about this same time cadet corporal murray, having handed in his reports at headquarters, was racing joyfully back to camp, there to join his friend, bull harris, with a shout of victory. "rejoice! rejoice!" he cried, slapping his chum on the back. "we've got him! i soaked him for fifty at least!" chapter xxiii. in the shadow of dismissal. the rest of that day passed without incident. mark managed after a good deal of trouble to postpone texas' hunting trip; and the two struggled on through the day's drills disconsolately, waiting to see what would happen next. evening came, and the plebes being lined up in barracks area the roll was called, the "orders" read, and then the reports of the day. the cadet who did the reading rattled down the list in his usual hurried, breathless style. but when he came to m he paused suddenly; he gazed at the list incredulously, then cleared his throat, took a long foreboding breath and began: "mallory--late at roll call. "same--laughing loud in ranks. "same--bedding improperly arranged at a. m. inspection. "same--broom out of place at a. m. inspection. "same--remonstrating with superior officer at a. m. inspection." and so the cadet officer went on, the whole plebe class listening with open-eyed amazement while one charge after another was rattled off, and gazing out of the corners of their eyes at the object of the attack, who stood and listened with a look of calm indifference upon his face. the list was finished at last, when the listeners had about concluded that it was eternal; the rest of the reports were quickly disposed of, and then: "break ranks, march!" and the line melted into groups of excited and eagerly talking cadets, discussing but one subject--the ruin of mallory. of course it was known to every one that this was simply one more effort of the yearlings to subdue him; and loud were the threats and expressions of disapproval. mark's bravery in making a fight for his honor had won him the admiration of his class, and the class felt that with his downfall came a return of the old state of affairs and the complete subjection of the "beasts" once more. there were jealous ones who rejoiced secretly, and there were timid ones who declared that they had always said that mallory was too b. j. to last. but in the main there was nothing but genuine anger at the upper classmen's "rank injustice," and wild talk of appealing to the superintendent to bring it to a stop. the utter consternation of the seven allies is left to the reader's imagination. after the first shock of horror had passed the crowd had sat down and made a calculation; they found fifty-five demerits due that day, which, together with ten previously given, left thirty-five to go, and then--why it made them sick to think of what would happen! having striven to realize this for half an hour, they got together and swore a solemn oath, first, that if mark were dismissed, a joint statement of the reasons thereof, incidentally mentioning each and every act of hazing done by the yearlings, naming principals, witnesses, time and place, should be forwarded to the superintendent, signed by the six; and second, that every yearling who gave a demerit should be "licked until he couldn't stand up." texas also swore incidentally that he'd resign if mark were "fired," and take him down to texas to make a cowboy of him. and after that there was nothing to do but wait and pray--and clean up for next day's inspection, a task at which the whole seven labored up to the very last minute before tattoo. * * * * * it was the afternoon of the following day; the rays of a scorching july sun beat down upon the post, and west point seemed asleep. up by camp mcpherson the cadets were lounging about in idleness, and it was only down at barracks that there was anything moving at all. inside the area the hot and shimmering pavement echoed to the tread of the plebe company at drill; outside the street was deserted except for one solitary figure with whom our story has to do. the figure was a cadet officer in uniform, captain fischer, of the first class, resplendent in his chevrons and sash. he was marching down the street with the firm, quick step that is second nature to a west pointer; he passed the barracks without looking in and went on down to the hospital building; and there he turned and started to enter. the door opened just as he reached it, however, and another cadet came out. the officer sprang forward instantly and grasped him by the hand. "williams!" he cried. "just the fellow i was coming to see. and what a beautiful object you are!" williams smiled a melancholy smile; he was beautiful and he knew it. his face was covered in spots with greek crosses of court-plaster, and elsewhere by startling red lumps. and he walked with a shy, retiring gait that told of sundry other damages. such were the remains of handsome "billy," all-round athlete and favorite of his class, defeated hero. williams had waited scarcely long enough for this thought to flash over the young officer before he spoke again, this time with some anxiety. "tell me! tell me about mallory! i hear they're skinning him on demerits." "yes, they are," returned fischer, "and they've soaked him twenty more this morning!" "twenty more! then how many has he?" "eighty-five." "what!" cried williams. "you don't mean it! why, he'll be out in a week. say, fischer, that's outrageous!" "perfectly outrageous!" vowed the officer. and williams brought his hand down on his knee with a bang. "by george!" he cried, "i'm going around to see him about it!" with which words he sprang down the stairs and, leaving the cadet officer to gaze at him in surprise, hurried up the street to barracks. squad drill was just that moment over; without wasting any time about it, williams hurried into the building and made his way to mallory's room. he found the plebe, and got right to work to say what he had to say. "mr. mallory," he began, "i've come up in the first place to shake hands with you, and to say there's no hard feeling." "thank you," said mark, and his heart went with the grip of his hand. "you made a good fight, splendid!" continued the yearling. "and some day i'll be proud to be your friend." "i'm afraid," returned mark, with a sad smile, "that i'll not be here that long." "that's the second thing i've come to see you about," vowed williams. "mr. mallory, i want you to understand that the decent men of this class don't approve of the work that mur--er, i suppose you know who's back of it. and i tell you right now that i'm going to stop it if it's the last act i ever do on this earth!" "i'm afraid it won't do much good," responded the other, shaking his head. "i could never pass six months without getting fifteen demerits." "it's a shame!" cried the other. "and you have worked for your appointment, too." "i have worked," exclaimed mark, something choking his voice that sounded suspiciously near a sob, "worked for it as i have never worked for anything in my life. it has been the darling ambition of my heart to come here. and i came--and now--and now----" he stopped, for he could think of no more to say. williams stood and regarded him in silence for some moments, and then he took him by the hand again. "mr. mallory," said he, "just as sure as i'm alive this thing shall stop! keep up heart now, and we'll make a fight for it! while there's life there's hope, they say--and, by heaven, you shan't be expelled!" the following evening, when the reports were read, mark's list of demerits had reached a total of ninety-five. the excitement among plebes and cadets alike was intense, and it was known far and wide that mark mallory, the "b. j." plebe, stood at last "in the shadow of dismissal." chapter xxiv. a letter. "my dear fischer: i promised to drop you a line just to let you know how i'm getting along, though it does take a tremendous pile of energy to write a letter on a hot afternoon like this. i'm sure i shall go to sleep in the middle of it, and naturally, too, for even writing to you is enough to bore anybody. i can almost imagine you leaning over to whack at me in return for that compliment. "well, i am home on furlough; and i don't know whether i wish i were back or not, for i fear that you will have cut me out on all the girls, especially since you are a high and mighty first captain this year. speaking of girls, you just ought to be here. the girls at west point are _blasã©_ on cadets, for they see so many; but here a west point officer is cock of the walk, and i have to fight a jealous rival once a week." cadet captain fischer dropped the letter at this stage of it and lay back and laughed. "wicks merritt's evidently forgotten i was on furlough once myself," he said. "he's telling me all about how it goes." "what's he got to say?" inquired williams, the speaker's tentmate, looking up from the gun he was cleaning. "oh, nothing much; only a lot of nonsense--jollying as usual. wicks always is." and then fischer picked up the letter again, and went on. the two were seated near the door of a tent in "company a street," at camp mcpherson. fischer was lying in front of the tent "door," which was open to admit the morning breeze that swept across the parade ground. his friend sat over in an opposite corner and rubbed away. there was silence of some minutes, broken only by the sound of the polishing and the rustling of fischer's paper. and then the latter spoke again. "oh, say!" said he. "here's something that'll interest you, billy. something about your friend mallory." "fire away," said williams. "'by the way, when you answer this let me know something about my pet and _protã©gã©_, future football captain of the west point eleven. the last time i heard from where you are, mark mallory was raising cain. i heard that he was a b. j. plebe for fair; that he'd set to work to make war on the yearlings, and had put them to rout in style; also, incidentally, that he was scheduled to fight billy williams, the yearling's pet athlete. tell billy i hope the plebe does him; tell him i say that if mallory once whacks him on the head with that right arm of his he'll see more stars from the lick than the lick telescope can show----'" "billy" broke in just then with a dismal groan. "i don't know whether that's because of the pun," laughed fischer, "or because of your recollection of the blow. however, i'll proceed. "'now, i don't care how much you fellows haze my mallory; he's tough and he can stand it. he'll probably give you tit for tat every time, anyhow. but i do want to say this--watch out that nobody tries any foul play on him, skins him on demerits or reports him unfairly. do me a favor and keep your eye out for that. watch particularly bull harris, who is, i think, the meanest sneak in the yearling class, and also his chum, gus murray. "'i know it for a fact that mallory caught bull in a very dirty act about a month ago and knocked spots out of him for it. i can't tell you what the act was; but bull has sworn vengeance and he'll probably try to get it, so watch for me. if you let mallory get into trouble, mind what i say, i'll never forgive you as long as you live. i'll cut you out with bessie smith, who, they say, is your fair one at present. mallory is a treasure, and when you know him as well as i you'll think so, too.'" cadet captain fischer dropped the letter, sat up, and stared at williams; and williams stared back. there was disgust on the faces of both. "by george!" cried the latter at last, striking his gunstock in the ground. "by george! we've let 'em do it already!" and after that there was a silence of several unpleasant minutes, during which each was diligently thinking over the situation. "he's a fine fellow, anyway," continued williams. "and we were a pack of fools to let that bull harris gang soak him as we did. they've gone to work and given him ninety-five demerits in a week on trumped-up charges. and it's perfectly outrageous, that's what it is! the plebe's confoundedly fresh, of course, but he's a gentleman for all that, and he don't deserve one-quarter of the demerits he's gotten. the decent fellows in the class ought to be ashamed of themselves." "that's what i say! he only has to get five demerits more and then he's fired for good." "which means," put in the officer, "that's he's sure to be fired by next week." "exactly! and then what will wicks say? i went over to barracks to see mallory about it yesterday; he's nearly heart-broken, for he's worked like a horse to get here, and now he's ruined--practically expelled. yet, what can we do?" "can't he hand in explanations and get the demerits excused?" suggested fischer. "no, because most of the charges had just enough basis of truth in them to make them justifiable. i tell you i was mad when he told me about it; i vowed i'd do something to stop it. yet what on earth can i do? i can't think of a thing except to lick that fellow bull harris and his crowd. but what possible good will that do mallory?" "mallory will probably do that himself," remarked fischer, smiling for a moment; his face became serious again as he continued. "i begin to agree with you, billy, about that thing. i've heard several tales about how mallory outwitted bull in his hazing adventures, and the plebe's probably made him mad. it's a dirty revenge bull has taken, and i think if it's only for wicks' sake i'll put a stop to it." "you!" echoed williams. "pray, how?" "what am i a first captain for?" laughed fischer. "just you watch me and see what i do! i can't take off the ninety-five, but i can see that he don't get the other five, by jingo! and i will do it for you, too!" and with that, the cadet arose and strode out of the tent, leaving his friend to labor at the gun in glum and disconsolate silence. at the same time that williams and fischer were discussing the case of this particularly refractory plebe, there were other cadets doing likewise, but with far different sentiments and views. the cadets were bull harris and his cronies. they were sitting--half a dozen of them--beneath the shade trees of trophy point at the northern end of the parade ground; they were waiting for dinner, and the afternoon, which, being saturday, was a holiday and for which they had planned some particular delicious hazing adventure. foremost among them was bull harris himself, seated upon one of the cannon. beside him was baby edwards. gus murray sat on bull's other side and made up a precious trio. murray was laughing heartily at something just then, and the rest of the crowd seemed to appreciate the joke immensely. "ho! ho!" said he. "just think of it! after i had soaked the confounded plebe for fifty and more, ho! ho! they got suspicious up at headquarters and transferred me, and ho! ho! put m-m-merry vance on instead, and he, ho! ho! soaked him all the harder!" and gus murray slapped his knee and roared at this truly humorous state of affairs. "yes," chimed in merry vance. "yes, i thought when gus told me he'd been transferred again that we'd lost our chance to skin mallory for fair. and the very next night up gets the adjutant and reads off the orders putting me on duty over the plebes. oh, gee! did you ever hear the like?" "never," commented bull, grinning appreciatively. "never," chimed in baby's little voice. "positively never!" "tell us about it," suggested another. "what did you do?" "oh, nothing much," replied vance. "i went up there at the a. m. inspection, and i just made up my mind to give him twenty demerits, and i did it, that's all. they had spruced up out of sight; but it didn't take me very long to find something wrong, i tell you." "i guess not!" agreed baby. "i gave him the twenty, as you saw; and say, you ought to have seen how sick he looked! ho! ho!" and then the crowd indulged in another fit of violent hilarity. "i guess," said bull, when this had finally passed, "that we can about count mallory as out for good. he's only got five more demerits to run before dismissal, and he'll be sure to get those in time, even if we don't give 'em to him--which, by the way, i mean to do anyhow. but we'll just parcel 'em one at a time just enough to keep him worried, hey?" "that's it exactly!" commented the baby. "he deserves it every bit!" growled bull. "he's the b. j.est 'beast' that ever struck west point. why, we could never have a moment's peace with that fellow around. we couldn't haze anybody. he stopped us half a dozen times." the sentiment was the sentiment of the whole gang; and they felt that they had cause to be happy indeed. their worst enemy had been disposed of and a man might breathe freely once more. the crowd could think of nothing to talk about that whole morning but that b. j. "beast" and his ruin. they found something, however, before many more minutes passed. bull chanced to glance over his shoulder in the direction of the camp. "hello!" he said. "here comes fischer." "good-afternoon, mr. fischer," said bull. "good-afternoon," responded the officer, with obvious stiffness; and then there was an awkward silence, during which he surveyed them in silence. "mr. harris," he said, at last, "i'd like to speak to you for a moment; and mr. murray, and you, too, mr. vance." the three stepped out of the group with alacrity, and followed fischer over to a seat nearby, while the rest of the gang stood and stared in surprise, speculating as to what this could possibly mean. the three with the officer were finding out in a hurry. "i am told," began the latter, gazing at them, with majestic sternness, "that you three are engaged in skinning a certain plebe----" "why, mr. fischer!" cried the three, in obvious surprise. "don't interrupt me!" thundered the captain in a voice that made them quake, and that reached the others and made them quake, too. "don't interrupt me! i know what i am talking about. i was a yearling once myself, and i'm a cadet still, and there's not the least use trying to pull the wool over my eyes. i know there never yet was a plebe who got fifty demerits in one day and deserved them." the captain did not fail to notice here that the trio flushed and looked uncomfortable. "you all know, i believe," he continued, "just exactly what i think of you. i've never hesitated to say it. now, i want you to understand in the first place that i know of this contemptible trick, and that also i know the plebe, who's worth more than a dozen of you; and that if he gets a demerit from any one of you again i'll make you pay for it as sure as i'm alive. just remember it, that's all!" and with this, the indignant captain turned upon his heel, and strode off, leaving the yearlings as if a bombshell had landed in their midst. "fischer's a confounded fool!" bull harris broke out at last. "just what he is!" cried the baby. "i'd like to knock him over." and after that there was silence again, broken only by the roll of a drum that meant dinner. "well," was bull's final word, as the crowd set out for camp, "it's unfortunate, i must say. but it won't make the least bit of difference. mallory'll get his demerits sure as he's alive, and fischer's interference won't matter in the least." "that's what!" cried the rest of them. chapter xxv. a swimming match. the manner in which the cadets dine has not as yet been described in these pages; perhaps here is just as good a place as any to picture the historic mess hall where lee and grant and sherman once dined, and toward which on that saturday afternoon were marching not only the group we have just left, but also the object of all their dislike, the b. j. plebe who fell in behind the cadets as the battalion swung past barracks. the cadets march to mess hall; they march to every place they go as a company. the building itself is just south of the "academic" and barracks; it is built of gray stone, and forcibly reminds the candid observer of a jail. they tell stories at west point of credulous candidates who have "swallowed" that, and believed that the cadet battalion was composed of disobedient cadets, about to be locked up in confinement. there is a flight of iron steps in the center, and at the foot of these steps, three times every day, the battalion breaks ranks and dissolves into a mob of actively bounding figures. upon entering, the cadets do not take seats, but stand behind their chairs, and await the order, "company a, take seats!" "company b, take seats!" and so on. the plebes, who, up to this time, are still a separate company, come last, as usual; they are seated by themselves, at one side of the dining-room. the tables seat twenty-two persons, ten on a side, and one at each end. the cadets are placed according to rank, and they always sit in the same seats. the tables are divided down the center by an imaginary line, each part being a "table"; first class men sit near the head, and so on down to the plebes, who find themselves at the center (that is, after they have moved into camp, and been "sized" and assigned to companies; before that they are "beasts," herded apart, as has been said). the dinner is upon the table when the cadets enter; the corporals are charged with the duty of carving, and the luckless plebe is expected to help everybody to water upon demand, and eats nothing until that duty has been attended to. after the meal, for which half an hour is allowed, the command, "company a, rise!" and so on, is the signal to leave the table and fall into line again on the street outside. this, however, does not take place until a lynx-eyed "tac" has gone the rounds, making notes--"so-and-so, too much butter on plate." "somebody else, napkin not properly folded," and so on. this ceremony over, the battalion marches back to camp, a good half mile, in the broiling sun or pouring rain, as the case may be. that saturday afternoon being a hot one, and a holiday, our friends of the last chapter, bull harris and his gang, sought out an occupation in which fully half the cadets at the post chanced to agree; they went in swimming, a diversion which the superintendent sees fit to allow. "gee's point," on the hudson, is within the government property, and thither the cadets gather whenever the weather is suitable. that particular party included bull and baby (who didn't swim, but liked to watch bull), gus murray, vance and the rest of their retainers. and, on the way, they passed the time by discussing their one favorite topic, their recent triumph over "that b. j. beast." there was a new phase of the question they had to speculate upon now, and that was what the "beast" could possibly have done to move to such unholy wrath so important a personage as the senior captain of the battalion. also, they were interested in trying to think up a method by which those extra demerits might be speedily given without incurring the wrath of that officer. though each one of the yearlings was ready, even anxious, to explain that he wasn't the least bit afraid of him. "i tell you," declared bull, "he couldn't prove anything against us if he tried. it's all one great bluff of fischer's, and he's a fool to act as he did." "i'd a good mind to tell him as much!" assented baby. "it won't make any difference," put in murray, "we'll soak the plebe, anyhow. we can easily give him five demerits in short order, and without attracting any attention, either." "he's out, just as sure as he's alive!" laughed bull. "we wouldn't need to do a thing more." "exactly!" cried the echo. "not a thing!" "all the same," continued the other, "i wish we could get up a scheme to get him in disgrace, so as to clinch it. i wish we could----" just here bull was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from murray. murray had brought his hand against his knee with a whack, and there was a look of inspiration upon his face. "great cã¦sar!" he cried, "i've got it!" "got it! what?" "a scheme! a scheme to do him!" "what is it?" "write him a letter, or something--get him to leave barracks at night--have a sentry catch him beyond limits, or else we'll report him absent! oh, say!" the crowd were staring at each other in amazement, a look of delight spreading over their faces, as the full possibilities of this same inspiration dawned upon them. "by the lord!" cried bull, at last. "court-martial him! that's the ticket!" "shake on it!" responded murray. in half a minute the gang had sworn to put that plan into execution within the space of twenty-four hours. and after that they hurried on down to the point to go in swimming. "speak of angels," remarked murray, "and they flap their wings. there's the confounded plebe now." "of angels!" sneered vance. "of devils, you mean." "by george!" muttered bull. "you can't phaze that fellow. i thought he'd be up in barracks, moping, to-day!" "probably wants to put up a bluff as if he don't care," was the clever suggestion of the baby. "i bet he's sore as anything!" "i told him i'd make him the sickest plebe in the place," growled bull, "and i'll bet he is, too." the yearling would have won his bet; there was probably no sadder man in west point than mark mallory just then, even though he did not choose to let his enemies know it. "look at him dive!" sneered baby, watching him with a malignant frown. "he wants to show off." "pretty good dive," commented a bystander, who was somewhat more disinterested. "good, your grandmother!" cried the other. "why, i could beat that myself if i knew how to swim!" and then he wondered why the crowd laughed. "come on, let's go in ourselves," put in bull, anxious to end his small friend's discomfort. "hurry up, there!" the crowd had turned away, to follow their leader in his suggestion; they were by no means anxious to swell the number of those who had gathered for the obvious purpose of watching mark mallory's feats as a swimmer. in fact, they couldn't see why anybody should want to watch a b. j. beast, and a "beast" who had only a day or two more to stay, at that. just then, however, a cry from the crowd attracted their attention, and made them turn hastily again. "a race! a race!" and bull harris cried out with vexation, as he wheeled and took in the situation. "by the lord!" he cried. "did you ever hear of such a b. j. trick in your life? the confounded plebe is going to race with fischer!" chapter xxvi. the finish of a race. so it was; certain of the cadets, being piqued at the evident superiority which that b. j. mallory (his usual title by this time) had displayed in the water, had requested their captain to take him down. the "captain" had good-naturedly declared that he was willing to try; and the shout that attracted bull's attention was caused by the plebe's ready assent to the proposition for an impromptu race. "fischer ought to be ashamed of himself, to have anything to do with him!" was bull harris' angry verdict. "i almost hope the plebe beats him." "i don't!" vowed murray, emphatically. "let's hurry up, and see it." the latter speaker suited the action to the word; bull followed, growling surlily. "look at that gang of plebes!" he muttered. "they're the ones who helped mallory take away the fellow we were hazing; they think they're right in it, now." "yes," chimed in baby. "and see that fellow, texas, making a fool of himself." "that fellow texas" was "making a fool of himself" by dancing about in wild excitement, and raising a series of cowboy whoops in behalf of his friend, and of plebes in general. "there they are, ready to go!" cried murray, betraying some excitement. "i wish the confounded plebe'd never come up again!" growled bull, in return, striving hard to appear indifferent. "i bet fischer'll do him!" exclaimed the baby. "he swims like a fish. say, they're going to race to that tree way down the river. golly, but that's a long swim!" "long nothing!" sneered vance. "i could swim that a dozen times. but, say, they'll finish in the rain; look at that thunderstorm coming!" in response to this last remark, the crowd cast their eyes in the direction indicated. they found that the prediction seemed likely to be fulfilled. to the north, up the hudson, dense, black clouds already obscured the sky, and a strong, fresh breeze, that smelled of rain, was springing up from thence, and making the swimmers shiver apprehensively. the preparation for the race went on, however; nobody cared for the storm. "gee whiz!" cried the baby, in excitement. "won't it be exciting! i don't mind the rain. i'm going to run down along the shore, and watch it! hooray!" "rats!" growled bull, angrily. "i don't care about any old race. i'm going to keep dry, let me tell you!" even the damper of his idol's displeasure could not change master edwards' mind, however; he and nearly the whole crowd with him made a dash down the shore for a vantage point to see the finish. "there! they're off!" the cry came a moment later, as the two lightly-clad figures stepped to the mark from which they were to start. they were about of one size, magnificently proportioned, both of them, and the race bid fair to be a close one. "ready?" called the starter, in a voice that rang down the shore. "yes," responded mark, and at the same moment a heavy cloud swept under the sun, and the air grew dark and chilly. the wind increased to a gale, blowing the spray before it; and then---"go!" called the starter. the two dived as one figure; both took the water clean and low, with no perceptible splash; two heads appeared a moment later, forging ahead side by side; a cheer from the cadets arose, that drowned, for a moment, the roars of the storm; and the race was on. it is remarkable how closely nature follows a rule in her most perfect work; here were two figures, built by her a thousand miles apart, racing there, and each striving with might and main, yet the sum total of the energy that each was able to expend so nearly alike that yard by yard they struggled on, without an inch of difference between them. "fischer! fischer!" rose the shouts of the cadets. "mallory! mallory!" roared the excited plebes, backed up by an occasional "wow!" in the stentorian tones of the mighty texan, who, by this time, was on the verge of epilepsy. onward went the two heads, still side by side, seeming to creep through the water at a snail's pace to the excited partisans on the shore. but it was no snail's pace to the two in the water; each was struggling in grim earnestness, putting into every stroke all the power that was in him. neither looked at the other; but each could tell, from the cries of the cadets, that his opponent was pressing him closely. nearer and nearer they came to the far distant goal; higher and higher rose the shouts: "fischer! fischer!" "mallory! mallory!" "he's got him!" "no." "hooray!" "gee! but it is exciting," screamed baby. "go it, fischer! do him!" "and i wish that confounded 'beast' was in hades!" snarled bull, whose hatred of mark was deeper, and more malignant than that of his friend. "i believe i could kill him!" during all this excitement the storm had been sweeping rapidly up, its majesty unnoticed in the excitement of the race. far up the hudson could be seen a driving cloud of rain; and the wind had risen to a hurricane, while the air grew dark and chill. the race was at its most exciting stage--the finish, and the cadets were dancing about, half in a frenzy, yelling incoherently, at the two still struggling lads, when some one, nobody knew just who, chanced to glance for one brief instant up the river. a moment later a cry was heard that brought the race to a startling and unexpected close. "look! look! the sailboat!" the cry sounded even above the roar of the storm and the shouts of the crowd. the cadets turned in alarm and gazed up the river. what they saw made them forget that such a thing as a race ever existed. right in the teeth of the wind, in the center of the river, was a small catboat, driven downstream, before the gale, with the speed of a locomotive. in the boat was one person, and the person was a girl. she sat in the stern, waving her hands in helpless terror, and even as the spectators stared, the boat gibed with terrific violence, and a volume of water poured in over the gunwale. the crowd was thrown into confusion; a babel of excited voices arose, and the race was forgotten in an instant. the racers were not slow to notice it; both of them turned to gaze behind them, and to take in the situation. "help! help!" called a faint voice from the distant sailboat. help! who was there to help? there was not a boat in sight; the cadets were running up and down in confusion, hunting for one in vain. they were like a nest of frightened ants, without a leader, skurrying this way and that, and only contributing to the general alarm. the girl herself could do nothing, and so it seemed as if help were far away, indeed. there was one person in the crowd, however, who kept his head in the midst of all that confusion. and the person was mark. exhausted though he was by his desperate swim, he did not hesitate an instant. before the amazed cadet captain at his side could half comprehend his intention, he turned quickly in the water, and, with one powerful stroke, shot away toward the center of the stream. the cadets on the shore scarcely knew whether to cry out in horror, or to cheer the act they saw. they caught one more glimpse of the catboat as it raced ahead before the gale; they saw the gallant plebe struggling in the water. and then the storm struck them in its fury. a blinding sheet of driving rain, that darkened the air and drove against the river, and rose again in clouds of spray; a gale that lashed the water into fury; and darkness that shut out the river, and the boat, and the swimmer, and left nothing but a humbled group of shivering cadets. chapter xxvii. what mark did. the surprise of the helpless watchers on the shore precludes description. they knew that out upon that seething river a tragedy was being enacted; but the driving rain made a wall about them--they could not aid, they could not even see. they stood about in groups, and whispered, and listened, and strained their eyes to pierce the mist. mark's friends were wild with alarm; and his enemies--who can describe their feelings? a man has said that it is a terrible thing to die with a wrong upon one's soul; but that it is agony to see another die whom you have wronged, to know that your act can never be atoned for now. that there is one unpardonable sin to your account on the records of eternity. that was how the yearlings felt; and even bull harris, ruffian though he was, trembled slightly about the lips. the storm itself was one of those which come but seldom. nature's mighty forces flung loose in one giant cataclysm. it came from the north, and it had a full sweep down the valley of the hudson, pent in and focused to one point by the mountains on each side. it tore the trees from the tops as it came; it struck the river with a swish, and beat the water into foam. it flung the raindrops in gusts against it, and caught them up in spray and whirled them on; and this, to the echoing crashes of the thunder and the dull, lurid gleam of the lightning that played in the rear. one is silent at such times at that; the frightened cadets on the shore would probably have stood in groups and trembled, and done nothing through it all, had it not been for a cry that aroused them. some one, sharper eyed than the rest, espied a figure struggling in the water near the shore. there was a rush for the spot, and strong arms drew the swimmer in. it was captain fischer, breathless and exhausted from the race. he lay on the bank, panting for breath for a minute, and then raised himself upon his arms. "where's mallory?" he cried, his voice sounding faint and distant in the roar of the storm. "out there," responded somebody, pointing. "w-why don't somebody go help him?" gasped the other. "he'll drown!" "don't know where to go to," answered the first speaker, shaking his head. fischer sank back, too exhausted, himself, to move. "he'll drown! he'll drown!" he muttered. "he is tired to death from the race." and after that there was another anxious wait, every one hesitating, wondering if there were any use venturing into the tossing water. the storm was one that came in gusts; its first minute's fury past, there was a brief let up in its violence, and the darkness that the black clouds had brought with them yielded to the daylight for a while. during that time those on the shore got one brief glimpse of a startling panorama. the boat was sighted first, still skimming along before the gale, but obviously laboring with the water she had shipped. the frightened occupant was still in the stern, clinging to the gunwale with terror. there was a shout raised when the boat was noticed, and all eyes were bent upon it anxiously. then some one, chancing a glance down the river below, caught a glimpse of a moving head. "there's mallory!" he cried. "hooray!" there was mallory, and mallory was swimming desperately, as the crowd could dimly see. for the boat he was aiming at was just a little farther out in the stream than he, and bearing swiftly down upon him. whatever happened must happen with startling rapidity, and the crowd knew it, and forebore to shout--almost to breathe. the boat plunged on; the swimmer fairly leaped through the waves. nearer it came, nearer--up to him--past him! no! for, as it seemed, the bow must cleave his body, the body was seen to leap forward with it. he had caught the boat! and a wild cheer burst from the spectators. "he's safe! he's safe!" but the cheer, as it died out, seemed to catch in their throats, and to change into a gasp of suspense, and then of horror. mallory had clung to the bow for a moment, as if too exhausted to move. his body, half submerged, had cut a white furrow in the water, drawn on by the plunging boat. then the girl, in an evil moment, released her hold and sprang forward to help him. she caught his arm, and he flung himself upon the boat. and then came the crash. leaning to one side, with the sudden weight, the boat half turned, and then gibed with terrific violence. the great boom swung around like a giant club, driven by the pressure of the wind upon the vast surface of the sail. the watchers gave a half-suppressed gasp, mallory was seen to put out his arm, and the next instant the blow was struck. it hit the girl with a crash that those on shore thought they heard; it flung her far out into the water, and almost at the same instant mallory was seen to leap out in a low, quick dive. then, as if the scene was over, and the book shut, the rain burst out again in its fury, and the darkness of the raging storm shut it all out. this time there could be no mistaking duty; the cadets knew now where the struggling pair were, and they had no reason to hesitate. first to move was one of a group of six anxious plebes, who had been waiting in agony; it was texas, and the spectators saw him plunge into the water and vanish in the driving rain. then more of that crowd followed him; fischer, too, sprang up, exhausted though he was, and in the end there were at least a dozen sturdy lads swimming with all their might toward the spot where mallory had been seen to leap. they were destined, however, to do but little good; so we shall stay by those upon the shore. the weakening of bull harris' followers has been mentioned; it increased as the plebe's self-sacrificing daring was shown. "he certainly is spunky," one of the crowd ventured to mutter, as he shivered and watched. "i hope he gets ashore." and bull turned upon him with a savage oath. "you fool!" he cried. "you confounded fool! if he does, i could kill him! kill him! do you hear me?" there are some natures like that. have you read the tale of macauley's?- "how brave horatius held the bridge in the good old days of yore." there was just such a hero then battling with the waves as now- "curse him!" cried false sextus. "will not the villain drown?" and on the other hand- "heaven help him," quoth spurius laritus, "and bring him safe to shore! for such a gallant feat of arms has ne'er been seen before." there were few of bull's crowd as hardened in their hatred as was he; murray was one, and the sallow vance another. baby edwards followed suit, of course. but, as for the rest of them, they were thinking. "i don't care!" vowed one. "i'm sorry we've got him fired." "do you mean," demanded bull, in amazement, "that you're not going to keep the promise you made a while ago?" "that's what i do!" declared the other, sturdily. "i think he deserves to stay!" and bull turned away in alarm and disgust. "fools!" he muttered to himself. "fools!" and gritted his teeth in rage. "i hope he's never seen again." it seemed as if that might happen; the cadets during all this time had been standing out in the driving rain, striving to pierce the darkness of the storm. from the river came an occasional shout from some one of the rescue party; but no word from the plebe or the girl. once the watchers caught sight of a figure swimming in; it proved to be fischer once more. the cadets had rushed toward him with sudden hope, but he shook his head, sadly. "couldn't--couldn't find him," he panted, shaking the water from his hair and shielding his face from the driving rain. "i was too tired to stay long." the storm swept by in a very short while. violence such as that cannot last long in anything. while the anxious cadets raced up and down the shore, each striving to catch a glimpse of mallory, the dark clouds sailed past and the rain settled into an ordinary drizzle. the surface of the white-capped river became visible then, and gradually the heads of the swimmers came into view. "there's billy williams!" was the cry. "and that's texas, way over there. here's parson stanard! and jones!" and so on it went, but no mallory. those on the shore could not see him and those in the river had no better luck. most of them had begun to give up in despair, when the long-expected cry did come. for mark was not dead by a long shot. a shout came from a solitary straggler far down the stream, and the straggler was seen to plunge into the water. those on the shore made a wild dash for the spot and those in the water struck out for the shore so as to join them. and louder at last swelled the glad cry. "here he is! hooray!" the plebe was about a hundred yards from the shore, and swimming weakly; the girl, still unconscious, was floating upon her back--and her rescuer, holding her by the arms--was slowly towing her toward the shore. a dozen swam out to aid him as soon as he was seen; strong arms lifted the girl and bore her high upon the bank, others supporting the half-fainting plebe to a seat. "is she dead?" was mark's first thought, as soon as he could speak at all. "i don't know," said fischer, chafing the girl's hands and watching for the least sign of life. "somebody hustle up for the doctor there! quick!" several of the cadets set out for the hospital at a run; and the rest gathered about the two and offered what help they could. "it's judge fuller's daughter," said fischer, who was busily dosing the unconscious figure with a flask of reddish liquid surreptitiously produced by one of the cadets. "do you know her?" inquired mark, in surprise. "know her!" echoed half the bystanders at once. "why, she lives just across the river!" "that's an ugly looking wound on the head there," continued fischer, bending over the prostrate form. "gosh! but that boom must have struck her. and here, mallory," he added, "you'd best take a taste of this brandy. you look about dead yourself." "no, i thank you," responded mark, smiling weakly. "i'm all right. only i'm glad it's all over and----" mark got no farther; as if to mock his words came a cry that made the crowd whirl about and look toward the river in alarm. "help! help!" "by george!" cried fischer, "it's one of the fellows!" "it's alan!" shouted mark. "alan dewey!" and before any one could divine his intention he sprang up and made a dash for the river. for mark knew how dewey had come there; he had swum out, cripple though he was, to hunt for him; and with his one well arm, poor gallant dewey was finding trouble in getting back. mark had been quick, but fischer was a bit too quick for him and seized him by the arm. "come back here!" he commanded, sternly. "and don't be a fool. you're near dead. some of you fellows swim out and tow that plebe in." half a dozen had started without being asked; and mark's overzealous friend was grabbed by the hair and arms and feet and rushed in in great style. he came up smiling as usual. "got out too far, b'gee!" he began. "very foolish of me! reminds me of a story i once heard---oh, say!" this last explanation came as the speaker caught sight of the figure of the young girl; and his face lost its smile on the instant. "she's alive, isn't she?" he cried. "don't know," said fischer. "here comes the doctor now." "well, she certainly is a beautiful girl!" responded dewey, shaking his head. "b'gee, we don't want that kind to die!" the doctor was coming on a run; and a minute later he was kneeling beside the young girl's body. "jove!" he muttered. "almost a fractured skull! no, she's alive! see here, who got her out?" "mr. mallory," responded the captain, turning toward where mark had sat. and then he gave vent to a startled exclamation. "good heavens! he's fainted! what's the matter?" "fainted?" echoed the surgeon, as he noticed the young man's white lips and bloodless cheek. "fainted! i should say so! why, he's almost as near dead as she! we must take him to the hospital." chapter xxviii. mark meets the superintendent. "yes, colonel, the lad is a hero, and i want to tell him so, too!" the speaker was a tall, gray-haired gentleman, and he whacked his cane on the floor for emphasis as he spoke. "it was a splendid act, sir, splendid!" he continued. "and i want to thank mark mallory for it right here in your office." the man he addressed wore the uniform of the united states army; he was colonel harvey, the superintendent of the west point academy. "i shall be most happy to have you do so," he replied, smiling at this visitor's enthusiasm. "you have certainly," he added, "much to thank the young man for." "much!" echoed the other. "much! why, my dear sir, if that daughter of mine had been drowned i believe it would have killed me. she is my only child, and, if i do say it myself, sir, the sweetest girl that ever lived." "wasn't it rather reckless, judge," inquired the other, "for you to allow her to go sailing alone?" "she is used to the boat," responded judge fuller, "but no one on earth could have handled it in such a gale. i do not remember to have seen such a one in all the time i have lived up here." "nor i, either," said the superintendent. "it was so dark that i could scarcely see across the parade ground. it is almost miraculous that mallory should have succeeded in finding the boat as he did." "tell me about it," put in the other. "i have not been able to get a consistent account yet." "cadet captain fischer told me," responded the colonel. "it seems that he and mallory were just at the finish of a swimming race when the storm broke. they caught sight of the boat with your daughter in it coming down stream. the plebe turned, exhausted though he was, and headed for it. it got so dark then that those on shore could scarcely see; but the lad managed to catch the boat as it passed and climbed aboard. just then the boom swung round and flung the girl into the water. mallory dived again at once----" "splendid!" interrupted the other. "and swam ashore with her." "and then fainted, they say," the judge added. "yes," said colonel harvey. "dr. grimes told me that it was one of the worst cases of exhaustion he had ever seen. but the lad is doing well now; he appears to be a very vigorous youngster--and i've an idea several of the yearlings found that out to their discomfort. the doctor told me that he thought he would be out this morning; the accident was only two days ago." "that is fortunate," responded the other. "the boy is too good to lose." "he appears to be a remarkable lad generally," continued the superintendent. "i have heard several tales about him. some of the stories came to me 'unofficially,' as we call it, and i don't believe mallory would rest easily if he thought i knew of them. young fischer, who's a splendid man himself, i'll tell you, informed me yesterday that the plebe had earned his admission fee by bringing help to a wrecked train and telegraphing the account to a new york paper." "i heard he had been in some trouble about demerits," put in judge fuller. "in very serious trouble. i had to take a very radical step to get him out of it. every once in a while i find that some new cadet is being 'skinned,' as the cadets call it, demerited unfairly. i always punish severely when i find that out. in this case, though, i had no proof; mallory would say nothing, though he was within five demerits of expulsion. so i decided to end the whole matter by declaring a new rule i've been contemplating for some time. i've found that new cadets get too many demerits during the first few weeks, before they learn the rules thoroughly. so i've decided that in future no demerits shall be given for the first three weeks, and that delinquencies shall be punished by extra hours and other penalties. that let mallory out of his trouble, you see." "a very clever scheme!" laughed the other. "very clever!" it may be of interest to notice that colonel harvey's rule has been in effect ever since. there was silence of a few moments after that, during which judge fuller tapped the floor with his cane reflectively. "you promised to let me see this mallory," he said, suddenly. "i'm ready now." by way of answer, the superintendent rang a bell upon his desk. "go over to the hospital," he said to the orderly who appeared in the doorway, "and find out if cadet mallory is able to be about. if he is, bring him here at once." the boy disappeared and the colonel turned to his visitor and smiled. "is that satisfactory?" he inquired. "very!" responded the other. "and i only wish that you could send for my daughter to come over, too. i hope those surgeons are taking care of her." "as much as if she were their own," answered the colonel. "i cannot tell you how glad i was to learn that she is beyond danger." "it is god's mercy," said the other, with feeling. "she could not have had a much narrower escape." and after that neither said anything until a knock at the door signaled the arrival of the orderly. "come in," called the superintendent, and two figures stepped into the room. one was the messenger, and the other was mark. "this," said the superintendent after a moment's pause, "is cadet mallory." and cadet mallory it was. the same old mark, only paler and more weak just then. judge fuller rose and bowed gravely. "sit down," said he, "you are not strong enough to stand." and after that no one said anything for fully a minute; the last speaker resumed his seat and fell to studying mark's face in silence. and mark waited respectfully for him to begin. "my name," said he at last, "is fuller." "judge fuller?" inquired mark. "yes. and grace fuller is my daughter." after that there was silence again, broken suddenly by the excitable old gentleman dropping his cane, springing up from his chair, and striding over toward the lad. "i want to shake hands with you, sir! i want to shake hands with you!" he cried. mark was somewhat taken aback; but he arose and did as he was asked. "and now," said the judge, "i guess that's all--sit down, sir, sit down; you've little strength left, i can see. i want to thank you, sir, for being the finest lad i've met for a long time. and when my daughter gets well--which she will, thank the lord--i'll be very glad to have you call on us, or else to let us call on you--seeing that we live beyond cadet limits. and if ever you get into trouble, here or anywhere, just come and see me about it, and i'll be much obliged to you. and that's all." having said which, the old gentleman stalked across the room once more, picked up his hat and cane, and made for the door. "good-day, sir," he said. "i'm going around now to see my daughter. good-day, and god bless you." after which the door was shut. it was several minutes after that before colonel harvey said anything. "you have made a powerful friend, my boy," he remarked, smiling at the recollection of the old gentleman's strange speech. "and you have brought honor upon the academy. i am proud of you--proud to have you here." "thank you, sir," said mark, simply. "all i have to say besides that," added the officer, "is to watch out that you stay. don't get any more demerits." "i'll try not, sir." "do. and i guess you had best go and join your company now if the doctor thinks you're able. something is happening to-day which always interests new cadets. i bid you good-morning, mr. mallory." and mark went out of that office and crossed the street to barracks feeling as if he were walking on air. chapter xxix. the seven in session. it is fun indeed to be a hero, to know that every one you pass is gazing at you with admiration. or if one cannot do anything heroic, let him even do something that will bring him notoriety, and then- "as he walks along the boulevard, with an independent air." he may be able to appreciate the afore-mentioned sensation. there was no boulevard at west point, but the area in barracks served the purpose, and mark could not help noticing that as he went the yearlings were gazing enviously at him, and the plebes with undisguised admiration. he hurried upstairs to avoid that, and found that he had leaped, as the phrase has it, from the frying pan to the fire. for there were the other six of the "seven devils" ready to welcome him with a rush. "wow!" cried texas. "back again! whoop!" "bless my soul, but i'm glad!" piped in the little round bubbly voice of "indian." "bless my soul!" "sit down. sit down," cried "parson" stanard, reverently offering his beloved volume of "dana's geology" for a cushion. "sit down and let us look at you." "yes, b'gee!" chimed in alan dewey. "yes, b'gee, let's look at you. reminds me of a story i once heard, b'gee--pshaw, what's the use of trying to tell a good story with everybody trying to shout at once." the excitement subsided after some five minutes more, and mark was glad of it. with the true modesty natural to all high minds he felt that he would a great deal rather rescue a girl than be praised and made generally uncomfortable for it. so he shut his followers up as quickly as he could, which was not very quickly, for they had lots to say. "how is the girl?" inquired dewey, perceiving at last that mark really meant what he said, and so, hastening to turn the conversation. "she's doing very well now," said mark. "always your luck!" growled texas. "she's beautiful, and her father's a judge and got lots of money. bet he runs off and marries her in a week. oh, say, mark, but you're lucky! you just ought to hear the plebes talk about you. i can't tell you how proud i am, man! why----" "right back at it again!" interrupted mark, laughing. "right back again! didn't i tell you to drop it? i know what i'll do----" here mark arose from his seat. "i hereby declare this a business meeting of the seven devils, and as chairman i call the meeting to order." "what for?" cried the crowd. "to consider plans for hazing," answered mark. "i----" "wow!" roared texas, wildly excited in an instant. "goin' to haze somebody? whoop!" and mark laughed silently to himself. "i knew i'd make you drop that rescue business," he said. "and mr. powers, you will have the goodness to come to order and not to address the meeting until you are granted the floor. it is my purpose, if you will allow me to say a few words to the society--ahem!" mark said this with stern and pompous dignity and texas subsided so suddenly that the rest could scarcely keep from laughing. "but, seriously now, fellows," he said, after a moment's silence. "let's leave all the past behind and consider what's before us. i really have something to say." having been thus enjoined, the meeting did come to order. the members settled themselves comfortably about the room as if expecting a long oration, and mark continued, after a moment's thought. "we really ought to make up our mind beforehand as to just exactly what we're going to do. i suppose you all know what's going to happen to-day." "no!" cried the impulsive texas. "i don't. what is it, anyhow?" "we're to move to camp this afternoon," responded mark. "i know; but what's that got to do with it?" "lots. several of the cadets have told me that there's always more hazing done on that one day than on all the rest put together. you see, we leave barracks and go up to live with the whole corps at the summer camp. and that night the yearlings always raise cain with the plebes." "bully, b'gee!" chimed in dewey, no less pleased with the prospect. "so to-night is the decisive night," continued mark. "and i leave it for the majority to decide just what we'll do about it. what do you say?" mark relapsed into silence, and there was a moment's pause, ended by the grave and classic parson slowly rising to his feet. the parson first laid his inevitable "dana" upon the floor, then glanced about him with a pompous air and folded his long, bony arms. "ahem!" he said, and then began: "gentlemen! i rise--ahem!--to put the case to you as i see it; i rise to emulate the example of the immortal patrick henry--to declare for liberty or death! yea, by zeus, or death!" "bully, b'gee!" chimed in dewey, slapping his knee in approval and winking merrily at the crowd from behind the parson's back. "gentlemen!" continued the parson. "once before we met in this same room and we did then make known our declaration of independence to the world. but there is one thing we have not yet done, and that we must do! yea, by zeus! i am a bostonian--i may have told you that before--and i am proud of the deeds of my forefathers. they fought at bunker hill; and, gentlemen, we have that yet to do." "betcher life, b'gee!" cried dewey, as the parson gravely took his seat. then the former arose and continued the discussion. "not much of a hand for making a speech," he said, "as the deaf-mute remarked when he lost three fingers; but i've got something to say, and, b'gee, i'm going to say it. to-night is the critical night, and if we are meek and mild now, we'll be it for the whole summer. and i say we don't, b'gee, and that's all!" with which brief, but pointed and characteristic summary of the situation, alan sat down and texas clapped his heels together and gave vent to a "wow!" of approval. "anybody else got anything to say?" inquired mark. "yes, bah jove! i have, don't ye know." this came from mr. chauncey van rensallear mount-bonsall. chauncey wore a high collar and a london accent; he was by this time playfully known as "the man with a tutor and a hyphen," both of which luxuries it had been found he possessed. but chauncey was no fool for all his mannerisms. "aw--yes," said he, "i have something to say, ye know. those deuced yearlings will haze us more than any other plebes in the place. beastly word, that, by the way. i hate to be called a plebe, ye know. there is blue blood in our family, bah jove, and i'll guarantee there isn't one yearling in the place can show better. why, my grandfather----" "i call the gentleman to order," laughed mark. "hazing's the business on hand. hazing, and not hancestors." "i know," expostulated chauncey, "but i hate to be called a plebe, ye know. as i was going to say, however, they'll haze us most. mark has--aw--fooled them a dozen times, bah jove! texas chastised four of them. parson, i'm told, chased half a dozen once. my friend indian here got so deuced mad the other day that he nearly killed one, don't ye know. dewey's worse, and as for me and my friend sleepy here--aw--bah jove!----" "you did better than all of us!" put in mark. chauncey paused a moment to make a remark about "those deuced drills, ye know, which kept a fellah from ever having a clean collah, bah jove!" and then he continued. "i just wanted to say, ye know, that we were selected for the hazing to-night, and that we might as well do something desperate at once, bah jove! that's what i think, and so does my friend sleepy. don't you, sleepy?" "i ain't a-thinkin' abaout it 't all," came a voice from the bed where methusalem zebediah chilvers, the farmer, lay stretched out. "sleepy's too tired," laughed mark. "it seems to be the unanimous opinion of the crowd," he continued, after a moment's pause, "that we might just as well be bold. in other words, that we have no hazing." "b'gee!" cried dewey, springing to his feet, excitedly. "b'gee, i didn't say that! no, sir!" "what did you say, then?" inquired mark. "i said that we shouldn't let them haze us, b'gee, and i meant it, too. i never said no hazing! bet cher life, b'gee! i was just this moment going to make the motion that we carry the war into the enemy's country, that we upset west point traditions for once and forever, and with a bang, too. in other words"--here the excitable youngster paused, so that his momentous idea might have due weight--"in other words, b'gee, that we haze the yearlings!" there was an awed silence for a few moments to give that terrifically original proposition a chance to settle in the minds of the amazed "devils." texas was the first to act and he leaped across the room at a bound and seized "b'gee" by the hand. "wow!" he roared. "whoop! bully, b'gee!" and in half a minute more the seven, including the timid indian, had registered a solemn vow to do deeds of valor that would "make them ole cadets look crosseyed," as texas put it. they were going to haze the yearlings! chapter xxx. the move into camp. the new cadets at west point are housed in barracks for two weeks after their admission. during this time "squad drill" is the daily rule, and the strangers learn to march and stand and face--everything a new soldier has to learn, with the exception of the manual of arms. after that they are adjudged fit to associate with the older cadets, and are marched up to "camp mcpherson." this usually takes place about the first day of july. our friends, the seven, had been measured for uniforms along with the rest of the plebe company during their first days in barracks. the fatigue uniforms had been given out that morning, to the great excitement of everybody, and now "cit" clothing, with all its fantastic variety of hats and coats of all colors, was stowed away in trunks "for good," and the plebes costumed uniformly in somber suits of gray, with short jackets and only a black seam down the trousers for ornament. full dress uniforms, such as the old cadets up at camp were wearing, were yet things of the future. that morning also the plebes had been "sized" for companies. of "companies" there are four, into which the battalion of some three hundred cadets is divided, "for purposes of instruction in infantry tactics, and in military police and discipline." (for purposes of "academic instruction," they are of course divided into the four classes: first, second, third, or "yearlings," and fourth, the "plebes".) the companies afore-mentioned are under the command of tactical officers. these latter report to the "commandant of cadets," who is, next to the superintendent, the highest ranking officer on the post. the companies are designated a, b, c and d. a and d are flank companies, and to them the tallest cadets are assigned. b and c are center companies. mark and texas, and also the parson and sleepy, all of whom were above the average height, found themselves in a. the remainder of the seven devils managed to land in b; and the whole plebe class was ordered to pack up and be ready to move immediately after dinner. the cadets are allowed to take only certain articles to camp; the rest, together with the cit's clothing, was stored in trunks and put away in the trunk room. right here at the start there was trouble for the members of our organization. texas, it will be remembered, had a choice assortment of guns of all caliber, sixteen in number. these he had stored up the chimney of his room for safety. (the chimney is a favorite place of concealment for contraband articles at west point). but there was no such place of concealment in camp; and no way of getting the guns there anyhow. there are no pockets in the cadets' uniforms except a small one for a watch. money they are not allowed to carry, and their handkerchiefs are tucked in the breasts of their coats. it was a difficult situation, for texas, with true texan cautiousness, vowed he'd never leave his guns behind. "why, look a yere, man," he cried. "i tell you, t'ain't safe now fo' a feller to go up thar 'thout anything to defend himself. you kain't tell what may happen!" the parson was in a similar quandary. his chimney contained a various assortment of chemicals, together with sundry geological specimens, including that now world-famous cyathophylloid coral which had been discovered "in a sandstone of tertiary origin." and the parson vowed that either that cyathophylloid went to camp or he stayed in barracks--yea, by zeus! there was no use arguing with them; mark tried it in vain. texas was obdurate and talked of holding up the crowd that dared to take those guns away; and the parson said that he had kept a return ticket to boston, his native town, a glorious city where science was encouraged and not repressed. that was the state of affairs through dinner, and up to the moment when the cry, "new cadets turn out!" came from the area. by that time texas had tied his guns in one of his shirts, and the parson had variously distributed his fossils about his body until he was one bundle of lumps. "if you people will congregate closely about me," he exclaimed, "i apprehend that the state of affairs will not be observed." it was a curious assembly that "turned out"--a mass of bundles, brooms and buckets, with a few staggering plebes underneath. they marched up to camp that way, too, and it was with audible sighs of relief that they dropped their burdens at the end. a word of description of "camp mcpherson" may be of interest to those who have never visited west point. it is important that the reader should be familiar with its appearance, for many of mark's adventures were destined to happen there--some of them this very same night. the camp is half a mile or so from barracks, just beyond the cavalry plain and very close to old fort clinton. the site is a pretty one, the white tents standing out against the green of the shade trees and the parapet of the fort. the tents are arranged in four "company streets" and are about five feet apart. the tents have wooden platforms for floors and are large enough for four cadets each. a long wooden box painted green serves as the "locker"--it has no lock or key--and a wooden rod near the ridge pole serves as a wardrobe. and that is the sum total of the furniture. the plebes made their way up the company streets and the cadet officers in charge, under the supervision of the "tacs," assigned them to their tents. fortunately, plebes are allowed to select their own tent mates; it may readily be believed the four devils of a company went together. by good fortune the three remaining in b company, as was learned later, found one whole tent left over and so were spared the nuisance of a stranger in their midst--a fact which was especially gratifying to the exclusive master chauncey. having been assigned to their tents, the plebes were set to work under the brief instructions of a cadet corporal at the task of arranging their household effects. this is done with mathematical exactness. there is a place for everything, and a penalty for not keeping it there. blankets, comforters, pillows, etc., go in a pile at one corner. a looking-glass hangs on the front tent pole; a water bucket is deposited on the front edge of the platform; candlesticks, candles, cleaning materials, etc., are kept in a cylindrical tin box at the foot of the rear tent pole; and so on it goes, through a hundred items or so. there are probably no more uniform things in all nature than the cadet tents in camp. the proverbial peas are not to be compared with them. the amount of fear and trembling which was caused to those four friends of ours in a certain a company tent by the contraband goods of texas and the parson is difficult to imagine. the cadet corporal, lynx-eyed and vigilant, scarcely gave them a chance to hide anything. it was only by mark's interposing his body before his friends that they managed to slide their precious cargoes in under the blankets, a temporary hiding place. and even when the articles were thus safely hidden, what must that officious yearling do but march over and rearrange the pile accurately, almost touching one of the revolvers, and making the four tremble and quake in their boots. they managed the task without discovery, however, and went on with their work. and by the first drum beat for dress parade that afternoon, everything was done up in spick-and-span order, to the eye at any rate. dress parade was a formality in which the plebes took no part but that of interested spectators. they huddled together shyly in their newly occupied "plebe hotels" and watched the yearlings, all in spotless snowy uniforms, "fall in" on the company street outside. the yearlings were wild with delight and anticipation at having the strangers right among them at last, and they manifested great interest in the plebes, their dwellings, and in fact in everything about them. advice and criticism, and all kinds of guying that can be imagined were poured upon the trembling lads' heads, and this continued in a volley until the second drum changed the merry crowd into a silent and motionless line of soldiers. mark could scarcely keep his excitable friend texas from sallying out then and there to attack some of the more active members of this hilarious crowd. it was evident that, while no plebe escaped entirely, there was no plebe hotel in a company so much observed as their own. for the three b. j.-est plebes in the whole plebe class were known to be housed therein. cadet mallory, "professional hero," was urged in all seriousness to come out and rescue somebody on the spot, which oft-repeated request, together with other merry chaffing, he bore with a good-natured smile. cadet stanard was plagued with geological questions galore, among which the "cyathophylloid" occupied a prominent place. cadet powers was dared to come out and lasso a stray "tac," whose blue-uniformed figure was visible out on the parade ground. and mr. chilvers found the state of "craps" a point of great solicitude to all. it was all stopped by the drum as has been mentioned; the company wheeled by fours and marched down the street, leaving the plebes to an hour of rest. but oh! those same yearlings were thinking. "oh, won't we just soak 'em to-night!" and, strange to say, the same thought was in the minds of seven particular plebes that stayed behind. for mark had a plot by this time. chapter xxxi. "first night." dress parade leaves but a few moments for supper, with no chance for "deviling." but when the battalion marched back from that meal and broke ranks, when the dusk of evening was coming on to make an effective screen, then was the time, thought the cadets. and so thought the plebes, too, as they came up the road a few minutes later, trembling with anticipation, most of them, and looking very solemn and somber in their dusky fatigue uniforms. "first night of plebe camp," says a well-known military writer, "is a thing not soon to be forgotten, even in these days when pitchy darkness no longer surrounds the pranks of the yearlings, and when official vigilance and protection have replaced what seemed to be tacit encouragement and consent. "then--some years ago--it was no uncommon thing for a new cadet to be dragged out--'yanked'--and slid around camp on his dust-covered blanket twenty times a night, dumped into fort clinton ditch, tossed in a tent fly, half smothered in the folds of his canvas home, ridden on a tent pole or in a rickety wheelbarrow, smoked out by some vile, slow-burning pyrotechnic compound, robbed of rest and sleep at the very least after he had been alternately drilled and worked all the livelong day." in mark's time the effort to put a stop to the abuses mentioned had just been begun. army officers had been put on duty at night; gas lamps had been placed along the sentry posts--precautions which are doubled nowadays, and with the risk of expulsion added besides. they have done away with the worst forms of hazing if not with the spirit. the yearlings "had it in" for our four friends of company a that evening. in fact, scarcely had the plebes scattered to their tents when that particular plebe hotel was surrounded. the cadets had it all arranged beforehand, just what was to happen, and they expected to have no end of fun about it. "parson stanard" was to be serenaded first; the crowd meant to surround him and "invite" him to read some learned extracts from his beloved "dana." the parson was to recount some of the nobler deeds of boston's heroes, including himself; he was to display his learning by answering questions on every conceivable subject; he was to define and spell a list of the most outlandish words in every language known to the angels. texas was to show his skill and technique in hurling an imaginary lasso and firing an imaginary revolver from an imaginary galloping horse. he was to tell of the geography, topography, climate and resources of the lone star state; he was to recount the exploits of his "dad," "the hon. scrap powers, sah, o' hurricane co.," and his uncle, the new senator-elect. mark was to give rules for rescuing damsels, saving expresses and ferryboats, etc. and mr. methusalem zebediah chilvers of kansas was to state his favorite method of raising three-legged chickens and three-foot whiskers. that was the delicious programme as finally agreed upon by the yearlings. and there was only one drawback met in the execution of it. the four plebes could not be found! they weren't in their tent; they weren't in camp! preposterous! the yearlings hunted, scarcely able to believe their eyes. the plebes, of course, had a perfect right to take a walk after supper if they chose. but the very idea of daring to do it on the first night in camp, when they knew that the yearlings would visit them and expect to be entertained! it was an unheard-of thing to do; but it was just what one would have expected of those b. j. beasts, so the yearlings grumbled, as they went off to other tents to engage other plebes in conversation and controversy. but where were the four? no place in particular. they had simply joined the other three and had the impudence to disappear in the woods for a stroll until tattoo. they had come to the conclusion that it was better to do that than to stay and be "guyed," as they most certainly would be if they refused their tormentors' requests. and mark had overruled texas' vehement offer to stay and "do up the hull crowd," deciding that the cover of the night would be favorable to the sevens' hazing, and that until then they should make themselves scarce. in the meantime there was high old sport in camp mcpherson. in response to the requests of the merry yearlings, some plebes were sitting out on the company streets and rowing desperate races at a 34-to-the-minute stroke with brooms for oars and air for water; some were playing imaginary hand-organs, while others sang songs to the tunes; some "beasts" were imitating every imaginable animal in a real "menagerie," and some were relating their personal history while trying to stand on their heads. all this kind of hazing is good-natured and hurts no one physically, however much the loss of dignity may torment some sensitive souls. it is the only kind of hazing that remains to any great extent nowadays. in the midst of such hilarity time passes very rapidly--to the yearlings, anyway. in almost no time tattoo had sounded; and then the companies lined up for the evening roll call, the seven dropping into line as silently as they had stolen off, deigning a word to no one in explanation of their strange conduct. "that's what i call a pretty b. j. trick!" growled cadet harris. bull had been looking forward with great glee to that evening's chance to ridicule mark, with all his classmates to back him; it was a lost chance now, and bull was angry in consequence. bull's cronies agreed with him as to the "b. j.-ness" of that trick. and they, along with a good many others, too, agreed that the trick ought not be allowed to succeed. "we ought to haze him ten times as hard to-night to make up for it!" was the verdict. and so it happened that the seven, by their action, brought down upon their heads all the hazing that was done after taps. this hazing, too, was by far the least pleasant, for it was attended to only by the more reckless members of the class, members who could not satisfy their taste for torture by making a helpless plebe sing songs, but must needs tumble him out of bed and ride him on a rail at midnight besides. the fact, however, that all such members of the yearling class had decided to concentrate their torments upon him did not worry mark in the least. in fact, that was just what mark had expected and prepared for. and so there was destined to be fun that night. "now go to your tents, make down your bedding just as you were taught at barracks; do not remove your underclothing; hang up your uniforms where each man can get his own in an instant; put your shoes and caps where you can get them in the dark if need be; turn in and blow your candle out, before the drum strikes 'taps,' at ten. after that, not a sound! get to sleep as soon as you can and be ready to form here at reveille." so spoke cadet corporal jasper; and then at the added command, "break ranks, march!" the plebe company scattered, and with many a sigh of relief vanished as individuals in the various tents. the corporal's last order, "be ready to form here at reveille," is a source of much worriment to the plebe. but the one before it, "get to sleep as soon as you can," is obeyed with the alacrity born of hours of drill and marching. long before tattoo, which is the signal for "lights out," the majority of the members of the class were already dreaming. perhaps they were not resting very easily, for most of them had a vague idea that there might be trouble that night; but they knew that lying awake would not stop it, and they were all too sleepy anyway. the last closing ceremony of a west point day in camp is the watchful "tac's" inspection. one of these officers goes the rounds with a dark lantern, flashing it into every tent and making sure that the four occupants are really in bed. (the "bed" consists of a board floor, and blankets.) having attended to this duty, the tac likewise retires and camp mcpherson sinks into the slumbers of the night. after that until five the next morning there is no one awake but the tireless sentries. a word about these. the camp is a military one and is never without guard from the moment the tents are stretched until the 29th of august, when the snowy canvas comes to the ground once more. the "guard tent" is at the western end of the camp, and is under the charge of the "corporal of the guard," a cadet. the sentries are cadets, too, and there are five of them, numbered--sentry no. 1 and so on. the ceremony each morning at which these sentries go on duty is called "guard-mounting." and during the next twenty-four hours these sentries are on duty two hours in every six--two hours on and then four off, making eight in the twenty-four. these sentries being cadets themselves--and yearlings at present--hazing is not so difficult as it might seem. a sentry can easily arrange to have parties cross his beat without his seeing them; it is only when the sentry is not in the plot that the thing is dangerous. the "tac"--lieutenant allen was his name--had made his rounds for the night, finding plebes and yearlings, too, all sleeping soundly, or apparently so. and after that there was nothing moving but the tramping sentinels, and the shadows of the trees in the moonlight as they fell on the shining tents--that is, there was nothing moving that was visible. the yearlings, plenty of them, were wide awake in their tents and preparing for their onslaught upon the sleeping plebes. sleeping? perhaps, but certainly not all of them. some of those plebes were as wide awake as the yearlings, and they were engaged in an occupation that would have taken the yearlings considerably by surprise if they had known it. there were seven of them in two tents, tents that were back to back and close together, one being in company a and one in b. they were very quiet about their work; for it was a risky business. discovery would have meant the sentry's yelling for the corporal of the guard; meant that lieutenant allen would have leaped into his trousers and been out of his tent at the corporal's heels; meant a strict investigation, discovery, court-martial and dismissal. it was all right for yearlings to be out at night; but plebes--never! it grew riskier still as a few minutes passed, for one of the b. j. beasts had the temerity to come out of his tent. he came very cautiously, it was true, worming his way along the ground silently, in true indian--or texas style. for texas it was, that adventurous youth having vowed and declared that if he were not allowed to attend to this particular piece of mischief he would go out and hold up a sentry instead; the other three occupants were peering under the tent folds watching him anxiously as he crawled along. as a fact, texas' peril was not as great as was supposed, for the sentries had no means of telling if he was a yearling or not. the idea of a plebe's daring to break rules would not have occurred to them anyhow. be that as it may, at any rate nobody interrupted the seven devils' plans. cadet powers made his way across the "street," deposited his burden, a glistening steel revolver some two feet long. and then he stole back and the crowd lay still in their tents and watched and waited. they had not long to do that. texas barely had time to crawl under the canvas and to mutter to his friends--for the hundredth time: "didn't i tell ye them air guns 'ud come in handy?" at that very moment a sound of muffled laughter warned them that the moment had arrived. "just in time!" whispered mark, seizing his friend by the hand and at the same time giving vent to a subdued chuckle. "just in time. s-sh!" the four, who lay side by side under the tent, could hear each other's hearts thumping then. "will it work? will it work?" was the thought in the mind of every one of them. chapter xxxii. conclusion. the yearlings were a merry party, about ten of them, and they were out for fun and all the fun that could be had. they were going to make it hot for certain b. j. plebes, and they meant to lose no time about it, either. they crept up the company street, laughing and talking in whispers, for fear they should arouse the tac. the sentries they did not care about, of course, for the sentries were pledged to "look the other way." it was decided that the first thing to be done to those b. j. plebes was to "yank 'em." yanking is a west point invention. it means that the victim finds his blanket seized by one corner and torn from under him, hurling him to the ground. many a plebe's nightmares are punctuated with just such periods as these. it seems that a "yanking" was just what the four had prepared for. they had prepared for it by huddling up in one corner and rigging dummies to place in their beds. the dummies consisted of wash basins, buckets, etc., and it was calculated that when these dummies were yanked they would be far from dumb. the yearlings stole up cautiously; they did not know they were watched. the breathless plebes saw their shadows on the tent walls, and knew just what was going on. they saw the figures line up at the back; they saw half a dozen pairs of hands gently raise the canvas, and get a good firm grip on the blankets. then came a subdued "now!" and then--well, things began to happen after that! the yearlings "yanked" with all the power of their arms. the blankets gave way, and the result was a perfectly amazing clatter and crash. have you ever heard half a dozen able-bodied dishwashers working at once? naturally the wildest panic resulted among the attacking party. they did not know what they had done, but they did know that they had done something desperate, and that they wished they hadn't. as the sound broke out on the still, night air they turned in alarm and made a wild dash for their tents. two of them raced down the company street at top speed; both of them suddenly struck an unexpected obstruction and were sent flying through the air. it was a string; and at one end of it was the texas .44-caliber. the result was a bang that woke the camp with a jump. and then there was fun for fair. the sentries knew then that every one was awake, including the "tac," and that they might just as well, therefore, "give the alarm." all five of them accordingly set up a wild shout for the corporal of the guard. this brought the young officer and lieutenant allen on the scene in no time. also it brought from the land of dreams every cadet in the corps who had managed to sleep through the former racket. and nearly all of them rushed to their tent doors wondering what would happen next. the seven meanwhile had been working like beavers. the instant the gun had gone off texas, who held the string, had yanked it in and stowed it away with his other weapons, shaking with laughter in the meanwhile. the others had gone to work with a will; pitcher, basin, bucket, everything, had been hastily set in place; blankets had been relaid; and everything, in short, was put in order again, so that by the time that lieutenant allen got around to their tent--the officer had seized his lantern and set out on a hasty round to discover the jokers--he found four "scared" plebes, sitting up in beds, sleepily rubbing their eyes, and inquiring in anxiety: "what's the matter?" he didn't tell them, for he hadn't the remotest idea himself. and nobody told him; the yearlings couldn't have if they had wanted to. of course the lieutenant didn't care to stay awake all night, fruitlessly asking questions; so he went to bed. the sentries resumed their march, wondering meanwhile what on earth had led their classmates to make so much rumpus, and speculating as to whether it could possibly be true, what one cadet had suggested--that that wild and woolly texan had tried to shoot some one who had hazed him. the rest of the cadets dropped off to sleep. and soon everybody was quiet again--that is, except the seven devils. the seven devils had only just begun. they lay and waited until things were still, and then mark gave the order, and the crowd rose as one man and stole softly out into the street. this included even the trembling indian, who was muttering "bless my soul!" at a great rate. "i guess they're all asleep now," whispered mark. "what are you going to do?" inquired indian. "yank 'em," responded mark, briefly. "come ahead." mark had seen that the yearlings came up boldly, which told him at once that the sentries were "fixed," and he calculated that just at the moment the moon being clouded, the sentries would not know yearlings from plebes. the only danger was that lieutenant allen might still be awake. it was risky, but then---"do you see bull harris' tent?" mark whispered. "it is the sixth from here. he and the baby, with vance and murray, are in there. now, then." with trembling hearts the crowd crept down the street; this was their first venture as lawbreakers. they stole up behind the tent just as the yearlings had; they reached under the canvas and seized the blankets. and then came a sudden haul--and confusion and muttered yells from the inside, which told them that no dummies had been yanked this time. the yearlings sprang up in wrath and gazed out; retreating footsteps and muffled laughter were all that remained, and they went back to bed in disgust. the plebes went, too, in high glee. "and now," said mark. "i guess we might as well go to sleep." * * * * * one does not like to leave this story without having a word to say about what the corps thought of the whole thing next morning. the "tac," of course, reported to his superior the night's alarm--"cause unknown," and that was the end of the matter officially. but the yearlings--phew! the class compared notes right after reveille; and no one talked about anything else for the rest of that day. the cause of the rumpus made by the blankets was soon guessed; the two who had set off the gun were questioned, and that problem soon worked out also; that alone was bad enough! but the amazement when bull and his tentmates turned up and declared that they--yearlings!--had been yanked, yes yanked, and by some measly plebes at that, there is no possibility of describing the indignation. why, it meant that the class had been defied, that west point had been overturned, that the world was coming to an end, and--what more could it possibly mean? and through all the excitement the seven just looked at each other--and winked: "b. b. j.!" they said: "just watch us!" "it was great, b'gee!" said dewey. "hurrah for the plebes!" "hurrah!" was the answer, in a shout. "hurrah!" the end. _the cream of juvenile fiction_ the boys' own library a selection of the best books for boys by the most popular authors the titles in this splendid juvenile series have been selected with care, and as a result all the stories can be relied upon for their excellence. they are bright and sparkling; not over-burdened with lengthy descriptions, but brimful of adventure from the first page to the last--in fact they are just the kind of yarns that appeal strongly to the healthy boy who is fond of thrilling exploits and deeds of heroism. among the authors whose names are included in the boys' own library are horatio alger, jr., edward s. ellis, james otis, capt. ralph bonehill, burt l. standish, gilbert patten and frank h. converse. special features of the boys' own library all the books in this series are copyrighted, printed on good paper, large type, illustrated, printed wrappers, handsome cloth covers stamped in inks and gold--fifteen special cover designs. _146 titles--price, per volume, 75 cents_ for sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by the publisher. david mckay, 610 so. washington square, philadelphia, pa. horatio alger, jr. one of the best known and most popular writers. good, clean, healthy stories for the american boy. adventures of a telegraph boy dean dunham erie train boy, the five hundred dollar check from canal boy to president from farm boy to senator backwoods boy, the mark stanton ned newton new york boy tom brace tom tracy walter griffith young acrobat c. b. ashley. one of the best stories ever written on hunting, trapping and adventure in the west, after the custer massacre. gilbert, the boy trapper annie ashmore. a splendid story, recording the adventures of a boy with smugglers. smuggler's cave, the capt. ralph bonehill. capt. bonehill is in the very front rank as an author of boys' stories. these are two of his best works. neka, the boy conjurer tour of the zero club walter f. bruns. an excellent story of adventure in the celebrated sunk lands of missouri and kansas. in the sunk lands frank h. converse. this writer has established a splendid reputation as a boys' author, and although his books usually command $1.25 per volume, we offer the following at a more popular price. gold of flat top mountain happy-go-lucky jack heir to a million in search of an unknown race in southern seas mystery of a diamond that treasure voyage to the gold coast harry collingwood. one of england's most successful writers of stories for boys. his best story is pirate island george h. coomer. two books we highly recommend. one is a splendid story of adventure at sea, when american ships were in every port in the world, and the other tells of adventures while the first railway in the andes mountains was being built. boys in the forecastle old man of the mountain william dalton. three stories by one of the very greatest writers for boys. the stories deal with boys' adventures in india, china and abyssinia. these books are strongly recommended for boys' reading, as they contain a large amount of historical information. tiger prince war tiger white elephant edward s. ellis. these books are considered the best works this well-known writer ever produced. no better reading for bright young americans. arthur helmuth check no. 2134 from tent to white house perils of the jungle on the trail of geronimo white mustang george manville fenn. for the past fifty years mr. fenn has been writing books for boys and popular fiction. his books are justly popular throughout the english-speaking world. we publish the following select list of his boys' books, which we consider the best he ever wrote. commodore junk dingo boys weathercock golden magnet grand chaco ensign clarke fitch, u. s. n. a graduate of the u. s. naval academy at annapolis, and thoroughly familiar with all naval matters. mr. fitch has devoted himself to literature, and has written a series of books for boys that every young american should read. his stories are full of very interesting information about the navy, training ships, etc. bound for annapolis clif, the naval cadet cruise of the training ship from port to port strange cruise, a william murray graydon. an author of world-wide popularity. mr. graydon is essentially a friend of young people, and we offer herewith ten of his best works, wherein he relates a great diversity of interesting adventures in various parts of the world, combined with accurate historical data. butcher of cawnpore, the camp in the snow, the campaigning with braddock cryptogram, the from lake to wilderness in barracks and wigwam in fort and prison jungles and traitors rajah's fortress, the white king of africa, the lieut. frederick garrison, u. s. a. every american boy takes a keen interest in the affairs of west point. no more capable writer on this popular subject could be found than lieut. garrison, who vividly describes the life, adventures and unique incidents that have occurred in that great institution--in these famous west point stories. off for west point cadet's honor, a on guard west point treasure, the west point rivals, the headon hill. the hunt for gold has always been a popular subject for consideration, and mr. hill has added a splendid story on the subject in this romance of the klondyke. spectre gold henry harrison lewis. mr. lewis is a graduate of the naval academy at annapolis, and has written a great many books for boys. among his best works are the following titles--the subjects include a vast series of adventures in all parts of the world. the historical data is correct, and they should be read by all boys, for the excellent information they contain. centreboard jim king of the island midshipman merrill yankee boys in japan ensign merrill sword and pen valley of mystery, the lieut. lionel lounsberry. a series of books embracing many adventures under our famous naval commanders, and with our army during the war of 1812 and the civil war. founded on sound history, these books are written for boys, with the idea of combining pleasure with profit; to cultivate a fondness for study--especially of what has been accomplished by our army and navy. cadet kit carey captain carey kit carey's protegã© lieut. carey's luck out with commodore decatur randy, the pilot tom truxton's school days tom truxton's ocean trip treasure of the golden crater won at west point brooks mccormick. four splendid books of adventure on sea and land, by this well-known writer for boys. giant islanders, the how he won nature's young nobleman rival battalions walter morris. this charming story contains thirty-two chapters of just the sort of school life that charms the boy readers. bob porter at lakeview academy stanley norris. mr. norris is without a rival as a writer of "circus stories" for boys. these four books are full of thrilling adventures, but good, wholesome reading for young americans. phil, the showman young showman's rivals, the young showman's pluck, the young showman's triumph lieut. james k. orton. when a boy has read one of lieut. orton's books, it requires no urging to induce him to read the others. not a dull page in any of them. beach boy joe last chance mine secret chart, the tom havens with the white squadron james otis. mr. otis is known by nearly every american boy, and needs no introduction here. the following copyrights are among his best: chased through norway inland waterways reuben green's adventures at yale unprovoked mutiny wheeling for fortune gilbert patten. mr. patten has had the distinction of having his books adopted by the u. s. government for all naval libraries on board our war ships. while aiming to avoid the extravagant and sensational, the stories contain enough thrilling incidents to please the lad who loves action and adventure. in the rockspur stories the description of their baseball and football games and other contests with rival clubs and teams make very exciting and absorbing reading; and few boys with warm blood in their veins, having once begun the perusal of one of these books, will willingly lay it down till it is finished. boy boomers boy cattle king boy from the west don kirke's mine jud and joe rockspur nine, the rockspur eleven, the rockspur rivals, the st. george rathborne. mr. rathborne's stories for boys have the peculiar charm of dealing with localities and conditions with which he is thoroughly familiar. the scenes of these excellent stories are along the florida coast and on the western prairies. canoe and camp fire paddling under palmettos rival canoe boys sunset ranch chums of the prairie young range riders gulf cruisers shifting winds arthur sewell. an american story by an american author. it relates how a yankee boy overcame many obstacles in school and out. thoroughly interesting from start to finish. gay dashleigh's academy days capt. david southwick. an exceptionally good story of frontier life among the indians in the far west, during the early settlement period. jack wheeler the famous frank merriwell stories. burt l. standish. no modern series of tales for boys and youths has met with anything like the cordial reception and popularity accorded to the frank merriwell stories. there must be a reason for this and there is. frank merriwell, as portrayed by the author, is a jolly whole-souled, honest, courageous american lad, who appeals to the hearts of the boys. he has no bad habits, and his manliness inculcates the idea that it is not necessary for a boy to indulge in petty vices to be a hero. frank merriwell's example is a shining light for every ambitious lad to follow. six volumes now ready: frank merriwell's school days frank merriwell's chums frank merriwell's foes frank merriwell's trip west frank merriwell down south frank merriwell's bravery frank merriwell's hunting tour frank merriwell's races frank merriwell's sports afield frank merriwell at yale victor st. clair. these books are full of good, clean adventure, thrilling enough to please the full-blooded wide-awake boy, yet containing nothing to which there can be any objection from those who are careful as to the kind of books they put into the hands of the young. cast away in the jungle comrades under castro for home and honor zip, the acrobat from switch to lever little snap, the post boy zig-zag, the boy conjurer matthew white, jr. good, healthy, strong books for the american lad. no more interesting books for the young appear on our lists. adventures of a young athlete eric dane guy hammersley my mysterious fortune tour of a private car young editor, the arthur m. winfield. one of the most popular authors of boys' books. here are three of his best. mark dale's stage venture young bank clerk, the young bridge tender, the gayle winterton. this very interesting story relates the trials and triumphs of a young american actor, including the solution of a very puzzling mystery. young actor, the ernest a. young. this book is not a treatise on sports, as the title would indicate, but relates a series of thrilling adventures among boy campers in the woods of maine. boats, bats and bicycles * * * * * transcriber's note: numerous errors in the original text involving missing or improper quotation marks have been corrected. in addition, the following typographical errors present in the original text have been corrected. in chapter i, a spurious paragraph break following "not compelling me to use my voice much." was removed, "convey the challenge in behalf of the class" was changed to "convey the challenge in behalf of the class", "inquired jaspar" was changed to "inquired jasper", and "the presence of this cyashodhylloid fossil" was changed to "the presence of this cyathodhylloid fossil". in chapter vi, "the shakesperian method" was changed to "the shakespearian method", and "trigometrical formulas" was changed to "trigonometrical formulas". in chapter ix, "imminet peril" was changed to "imminent peril". in chapter xii, "plantus" was changed to "plautus". in chapter xviii, "the seequipedalian hellenic vocable" was changed to "the sesquipedalian hellenic vocable". in chapter xix, "my name's methusalem zedediah chilvers" was changed to "my name's methusalem zebediah chilvers". in chapter xxiii, "you have worked for your appointment, to" was changed to "you have worked for your appointment, too". in chapter xxiv, a period was changed to a comma after "good-afternoon, mr. fischer". in chapter xxvii, "gooh! but that boom" was changed to "gosh! but that boom". in chapter xxix, "this came from mr. chauncey van rensalear mount-bonsall" was changed to "this came from mr. chauncey van rensallear mount-bonsall". in chapter xxxi, "tossed in a ten fly" was changed to "tossed in a tent fly", and a semicolon was added after "air for water". in the advertisements, "to cutivate a fondness for study" was changed to "to cultivate a fondness for study", and "good, wholsome reading" was changed to "good, wholesome reading". note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see 36101-h.htm or 36101-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36101/36101-h/36101-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36101/36101-h.zip) transcriber's note: "lieut. frederick garrison" is a pseudonym used by upton sinclair. [illustration: "cadet mallory received a letter from a friend." (see page 7)] on guard or mark mallory's celebration by lieut. frederick garrison, u. s. a. author of "off for west point," "a west point treasure," "a cadet's honor," etc. [illustration: boy's own library] philadelphia david mckay, publisher 610 south washington square copyright, 1903 by street & smith on guard contents chapter page i.--a letter from a "furlough man" 7 ii.--mark's idea 15 iii.--a new ally 22 iv.--a surprise for the seven 31 v.--the scheme succeeds 36 vi.--what mark overheard 46 vii.--mark's counterplot 57 viii.--the attack on mark 65 ix.--three discomfited yearlings 74 x.--texas runs amuck 80 xi.--texas raids west point 91 xii.--the cause of a friend 103 xiii.--the reformation of texas 110 xiv.--a plot of the yearlings 118 xv.--the plebes plot, too 128 xvi.--setting the trap 133 xvii.--the result at the hop 141 xviii.--a strange announcement 149 xix.--texas turns highwayman 160 xx.--two midnight prowlers 167 xxi.--benny is exposed 178 xxii.--mark receives a committee 183 xxiii.--a fight, and other things 199 xxiv.--six to the rescue 208 xxv.--mark in the hospital 216 xxvi.--texas has an interview 224 xxvii.--a plot to beat "the general" 232 xxviii.--"bull" finds an ally 241 xxix.--strange conduct 250 xxx.--a surprise for murray 256 xxxi.--the plot succeeds 265 xxxii.--triumph--conclusion 277 on guard. chapter i. a letter from a "furlough man." "a letter for me, did you say?" the speaker was a tall, handsome lad, a plebe at the west point military academy. at the moment he was gazing inquiringly out of the tent door at a small orderly. the boy handed him an envelope, and the other glanced at it. "cadet mark mallory, west point, n. y.," was the address. "i guess that's for me," he said. "thank you. hello in there, texas! here's a letter from wicks merritt." this last remark was addressed to another cadet in the tent. "texas," officially known as jeremiah powers, a tall, rather stoop-shouldered youth, with a bronzed skin and a pair of shining gray eyes, appeared in the doorway and watched his friend with interest while he read. "what does he say, mark?" he inquired, when the latter finished. "lots," responded mark. "lots that'll interest our crowd. they ought to be through sprucing up by this time, so bring 'em over here and i'll read it." "sprucing up" is west point for the morning house-cleaning in the summer camp. a half hour is allowed to it immediately after breakfast, and it is followed by "the a. m. inspection." in response to mark's suggestion, texas slipped over to the tent in back of theirs in "b company" street, and called its three occupants. they came over and joined those in mark's tent; and then mark took out the letter he had just received. "i've got something here," said he, "that i think ought to interest all of us. i guess i'll have time to read it before inspection. we are a secret society, aren't we?" "that's what we are," assented the other six. "but what's that got to do with it?" added texas. "and we've banded ourselves together for the purpose of preventing the yearlings from hazing us?" continued mark, without noticing his friend's inquiry. "well, it seems that they've been doing about the same thing down at annapolis, too. this is from wicks merritt, a second class cadet up here, who's home on furlough this summer. he took a trip to annapolis, and this is what he says. listen very dutifully now, and don't get impatient: "dear mallory: i have heard a lot about you since the last time i wrote. several of the fellows have written to me, and they haven't been able to mention anything but you. they tell me you are kicking up a fine old fuss in west point during my absence. they say that you won't let anybody haze you. they say that you've gotten a lot of plebes around you to back you up, and that the yearlings are half wild in consequence. "i don't know what to make of you. you always were an extraordinary genius, and i suppose you have to do things in your own sweet way, whether it's rescuing ferryboats or sailboats or express trains, or else locking us yearlings in ice houses. i cannot imagine what will be the end of the matter. i am sure the yearlings will never give in. "i'm told that when they tried to lick you into submission you did up billy williams, the best fighter in the class. also that bull harris, whom i warned you against as being a sneaky fellow, tried to get you dismissed by skinning you on demerits, but that you circumvented that. also that you and your friends have made it hot for him ever since, upon which fact i congratulate you. "i don't know what the yearlings will do next, but i imagine that they're 'stalled.' since you've started, i suppose the best thing for you to do is to keep up the good work and not let them rest. but for heaven's sake, don't let any of them see this! they'd cut me for aiding and abetting a plebe rebellion. you are certainly the boldest plebe that every struck west point; nobody in our class ever dared to do what you've done. "it seems, though, that you have imitators, or else that you are imitating somebody. down here at annapolis this year pretty much the same state of affairs is going on just now. there's a plebe down here by the name of clif faraday (i've met him, and i told him about you), and he's raising the very old boy with the third class fellows. it seems that he outwitted them in all their hazing schemes, and has got them guessing at what he'll do next, which is about as b. j. as anything you ever did, i imagine. it looks as if plebes both at west point and here would get off with almost no hazing this year. and it's all on account of you, too. "genius knows no precedent, they say. farewell. "your friend, "wicks merritt. "p. s.--they tell me you've saved the life of judge fuller's daughter. just take a word of advice--make the most of your opportunity! she's the prettiest girl around the place, and the nicest, too, and she has half the corps wild over her. if you can make friends with her, i think the yearlings would stop hazing you at her command." mark finished the reading of the letter and gazed at his comrades, smiling. "you see," he said, "our fame has spread even to annapolis. gentlemen, i propose three cheers for our crowd!" "an' three fo' clif faraday!" cried texas. "only don't give any of them," added mark, "for somebody might hear us." there was a moment's pause after that, broken by a protest from one of the seven, joseph smith, of indianapolis, popularly known as "indian," a fat, gullible youth, who was the laughingstock of the post. "i tell you," said he, his round eyes swelling with indignation, "i don't think what clif faraday did was a bit more b. j. than some of our tricks!" (b. j. is west point dialect for "fresh.") "that's what i say, too, b'gee!" chimed in another, a handsome, merry-eyed chap with a happy faculty of putting every one in a good humor when he laughed. "just look at how mark shut two of 'em up in an ice house. or look at how, when they took indian off to the observatory to haze him, b'gee, we made 'em think the place was afire and had 'em all scared to death, and the fire battalion turning out besides. now, b'gee, i want to know where you can beat that!" and his sentiment was echoed with approval by the remainder of those present. the seven had by this time scattered themselves about the tent in picturesque and characteristic attitudes, listening to the discussion carried on by the excitable master dewey. first of all and foremost was the grave and learned "parson," the boston geologist. the parson was stretched on his back in one corner with nothing but his long, bony shanks visible. somehow or other parson stanard always managed to keep those legs of his with their covering of pale green socks the most conspicuous thing about him. sitting erect and stately on the locker, was master chauncey, the "dude" of the party. a few weeks of west point had already worked wonders with chauncey; his aristocratic friends on fifth avenue would scarcely have known him. in the first place, he, with the rest of the plebes, were compelled to walk, whenever they went abroad, with "head erect, chest out, eyes to the front, little fingers on the seams of the trousers, palms outward." try this and you will find, as chauncey was finding, that it is hard to do that and at the same time keep up the correct london "stoop." chauncey had been obliged to leave his cane and monocle behind him also, and a few days later, when plebe fatigue uniforms were donned, his imported clothes and high collar went by the board, too. but chauncey still clung to his accent, "bah jove;" and was still known to the seven as "the man with a tutor and a hyphen"--his name being mount-bonsall, if you please--and to the rest of the corps as the dude who most did up six yearlings. the corner opposite the parson's contained the dozing figure of methusalem zebediah chelvers, the "farmer" from kansas, popularly known as "sleepy." sleepy never did anything or said anything unless he had to; the seven had known him for weeks now, and knew no more about him than at the start. sleepy was still sleepy, and that was all. the other members of this bold and desperate secret "anti-hazing" society were dewey, the prize story-teller of the party, "b'gee;" indian, the "prize pig;" texas, a wild and woolly cowboy just from the plains, with a right arm that had paralyzed four cadets in as many minutes, and, last of all, mark mallory, the leader. "just look at the things we've done, b'gee!" continued dewey. "look at the times they've tried to haze us and we've outwitted them! see how we had the nerve to yank 'em out of bed the other night, b'gee. or, if that isn't enough, just think of bull harris." this last remark was greeted with a chuckle of laughter from the seven, in which even sleepy found sufficient energy to join. and, indeed, the recollection was enough to make one laugh. as readers of the first books in this series, "off for west point" and "a cadet's honor," know, bull harris was the sworn enemy of the seven, and of mark in particular. he never had ceased plotting in his mean, cowardly way to get mark into trouble, and it was the joy of the plebes' lives to outwit him. on the day previous they had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. given a bloodhound that had been sent out from a neighboring village to trail a burglar who had stepped into a barrel of pitch, the seven had put pitch on bull harris' shoe and started the dog after him during the evening's dress parade. the dog had chewed bull's trousers to ribbons, had broken up the parade, had made bull the laughingstock of the place and earned him the deathless nickname of "bull, the burglar." naturally, bull was wild with rage, and the seven with hilarity. they were still chuckling over it and the general discomfiture of the yearling class and their own future prospects as triumphant plebes, when inspection put an end to the discussion and scattered the crowd. "but just you keep in mind," was dewey's parting declaration, "that we're the b. j.-est plebes that ever were, are, will be or can be. and, b'gee, we're going to show it every day, too!" which the parson punctuated with a solemn "yea, by zeus!" chapter ii. mark's idea. the yearling corporal who did the inspecting had done his criticising and gone his way, leaving four of the seven in their tent--mark, texas, the parson and sleepy--who, being the tallest, had been assigned to company a. and the four sat down to await the signal to "fall in" for drill. "i reckon, mark," said texas, meditatively surveying his new uniform in the looking-glass. "i reckon that we fellows kin say that hazing's most over now." "assuredly!" said the parson, gravely, "for indeed we have completely broken the spirit of the enemy, and he knows not which way to turn. i think that, in words of the song of miriam, we may say: "'sing, for the sword of the tyrant is broken! his chariots and horsemen are rent in twain.' "yea, by zeus!" the parson said this with his usual classic solemnity. mark smiled to himself as he sat down upon the locker and gazed at his friends. "i've got something to tell you fellows," said he. "i think now's about as good a time as any. i haven't said anything about it to the crowd yet. when i do they'll have their eyes opened, and realize that if we're going to subdue the yearlings, we've got to start right at it all over again. we've scarcely begun yet." the three others looked at him in surprise; texas rubbed his hands gleefully, seeing that mark's statement, if true, meant lots more fun for the future. "you remember last night," mark continued, "about midnight, how the parson shouted out in his sleep and woke the whole camp?" "yes," added texas, "and scared me to death. i thought i was down home and the ole place was being run in by rustlers or somethin'." "you met me at the door of the tent," mark went on. "i didn't tell you where i'd been; i'll tell you now. last night a dozen or two of the yearlings took me out of camp--they surprised me, and held me so that i couldn't move. they tied me to a tree, and were just on the point of beating me." "what!" the three were staring at mark in unutterable amazement. "yes," said mark. "they told me i'd either have to promise to be a milk-and-water plebe after this or else be licked until i would. and bull harris took a big rope and----" "did he hit ye?" cried texas, springing to his feet excitedly. "wow! i'll go out an' i'll----" "sit down!" said mark. "he didn't hit me, for the parson yelled just then and scared 'em all back to camp. and you needn't tackle bull anyhow, for i'm going to do that myself pretty soon. the point just now is that the yearlings haven't given up. they're still fighting." "i didn't know there were so many cowards in the place!" muttered texas. "they're desperate," said mark. "they've got to do something. now we'll watch out for such surprises the next time, and meanwhile we'll show them that we're determined not to stop." and mark saw by the faces of the other three that that was just what they wanted. texas especially was twitching his fingers nervously and looking as if he were wishing for some yearling to tackle right then and there. "i tell you what we'll do, mark," he broke out, suddenly. "we'll tie ourselves together an' sleep that way, an' then if they take one they'll have to take all." "that's quite an idea," said the other, laughing. "but the main point now is just this: we're to set out with only one idea in our heads to think of; perhaps it might be well to offer a prize to the fellow who thinks of the best scheme. we want to keep those cadets fairly on the jump from the start." "bully!" cried texas. "and it seems to me, moreover," continued the leader, "that we make a big mistake if we let this day pass without doing something." "yea, by zeus!" vowed the parson, his solemn face glowing with interest. "for this day is the day of all days in the calendar of freedom. this day is the day when our immortal colonies did vow and declare that the dragon of tyranny they would trample beneath their feet. this day is the day when first the eagle screamed, when humanity cast off its fetters and stood in the light of god's truth. this day is the glorious fourth of july!" the parson had arisen to his feet, the better to illustrate the casting off of the fetters, and his long black hair was waving wildly and his long white arms yet more so. boston and boston "liberty" were dangerous topics with him; he got more excited over them than he did when he found his immortal cyathophylloid coral "in a sandstone of tertiary origin." "yea, by zeus!" he continued. "such are the auspices, the hallowed recollections of this immortal moment that i verily believe no revolution can fail on it. i say that if ever we strike boldly, we do it to-day. and i, as a citizen of boston, pledge my aid to any plan." "yaas. an' we got a half holiday to-day, tew." this rather prosaic peroration to the parson's speech came from one corner, where sleepy sat lazily regarding the scene. that was the first hint that the "farmer" had offered, and it had corresponding weight. the four shook hands on it then and there, that by the time dinner was over they would have a brand new and startling plan to work for the yearlings' edification. the signal to fall in for drill found them still pledging themselves to that. mark said nothing more to any one upon the subject; he left his friends to think for themselves, and he, when he got a chance, started out likewise on his "own hook." in the first place, it was necessary to find out just how the yearlings meant to spend that half-holiday afternoon; having found that, it would then be time to think up a plan for spoiling the fun. there was a member of the plebe class who had been a plebe the year before, that is, who had failed on examinations and had not been advanced. naturally, he knew all the yearlings, and, having been through camp once, knew also what would be apt to happen on the fourth of july. mark himself knew nothing about it, for no one thought it necessary to tell plebes about such things; and so to this "hold-over" mark went to learn. that gentleman, in response to some diplomatic interrogation, emitted the information that there was nothing "on." that a ball game had been intended, but prevented at the last moment. that probably most of the cadets would go walking, or amuse themselves any way--some of them do a little hazing. that it was a pleasant custom to make the plebes dress up in masquerade and give a parade or something. and that finally there was to be an entertainment in the evening. what sort? well, it was dignified and patriotic. there were programmes issued--not given to plebes, of course. would mallory like to see one? perhaps he could get one, would see after drill, etc., etc. "much obliged. good-morning." the affable young gentleman did manage to get mallory a programme. he gave it to him just before dinner. "thank you." "oh, not at all, only too glad to oblige you," etc. and mark rushed into the tent and eagerly read the handsomely printed pasteboard: united states military academy. july 4th, 8.30 p. m. programme. overture. prayer. music. reading of the declaration of independence. cadet george t. fischer, pennsylvania. music. oration. cadet edmund s. harris---mark read not another word; he stared at the paper in amazement and incredulity, rapidly changing to glee. harris! bull harris delivering an oration! mark turned and faced his companions, feeling about ready to burst with hilarity. "listen here, fellows!" he cried. "here's a chance, a chance of a lifetime! oh, say! bull's going to make a speech! gee whiz! we'll----" "didn't you fellows know about that?" put in a voice in the doorway, as dewey's face appeared there. "i heard the yearlings talking about it. they say bull's a fine orator, that he's been working at an elegant speech for months. and, b'gee, he means to bring down the house." mark's face was simply a picture of merriment at that. "fellows," he said, as soon as he could manage to get breath to say anything at all. "fellows, i'll go you just one bargain more." "what is it?" cried the others. "it's very simple. it's just that we spoil that beautiful speech of bull harris', if we have to bust to do it." and the seven cried "done!" in one breath. chapter iii. a new ally. the more they thought over that scheme the better they liked it; the more they imagined bull harris, pompous and self-conscious, spouting his magnificent periods and then brought to an ignominious and ridiculous conclusion, the more they chuckled with glee. they felt no prickings of conscience in the matter, for bull was not a personage to inspire such. his devices had been cowardly and desperate; only last night he had been on the point of lashing mark with a rope when the latter was helplessly tied to a tree. with such a man ordinary standards of fairness did not hold good. the only trouble with the "scheme" was its general indefiniteness. and that the seven recognized. it was all very well to say you were going to "bust up" bull harris' speech. but how? it would not do to guy him, or to use any device of which the authors might be found out. it was quite a problem. texas suggested an alarm of fire, which was outvoted as dangerous, likely to produce a panic. some one else wondered how about kidnaping bull and tying him up. this suggestion was put on file as being possible, to be consulted in case no better appeared, which bid fair just then to be the case. mark and his friends marched down to dinner without any further ideas appearing. the plebes still marched separate from the rest of the corps, though they were allowed to share the privilege of the spirited band which enlivened the proceedings. they still sat at separate tables, too, which made most of them feel very much outcast indeed. the command "break ranks," after the march from mess hall again, marked the beginning of that holiday during which the seven had vowed to do so much. and still nobody had seemed to hit upon any suitable plan for the discomfiture of bull harris. "we've got to hurry up about it, too," mark declared. "for, if there's any fixing up to be done, we ought to be doing it now." "where's the thing to be, anyway?" inquired dewey. "in the big gymnasium building, they say," was the answer. "they'll probably cover the floor with seats. but i don't think we can do anything inside the place. i think we ought to kick up some sort of rumpus outside." and with this advice the seven heads got to work again. ideas come slowly when you want them badly. it would seem that with those seven minds busy on the same subject something should have resulted. but it didn't. the seven strolled away from camp and wandered about the grounds cudgeling their brains and calling themselves names for their stupidity. and still no plan came forward. they strolled down to the gymnasium building in hopes that proximity to the scene itself would prove efficacious. they stared at the vestibule and the windows blankly, wondering what the place might be like inside, wondering if there would be much of a crowd, wondering if bull would have much of a speech--wondering about everything except the matter in hand. "plague take it all!" they muttered. "let's walk out professor's row and find some quiet place to sit down. perhaps we can think better sitting." professor's row is a street that bounds the parade ground on the west. it is cool and shady, with benches and camp chairs on the lawn. but there were plenty of people to occupy the seats, and so the seven found no place there to cogitate. they had not gotten much farther before all ideas of plots and orations were driven from mark's head a-flying. they were passing a group of people standing on the opposite side of the street, and suddenly one of them, a girl, hurried away from the others, and cried out: "mr. mallory! oh, mr. mallory!" mark turned the moment he heard the voice, and, when he saw who it was, he promptly excused himself from his friends and crossed the street. the six strolled on, smiling and winking knowingly at one another. "hope he'll remember what wicks merritt said, b'gee!" laughed dewey. mark had no time to remember anything much. he was too busy, watching the vision that was hurrying to meet him. grace fuller certainly was a beautiful girl, beyond a doubt. she was a blonde of the fairest type; her complexion was matchless, and set off by a wealth of wavy golden hair. she was dressed in white, and made a picture that left no room to wonder why "half the cadets in the place were wild over her." "i'm glad i swam out to save her," was the thought in mark's mind. a moment later he took the small white hand that was held out to him. "mr. mallory," said the girl, gazing at him earnestly, "i shall not wait for any one to introduce you to me. i must tell you that i appreciate your bravery." mark bowed and thanked her; he could think of nothing more to say. "they just let me out of the hospital to-day," she continued, "and i made up my mind that the very first thing i was going to do was to tell you what i thought of your courageous action on my behalf. i want to know you better, mr. mallory." she said it in a plain and simple way that mark liked, and he told her that nothing would please him more. "i would ask you to take a walk with me now," said grace, "but for all those cadets who are with me. i don't think they'd relish that, you being a fourth class man." "i don't think they would," responded mark, with a queer smile which the girl did not fail to notice. "i don't care!" she exclaimed, suddenly. "they can get mad if they want to. i think a great deal more of some plebes than i do of yearlings. excuse me just a moment." and then, to mark's infinite glee, this beautiful creature hurried over and said something to the group of cadets, at which they all bowed and walked off rather stiffly, sheepishly, mark thought. the girl rejoined him, with a smile. "i told them they'd have to excuse me," she said, as she took mark's arm. "i told them i owed you a debt of gratitude, and i hoped they wouldn't mind." "probably they won't," observed mark, smiling again. "i don't care if they do," vowed grace, pouting prettily. "they'll get over it. and they're awfully stupid, anyway. i hope you're not stupid." with which mark quite naturally agreed. "i don't think the cadets like you much," she went on, laughing. "i had such fun teasing them by talking about your heroism. they didn't like it a bit, and they'd try all sorts of ways to change the subject, but i wouldn't let them. they say you are terribly b. j. are you?" "i suppose they think so," answered mark. "i'm nothing like as b. j. as i shall be before i get through." "that's right!" vowed the girl, shaking her head. "i like b. j. plebes. i think i should be b. j. if i were a plebe. i don't like these mild, obedient fellows, and i think the plebes stand entirely too much." "i wish you were one to help me," laughed mark, noticing the contrast between the girl's frail figure and her energetic look. "i'm stronger than you think," said she. "i could do a lot." and then suddenly she broke into one of her merry, animated laughs, during which mark thought her more charming than ever. "if i can't fight," she said, "you must let me be a daughter of the revolution. you must let me make clothes and bake bread the way the colonists' daughters did. it's just appropriate for to-day, too." "i don't want any bread----" began mark, looking at her thoughtfully. "perhaps not," she put in, with a peal of laughter. "if you saw the bread i make, you'd be still more emphatic. it's like the fruit of the tree of knowledge--'whoso eateth thereof shall surely die.'" "i see you read the bible," said mark, laughing. "but to get back where i was. i'll let the tailor make my clothes, also. what i need most just now are tricks to play on the yearlings." "do you?" inquired grace. "i can tell you of lots of tricks the cadets have played. but that's the first time i ever heard of a plebe playing tricks on yearlings. it's usually the other way." "variety is the spice of life," said mark. "the yearlings have tried rather contemptible tricks on me once or twice, very contemptible! i could tell you what several of those cadets who were with you did to me last night, and i think you'd be angry. anyway, i'm going to make them miserable in return." "i helped the yearlings get up a beautiful joke last year," said grace, looking at mark in ill-concealed admiration. "wicks merritt was the ringleader. he wrote to me, by the way, and told me to be very nice to you now that you'd saved my life--just as if he thought i wouldn't! anyway, i got them some powder to use for the scheme." "powder!" echoed mark. "how did you get powder?" "they couldn't manage to run off with any around here, so i got george to buy some. george is our butler. you'll see george when you come over to visit me, which i hope you will." "i thought you lived across the river, beyond cadet limits," put in mark. "so i do, but the cadets come, all the same, lots of them." "so will i, then!" laughed the other. "but you haven't told me what you did with the powder." "do you see that big gun over there?" she answered, indicating trophy point. "well, they stood that upon end and fired it off late one night. wasn't that a fine joke?" "ye-es," said mark, very slowly. "ye-es, it was." he was staring at the girl, a look as of an inspiration on his face. "they stood that gun up on end and fired it off late one night," he repeated, scarcely heeding what he was saying, so rapt was he in his thought. "yes," said grace, gazing at him curiously, and meeting his eyes. "yes. why?" mark studied her look for a moment; he saw mischief and fun dancing in it, and, in a moment more, he had made up his mind. "tell me, miss fuller," he said, speaking very low. "would you--would you like to have 'george' buy some more powder?" "more powder!" she echoed. "what do you----" and then she caught the gleam in her escort's eye. "are you--do you mean you want to do it?" she cried. "yes," said mark, simply. "will you help?" "yes, yes!" "do you mean it?" "i'll give you my hand on it," responded grace. mark took it. "when?" asked she. and mark answered, with a laugh, almost a shout of triumph. "to-night!" he said. "to-night! ye gods!" chapter iv. a surprise for the seven. six disconsolate plebes sat on a bench at the extreme northern end of professor's row late that afternoon, gazing unappreciatively at the magnificent view of the upper hudson. those plebes had been cudgeling their stupid heads ever since dinner time to no purpose. "durnation!" growled one of them. "i dunno what we air goin' to do. mark won't let us blow up the durnation ole building. he won't let me hold up the crowd, cuz they'd expel me. he don't want to kidnap bull, cuz bull would tell. i dunno what!" "b'gee!" added another. "i wish he'd come help us think instead of chasing around town with girls. he's been with her all afternoon----" "here they come now!" interrupted texas, pointing down the street. "yea, by zeus!" assented the parson. "and our friend is much smitten already." "who wouldn't be?" laughed dewey. "isn't she a beauty, though? b'gee, i wish he'd bring her over and introduce her." "reckon she ain't a-hankerin' after plebes," drawled sleepy, who, as usual, had half the bench for his tired form to cover. this observation put a damper on dewey's enthusiasm. it was true, and, besides that, it came from the silent member of the firm. "she's beautiful, all the same," he vowed, as the two drew nearer still. "and, b'gee, she seems to be lively, too." "if i mistake not," put in the parson, gravely, "our friend is vastly excited over something." this last observation seemed to be correct. the two were laughing; in fact, their faces seemed to express about as much glee as they could very well express, and once mark was seen to slap his knee excitedly. the six were carried away by curiosity, which curiosity changed suddenly to the wildest alarm. for when the two were just opposite, what must mark do but turn and lead the girl over to his friends? the effect upon the latter was amusing. chauncey made a wild grab for his collar to see if it were straight; sleepy sat up and rubbed his eyes; the parson cleared his throat--"ahem!" indian gave vent to a startled "bless my soul!" dewey exclaimed "b'gee!" and poor texas turned pale and trembled in his bold cowboy legs. a moment later the vision in white was upon them. "miss fuller," said mark, "allow me to present my friends," etc., etc. the parson inclined his head gravely, with dignity becoming the immortal discoverer of a cyathophylloid coral in a sandstone of tertiary origin; chauncey put on his best fifth avenue salute; indian gasped and hunted in vain for his hat; the "farmer" swept the ground with his; dewey looked all broke up and texas hid behind everybody. there was vague uncertainty after that, changing to horror at the next speech. "miss fuller," said mark, smiling, "has proclaimed herself an ardent sympathizer and admirer of the purposes and principles of the banded seven. miss fuller desires to be known as a 'daughter of the revolution.' miss fuller knows about bull harris, and doesn't like him, and suggests a first-rate method of busting--if you will pardon my slang, miss fuller--to-night's celebration. miss fuller likes to hear cannon go off at night. she offers to procure the powder if we will do the loading; she even offers to fire it, if we'll allow her. also, gentlemen, allow me to propose member number eight of the seven, and incidentally to suggest that the name banded seven be changed and that in future we go down to posterity as----" mark paused one solemn moment, and cleared his throat---"the banded seven and one angel!" and after that there was a deep, long, wide, and altogether comprehensive silence, while the six stared at mark and his thoroughly amused friend in incredulity, amazement, alarm, horror--who can say what? it was fully a minute before any of them found breath. and then a perfect torrent of bah joves! durnations! b'gees! bless my souls! and by zeuses! burst out upon the air, to be followed by another silence even longer and larger than the last. what on earth had happened! the six couldn't seem to get it through their heads. could it be possible that this girl, the belle of west point, the beauty over whom half the cadets were wild, the daughter of a famous judge, was sympathizing with a few, poor, miserable plebes in an effort to upset west point? and that she had actually offered to help them in a trick, the boldness of which was enough to make the boldest hesitate? good stars! the world must be coming to an end! no wonder the amazed plebes gasped and stared, and then stared and gasped, unable to believe that they stood on the same earth as half a minute previously. mark and his companion, who understood their perplexity entirely, and who seemed to have gotten amazingly in sympathy during a brief afternoon's conversation, stood and regarded them meanwhile with considerable amusement. well, it must be true! mark said so, and the girl heard him and seemed to say "yes" with her laughing blue eyes. that was the conviction which finally forced itself upon the incredulous and befuddled six, and with it came a dim, undefined consciousness of the fact that possibly they were not doing the very politest thing in the world in staring at their "angel." first to realize it was texas, last of all to whom one would have looked for any species of gallantry. texas sprang forward and seized the girl's fair white hand in his own mighty paw. "hi, miss fuller!" he cried, "i'm glad to have you join! whoop!" which broke the ice. chapter v. the scheme succeeds. dress parade in all its fourth of july holiday splendor had passed, and the sunset gun marked the ending of that day of celebration. through the dusk of evening the battalion had marched back from supper, to the tune of "marching through georgia" from the band and the popping of sundry small firecrackers from mischievous small boys on the way. and then the cadets had scattered, still in their dress uniforms, each to join his own party of friends and go to the evening's entertainment. cadets are famous as "ladies' men," and during the gay holiday season, which was now on, west point was crowded with girls, so that every cadet had his opportunities for gallantry, excepting, of course, the plebes, who do not go into "society." as the hour approached, the big gymnasium hall took on a lively aspect. it ceased to be a gymnasium for a while; rings and trapezes were hung up, and rows of seats occupied the floor, instead of parallel bars. the big west point band was seated in front, and the rest of the room was devoted to pretty girls and their cadet escorts. the fourth of july celebration was a cadet affair; the "president" occupied the small platform in solitary grandeur; the commandant and his staff were present, but they sat among the audience. the plebes were there, too, on sufferance. the gallery was given up to their use, and they filled it entirely, and gazed on the scene below. the room with its decorations of flags and bunting, making them feel very patriotic indeed. the plebes we are interested in were there with the rest. they sat off in one corner where they could whisper and keep their secret all to themselves. if any one had overheard them, which they took good care should not happen, he would have learned, to his amazement, that the night's plot was all perfected. he might have learned that "george" had done his duty with fully as much delight as any of the seven. he might have learned that having been taken into the secret "george" had not only gotten the powder, but had volunteered to do the work himself, to save the seven "young gintlemen" all danger of discovery. he might have learned that down in a secluded woody hollow just east of camp lay three big siege guns in "battery knox," loaded and stuffed to the muzzle with powder and paper and rags. there was lots more he might have learned. he might have learned that at the present moment the jolly, red-faced butler was lurking about the neighborhood of the battery, anxiously surveying his watch at intervals of every minute or so, waiting for half-past nine, the precise minute when he was to touch off the fuse and run. also that grace was down with her father, in the audience, occasionally stealing a sly glance at mark; also that mark was bearing a good deal of merry banter upon his conquest; also that the seven, having spent two hours or so with grace, were vowing her the most original, daring and altogether charming girl that ever was anywhere, a most undoubtable and valuable ally of mark and his anti-hazing society. the seven were about as nervous and anxious as seven plebes could possibly be. what if "george" should be found out? what if the guns should not go off? it was such a colossal and magnificent plot that the mere thought of its failure was enough to make one's hair turn gray. what if the thing should begin too late, the guns go off before bull started? or on the other hand, suppose his speech was short and he shouldn't be interrupted! mark had calculated the time carefully. he had allowed five minutes for the "prelude." but suppose it should be longer, or shorter, or should begin after eight-thirty? as the hour drew near mark and his friends sat and wriggled in their seats and glanced at their watches and---"it's half past now," growled texas. "durnation, it's a minute after that! ain't they ever--ah!" the bandmaster arose from his seat, and raised his baton in the air. it was the "star spangled banner," and the sound shook the flags that graced the walls and shook the hearts of the audience, too, and made them rise as one man. "'tis the star spangled banner and long may it wave. o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!" the notes died out and the seven remembered that for a moment they had forgotten to be nervous. the grave young chaplain arose, and raised his hands. his prayer was earnest, and his voice trembled as he spoke of the flag and its country. but alas! our friends had no eye or ear for beauty. it was time--time! would he take more than the calculated five minutes? it was time for him to stop! plague take it--six!--six and a half!--ah! there he had said "finally," no, he was going off on another tack! gee whiz--eight--thank heavens! the sigh of relief that came at last from the seven almost shook the roof. then came "music;" that had been problematical. music might mean anything from two minutes to twenty. but there is no need of torturing the reader, even if the seven were tortured correspondingly. the piece took some ten minutes of agony, and then cadet captain fischer stepped forward on the platform. fischer was an immensely popular man with his class, and they applauded him to the echo. he looked handsome, too, in his chevrons and sash. he read "the declaration of independence," and he read it in the voice that had made him first captain, a voice that was clear and deep and ringing, a voice that sounded in the open above the thunder and rattle of artillery drill, and that sounded still better in the hall, as it spoke the words that had made a continent tremble. there was nothing in that to worry the seven--they had gotten a copy of the "declaration" and practiced it by the watch. fischer finished on schedule time; but then came the tussle. and some poor plebes up in the gallery nearly had apoplexy from waiting. there were fifteen minutes left. that allowed say ten minutes for the music, and five for bull to get warmed up to his work. the bandmaster arose; he played "hail columbia." the audience, wild with fervor, stormed and shouted; he played it again. the minutes fled by. the seven gasped! the audience kept up their applause, and the music struck up "my country, 'tis of thee," while the time fled yet faster still. great heavens! and still the fools--the fools!--in that crowd clapped and waved handkerchiefs--would they never stop, would they never let bull step forward? he was dying to. the seven could see him in his seat, half-risen, waiting doubtless as impatiently as they. and still the people wouldn't behave themselves. bull rose up. ah, at last. there was a cessation in the infernal racket! the amount of torture the plebes suffered during those brief moments cannot be told. the gun might go off at any moment now! it might go off before bull started, might ruin the whole thing. plague take him, what made him walk so slowly? would he never get up on that platform? and the foolish audience, why didn't they stop and let him start? what did they want to be applauding that ugly old yearling for? and why didn't he stop that fool bowing and scraping? some people are such chumps! the applause stopped at last. an expectant hush fell upon the crowd. bull harris stood pompous and self-conscious, gazing upon the scene for a moment, and then began. the seven gasped: "we've got him." "ladies and gentlemen: we have assembled upon this memorable occasion to celebrate (now let that gun go, b'gee!) one of the most glorious achievements (you bet we have!) that ever was attained by man. we have assembled (what on earth's the matter with "george?") to applaud with the voices of the present, words that echo from memories of the past, (can his watch have stopped?) words that will ring through the halls of time (plague take the luck!) as long as time shall be counted in the heart throbs of living men. the deeds of our ancestors live in the----" at last! with a boom and a rattle and a crash gun no. 1 of battery knox thundered out upon the still night air. bull stopped in amazement; the audience sprang up in alarm; the seven shrieked--silently--for joy. and then---boom! it was no. 2. the room rang with shouts of confusion; cadets stared and ran hastily about; women cried out in alarm. boom! it was no. 3, and at the same instant from a hundred throats came the dreaded cry of "fire!" three guns is west point's fire alarm. quick as a flash, before the audience had time to think of flight, of panic, the commandant of cadets sprang to the platform. "company fire battalion form on the street outside, immediately!" at the same moment, in response to a command from outside, a drum orderly sounded the "long roll." the band struck up a quick march, and tramp, tramp, tramp, the grave cadets marched out of the hall, forgetting friends and entertainment, forgetting everything in the one important thought--discipline--obedience to orders. and in half a minute more the gymnasium was empty; the street was crowded with the anxious audience, and the battalion was tramping steadily across the parade ground in a vain search for an imaginary fire. in that battalion were seven wildly delighted plebes. they hugged themselves for joy; they gasped, choked with repressed laughter. they punched each other in the ribs and whispered: "didn't we do it? oh, didn't we do it? three cheers for the banded seven--b. b. j.!" the fire, of course was not found. near camp the corps halted, to wait for the person who fired the alarm guns to come out and lead the way. he didn't do it, and gradually it began to dawn upon the commandant and the assembled "tacs" that the whole thing was a hoax. "and then indeed the philistines were wroth." captain quincey, the commandant, stepped to the head of the line, determined to investigate the matter on the spot. roll call disclosed the fact that no one was absent; that made him think the guns were fired with a time fuse, and so he tried another way to find out the culprits. it is not good form in west point to lie; cadets who do soon find themselves cut by the class. so captain quincey, knowing that, gave this order: "parties who fired those guns will remain standing. those who are innocent will advance one step. march!" now that any plebe had dared to do such a bold trick had never occurred to the cadets. they were convinced that some of their number were guilty, and they protected them in the usual way. not a man moved. they refused to obey the order. the commandant was furious, of course. he tried it the other way, ordered the guilty ones to advance. whereupon the whole corps stepped forward to share the blame. to punish them he tried the dodge of keeping them standing at attention for half an hour or so, but several dropped from well-feigned exhaustion, which stopped that scheme. he ordered one of the "tacs" to march them around the parade ground. the cadets, who were out for fun by this time and angry besides, guyed the unpopular "tac" with a vengeance. it was too dark for him to distinguish any one, and so every one obeyed orders wrong, producing chaos and finally compelling him to summon the commandant to preserve order. with the commandant watching, those weary cadets marched for an hour more. then he asked some questions and again got no answers. and finally in disgust he sent them off to their tents, most of them still puzzled as to who did it, some of them wild with joy. these last were the banded seven--"b. b. j." chapter vi. what mark overheard. "now, captain, there are no two ways about it, this business has got to stop, and stop right where it is." the speaker was colonel harvey, superintendent of the west point military academy. he was sitting in the guardhouse tent of the camp and talking to captain quincey. "yes," he repeated, slapping his leg for emphasis, "it's got to stop." "i quite agree with you, colonel," responded the other, deprecatingly. "quite. but the only question is to find out the offenders." "if the offenders are not found out," cried the other, "i shall punish the whole class until they confess. discipline shall not be laughed at while i am in command of this academy. and that is just exactly what that matter amounts to." "it certainly does seem," admitted the other, "that the yearling class has such an idea in mind." "never since i have been here has a class of yearlings dared to celebrate their release from plebehood by such a set of lawless acts. it began the very first night that the plebes entered camp. i do not know what had been going on before that, but the yearlings had evidently become entirely reckless of consequences, and careless of discovery. they woke the camp by a series of outrageous noises; one of them fired off a gun, i believe." "lieutenant allen," put in the other, "told me that he made an investigation on the spot and could find nothing suspicious." "the yearlings had probably seen to it that he wouldn't. then night before last lieutenant allen, who was again on duty, reported to me personally that he was awakened about midnight by a shout, and going outside of his tent found that about half the cadets had been out of bed and over in fort clinton, probably hazing some one. they were all rushing back to camp; he says that it was so dark he could recognize no one." "it is perfectly outrageous!" exclaimed the commandant. "it has got to be stopped, too," vowed the other. "that incident of the gun last night capped the climax. i have heard of the cadets playing that prank before, loading one of the guns and firing it at night. but this time they did it for the evident purpose of breaking up the entertainment, and moreover, they fired three so as to make people think it was an alarm of fire. i think myself that was carrying the matter a trifle too far. and as i said, i propose to see that it is punished." the above was meant to be private. neither the superintendent nor the commandant meant that their conversation should reach any one but themselves. there was one other auditor, however, and it was mark. he was a sentry and his beat lay by the tent. as he paced up and down every word that was said was audible to him. early that same morning, after having been spruced up and polished by his friends, he had turned out and received an elaborate set of instructions from a yearling corporal. now he was putting them into effect during his two hours' turn "on guard." one of his instructions had been silence. yet he was only human--and as the angry remarks of the high and mighty colonel harvey reached his ears it must be confessed that between chuckles and grins he was far from silent indeed. and a few minutes later when he was relieved from duty till his next turn, he rushed off with unconcealed excitement to his tent. there were three seated therein; and mark greeted them with a burst of long-repressed merriment. "hello, fellows!" he cried. "oh, say, i've got the greatest news of the century!" "what's up?" they inquired eagerly. "i thought i'd die laughing," responded mark. "you know all the tricks we've been playing on the yearlings? well, i just overheard the superintendent talking to the commandant of cadets and he's blamed it all on the yearlings." "what?" "yes, i heard it. and he may punish them. you see, it's always the yearlings who have played pranks before. the plebes have never dared. and so the superintendent doesn't think of blaming us. isn't that fine? and, oh, say! won't the yearlings be mad!" the parson arose solemnly to his feet. "yea, by zeus," said he. "gentlemen, i propose three cheers for the banded seven." they were given with a will--and in a whisper. "wow!" roared texas. "an' to think that the ole man--colonel harvey, if you please--went an' blamed the firin' o' them guns on the yearlin's! whoop! say, didn't it come out great? it scared the place most blue; an' that coward, bull harris, the feller that wanted to lick mark when he was tied to a tree, had his ole speech busted up in the middle, too. whoop!" "i think," laughed mark, "i shall have to go around and carry this news to grace fuller." that remark started texas on another speech no less vehement. "i tell you, sah, she's a treasure!" he vowed. "jes' think of a girl that had sense enough to think up that air scheme fo' firin' the gun an' nerve enough to offer to do it, too. an' she's jined with us to bust them ole yearlings. whoop! it's all on account o' mark, though." "yea, by zeus," put in the parson, gravely. "as i have said before, our friend is much smitten, and she likewise. i do not blame her, since he saved her life." a rattle of drums interrupted the conversation just then, summoning the plebes to drill. mark alone had an hour of leisure, he having been on guard duty, and during that hour having secured a permit, he set out for the hotel in search for the object of all their talk. grace fuller was sitting on the piazza as he approached. she was dressed in white and the color just seemed to set off the brightness and beauty of her complexion. she greeted her friend with one of her pleasant smiles that seemed to make every one near her feel happy. "come up and sit down," she said. "i've been waiting for you all morning. i'm just dying to have some one to talk to about our adventure last night." mark ascended the steps with alacrity and took a seat. and for the next half hour the two talked about nothing else but their glorious triumph, and the way they had fooled everybody, and how mad the commandant was, and how puzzled the cadets. "i suppose you noticed," said the girl, "that george was about two minutes late? well, it seems there were two people sitting on one of the guns, and he didn't know what to do. he waited and waited, and finally crept up and lit the fuse and ran. the gun went off while those two were sitting on it." there was a hearty laugh over this rather ludicrous picture. and then a few moment's silence, during which the girl gazed thoughtfully into space. "i've got something important to tell you, by the way," she said, suddenly. "last night the cadets all thought one of themselves had played the joke. well, it seems that they've found out since." "they have! how do you know?" "i was talking to corporal jasper this morning. jasper's a mighty nice boy, only he thinks he's a man. all the yearlings are that way, so pompous and self-conscious! i think plebes are delicious for a change. i told mr. jasper that and he didn't like it a bit. anyhow, they must have inquired among themselves and found out that nobody in their class had anything to do with it. for the 'corporal'--ahem!--was pretty sure you were the guilty one, and he said the class was mad as hops about it." "that's good," laughed mark, rubbing his hands gleefully. "perhaps we'll have some fun now." "you will. that's just the point. i don't know that i ought to tell you this, but i didn't promise mr. jasper i wouldn't, and i suppose my duties as a member of the seven are paramount to all others." "yes," responded mark, "we'll expel you if you play us false. but don't keep me in suspense. what's all this about?" "i like to get you excited," laughed the girl, teasingly. "i think i'll hold off a while so as to be sure you're interested, so as to make you realize the importance of what i have to say. for you must know that this is a really important plot that i've discovered, a plot that will----" "i think it is going to rain," remarked the cadet, gazing off dreamily into space. "i hope it will not, because it is liable to damage the corn crop, the farmers say that----" "i'll give up," laughed the girl. "i'll tell you right away. you are to be on sentry duty to-night, aren't you?" "yes," said mark, "i am. i wouldn't be here now if i were not." "and your post is no. 3, isn't it?" "yes! how did you know?" "all this is what my small boy friend the corporal told me. you see that my information comes right from headquarters. i suppose you know that post no. 3 runs along fort clinton ditch." "but what's that got to do with the plot?" cried mark. "everything. the plot is to 'dump' you, as the slang has it." "dump me?" "yes; take away your gun and roll you head over heels into the mud." "oh!" responded mark, thoughtfully, "i see. take my gun away and roll me head over heels into the mud. well, well!" there was a silence for a few moments after that during which mark tapped the chair reflectively. "are you going to let them do it?" inquired grace at last. "from what you know of me," inquired he, "do you suppose i will?" "hardly." "and i won't, either. i think the yearlings that try it will have some fun. i only hope there are enough of them." "there will be," said the girl. "there'll be three." "i'm very glad you told me," said mark, "very. i'm beginning to perceive that our ally will be a very serviceable ally indeed." "she will be faithful anyway," said the girl. "the daughters of the revolution always are. she has a debt of gratitude to pay to the chief rebel which she will not very soon forget; and she hopes he will not, either." whereupon mark bowed and arose to take his leave. "i must get back to camp," he explained, "to tell the seven about this new plan. we shall find a way to circumvent it, i think; we always do. and i'll promise you that the yearlings who 'dump' me will have a very lively evening of it. good-by." and mark left. now it must be explained that the plebes had lately been given guns. the instruction in marching, halting, etc., which they had gotten in barracks was supplemented by all sorts of evolutions, and by drill in the manual of arms. this latter of course necessitated guns; and great was the joy of the ambitious and warlike plebe on the momentous day that "guns" were given out. the guns were regulation army muskets, heavy beyond imagination. so the plebe soon wished he hadn't wished for them. besides drilling with them, which he found harder work than digging trenches, he had to clean them daily; and cleaning a gun under the watchful eye of a merciless yearling proved to be a matter of weeping and gnashing of teeth. it had to be done; for he had a number on his gun, so that he couldn't steal his neighbor's well-cleaned one; and if his own wasn't clean he got into trouble at the very next inspection. besides the three drills a day, there were other duties galore. there was policing twice a day, "policing" meaning the sweeping clean of the acre or two of ground within the limits of camp mcpherson. then also there was "guard-mounting." guard-mounting is the daily ceremony of placing the sentries about the camp; the cadets who go on duty then remain until the following morning. this ceremony has already been described within the pages of this series; it will have much to do with our present story. the plebes of course were not put on guard until they had been fairly well trained in other duties. they had to know how to march, halt, salute, present arms, etc. also they had to be accoutered in their dress uniforms, which were issued about this time. mark mallory had been notified to report for guard duty that morning, greatly to the joy of his friends, the seven, who had rubbed and polished him till he shone. he had "fallen in" at the summons and received a long and appalling list of instructions from his corporal. then he had been put on post no. 3 for his first tour of duty. the sentries about the camp march for two hours, and then have four hours off duty, thus having eight hours "on" in the twenty. during this time they speak to no one, except to challenge parties who cross their beats. this last duty is where the yearlings have all the fun with the new plebe. "deviling" sentries is an old, old amusement at west point. the plebe goes on duty, solemn and anxious, awed to silence and gravity by the sternness of his superiors. he is proud of his important office and thoroughly resolved to do his duty, come what may, and to die in the last ditch. he seizes his gun resolutely; feels of the bayonet point valiantly; puts on his sternest and most forbidding look; strides forth with a step that is bold and unwavering. and the yearlings "don't do a thing" to him. what they did to mark and his friends will be described later on. chapter vii. mark's counterplot. mark returned to the camp to find his six friends just returned from drill and enjoying a brief respite until the summons came for their next duty. he gathered them together in solemn conclave, and then in whisper imparted to them the information he had just received from the "angel." the effects of mark's announcement upon his friends varied considerably with each. indian was terrified beyond measure; the possibility of such tricks being tried upon him, too, made his fat eyes bulge. texas, on the other hand, was wild with excitement and joy, and a little good-natured envy. "wow! mark," he cried. "why is it you always have all the fun? them ole cadets always go fo' you; nobody else kin ever do anything. ef them fellers don't git roun' to me some day i'm goin' off an' raise a rumpus some other way." "what'll you do?" inquired mark, laughing. "i'll go off'n git on a roarin' ole spree!" vowed the other, solemnly. "an' i'll ride into this yere ole camp an' raise such a rumpus as it ain't ever seen afore. jes' you watch me now! what you fellers a-laughin' at?" "i'm sorry i can't let you go on in my place," said mark, smiling. "or perhaps i'll let you come out and help me 'do' them when they tackle me." texas was somewhat mollified by that; and then the seven settled down to a serious discussion of the situation. "fellows," said mark, "i want to tell you something. you know i'm getting tired of the notion those yearlings have in their heads, that they can haze us without its costing them anything. now i've been thinking this business over and i've got an idea. if they try to dump me to-night i'm going to fool them and i'm going to fix it so that they'll be the laughingstock of the corps. after i get through with them then we'll go dump some of their sentries instead. and now, what i want to know is, will you help me?" "help you!" gasped the others, excitedly. "help you! what are we banded for?" "oo-oo!" wailed indian. "i can't. i'll be on duty, too! and suppose they attack me! bless my soul!" "you'll have to fight your own battle!" laughed mark. "they won't try anything very desperate on you. but now let me tell you of my plot." the six gathered about him to listen to his whispered instructions. from the contortions their faces went through one would have supposed they liked the scheme. and in the end mark, finding that it met with approval, sat down and wrote a brief note: "dear miss fuller: we have a plan to punish those yearlings, and we want you to help us once more. ask george, the butler, to go down to highland falls and buy us a quart of peroxide of hydrogen. the parson says it must be very strong, a ninety per cent. saturated solution. we'll explain to you afterward what we want the stuff for. please do not fail us. "your friend, "mark mallory." they sealed that note and put it together with a coin into the hands of a drum orderly. and after that there was nothing to do but wait in suspense and impatience for the momentous hours of evening, when the yearling class was to make one more effort to subdue "the b. j.-est plebe that ever struck the place." night came, as night always does, no matter how anxiously it is waited for. mark and his friend indian went on guard that afternoon from two to four; and soon after that came dress parade and the sunset gun, then supper and finally darkness at last. with eight o'clock the two went on once more. though mark did not once relax his vigilance during the time from then till taps he was inclined to think that the attack upon him would not take place until his next watch, which began at two. for now there were numbers of people strolling about and hazing was decidedly unsafe. so sure was he of this that his allies did not even prepare their plot. mark's judgment proved to be correct; he marched back and forth along the path that marked his beat and no one offered to disturb him. what "deviling" was being done at that hour was of a milder sort, a sort that was not intended for such b. j. plebes as he. among the victims of this, however, was our unfortunate friend indian. what happened to indian happens to nearly all plebes at the present day. it is our purpose to describe it in this chapter. indian was a gullible, innocent sort of a lad; life was a solemn and serious business with him. most plebes take their hazing as fun, rather unpleasant, but still nothing dangerous. with indian on the other hand it was torture; he dreaded the yearlings as his mortal enemies, and to his poor miserable soul everything they did was aimed at his life. this curious state of affairs the yearlings were not slow to discover, and the result had been that fully half the hazing that was done had fallen on the head of this unfortunate plebe. and one may readily believe that the merry cadets were waiting with indescribable glee for the first night when poor joseph smith turned out on sentry duty. sentry duty at the camp is of course a mere formality; no enemies are expected to attack west point, and there is no necessity for an all-night guard. but it was precisely this fact that our friend could not understand, and that was where the fun came in. to indian, the sentry was put on guard to ward off some real and terrible danger. everything that happened confirmed this view in his mind. in the first place the solemnity and businesslike reality he found in the guard tent impressed him. then the sepulchral tones of the corporal who gave him instructions, and who, it may readily be believed, lost no opportunity to impress the gravity of the situation upon his charge and to frighten him more and more, strengthened his conviction. then they gave him a gun, a heavy, dangerous-looking gun, with a cold-steel bayonet sharp as a knife, that made him see all sorts of harrowing visions of himself in the act of plunging it, all bloody, into the body of some gasping foe. after that, with all these uncanny ideas in his head, they marched him solemnly out to his post and left him there alone in the darkness. indian's post lay alongside the camp, but in his fright he did not recognize anything. all he knew was that it ran along a dark deserted path beneath trees that groaned and creaked in the moonlight. and indian paced tremblingly up and down clutching his cold steel gun nervously, seeing an enemy in every waving shadow and in every tree stump, hearing one in every distant voice and tread, consoling his mind with visions of all sorts of horrors, wishing he had some one to talk to, and wondering if it were not almost ten o'clock and time for that other sentry to relieve him. the very clanking of his own bayonet scabbard made this bold young soldier jump. this continued as the night wore on. indian strode back and forth losing heart every moment, and beginning to believe that the relief guard had forgotten him. tramp, tramp--and then suddenly he halted, his heart leaped up and began to thump in a frenzy. could that be? yes, surely it was! some one was crossing his beat, stealing along in the moonlight! half mechanically, indian obeyed his instructions, brought down his gun to the charge position and gave the challenge: "who goes there?" the voice was so weak that indian scarcely heard it. he stood trembling, to await the answer. when the answer came he was still more mystified. "the prince of wales!" called the intruder. the prince of wales? what on earth was he doing here? poor indian had received no instructions about the prince of wales. but he was given no time to find out, for a step way back at the other end of the post took him down there on the run, where in response to his second challenge the ghost of horace greeley made itself known. and scarcely had the ghost been warned away before the confused sentry had to rush back to the original place to find that the prince had given place to a band of potawottamie squaws combined with julius caesar and the second continental congress. indian of course should have summoned the corporal of the guard. but in the alarm he had forgotten everything except that he must challenge everybody he saw. the result was that the poor lad was kept flying up and down until nearly dead from exhaustion, challenging ghosts and colonels, armed parties, patrols, grand rounds, reliefs, and other things military and otherwise. occasionally a "friend with the countersign" would hail, and then inform the rattled sentry that the countersign was "butter beans," or "kalamazoo," or "kangaroo," or "any old thing you please," as one joker told him. poor indian was fast being reduced to a state of nervous prostration. he was in this condition when the climax came. hurrying down the path he was suddenly electrified to see a red can lying in the middle of the path. staring out in great black letters that made the sentry gasp were the letters d-y-n-a-m-i-t-e! indian started back in alarm. he saw a spark, as if from a fuse; and in an instant more before he had a chance to run, that can--which contained a firecracker--went up into the air with a terrific flash and roar. that was the last straw for joseph. he dropped his gun; gave vent to one shriek of terror and then turned and fled wildly into camp! chapter viii. the attack on mark. there was confusion indescribable in a moment; cadets rushed out of their tents, and every one who chanced to be in the neighborhood started on a run for the scene of the trouble, most of them just in time to see the figure of the frightened plebe flying down a company street to the guard tent. indian's hair was sailing out behind, his eyes were staring and his cheeks bulging with fright. in response to the first yell, lieutenant allen, the tactical officer in charge, had rushed to the tent door, followed by the corporal of the guard, the officer of the day, and a host of other cadet officials. the figure in blue, however, was the only one the plebe saw. that meant an army officer and safety for him. so to that figure he rushed with a gasp of fright. "what's the matter?" cried lieutenant allen. "dynamite, sir, anarchists!" "what!" "yes, sir, oh, please, sir, bless my soul, sir, i saw it, sir--puff--oh!" it took the amazed officer several moments to take in the situation. "anarchists," he repeated. "dynamite! why, what on earth?" and then suddenly the whole thing flashed across him. it was another prank of the yearlings! and, what was worse, a thousand times worse, here was a sentry off his beat, in direct violation of his orders of all military law. "didn't you receive a command, sir," he demanded severely, "not to leave your post for any reason whatsoever? don't you know that in time of war your offense would mean hanging?" "bless my soul, sir!" gasped the sorely perplexed plebe, frightful visions of gallows rising up before his bulging eyes. "yes, sir--er--that is, no, sir--bless my soul! they're going to attack the place!" the officer gazed at the lad incredulously for a moment; he thought the plebe was trying to fool him. but that look on indian's face could not possibly be feigned; and the officer when he spoke again was a trifle more consoling. "don't you know, my boy," he said, "this is all a joke? it was not real dynamite." "not real dynamite!" cried the other in amazement. "why, i saw it! it----" "it was the yearlings trying to fool you," said the lieutenant. "yearlings trying to fool me!" echoed the other as if unable to grasp the meaning. "why--er--bless my soul! yearlings trying to fool me!" the thought filtered through gradually, but it reached indian's excited brain at last. the change it produced when it got there was marvelous to behold. the look of terror on his face vanished. so he had been fooled! so he had let the yearlings outwit him! yearlings--his sworn enemies! and he a member of the banded seven at that! it was too awful to be true! it was---and then suddenly before lieutenant allen could raise a hand or say a word the plebe wheeled, sprang forward and tore back down the company street. there was a look on indian's face that his friends had seen there just once before. the yearlings had tied him to a stake that day to "burn" him, and they had set fire to his trousers by accident. indian had broken loose, and it was then that the look was on his face, a look of the wildest fury of convulsive rage. now it was there again, and indian was too mad to speak, almost too mad to see. he rushed down the street, he tore in between two of the tents and burst out upon the path where the sentry beat lay. it was dark and he could see little, but off to one side he made out a group of cadets. he heard a sound of muffled laughter. here were his tormentors! here! and with a gasp and gurgle of rage indian plunged into the midst of them. after that there was just about as lively a time as those yearlings had ever seen. indian's arms were windmills and sledge hammers combined, with the added quality of hitting the nail on the head every time they hit. the result ten eyes could not have followed, and as many pens could not describe it. suffice it to say that the plebe plowed a path straight through the crowd, then whirled about and started on another tack. and that a few moments later he was in undisturbed possession of his post, the yearlings having fled in every direction. then indian picked up his musket, shouldered it, and strode away down the path. "i guess they'll leave me alone now," he said. they did. indian marched courageously after that, his head high and his step firm, conscious of having done his duty and signally retrieved his honor. pacing patiently, he heard tattoo sound and saw the cadets line up in the company street beyond. he heard the roll call and the order to break ranks. he saw the cadets scatter to their tents, his own friends among them. indian knew that it was half-past nine then and that he had but half an hour more. as he marched he was thinking about mark. he was wondering if the yearlings had had the temerity to try their "dumping" so early in the evening. and he wondered, too, if mark had prevailed, and if he had dared to put into execution the daring act of retribution he had planned. mark meantime was also walking his post, over on the other side of the camp. he had marched there in silence and solitude since eight. he, too, had heard tattoo; he had seen his five friends enter their tents which lay very close to his beat, and he had nodded to them and signaled that all was well. time passed rapidly. he saw the cadets undressing, saw most of them extinguish their lights and lie down. and then suddenly came a roll upon the drum--ten o'clock--"lights out and all quiet." and at the same moment he heard the clank of a sword, and the tramp of marching feet coming down the path. it was the relief. they left another sentry there in mark's stead and marched on around the camp, picking up the others. among these was the weary fat indian, who joined them with a sigh that it is no pun to call one of "relief." a few minutes later they were in the guard tent, where indian learned that the attack had not yet come, at which he sighed again. cadets who are members of the guard sleep in the big "guard tent," which is situated at the western end of the camp. here they can be awakened and can fall in and join the relief when their time comes without disturbing the rest of the corps. mark and indian did not go on duty again until two o'clock in the morning, and so they "turned in," in no time and were soon fast asleep. when they are awakened again we shall follow mark to "post no. 3." nothing more was done to poor indian that night. it was the "corporal of the relief," who touched mark on the shoulder and brought him out of the land of dreams. he sprang up hastily and began to dress; cadets sleep in their underclothing, so that they may be ready to "fall in" promptly, all dressed in case of an emergency. mark, gazing about him, saw a big white tent, with sleeping forms scattered about it. a yawning cadet officer sat at a table, a candle by his side. and five other sentries, about to go "on" like himself, were sleepily dressing. promptly at the minute of two the six fell in, in response to the low command of the corporal. at the same time the sentry's call of the hour sounded: "two o'clock and all's well!" and then out into the cold night air marched the six and away to their posts of duty. there was a bright moon and the whole camp was light as day as they marched. at number three, in response to the corporal's order, mallory fell out. and then "forward, march!" and away down the dim vista of trees swept the rest and around a turn and were gone. mark mallory was alone, waiting for the enemy. he was not afraid. he had made up his mind as to what he should do, and now he was here to do it. he realized that from the very first moment he set foot on this post, the word must be vigilance, vigilance! and he gritted his teeth and set his square, sunburned jaws and seized his rifle with a grip of determination, striding meanwhile on down the path. he had not gotten halfway down to the end, the tramp of the relief was still in the air, when suddenly came a low, faint whistle. mark was expecting that, and he faced about, started off the other way. he heard a faint sound of hurrying feet and knew that his friends, the five, had crossed. he saw shadows flitting in the deep grass of the ditch beside him and knew that they were scattering to hide and wait in accordance with the agreement. and he set his teeth with a still more grinding snap and strode on. vigilance, vigilance! the moon was high in the heavens by this time; one could almost have seen to read. "they won't dare to try it," thought mark. "a snake couldn't creep up on me now. they'll have to come from the camp, too, for they can't cross any sentry beat. but i'll watch, all the same." his heart was beating fast then, he could almost regulate his step by it. outside of that all was ghostly and silent, except for the breathing of the sleepers in the nearest tents of company a. once, too, he heard the distant roar of a train as it whirled down the river valley, and once the faint chug chug of a steamboat that passed on the water. but for the most part the camp was unbroken in its peacefulness. tramp, tramp. down the path to the sentry box, right about, and back again. his post--number three--extended from the upper end of the colorline on which two and six were marching, down along the north side of the camp skirting the tents of company a--his own--with the deep ditch of fort clinton right to the left, past the tent of fischer, the first captain, and that of the adjutant, and ending near the water tank. tramp! tramp! it was just a few minutes more before the corporal of the relief came around, testing the sentries' knowledge of the orders of the night. later still came the cadet officer of the guard, with a clank of sword; and he passed on, too. tramp, tramp. and still no sign of trouble. mark's challenge, "who comes there?" had been heard but once, and that by the corporal. "will they try it?" he thought. "now's the time. will they try it?" the answer came soon. peering ahead with the stealthiness of a cat, glancing back over his shoulder every minute, watching every moving shadow, listening for every faintest sound. tramp, tramp. eastward toward the river; he reached the water tank, where the shade was the thickest, where stood the only bushes that could conceal a lurking foe. opposite the tent of the bootblack he halted and started back again, where the path lay clear in the moonlight. tramp, tramp. he could see number two, far down in the distance, his white trousers glistening as he marched. he saw the shadows of the trees waving, he heard the breathing of the sleepers. then suddenly came the attack. there was a quick step behind him, and everything grew dark. a cloth was flung about his mouth, and two pair of hands about his writhing, sinewy body. down he went to the ground, fighting with every ounce of muscle that was in him. and after that there was fun to spare. chapter ix. three discomfited yearlings. it was mark's duty to summon the corporal of the guard at the very first sign of danger. but he didn't. he was going to settle this himself, and he meant to punish those yearlings without any official aid. he wanted to keep them busy, so that his friends could approach unseen, and he set out to do it with all the strength of his powerful frame. there were three of the yearlings, just as grace had said, and they were big fellows, selected for that reason; the yearling class knew mark mallory--knew that he could fight when he wanted to, and he wanted to then. he went down struggling, kicking, hitting right and left; on the ground he was writhing and twisting as no eel had ever done. and then suddenly he heard a muttered exclamation, felt the hands that were gripping him relax; he flung off his enemies and sprang up to find each of them struggling desperately in the grip of the triumphant five. there were two for each of the yearlings. that was not quite so unfair as the three to one that had prevailed a moment before; but it was enough to make victory certain. the yearlings did not dare cry out; they were more to blame than the plebes and they knew it. the plebes knew it, too, knew that they had only to hold their enemies, not trying to keep them quiet. the six had the yearlings flat upon their backs in a very brief space of time. to bind them hand and foot was a still easier task. and then the mighty texas flung one over his shoulder, the rest carrying the other two; they sprang down into the ditch; they climbed the parapet of the fort beyond; and a moment later were safe, out of sight or hearing. then mark mallory, sentry number three, brushed off his soiled clothing, picked up his soiled gun, shouldered it and marched calmly away down the path. tramp, tramp. sentry number three would have loved dearly to "see the fun," but there is no worse offense known at west point than deserting a sentry post. he did not dare take the risk, so we shall have to leave him alone and go see for ourselves. the five rascals with their securely-bound and gagged victims did not go very far. they stopped in the middle of old fort clinton and dropped their mummy burdens to the ground. texas pulled from under his coat a bottle, one quart of peroxide of hydrogen, very strong, "a ninety per cent. saturated solution." and he got right to work, too. you ask what he did? any one ought to guess that. as a hair dye, peroxide of hydrogen is pretty well known, we fancy. add texas was a liberal hair dyer, too. he put plenty of it on. he was not careful to apply it evenly, to get it on everywhere. in fact, he was rather careful not to. texas was not seeking for any beautiful effects, mind you; all he wanted to do was to put some mark on those yearlings that would cure them of their hazing habits, that would make them the laughingstock of the class. having finished one, doused him well, texas went on to the next. and more miserable looking and feeling cadets than the three a human being cannot imagine. they had some vague idea of what their tormentors were doing, and visions arose up before them, visions of themselves dancing in the ballroom, or walking about with their best girls, or marching on parade, with half yellow and half black or brown hair, stamped and labeled before all to their shame as the yearlings who tried to haze mallory. and the worst of it was they daren't tell the authorities; they were more to blame than anybody! texas knew that; and he soaked on the peroxide of hydrogen the more--ninety per cent. saturated solution. having finished this they left their victims there for a while, so that their hair might dry and the bleach have a good chance to work. it would never have done in the world to let them run back to camp and wash it all out. oh, no! and, besides, it might be well to leave them there a while to reflect upon the sin of hazing. as to this last point a mild bit of sarcasm occurred to the parson. "the parson" was just the man to preach a sermon; and he got down upon his knees and whispered very softly into the ears of each of the three: "gentlemen," said he, "the epistle for the day is written in the sixth chapter of galatians, the seventh verse. 'be not deceived, brethren. for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' here endeth the first lesson. yea, by zeus!" and then the five hair dyers stole away, and likewise the one quart bottle, peroxide of hydrogen, ninety per cent. saturated solution. they were not through yet. oh, not by a long shot! they rejoined sentry number three and held a whispered consultation. "who's on to-night?" was the question. "only one to interest us. bull harris!" was the answer. "where?" "number two." and then the five figures disappeared once more in the darkness--the moon had kindly hidden for a while. mark could see number two from his post, and he watched with the utmost eagerness. he saw three horrified yearlings dash across his own beat and vanish in their tents. he let them pass without challenge, even if it was against the orders, for he knew that they were the three unhappy heroes of the peroxide of hydrogen bottle, just released by the plebes. after that there was a silence of perhaps five minutes. mark, in disobedience of all orders, was actually standing still, peering across at the sentry on the next beat. he could see that gentleman's white "pants" shining out; and then suddenly he saw several dark figures steal up behind him, saw the sentry shoot up into the air and take a header to the grass. the next moment came rapid footfalls and some quick shadows flying across the path. the shadows disappeared in the tents and camp mcpherson was once more silent as the night. sentry number two got up from the ground in a meditative way; his look--though mark did not see it--was what is often described as an injured one. he made no sound, because for one thing he was too surprised, and for another because he had an idea some of his own class had done that trick--mistaken him for mallory! for though bull harris had watched long and anxiously he hadn't seen mark "dumped." mark meanwhile had faced about and was strolling on down the path, a rather happy and satisfied expression upon his face. tramp, tramp. this chapter would not be complete without a word--just a word--about three yearling friends of ours. they woke up--if they slept at all that night--with three startling crops of beautiful golden shining hair, rather piebald in places. one likes to lavish adjectives upon that hair; the piebald is not meant to be a pun. now, as to how that hair got dyed during the night, not a man of them would tell. but the seven told grace, of course; and grace told the cadets, which amounted to the same thing in the end. the story was all about the post that morning. by that time the three had been to the barber's and their heads looked like a wheat field, a field of golden grain after the reaping machine had been hauled across. but that didn't save the three. they were guyed unmercifully; one of them had three fights at fort clinton before he could convince his classmates that he really didn't want to be called "peroxide." chapter x. "texas" runs amuck. "drunk! drunk! for heaven's sake what do you mean?" mark had been sitting in the door of a tent in "a" company street, vigorously polishing a musket. at the moment he had dropped the gun and the cleaning kit to the ground and was gazing in amazement at indian, who had halted, breathless, in front of him. "drunk!" the first speaker repeated. "texas drunk! what on earth are you talking about?" the other was so red in the face and out of breath from what had evidently been a long run that he could scarcely manage to answer. his eyes were staring, and his face a picture of excitement and alarm. "bless my soul!" he gasped. "i tell you--i saw him! he's wild!" "what do you mean? where is he?" "he--he's got a horse! he's ridden off! oh--bless my soul--he's killing everybody!" mark sprang to his feet in excitement. at the same moment another head appeared in the opening, preceded by a hasty "what's that?" it was parson stanard, and his learned classical face was a picture of amazement. "texas drunk!" he echoed. "where did he get anything to drink?" "i don't know!" gasped indian. "bless my soul--i only saw him one moment; he dashed down the road. oh! and had a horse, and his guns--lord, i was scared nearly to death." "which way did he go?" inquired mark, quickly, a sudden resolution taking possession of his mind. "down toward highland falls," answered the other. and before he could say another word, mark had seized his hat, sprang out of the tent, and bounded away down the company street to the great amazement of the cadets who chanced to see him. "texas'll be expelled! expelled!" he muttered. "and then what on earth will i do?" the time was morning. the plebe class had just been dismissed a short while ago from an hour of drill, and most of them were over by the cavalry plain, watching the preparations of the rest of the corps for "light artillery drill," which was the programme of the morning. scarcely half an hour ago mark had left texas and now he was drunk! and he was drunk after the fashion of the cowboys, reckless of everything, shooting and yelling, ready to raid a town if need be. where he had gotten his whiskey, or his horse, what on earth had led him to such an extraordinary proceeding, were questions that mark could not solve; but he knew that his friend was in imminent danger, that expulsion stared him in the face. and that was all mark needed to know. he did not notice that the plain on his right was crowded with spectators of the drill, and that those same spectators were staring at him curiously as he dashed past. he had eyes for but one thing, and that was a building to one side, down the hill toward the shore of the hudson. he did not stop for paths; he plunged down the bank, and finally wound up breathless in front of the cavalry stables. most of the men were off to one side, at that moment engaged in harnessing the horses for the drill on the plain above. but one was left, and he sat in the doorway, calmly smoking his pipe, and gazing curiously at the figure before him. "what d'ye want?" he demanded. "a horse!" gasped mark. "plebe?" inquired the other, with exasperating slowness. "yes." "where's yer permit?" "haven't got any." "don't get no horse then!" mark gazed at the man in consternation--he hadn't thought of that difficulty. then a sudden idea occurred to him, and he thrust his hand into the watch pocket of his uniform. there was money there, money which as a cadet mark had no business to have. but he thanked his stars for it all the same. there was a five-dollar bill, and he handed it to the man. "for heaven's sake," he panted, "give me a horse! quick! don't lose a moment! i'll see you don't get blamed--say i took it away from you if you want to." the man fingered the bill for a few moments, lost in thought. "it'd take more'n you to take a horse away from me," he said at last. "but since you're in such a hurry----" he stepped inside the building, and a moment later reappeared, leading one of the government cavalry horses. "saddle?" he inquired. by way of answer mark sprang at the animal's head, and in one bound was on his back. "get up!" he cried, digging his heels into the horse's side. "get up!" and a moment later was dashing down the road as if he had been shot from a catapult. "terrible hurry that!" muttered the stableman, shaking his head, as he turned away. "terrible hurry! something wrong 'bout that 'ere." there was; and mark thought so, too, as he galloped down the road. he feared there would be much more wrong in a very short while. in half an hour or so the plebe class, his class, would be called to quarters once more for drill, and if he and texas were not on hand then, there would be trouble, indeed. if they were, there was prospect of no less excitement. from what mark knew of his hot-tempered and excitable comrade when sober, he could form a vague idea of what a terror he might be when he was mad with drink; and being thus he would not be apt to behave as the meek and gentle thing a plebe is supposed to be. mark had had great trouble in keeping texas quiet, even under ordinary circumstances. mark, it may be mentioned, had met this wild and uncivilized lad down at the hotel at highland falls, some weeks before either of them had been admitted to the academy. texas had then with recklessness helped mark in outwitting some hazers among the candidates. mark had been drawn to the other by his frank and open nature, by their mutual love of fun and adventure, and by a certain respect each felt for the other's prowess. the story of the heroic efforts by which mark had earned his cadetship was known to texas, as indeed it was to every one on the post. the two had come up to the point together, and passed their examinations; and they had been fast friends ever since. mark had backed texas in a battle in which texas had "licked" no less than four of the yearlings. texas had been mark's second in a fight with the picked champion of the same class. and since then the two had set out together on a crusade against hazing which had turned west point customs topsy-turvy and made the yearlings fairly wild with desperation. through all this the two had fought side by side, and were stanch friends. and now! the texan's wild passions had led him to an act that might mean instant expulsion. and mark felt that west point was losing half its charm. all this he was rapidly revolving in his mind as the horse sped down the road. texas might be found! he might be brought back in time, if indeed he had not already shot some one! mark felt that the chance was worth the risk, and he leaned forward over the flying horse's neck and urged him on with every trick he could think of. on, on they sped. down the road past the riding hall, up the hill, past the mess hall, the hospital and then on southward toward highland falls. the passers-by stopped to look at the hurrying figure in astonishment; people rushed to the windows to see what the clatter of hoofs might mean; but before they got there the horse and rider had vanished down the street in a swirling cloud of dust. as if there were not enough to perplex mark, a new problem rose up before him just then. the village he had left behind him, and was speeding down the road--when he chanced to think of the fact that he was almost at "cadet limits." there was a fork in the road just below; to go beyond it meant instant expulsion if discovered! and how could he hope to be undiscovered, he in a cadet uniform and on that public highway? the risk was desperate, but mark had almost resolved to take it, when a startling sound broke upon his ears. "wow! whoop!" bang! bang! "wow!" and a moment later, sweeping around a turn, a cloud of dust appeared to mark's straining eyes. the cloud drew nearer; the shouts and yells swelled louder, accompanied now and then by a fusillade as from a dozen revolvers; and at last, in the midst of the cloud, as if racing with it, a horse and rider came into view, the rider with a huge revolver in each hand and a dozen in his belt, flinging his arms, shouting and yelling as if forty demons were on his trail. "heaven help him!" mark thought to himself. "heaven help him, for i can't!" the rider was texas. mark had scarcely had time to take in the startling situation, before the horse and rider were upon him with a rush and a whirl. "wow! whoop!" roared texas, with all the power of his mighty throat; and at the same moment mark heard a bullet whistle past his head. texas had not recognized his friend at the pace he was riding; he and his flying steed were past and started up the road in the direction whence mark had come, when the latter turned and shouted: "texas! oh, texas! come back here!" texas gave a mighty tug upon the reins which brought his horse to his haunches; he swung him around with a whirl that would have flung any ordinary rider from the saddle; and then he dashed back, on his face a broad grin of recognition and delight. "hi, mark!" he roared. "durnation glad to see you! whoop!" mark's mind was working with desperate swiftness just then. he saw in a moment that there was yet hope. texas was not staggering; he sat his saddle erect and graceful. his voice, too, was natural, and it was evident that he had drunk only enough to excite him, to make him wild and blind to the consequences. there was room for lots of diplomacy in managing him, mark thought. the only obstacle was time--or lack of it. he reached over from his horse and seized the hand which the other held out to him. "how are you, old man?" he said. "bully!" cried texas. "ain't felt so jolly, man, fo' weeks! whoop! 'ray! got a horse, mark, ain't you? wow! that's great! come along, thar! git up! we'll go bust up the hull camp. wow!" and texas had actually turned to gallop ahead. mark had but a moment to think; he thought quickly, though, in that moment, and resolved on a desperate expedient. "texas!" he called, and then as his friend turned, he added: "texas, get down from that horse!" the other stared at him in amazement, and mark returned that stare with a stern and determined look. there was fire in powers' eye, more so than usually; but there was a quiet, unflinching purpose in mark's that the other had learned to respect. that had been a hard lesson. texas had lost his temper once and struck mark, and mark thrashed him then as he had never been thrashed before. texas knew his master after that, and now as he stared, a glimmering recollection of the time returned to his whirling brain. "texas, get down from that horse." there was a moment more during which the two stared at each other in silence; and then the right one gave way. texas leaned forward, flung his leg over the saddle, and sprang lightly to the ground. and after that he stood silent and watched his friend, with a worried and puzzled look upon his face. mark breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that he had won. he dismounted, led his horse over to the side of the road, and sat down. texas followed him, though his unwillingness was written on his face. "now see here, old man," mark began, having gotten him quiet, as he thought. "i want to talk to you some." "pshaw!" growled texas. "i don't want to talk. i want to git up an' git, an' have some fun." "well, now, see here, texas," mark continued. "don't you know if you are seen carrying on this way you'll get into trouble? how about drill in a few minutes?" "ain't goin' to drill!" cried the other, wriggling nervously in his seat, and twitching his fingers with excitement. "tired o' drillin'! i'm a-goin' to have some fun!" "but don't you know, man, that you'll be expelled?" mark pleaded. "expelled! wow!" that was the spark that started the conflagration again. texas leaped to his feet with fury. "expelled!" he roared. "who'll expel me? whoop! i'd like to see anybody in this place try it naow, by thunder! i'll show 'em! i'll hold up the hull place! watch me scare 'em! whoop!" and almost before mark could move or say anything, the wild lad sprang forward at a bound and landed upon his horse's back. a moment later he was off like a shot, leaving only a cloud of dust and an echo of yells behind him. "wow! whoop! who'll expel me? come out yere, you ole officers, an' try it! wow!" texas was on the warpath again. this time headed straight for west point. and riding behind him with desperate speed, scarcely fifty yards in the rear, was mark, pursuing with all his might, and trembling with alarm as he thought of what that desperate cowboy might do when once he reached the post. for west point, and the crowded parade ground, were not a quarter of a mile away. chapter xi. texas raids west point. the summer season is a gay one at west point. during the winter cadet life is a serious round of drill and duty, but after that comes a three months' holiday, when cadets put on their best uniforms and welcome mothers and sisters and other fellows' sisters to the post. there are hops then, and full dress parades, and exhibition drills galore. it was one of these drills that was going on that morning, perhaps of all of them the most showy and interesting to the stranger. and the mothers and sisters and other fellows' sisters were out in full force to see it. "light artillery drill" is practice in the handling and firing of field cannon. the cadets learn to handle heavy guns also, practicing with the "siege and seacoast batteries" that front on the southern shore of the hudson. but the drill with the field pieces is held on the cavalry plain, a broad, turfless field just south of the camp. the field presented a pretty sight on that morning. it was surrounded with a wall of trees, behind which, to the south, the somber gray stone of barracks stood out, with the academy building, the chapel and the library. to the north the white tents of the camp shone through the trees and a little further to the left, the battle monument rose above them and caught on its marble sides the glistening rays of the sun. beneath the trees all around the plain and crowding the steps of the buildings, were scattered groups of spectators, the gay dresses of the women helping to make a setting of color. there was a jingling of harness, a rumbling of wheels, and a murmur of excitement among the spectators as the cadet corps put in an appearance, natty and handsome in their uniforms, the officers riding on horseback, and the privates mounted on the cannon or the caissons. platoon after platoon they swept out upon the field; then formed in accordance with the sharp commands of the officers; and in a few minutes more "artillery drill" was under way. it is rather an inspiring sight at times. there are over a dozen of the cannon, with four horses each to draw them, and when the whole squadron gets into motion at once, there is a thundering of hoofs and a cloud of dust behind to mark the path. and then when they wheel, and aim and fire, the roar of the discharge echoes among the hills and makes the post seem very military and warlike indeed. so thought the spectators as they sat and watched, too much interested to have any eyes for what might happen elsewhere. but those who sat on the southern edge of the plain, where the road from highland falls emerged, were destined to witness a far more exciting incident than that, an incident which was not down on the programme, and which the tactical officers and the commandant of cadets, who stood by their horses at one side, had not planned or prepared for. the last discharge of the morning's drill was yet ringing in the spectators' ears, and the sound barely had time to make its way down the road, before it was answered and flung back by another volley that was all the louder for its unexpectedness. bang! bang! the people turned and gazed in alarm. the cadet captain out upon the field stopped in the very midst of a command and leaned forward in his saddle to see; a sentry marching up the street forgot his orders and wheeled about in surprise. there was the wildest kind of excitement in a moment. a horseman was racing up the road, galloping blindly ahead at full tilt. he wore the uniform of a cadet, and his face was red with excitement. he leaned forward over his horse, firing right and left into the air, while from his throat proceeded a series of yells such as no one in that vast crowd had ever heard before. "wow! wow! whoop!" there was no time for exclamations from the spectators, no time for questions or anything else. it was scarcely a second more before the wild rider was upon them and he drove straight through the crowd with the speed of an express train, neither he or his horse heeding any one. the panic-stricken people fled in all directions, some of them barely escaping the flying animal's hoofs. and in a moment more he was out on the open plain, heading straight for the squadron. "wow! wow!" yelled the rider. "expel me, will ye? what ye got them guns for, hey? hold up yer hands! whoop!" shouting thus at the top of his lungs, he was almost upon the cadets when the frightened spectators heard another rattle of hoofs and another rider burst through the open space in full pursuit. it was mark, and he was desperate then, galloping even more furiously than the cowboy in front, for he knew that no one but he could ever stop texas now. the amazement and fright of the spectators cannot be pictured; nor the anger of the officers who saw it all. these latter put spurs to their horses and galloped out to the two; but texas and mark behind him had already reached the dumfounded cadets. texas had emptied the two revolvers in his hands, and he raced yelling across the plain. with a whoop he flung them at the nearest cadet, and whipping two more from his belt, opened fire point-blank. "wow! whoop!" he howled. "expel me, will ye? take that!" bang! bang! half the horrified cadets turned to run; some dropped down behind the cannon and the horses, when texas fired there was not a man in sight. mark was almost upon him when the first bullet struck. it hit one of the horses upon the flank, and tore a deep gash. the animal reared and snorted with terror. his companions in harness took the alarm, and almost at that same instant started on a wild dash across the field, the four of them whirling the heavy cannon along as if it had been a toy. a few yards ahead was the end of the field, and there, crowded in a dense mass, people who had rushed to that side to avoid the texan's flying speed. and toward that surging, frightened mass the four horses plunged with might and main. it was a terrible moment. those who saw the danger gasped, cried out in horror, but those who stood in the path of the flying steeds were too frightened to move. the move had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly. the crowd stood huddled together; the crash came before they had time to realize what was happening. in the moment's excitement, the two horsemen had remained unnoticed. texas had seen the runaway, seen the crowd an instant later. through his confused and excited brain the consequences of his acts seemed to flash with the sharpness of a thunderbolt. he had acted with the quickness of a man who lives, knowing that at any moment he may be called upon to "pull his gun," and defend his life. he had wheeled his horse about, plunged his heels into the horse's sides, and at that moment was sweeping around in a wild race for the leaders of the runaway four. quick as texas was, mark was a moment ahead of him. as he raced across the plain toward his friend he had seen the horses start and swerve and made for them, approaching from the opposite side to the texan. all this had happened in the snapping of a finger--the dash of the four, and two racing from each side to head them off. and it was all over before the imperiled crowd could turn to flee. texas was seen to leap out over his horse's head and seize the bridle of one of the leaders as he fell. the crowd saw mark's horse, dashing in from the other side, barely a foot from the mass of the spectators, crash into the texan's flying steed. they saw the horse go down; they saw mark disappear. and then in the crush that followed he was lost to sight beneath the plunging hoofs of the four. there was a moment of blind confusion after that in which each one in the crowd had time to think and see for himself alone. the spectators were pushing wildly back before the onslaught of the approaching horses. several of the cadets and officers had sprung forward to seize the horses' heads; texas was clinging to the bridle with all his strength. and mark--mark's was the greatest peril of all. he had fallen over his horse's neck; he had seen the two leaders plunging toward him, stumbling over the body of his own prostrate horse, crushing down upon him--and then before his dazed eyes had swept a flying rein. he saw it, and clutched at it, as a drowning man might do; raised himself upon it with a mighty tug, and then a moment later was hurled far out over the plain, as the horse he clung to, stopped in its rush, went down in a heap with the cannon on top. it was all over then. the spectators had been saved as by a miracle, the barrier interposed by mark's horse. and there was left a pale, half-fainting lot of people crowded around a tangled mass of horses and harness, with texas clinging to one of the bridles, unconscious from a wound in his head. they loosened his deathlike grip, and laid him on the ground, while mark, having picked himself up in a more or less dazed condition, burrowed frantically through the crowd to reach his side. "is he hurt? is he hurt?" he cried. the surgeon was at that moment bending over the texan's body, where he had hurried as soon as he saw the accident. "it is only a scratch," he said, hastily. "he will get well." and mark breathed freely again; he turned pale, however, a moment later, as he saw the doctor, catching the odor of the lad's breath, shake his head and look serious. "he knows! he knows!" mark muttered to himself, "and it is all up with poor texas." they carried the lad over to the hospital; and then west point set to work to get over its amazement and alarm as best it could. they cleared up the wreck for one thing. two of the horses had broken their legs and had to be led off and shot. the rest trotted behind the corps as it marched away--marched, for no amount of excitement could interfere with west point discipline. and then there was left down at that end of the cavalry plain only a crowd of curious people, with a scattering of army officers and plebes, all discussing excitedly the amazing happenings of scarcely five minutes ago, and wondering what on earth had taken possession of the two reckless cadets that had started all the trouble. they looked for mark, but mark had disappeared while the excitement was at its height. he did not welcome the questions or the stares of the curious. moreover, he saw the superintendent, colonel harvey, excitedly questioning several of the staff about the matter. mark feared that the superintendent might turn upon him any moment, and he wanted time to think before that happened. he dodged behind the library building, the parson with him, and made his way around to the now deserted camp. once beneath its protection, the two sat down and stared at each other in dismay. there was no need to say anything, for each knew how the other felt. texas was up the spout; mark was but little better off; and the universe was coming to an end. that was all. "well," said mark at last, "we're busted!" and the parson assented with a solemn "yea, by zeus!" and relapsed into a glum silence again. neither of them felt called upon to say anything after that; neither could think of the least thing to say. there wasn't a glimmering of hope--they were simply "busted," and that was all there was to it. there is a saying that in multitude of council there is safety. the tent door was pushed aside a few minutes later and indian's lugubrious, tear-stained, horrified face peered in. indian followed, and seated himself in one corner, and then the tent relapsed into silence and solemnity once more. three more disgruntled persons it would be hard to find, excepting possibly the other three of the banded seven, who at the moment were wandering disconsolately about the camp. the whole situation was so unutterably amazing, dumfounding. texas had often talked in his wild texas way about getting on a "rousing ole spree jest once," and of his intention to "hold up" the cadet battalion some fine day just for a joke; but nobody had ever taken him seriously. and now he had gone to work and done it, and killed two horses, and heaven only knew how many people besides--for who could say what the crazy cowboy might not have done down at highland falls? why, it made his friends shiver to think of the whole thing! but the situation only grew worse with the thinking; and the three in the tent stared at one another in undiminished consternation and despair. "well," muttered mark a second time. "we're busted!" and he had two to agree with him. they would probably have sat there all morning if it had not been for a small drum orderly outside--the drum orderly sounded the "call to quarters," and a few minutes later the plebes were lined up in the company street, muskets in hand, for drill. and it did not take a very sharp eye to notice that every man in the class was staring curiously at mark mallory, the plebe who but a few minutes before had been riding across the parade ground in an attempt to put a whole artillery squadron to flight, and that, too, under the superintendent's very nose. "i wonder if he's crazy?" muttered one. "or drunk?" suggested another, laughing. "oh, say, but i'd hate to be in his place!" which last sentiment was held unanimously by the class, and by the rest of the corps, too, as they scattered to their tents. a storm was going to break over mallory's head in a very, very short while, the cadets predicted. the prediction proved to be true. one of the cadet officers had barely managed to run over the list of names at roll call before an orderly raced into camp and handed him a message. he read it, and then he read it again, aloud: "cadet mallory will report to the superintendent at once." and a moment later, while a murmur of excitement ran down the line, mark stepped out and hurried away down the street. "the storm breaks now in just about five minutes," thought the corps. chapter xii. the cause of a friend. mark was doing a desperate lot of thinking during that brief walk down to the headquarters building. every one he passed turned to stare at him, but he did not notice that. he knew that in a very short while now the critical moment was coming. texas could not speak for himself; mark must tell his story for him, and save him from disgrace and dismissal if the thing could possibly be done. the headquarters building lies behind the chapel, just beyond the scene of the runaway. there was still a crowd of people standing around, and mark saw them nod to one another with an "i-told-you-so" look as he turned to enter the superintendent's office. "oh, just won't he catch it!" thought they. mark thought so, too, as he entered. a man met him at the door, and without an inquiry or a moment's delay led him to colonel harvey's door and knocked. he evidently knew just why mark came. the door was opened as the man stepped to it. mark entered and the door shut. he turned, and found himself confronted by the tall and stately officer. mark gazed at him anxiously and found his worst fears confirmed. there was wrath and indignation upon the superintendents' face, a far different look from the one mark had seen there the last time he stood in that office. colonel harvey started to speak the instant mark entered the room. "mr. mallory," said he, "will you please have the goodness to explain to me your extraordinary conduct of this morning?" mark looked him squarely in the eye as he answered, for he knew that he had nothing to be ashamed of. "i can explain my conduct better," he said, "by explaining that of cadet powers first." the colonel frowned impatiently. "i want to know about it; i do not care how. i want to know whatever induced a cadet of this academy to behave in the disgraceful way that you two did this morning." "i can explain it very easily, sir. it was simply that cadet powers was drunk." "drunk!" echoed the superintendent. he started back and stared at mark in amazement. mark returned his look unflinchingly. "yes, sir," he said. "drunk. you will probably receive a report from the hospital to that effect this afternoon." "and now," thought mark to himself, "the cat is out of the bag. i wonder what will happen." the superintendent still continued to gaze at him in consternation. "and pray," he inquired at last, "were you drunk, too?" it was a rather bold question, to say the least, and that flashed over the officer's mind a moment later, as he saw the handsome lad in front of him start a trifle and color visibly. he was sorry then that he had said it, and more so when he heard mark's response. "i have never touched liquor in my life," said the latter, in a low, quiet tone that was a rebuke unspoken. mark saw a vexed look sweep over the colonel's face, caused by that gentleman's recognition of his own rudeness; and mark's heart bounded at that. "he'll be extra kind to me now," he thought, "to make up for it. score one point for our side." "if you please," mark continued, after a moment's pause, "i will tell you the story." "do," said the colonel, briefly. "i was in my tent about ten minutes before the accident happened, and a cadet ran in and told me that texas----" "texas?" "pardon me. texas is our name for cadet powers. told me that powers was drunk. i set out to find him. the horse which i had i--er--ran away with from the stables. i met powers down the road and i tried to keep him quiet. he broke away from me, and i followed him. you saw the rest." "i see," said colonel harvey, reflectively. "i see. i am very glad, mr. mallory, to find that you are not as much to blame as i thought. this is a bad business, sir, very bad. it was almost murder, and to all appearances you were as much to blame as the other. but i have no doubt that i shall find your story true." mark bowed, and waited for the other to continue; the crisis was almost at hand now. "mr. powers," the colonel went on, "will of course be dismissed at once. and by the way, mr. mallory, you deserve to be congratulated upon your promptness and bravery." there was a silence after that, and mark, drawing a long breath, was about to go. the superintendent had one thing more to add, however, and it was a singularly fortunate remark at the moment. "i wish," he said, "that i could reward you." "you can!" it burst from mark almost involuntarily, and he sprang forward with eagerness that surprised the other. "if there is anything you wish," he said, quietly, "anything that i can do, i shall be most happy." "there is something!" mark cried, speaking rapidly. "there is something. and if you do it i'll never forget it as long as i may live. if you do not--oh!" mark stopped, unable to express the thought that was in his mind. the colonel saw his agitation. "what is your wish?" he inquired. "powers!" cried mark. "he must not be dismissed." the colonel started then and gazed at him in amazement. "not be dismissed!" he echoed. "what on earth is powers to you?" "to me? he is everything that one friend can be to another. i have known him but two months, sir, but in those two months i have come to care more for him than for any human being i have ever known--except my mother. he has stood by me in every danger; he has been as true as ever a friend on earth. he would die for me, sir--you saw what he did to-day. i have seen him do braver things than that, and i know that he has the heart of a lion. if he goes--i--i do not see how i can stay!" "but, my dear sir," cried the colonel, still surprised, "think of the discipline! you do not know what you ask. i cannot have my cadets carry on in that manner." "what i have told you no one knows but you and i, and two others i can trust. the surgeon knows it, and that is all. he can call it temporary insanity, sunstroke--a thousand things!" "that is not the point. it is the man himself, his contempt for authority, for law and order, his lacking the instincts of a gentleman, his----" "you are mistaken," interrupted mark, forgetting entirely in his excitement that he was talking to the dreaded superintendent. "you were never more mistaken in your life! texas has all the instincts of a gentleman; he has a true heart, sir. but think where he was brought up. he is a cowboy, and to get drunk is the only amusement he knows at home. he has no more idea right now that it is wrong to drink than to eat. his own father, he told me, got him drunk when he was ten years old." "but, my boy," expostulated the colonel, "i can't have such a man as that here. think of an army officer with such a habit." "it is not a habit," cried mark. "he did it for fun--he knows no better. and i will guarantee that he does not do it again. if i had only known beforehand he would not have done it this time." "do you mean to say," demanded the other, "that you have sufficient influence over him to see that he behaves himself?" "i mean to say just that," responded mark, eagerly, "just that! and i will risk my commission on it, too! i offer you my word of honor as a gentleman that mr. powers will give you his word never to touch another drop of liquor in his life. and there's no man on earth whose promise you could trust more." mark halted, out of breath and eager. he had said all he could say; he had fired his last cartridge, and could only sit and wait for the result. "you said you would like to reward me!" he cried. "and oh, if you only knew what a favor you could do! if you will only give him one chance, one chance after he has realized his danger. it is in your power to do it--the secret is yours to keep." colonel harvey was pacing the room in his agitation; he continued striding up and down for several minutes in thought, while mark gazed at him in suspense and dread. at last he halted suddenly in front of mark. "you may go now, mr. mallory," said he. "i must have time to think this over." mark arose and left the room in silence. he could not tell what might be texas' fate, and yet as he went he could not help thinking that the colonel's hesitation meant nine points won of the ten--thinking that one more chance was to be granted. chapter xiii. the reformation of texas. "well?" there were five of them--indian, the parson, dewey, chauncey and sleepy. they sat in a tent in company a and at that moment were gazing anxiously at a figure who stood in the doorway. "well?" "there is hope," said mark. "hope for poor texas." and then he came in and sat down to tell the story of his interview with the colonel. the plebes listened anxiously; and when he finished they set to work to compose themselves as best they could to wait. "the answer will come to-night," mark said, "when they read off the reports. and until then--nothing." which just expressed the situation. the day passed somehow; between police duties and drills, the six were kept busy enough to relieve the suspense of waiting. and after supper the battalion lined up, the roll was called, and the orders of the following day were read, while mark and his friends fretted and gasped with impatience. there were reports, and finally miscellaneous notices, among them the sick list! "fourth class," read the officer, then halted a moment. "powers"--every man in the line was straining eyes and ears, half dead with curiosity--then, "excused indefinitely--temporary mental aberration, caused by heat." safe! and a moment later the line broke ranks, the cadets discussing with added interest the case of that extraordinary plebe. but the six had danced off in joy. "he's safe! he's safe!" they cried. "hooray!" "and now," said mark, "there's only one thing more. we've got to reform him, make sure he don't do it again!" "we will," said the others. it was two days after that, one evening after supper, that the door of the hospital building was opened and texas came forth, spruce and handsome in a brand new uniform, looking none the worse for his "sunstroke" treatment--_i. e._, plenty of cold water, inside and out. texas felt moderately contented, too. he had held up the corps as he had promised--not a man in the crowd had dared to fire a shot at him. he had a vague recollection of having done something heroic, besides. he saw that every one was staring at him in "admiration;" in short, our friend powers was prepared for a rousing and hearty reception from the rest of the seven. he strode up the company street, not failing to notice meanwhile that plebes, and old cadets, too, made way for him in awe and respect. he stopped at mark's place, pushed the flap aside, and entered with a rush. "oh!" he cried. "whar be you? how's everybody?" the first person he saw was master dewey, and to him texas rushed and held out his hand. to his indescribable amazement that young gentleman calmly stared at him, and put both his hands behind his back. "w--w--why!" gasped texas. whereupon dewey turned upon his heel and walked out of the tent. texas was dumfounded. he stared at the others; they were all there except mark, and they gazed at the intruder in cold indifference. none of them apparently had ever seen him before. "look a yere!" demanded texas at last. "ain't you fellows a-goin' to speak to me?" evidently they were not, for they didn't even answer his question. texas stood and stared at them for a few moments more, wondering whether he ought not to sail in and do up the crowd. finally, as the silence grew even more embarrassing, he decided to go out and find mark to learn what on earth was the matter. with this intention he turned and hurriedly left the tent, while the five inmates looked at one another and smiled. mark was walking up the street; texas espied him and made a dash for him. "hi, mark!" he roared. "what's the matter with them----" texas stopped in alarm; a feather might have laid him flat. mark, his chum, his tent mate, was staring at him without a sign of recognition! and a moment later mark turned on his heel and strode away in silence, while texas gasped, "great scott!" that evening, seated on one of the guns up by trophy point, was visible a solitary figure, looking about as lonely and wretched as a human being can. it was "the texas madman." everybody kept a safe distance away from him, and so no one had a chance to notice that the madman's eyes were filled with tears. "poor texas," mark was thinking. "he'll come to terms pretty soon." he did, for a fact. that same evening, just before tattoo, mark felt a grip upon his arm that made him wince. he turned and found it was his friend, a look of misery upon his face that went to the other's heart. "look a-yere, old man," he pleaded. "won't you--oh, for heaven's sake, tell me what's the matter?" "i don't mind telling you," responded mark, slowly. "you have behaved yourself as no gentleman should, and as no friend of mine shall!" "i!" cried texas, in amazement. "i! what on earth have i done?" "done!" echoed mark. "didn't you go off and get drunk? for shame, texas!" texas was too dumfounded to say a word. he could only stare and gasp. here was a state of affairs indeed! "yes!" chimed in dewey, approaching at this moment. "and you nearly killed dozens of people, too. mark was within an ace of being dismissed; and as for you! why, you'd have been fired long ago if mark hadn't pleaded for hours with the superintendent!" texas turned his wondering eyes upon dewey then. he was fairly choking with amazement. "do you mean to say," he gasped at last, "that you fellows are mad with me because i got drunk?" "exactly," responded mark. "and do you mean to tell me that you call that disgraceful conduct?" "i do. and i mean to tell you, moreover, that you can't be a friend of ours while you do it. i don't know how people feel about such things where you come from, texas, but i do know that if people up here knew you had been in that condition not a soul would speak to you. there's very little room among decent people for the fellow who thinks it smart to make a fool of himself, and he usually finds it out, too, after it is too late. i never spent my time hanging around saloons, and i don't think much of fellows that do, either." mark could scarcely repress a smile as he watched the effect this brief sermon produced on the astounded texan. "i wonder what dad would say if he heard that!" was the thought in the latter's mind. texas was brought back from this thought rather suddenly to his own situation. for mark and dewey both turned away to leave him again. "look a-yere, mark," he cried, seizing him by the arm again. "look a-yere, ole man, won't you forgive me jest this once. oh, please!" and there were tears in the texan's big gray eyes as he said it. "but you'll do it again," mark objected. "'deed i won't, man! 'deed i won't. i'll swear i'll never do it again s'long as i live." "but will you keep your promise?" "i never broke one yit as i know," responded texas with an injured look. and mark, rejoicing inwardly at his success, but outwardly very grave and solemn, said that he'd go in and ask the other six about it. * * * * * texas sat with his feet against the tent pole and a pen in one hand. he held a letter to his father in the other; he was just through writing it, and he was going to read it for the edification of the banded seven. "'dear scrap,'" he began. "you see," added texas, in an explanatory note, "i call him scrap sometimes just to make him feel comfortable. all the boys call him that. 'dear scrap. this yere is the first letter i've written you since i hit this place. i ain't heard from you, so i don't know whether you got 'lected fo' congress or not. i been havin' piles o' sport up yere. took in three quarts 'tother day, an' i held up the hull corps on the strength of it. busted two horses' legs, though, an' i reckon you'll have to send on the price. don't think they'll mount to over a thousan' or two. i've still got my guns----' "guns is spelt with one 'n,' ain't it?" texas inquired, interrupting himself. "i put two--makes it seem bigger and more important, sorter. "'they're the queerest folks up this way! they gave me thunder fer gittin' drunk, said twarn't gentlemanly. reckon after you licked a few they'd call you a gentleman all right 'nough! they made me swear off, else they wouldn't let me stay. what do you reckon the boys'll say to that? had to do it, though--you needn't git mad over it--i'm havin' so much fun a-doin' of the yearlings that i wanted to stay. they kain't one of 'em lick me.' "i didn't mention you, mark," texas added, laughing. "cause if i'd told dad that you did lick me, he'd probably want to come up an' try a whack himself, jes' to see ef you really could hit hard. dad won't ever acknowledge that i kin do him, though i almost licked him twice, when he got riled. reckon i'll end this yere letter now. i jest wanted to tell him to send 'long some money. "now let's go out and hunt up some o' them old yearlin's." and that was the beginning of texas' reformation. chapter xiv. a plot of the yearlings. "an invitation! why, surely, man, you must be mistaken. they never invite plebes to the hops." the speaker was mark. he was sitting with a book in his hand beneath the shade trees at one side of the summer encampment of the corps. at that moment he was looking up from the book at chauncey, who had just approached him. "an invitation!" he repeated. "i can hardly believe it possible." "perhaps if you see it you'll believe it more readily, ye know," remarked the dudish cadet. "seeing's believing, they say," laughed mark, taking it and glancing at the address. "mr. chauncey van renssalaer mount-bonsall," he read. "yes, i guess that's for you. i don't believe there are two persons on earth with that name, or with one so altogether aristocratic and impressive." mark was glancing at the other out of the corner of his eye with a roguish look as he said that. he saw a rather pleased expression sweep over his face and knew that he had touched his friend chauncey in his weak spot. mark had been removing the contents of the envelope as he spoke. he found a square card, handsomely engraved; and he read it with a look of amazement upon his face--amazement which the other noticed with evident pleasure. the card had the words "camp mcpherson" over the top, and below in a monogram, "u. s. c. c."--united states cadet corps. at one side was a view of the camp, the highlands of the hudson in the distance. and in the center were the words that had caused all the surprise: "the pleasure of your company is requested at the hops to be given by the corp of cadets every monday, wednesday and friday evening during the encampment. "west point, n. y., "july 6, 18--." that was all, except for the list of "hop managers" below. but such as it was, it was enough to cause mark no end of perplexity. "a plebe invited to the hop," he muttered. "i can hardly believe it yet. there must be some mistake surely. why, man, no plebe has ever danced at a hop in all west point's history. they scarcely know there are such things. just think of it once--we miserable beasts who hardly dare raise our heads, and who have to obey everyone on earth!" "we've raised our heads pretty well, bah jove," drawled the other. "and we've shown ourselves a deuced bit livelier than the yearlings, don't ye know." "yes, but we've only done that by force. we've licked them and outwitted them at every turn, something no plebes have ever dared to do before. but simply because we've made them recognize our rights that way is no reason why they should ask one of us to a hop." "no," responded chauncey, "it isn't. but i know what is." "what?" "i've a cousin in new york by the name of sturtevant--deuced aristocratic folks are the sturtevants! ever hear of the sturtevants of new york?" "er--yes," responded mark, that same sly look in his eyes again. "i've heard of them very often. they are related to the smiths, aren't they?" "well, not that i know of, bah jove--but come to think of it, my second cousin was a sturtevant and she married one of the de smythes, if that's who you're thinking of." "i guess that's it," said mark, solemnly. "let it go at that, anyway. but what have the sturtevants, the sturtevants of new york, got to do with a west point hop?" "it's simply that this cousin of mine, ye know, has a friend up here, a first class man, an adjutant or sergeant quartermaster, or some such deuced animal, i forget just what, bah jove! anyway, i've an idea he got me the invitation." mark let himself down to the ground on his back and lay there for a few moments after his friend's "explanation," while he thought over it and incidentally kicked a tree trunk for exercise. chauncey waited anxiously, wondering what sort of an effect his announcement of his influential friends would have upon mark. "those yearlings," began the latter at last, in a meditative, half soliloquizing tone, "have never yet lost an opportunity to annoy us." "what's this got to do with the hop, bah jove?" interrupted chauncey. "lots. it's simply this. you have been just as fresh as any of us, chauncey. with all your aristocratic blood, ye know. i saw you nearly whip half a dozen of them one day when they wouldn't stop hazing indian." "i didn't whip them, bah jove," began chauncey, modestly. "well, anyhow, they couldn't whip you, and so it was all the same. the point is that they have never done anything to be revenged for the insult. i have an idea that this may be an attempt." "this!" echoed the other in surprise. "pray how?" "simply that they'd like to see you come to the hop and have nobody to dance with--for no girl will dance with a plebe, you know, i don't care who he is--and so have to go home feeling pretty cheap. then you'd be the laughingstock of the corps, as the plebe who wanted to dance at the hop." it was chauncey's turn to be thoughtful then. and to his credit be it said that he recognized the truth there was in mark's explanation of that surprising card. for chauncey was no fool, even if he was dudish and aristocratic. "i'm afraid that's it," said he. "i'm deuced glad i thought of asking you, mark, ye know. i'll not go to-night. and we'll let the matter drop, bah jove." "let it drop!" echoed mark; and then he added, with emphasis, "not much!" "what'll ye do?" "do? what's the use of having a secret society for the purpose of avenging insults, if you don't avenge 'em? and don't you call it an insult that the yearlings should suppose us big enough fools to take that bait and go to their old hop?" "it was rather insulting," admitted chauncey. "it was," said mark. "and what's more, i move that we retaliate this very day. let's go up and find the rest of the seven, and by jingo, perhaps we'll bust up their plaguey old hop!" with which words mark slammed his book to and arose to his feet and set out in a hurry for camp. they entered camp mcpherson and hurried up the a company "street" to their own tent. they entered without ceremony, and mark scarcely waited to greet the rest before he plunged right into the subject in hand. "fellows," he said, "the yearlings have tried a new trick on us; and chauncey and i have vowed to get square, right off." texas sprang up with a whoop that scared the sentry on the path nearby, and a "wow!" scarcely less voluble. he demanded to know instanter what was up, and danced about anxiously until he managed to learn; when he did learn he was more excited still. the parson forgot his fossils, and even his "dana" when he heard mark's news, and he rose up and stretched his long, bony arms, inquiring with almost as much anxiety as texas. in fact, the only one of the three who was not excited was "sleepy." his state was that of the tramp, who answered: "why did you come here?" "to rest." "what made you tired?" "gittin' here." the two other members of the banded seven popped into the tent just then and mark sat down and told them all of the yearlings' plan, as soon as he could manage to get the excitable texas quiet enough. he passed around the invitation which the rest stared at as incredulously as mark had; and then he offered his explanation, and finding that they all seemed to agree with him, stated his purpose to retaliate, with which they agreed still more. "yes!" cried texas. "come on, let's do it. let's bust up their ole hop! let's raise a rumpus an' scare 'em to death! what d'ye say?" "i don't think we had better do that," responded mark, laughing. "whatever trick we play has got to have something to do with hop, so as to let them know why we did it. but we broke up one entertainment not a week ago. i think it had better be a quiet trick on some of them, for you know they say that a man may play the same trick once too often." "let's hold up their ole band," suggested texas, "an' run 'em into the woods an' hide 'em." "or else," laughed mark, "we might dress up in the band players' uniforms and go in and play hymns for 'em. but i think somebody ought to suggest something that's possible." "let's put glue on the floor," hinted indian. "let's dress up as girls and go," laughed dewey. "or make the parson put in some of his chemicals, ye know, an' smoke 'em all out, bah jove," put in chauncey. "b'gee!" cried dewey. "that reminds me of another story. you fellows needn't groan," he added, "because this is a good one. and i'm going to tell it whether you like it or not. it's true, too. there was an old professor of chemistry gave a lecture, and there were whole lots of ladies present. we might work this trick some time. a good many of the complexions of those ladies weren't very genuine, b'gee, and not warranted to wear. and some of the chemicals the professor mixed made a gas that turned 'em all blue!" dewey breathed a sigh of relief at having been allowed to deliver himself of a whole story without interruption; and the parson cleared his throat with a solemn "ahem!" "the chemicals to which you refer," he began, "were probably a mixture of hydrofluosilicic acid with bitartrate of potassium and deflagisticated oxygen, which produces by precipitation and reduction a vaporous oxide of silicate of potassium and combines----" "we've only half an hour left before drill," interrupted mark solemnly. "i move that the parson discontinue his lecture until he'll have time to finish it." the parson halted with an aggrieved look upon his face; and after remarking the surprising lack of interest in so fascinating a subject as chemistry, buried himself in silence and "dana's geology." "it seems to me," continued mark, after a few minutes' pause, "that we haven't gotten very far in our planning. now i have an idea." the effect was that of a rainbow bursting through a stormcloud. the seven were all smiles in an instant, and the parson came out of his shell once more and leaned forward with interest. "what is it?" he cried. "it won't take long," said mark, "to tell it. you may not like it. it'll take lots of planning beforehand if we do try it. it seems to me that the yearlings have set a trap for us, and want us to walk into it. now, i think we might bid them defiance, and show how little we care for them, by going in right boldly and outwitting them in their own country, that's the plan." the six stared at him in amazement. "you don't mean," cried dewey, "that chauncey ought to go to the hop?" "that's just exactly what i mean," was the answer. "and i mean, moreover, that we ought every one of us to go with him." "but nobody'll dance with us, man!" "they won't? that's just exactly the part we ought to fix. grace fuller will, for one, i'm sure. and i'm also sure she can find other girls who will. what do you say?" they scarcely knew what to say. the proposition was so bizarre, so altogether startling. plebes go to the hop! why, the thought was enough to take a man's breath away. no plebe had ever dared to do such a thing in west point's history. one might almost as well think of a plebe's becoming a captain! and here was mark seriously proposing it! they had a perfect right to go. they had an invitation, and no one could ask for more. but the freezing glances they would get from every one! the stares, and perhaps insults from the cadets! still, as mark said, suppose grace fuller, the belle of west point, danced with them? suppose all the girls did? suppose, swept away by the fun of "jollying" the yearlings, the girls should even prefer plebes! the more you thought over that scheme the better you liked it. its possibilities were so boundless, so awe-inspiring! and suddenly master dewey leaped up with an excited "b'gee!" "i'm one!" he cried. "i'll go you!" "wow!" roared texas. "me too!" and in a few moments more those seven b. j. plebes had vowed to dance at the hop that night if it was the last thing they ever did on this earth. "by george!" cried mark, as they finished, leaping up and seizing his hat, "i'm going over to see grace fuller about it now! just you wait!" chapter xv. the plebes plot, too. mark found the object of his search on the hotel piazza, looking as beautiful and attractive as his mind could imagine. as it proved, she was fully as anxious to see him as he was to see her; she was curious to hear about "texas." "so he has promised never to do it again!" she said, when mark had told her of powers' "reformation." "i thought he would do anything for you. poor texas fairly worships the ground you walk on." "he has promised never to drink, anyhow," responded mark. "it was very funny to see how long it took him to get the idea into his head that it was wrong. it's just as i told you, and as i told the superintendent, too; down where he comes from it's the custom when a man wants to have fun he drinks all the whiskey he can to start him. and texas thought he'd try it up here." "he certainly did have fun," exclaimed the girl, breaking into one of her merry laughs at the recollection of the scene. "i had been having a pretty exciting time myself," he said, "trying to keep texas quiet. and when those huge horses took fright and started to dash into the crowd, i had still more of it." "i think you were perfectly splendid!" cried the girl, clasping her hands in alarm even as she thought of the occurrence. "when you came dashing down on your horse and sprang in to head them off, my heart fairly stopped beating. but i knew you would do it; i have always said you would never stop at any danger, and father agrees with me, too." there was a moment's silence after that; and then mark, who was anxious to get at the important business of the morning, thought it a good time to begin. "i've something more interesting to discuss, anyway," he added. "and i've only a very few minutes before drill in which to talk it over with you. i've taken the trouble to get a permit from headquarters and all to run over and ask you, so you mustn't delay me by compliments. that's my province, anyway--and duty." "that was a very neat one," laughed grace fuller. "i declare, you are quite a cavalier. but excuse me for wasting the valuable time of the house. what is the matter?" "i've a scheme," responded mark. the girl lost all her bantering manner in a moment; she saw the twinkle in mark's eyes, and knew that some fun was coming. "is this another plan for worrying the unfortunate yearlings?" she inquired. "it is," said he. "i've no time to think up any other kind of plans just at present. you see they get up so many against me that i am busy all the time holding up my end. if it were not for your aid i am afraid i should have failed before this." "have they prepared a new one already?" by way of answer mark took out the "invitation." "read that," he said, "and see." grace took it and glanced at it, a look of surprise spreading over her face. "why, i have one just like it!" she cried. "but where on earth did you get this?" "it was sent to our friend chauncey," answered the plebe. "you see the yearlings thought he would take the bait and come; being rather weak on the point of his aristocracy, he was supposed to fall right into the trap and consider it a recognition of his social rank. then when he came he'd have no one to dance with, and would be a laughingstock generally." "i see," said the girl. "it was a nice tribute to our common sense." "ours!" laughed mark. "the yearlings have small idea that you are sympathizing with the plebes." "well, i am," vowed the other. "with you, anyway, and i do not care in the least how soon they know it. i told father, and he said i was quite right. i don't like hazing." "you may have a chance to let them know it publicly very soon," responded mark, gazing at her sweet face gratefully. "that's what i came over to see you about. you see we want to accept the invitation." "accept it! why, that would be walking right into the trap!" "that's just exactly what i mean to do. only i mean to put a hole in the other side first, so that i can walk out again and run off with traps and trappers and trappings and all." "how do you mean?" "you are not as acute as usual," laughed mark. "i had expected that by this time you would have guessed the secret." "you don't mean to go and dance?" "exactly," said mark. grace fuller glanced at him in horror for a moment, and then as she saw his merry eyes twinkle a vague idea of what he meant began to occur to her. she began to see the possibilities of the affair, just as mark had seen them. he might get all the girls to dance with him; he might have the yearlings perfectly furious, raving; he might dump west point traditions all at once, all in a heap, and with a dull, sickening thud at that. as she began to realize all this, mark was gazing into her eyes; he saw them begin to dance and twinkle just as his had. and he laughed softly to himself. "our angel has not failed us," he whispered. "i knew she would not. will you help us?" and grace answered simply that she would. but she set her teeth together with a snap that meant much. it meant that mark mallory was to be the first plebe ever to dance at a west point hop. chapter xvi. setting the trap. the dinner hour had passed, likewise the second policing of the day had been attended to by the humble plebes. the afternoon's drill was over; it was time for full dress parade. company streets were alive with bustling cadets. officers were winding themselves into their red sashes, privates were giving the last polishing touches to spotlessly shining guns. and the plebes, lonely and disconsolate, were watching the preparations for the ceremony and wondering if the time really would ever come when they too might be esteemed handsome enough to be put on parade. there was one plebe, however, to whom no such foolish idea occurred. for indeed, he was quite convinced that he was better looking in his new uniform than most of them, and a great deal more aristocratic than all. he was, at the moment we stole in upon his thoughts, marching with much dignity down the street of company b. he carried his hands at his sides, "palms to the front, little fingers on the seams of the trousers," as plebes used to be obliged to do whenever they walked about in public. but even with all that stiff and awkward pose he could not lose the characteristic dudish "fifth avenue" gait without which our friend chauncey would not have been himself. for it was chauncey, and he was bound upon an all important duty. he stopped at one of the tents; there was only one occupant in it, a yearling, red-headed, hot-tempered looking chap, with a turned-up nose and a wealth of freckles, corporal spencer, known to his classmates as "chick." master chauncey van rensselaer mount-bonsall stood in the doorway and bowed with his most genteel, perfect and inimitable bow. he would have knocked had he seen anything but canvas to knock on. "mr. spencer?" he inquired. the yearling stared at the plebe in amazement; but chauncey's politeness and urbanity were contagious, and corporal spencer could not help bowing, too. "may i have the privilege of a few moments' conversation with you?" the plebe next inquired. "ahem!" said mr. spencer. "why--er--i suppose so." "corporal spencer, i have a favor to ask of you, don't cher know, bah jove!" corporal spencer was silent. "i do not know why i should look to you for it, except--aw--ye know, you were my drill master, and so i look to you as my superior, my guardian, so to speak." "that's a little taffy for him," chauncey added--to himself. "bah jove, i think the deuced idiot has taken the bait." the plebe lost no time in taking advantage of his opportunity; he opened an envelope he held in his hand. "i received to-day," he began, "a card, ye know, an invitation to the hop. i do not know who sent it, bah jove, but i'm deuced grateful, for i'm awfully fond of dawncing. i need scarcely tell you that i shall hasten to accept it, don't cher know." the look of delight which spread over the yearling's face was not lost upon the plebe. "so the idiot is going to fall into the trap," thought the former. "so the idiot thinks i'm idiot enough to be fooled," thought chauncey. chauncey continued, delighted with his success, no less than the corporal was with his supposed one. "now, i have two friends," he said, "plebes, don't cher know, who are deuced anxious to come with me. and i wanted to awsk you, bah jove, if you could get me two invitations. i know it is a great deal for one to do for a plebe, but----" corporal spencer was in such a hurry to assent that he could not wait for the plebe to finish. "not at all!" he cried. "not at all. why, i shall be most happy to do it for you, mr. mount-bonsall. really, it is a very small favor, for i have plenty of invitations at my disposal. wait just one moment, and you shall have them. the yearling class will be delighted to--ahem--welcome your two friends." a minute or two later master chauncey's fifth avenue gait was carrying him swiftly up the street again, with two more of the much coveted invitations in his hand. and chick spencer was rushing into another tent to seize his friend corporal jasper wildly by the arm. "what do you think? what do you think?" he cried. "the plebes are coming to the hop!" "what! why!" "that fool dude has fallen into the trap. he's coming to dance, and bring two more plebes with him. oh, say, oh say!" the whole yearling class knew of it a few moments later when the companies fell in for parade. and the wildest hilarity resulted. "a plebe at the hop! a plebe at the hop!" was the cry. "a plebe without a soul to dance with him. oh! but won't there be fun." there was indeed to be fun; the yearlings would have thought so if they could have seen chauncey and read his thoughts. oh, yes, there was fun. but the question was, who was to enjoy it? chauncey, when he reached his own tent, found mark standing in front of it; and mark was dancing about with excitement, too. "did you get them?" he cried. "yes, i did, ye know, and--where are you going?" mark had started hastily down the street. he stopped long enough to shove a note into his friend's hand and give a warning word as to secrecy; then he turned and was gone. "read it! read it!" was echoing in chauncey's ears. he did; and this was what he read: "dear mr. mallory: i am writing this in great haste. come over to see me at once; things are coming out beautifully. did you get the extra invitations? "your friend, "grace fuller." and chauncey nodded his head in delight, gave vent to an extra "bah jove," and then dived into his tent to talk it over with the others. what the others had to say is of little moment; the all important person was mark, and mark was hurrying over to the hotel, keeping step to the tune of the band that was just then marching across the parade ground at the head of the battalion. he found grace waiting for him. "you got the invitations?" she inquired. "yes, chauncey did," responded the other, laughing. "i told you," said the girl, "that corporal spencer would do it. i knew his handwriting on the envelope at once, and i was sure that he was in the plot to fool mr. chauncey. and i'd just love to outwit him, too." "you say you were successful?" inquired mark. for answer grace fuller presented three dance cards, at which mark glanced with amazement and delight indescribable. "why, they're full!" he cried. "you've gotten some one for every dance!" "yes," she said, laughing gleefully as she went over the names with him. "i put your names over the top, you and mr. dewey and mr. chauncey--that last name of his is too long to say. and i could have filled a dozen just as well, only you said that you three were the only ones who cared for dancing. i hope you all dance well. mr. dewey looks as if he might; and our fifth avenue friend i'm sure is a perfect sylph. i think you do everything gracefully." "i hope you have a chance to find out," laughed mark. "i hope you have put yourself down on my card." "i have put you down for the very first dance," said she, simply. "you told me to fix it all the way i liked." "but who are the other girls?" inquired mark. "i haven't met any of them." "you will in plenty of time. i'll introduce you to them. they're all friends of mine; you see, i know nearly every one about the post. and i've picked all the very prettiest and nicest girls of them all, too." "and arranged them in order of merit," added mark, slyly glancing at his own card, whereat the girl shook her fan at him. "but tell me," he continued, in perplexity, after a few moments' pause, "how did you ever manage to get so many girls into the conspiracy? why, i had no idea that one-tenth as many cared anything about plebes." "i used a little diplomacy," laughed grace. "i made myself as charming as i could. i found two, three in fact, whose brothers are plebes, and one whose brother will be next year. i think most of the girls really sympathize with the plebes, and then, too, i'm sure all of them like to tease. did you ever know one who did not? and this will make the yearlings fairly wild. but the chief reason i urged i can't tell to you; you wouldn't like it." "why not?" "it would make you conceited, as you say. you must know--you ought to if you don't--that you're a regular hero among west point girls. in the first place, every one knows how you saved me; and then all of them saw you the other day stop that runaway. you're famous, besides, as the boldest plebe that ever came here; the yearlings are the laughingstock of the place because of you. and that makes you a sort of romantic creature, a sir galahad in disguise. to dance with you is a whole fairy tale." mark laughed heartily over this description, which he chose to consider exaggerated. but whatever might be the cause of grace fuller's success, he was heartily and undisguisedly delighted at the success itself. here were three dance cards, one for each of the conspirators; and all of them were full, which meant that there were a score or more of girls who had pledged themselves to join in that plot. it was a triumph indeed, and mark thanked grace for it most heartily. and when he left the hotel and hurried over to camp again, his chuckles of delight were audible and numerous. chapter xvii. the result at the hop. every one goes to hops promptly on time at west point. in select society it is the thing nowadays to go late everywhere, so chauncey assured his friends. but at the academy relentless tattoo sounds on hop-nights at half-past nine as usual. the cadets have to be in line at camp five minutes later. and so, anxious to dance all they can, everybody who intends to dance is on hand by the hour of eight. the dances were held, in mark's day, in the academy building, in two big rooms on the second floor. those rooms are used as examination rooms; luckless and frightened candidates were sent there to show what they do not know. this evening, however, it was gay and festive. the west point military band, in full plumage, occupied a small platform and dispensed an overture previous to the first waltz. the walls were gay with flags and an abundance of decorations in general. and the floor and seats about the room were still more beautifully adorned. a person who "knew the ropes," who was familiar with hops and hop ways, would not have failed to notice that there was something unusual going on that night, that everybody seemed to be waiting for something. cadets talking to damsels could not keep their eyes from straying to the doorway, while at the doorway sauntered about, waiting, a considerable group of anxious cadets. there was one thought in the minds of all of them. "will they come? oh, say, will they come?" and then, suddenly, a ripple of excitement ran around the room; cadets crowded to the doorway, girls strained their necks to get a view, the leader of the band in all his finery nearly let his orchestra run wild in his interest. and across the floor rushed corporal spencer, hop manager, and grasped his friend jasper by the arm. "they're here! they're here, man!" he gasped. "oh, say!" and the next instant the bandmaster waved his baton, the music crashed all at once, and the first dance was begun. a dance with plebes present! to say that the three, mark, chauncey and "b'gee," were the cynosure of all eyes would not begin to express the situation. every one's glance was fairly glued upon them. girls forgot their dance partners, cadets stopped still in their tracks. not a soul offered to dance. not a soul did anything but stare at those three idiots. they did not seem the least bit ill at ease. all of them seemed quite in their element. their attire was surely immaculate; chauncey was fairly radiant in an elegantly handled monocle. and they did not seem to notice the stares, intentionally rude, that came from the cadets. they knew just what to do, and they did it, while the whole room watched and gasped. grace fuller, belle of west point, sat in one corner of the room, a perfect vision of loveliness indescribable. about her were half a dozen cadets. her stern old father sat nearby, with mrs. fuller beside him. and toward that group those idiotic plebes were going! the yearlings gasped in horror, bit their lips in vexation. for judge fuller arose from his seat and welcomed mark mallory heartily; his wife did likewise. the three sat down and began to talk to them and to grace, at which the cadets with that party went off in horror and amazement. well, there was no use staring any more, for the three plebes were safe behind that bulwark; and vexed and aggravated, the cadets went their ways and began to dance. they kept their eyes on the three, however. they saw mrs. fuller rise suddenly and cross the room, with chauncey and dewey at her side. and then what must she do but introduce them to two girls? oh! this was terrible! bull harris, mark's old enemy, was in the very act of asking one of the girls, a tall, stately creature clad in pink, if he might have the pleasure, etc. "i'm sorry, mr. harris," said she. "but i'm already engaged for this dance." and then up stepped mrs. fuller. "miss evens," she said, "allow me to present mr. dewey, with whom i believe you have promised to dance." a moment later, to the indescribable horror of the cadets in the place, three plebes set out upon that floor to dance, each of them leading girls with whom to dance was a privilege that came only to the best. and how those plebes did dance! the yearlings had never seen better; they could not but acknowledge that. for the plebes were on their mettle then, and if ever they danced in their lives, they did then, radiant with triumph, swept away by the excitement distributing benignant smiles upon every one. there is only one heaven that lasts an eternity. all others, that dance included, have their finish. the three plebes returned the delighted girls to their seats, and the cadets, excusing themselves from every one, rushed out into the hall, there to hold an angry and excited consultation. for this was indeed a desperate, a terrible thing! evidently three girls, relying upon their charms, were going to insult the corps wantonly, dance with some beastly plebes. "they shall pay for it!" was the cry. "not a man shall dance with them. cut them dead!" but if the yearlings supposed that mark and his friends proposed to dance with just three girls all that night, they were woefully and badly mistaken. the fever had spread in the interim; introductions had been going on. when the yearlings returned, behold, mark was making himself charming to another girl, and chauncey, perfectly in his element at last, was busily engaged in describing the streets of paris to a group of half a dozen! "cut them all!" whispered the yearlings. well, they tried it. to be brief, grace and the other two danced with no one that next dance. but three more girls went down on the blacklist, and the plebes' triumph was yet greater. "we'll leave 'em no one to dance with," chuckled mark. "we'll send them all home!" the next dance was a lanciers. three couples joined the groups upon the floor and lo and behold, from the spot where the plebes stood every cadet fell away with obvious meaning. the rudeness was seen by every one in the room; it was the worst insult of all. the three couples stood lost for a moment; and then, suddenly, red with indignation, the dignified judge sprang to his feet. he and his daughter made up that set. and once more the yearlings fairly ground their teeth with rage. they did not know what to do then. they were fairly baffled. the plebes had entered the trap--and here was the result! "oh, if we only hadn't been fools enough to send those invitations!" was their thought. meanwhile dance after dance passed, girl after girl was "out of it." there is always a scarcity of girls at a place like west point. there are always sure to be more cadets at every hop than there are partners, and with those three vile plebes sending three to the wall every dance--and the prettiest and most liked ones, too--things soon began to arrive at a crisis. it looks funny to see the pretty girls sitting and the ugly ones dancing; and every one began to see that the plebes were having decidedly the best of the bargain. they were dancing with whom they pleased; most of the cadets were soon unable to dance at all, finding it necessary to hang about the doorway and discuss the situation. it was a distinct triumph for the plebes; even the yearlings could not deny that, and that made them all the angrier. ten dances had passed; by actual count there were thirty girls "out of it," and something less than twenty still left to the cadets. and then the matter came to a head. cadet lieutenant wright, a first class man, captain of the football team, and a hop manager for his class, caused the trouble. urged by all his desperate classmates and urged still more by the spectacle of mark's dancing with a certain sweet creature who had hitherto devoted all her energies to making herself charming to him, he stepped forward in the middle of the dance and with his badge of manager upon his coat, touched mark upon the arm. mark halted abruptly. the whole room stared. "mr. mallory," said the lieutenant, "the cadets who are giving this hop request you to leave the floor." mark's face turned white; he bit his lip savagely to choke down his anger, and when he spoke at last his voice was hard and calm. "the cadets who are giving this hop," he said, drawing the invitation from under his coat, "invited me by this to come. i shall consider your remark, sir, as a personal insult, for which you will be called upon to answer at fort clinton." "and do you refuse to leave?" "as an invited guest and a cadet of this academy i most decidedly do." and the whole room heard him, too. wright returned to his classmates; a brief consultation was held, ending in his stepping across the room and speaking to the leader of the band. the music stopped abruptly. the hop was over for the night. three heartily delighted plebes escorted three heartily delighted damsels home that night. and wild indeed was the hilarity of them and of the banded seven. "victory! victory!" was the cry. "we danced and we have conquered!" chapter xviii. a strange announcement. "hey, fellows! what do you think? mark mallory's in disgrace." "in disgrace!" "yes, and he's going to be fired. whoop!" the first speaker was bull harris. at the moment he was red in the face and breathless as the result of a long run across the parade ground. at the end of it he had burst suddenly into the midst of a crowd of his classmates with the excited exclamation above. the effect upon them of the startling announcement was electrical. to a man they had leaped to their feet, with expressions of delight they made no effort to conceal. "how do you know it, bull?" demanded one of the crowd. "the superintendent has sent for him right in the middle of drill," cried bull. "what for?" "i don't know. it's something he's been doing. one of the orderlies told me he heard the old man say he'd fire him. and that's all i know." the babel of confusion and excited voices that resulted from this bit of news lasted without interruption for several minutes. "it's too good to be true," they vowed. "by george, just as we were talking about him, wondering how we could get square with the confounded plebe, for his tricks! and now he's going to be fired." and then suddenly bull's voice rose above the excitement again. "look! look!" he cried. "if you don't believe me look and see for yourselves. there he goes now!" the cadets stared across the parade ground and then shouted aloud for joy. down on the road by the cavalry plain a single lone figure was walking, a figure clad in the "plebe" uniform. and the figure was that of mallory! mark as he walked did not observe the group of cadets who were glaring at him so angrily. it would not have worried him if he had, for he had something a good deal more important to occupy his mind just then. he was racking his brains to think of some plausible reason to account for his errand at the moment. he had been, along with the rest of the plebe company, lined up on one side of the camp for drill. a tactical officer had been rigidly putting them through the manual of arms, with half a dozen yearling corporals and file closers aiding him. and then, breathless with running, an orderly had burst upon the scene. he had a note in his hand, and he handed it to the "tac." the latter read it, then read it aloud--again. "cadet mallory will report to the superintendent at once." that was all; the rest of the class stared and wondered, and mark stepped out of the line, handed his gun to the orderly, and strode away from the scene. the yearlings, as we have seen, had a good deal clearer notion of why mark was wanted than he had himself. to mark it was an absolute mystery. he knew no reason on earth why the superintendent should want him, and he quickened his pace so as to get there and find out the sooner. erect and firmly stepping as was the plebe's habit by this time, he marched down the road toward the academy building, between the parade ground and the cavalry plain. he passed the chapel, and then the headquarters building, his destination, lay before him. mark had entered that building just three times before this. he could not help thinking of them then. the first time, he had felt, was the most momentous moment of all his life. months of struggling were there crowned with a triumph that had seemed to leave no more worlds to conquer. for he had entered that building then to take the oath of allegiance as a duly certified and admitted "conditional" cadet. what that had meant to mark only those who have followed his history can appreciate. poor and friendless, he had seen west point as a heaven, the object of all his future hopes, an object far away from his home in colorado, but one to be struggled for and hoped for none the less. he had earned the money to come by a sudden stroke of cleverness--one step. after that he had striven for the appointment, a step far longer and harder, yet one that must be taken. the congressman of that colorado district had held a competitive examination. mark had tried, and also his deadly enemy, one benny bartlett, a rather weak, malicious youth, spoiled by the old squire, his father. benny had sworn to win, and was desperate when he realized he couldn't; he had bribed a printer's devil, gotten the examination papers, and so passed ahead of mark, who was made alternate. but mark had afterward beaten benny at the west point examination, where cheating was impossible, and had thus secured the long coveted cadetship. while we are talking about him he has gone inside. it would be well to stop and follow him, for momentous things were destined to result from that visit, too. it was indeed true, as the yearlings so joyfully learned, mark mallory was in deep and serious danger. an orderly showed him promptly to the office of colonel harvey. mark found that gentleman alone in the room, the same room where he had been received so kindly before. but this time the stern old officer seemed less cordial. there was a chilly air about it all that made the plebe feel rather uncomfortable. colonel harvey did not speak; he did not even look up from the paper on which he was writing; and mark stood by at attention, waiting respectfully. the first movement did not come from either of them. mark strove to keep his eyes to the front, which was in accordance with orders. but he could not help glancing about the room a little. and to his surprise he saw a side door open and another figure enter the room. mark did not see that just at the moment the colonel's glance was fixed upon him steadfastly; he was too busy staring at the stranger. the stranger was a young fellow with coarse features, evidently a workingman. he twisted his hat in his hand nervously, obviously ill at ease. he stared at mark and at the officer alternately. mark, who did not know him from adam, turned away after the first glance, giving no more thought to the intruder except to wonder what he was doing in that office. when mark turned his eyes upon colonel harvey again he saw then that the latter was watching him. and a moment later the colonel laid down his pen and spoke: "cadet mallory," he said sternly, "i wish you to observe this man. do you know him?" mark stared at the stranger in amazement. "no, sir," he said. "i never saw him before, to my knowledge." "are you sure?" "perfectly." there was a moment's pause after that, and then the superintendent tapped a bell upon his desk. it was answered at once. the same door opened again, and two persons entered suddenly. mark knew them, and he knew them well. he stared at them incredulously, gasping; and he sprang back in amazement. "benny bartlett!" he cried. "you here! and the squire!" it was benny bartlett sure enough; mark knew his sallow deceptive look too well to be mistaken. and the squire was the same stout and blustering, self-assertive old man. he banged his cane on the floor as he heard mark's exclamation and saw his look of surprise. "yes, sir," he cried. "it is the squire. and i observe you start with guilt when you see him, too." mark stared at the two all the harder then. and there was a brief silence during which every one stared at every one else. mark thought he saw the stranger twist his cap yet more nervously. "mr. mallory," began the superintendent at last. "mr. mallory, do you know why these three are here?" "no, sir," said mark, with evident emphasis. "is this upon your honor as a gentleman?" "it is," was the answer. "humph!" snorted the squire. "your word of honor isn't worth much! i----" "if you please," interrupted colonel harvey with dignity, "that question is for me to settle. mr.--er--what did you say this man's name was?" "nick," put in the squire. "nick," said the superintendent, turning toward the strange youth, "will you please have the goodness to tell again the story which you told to me." nick looked frightened and hesitated. "come, come!" cried the squire, impatiently. "out with it now, and no lies about it!" thus enjoined nick cleared his throat and began. "i'm a printer's boy," he said, "and i works for the roberts in denver. i was a-walking along the street one day, i was and up comes this feller--indicating mark--and he says, says he to me, 'your people are printing the examination papers for congressman wheeler, ain't they?' 'yes,' says i, and then after that a little while he says that he wants to win them examinations, 'cause there was a feller trying 'em that he wanted to beat. so he gimme a hundred--that was the next day; he said he'd earned it in a railroad smash up, or something--and then i got them papers and gave 'em to him. and that's all i know." "very good," commented the squire, tapping his cane with approval. "very good! and what did he say about these west point examinations?" "he said, says he, 'if i win these here and git the appointment, i ain't a-going to do nothin' but skin through the others with cribs.'" "that's right!" cried the squire, triumphantly. "there now! what more do you want?" he glanced at the superintendent inquiringly, and the superintendent gazed at mark. as for mark, he was simply too dumfounded to move. he stood as if glued to the spot and stared in blank consternation from one to the other. "well," said the colonel at last, "what have you to say for yourself?" mark was too amazed to say much. "so that is their plan!" he gasped. "so they seek to rob me of my cadetship by this--this----" he stopped then, unable to express his feelings. "colonel harvey," he inquired at last, "may i ask if you believe this story?" "i do not see, mr. mallory," was the response, "what else i am to believe. i do not like to accuse these three gentlemen of a plot to ruin you. and yet--and yet----" "may i ask a question or two?" inquired mark, noticing the puzzled and worried look upon his superior's face. "most certainly," was the answer. "in the first place, if you please, according to this story, if i gave this man a hundred dollars, why did he tell about it afterward?" "his conscience troubled him," cried the old squire excitedly. "as yours would have if you had any. he knew that he had done wrong, robbed my son, and he came and told me. and i was wild, sir, wild with anger. i have brought this man on all the way from colorado, and i propose to see my son into his rights, if i die for it!" "oh!" said mark. "so you want benny made a cadet. but tell me how, if i had the papers, did benny beat me so badly, anyhow?" "my son always was brighter than you," sneered the old man. "and all the examinations weren't from printed papers," chimed in benny's crowing voice. "there was spelling, and reading and writing--that was where i beat you." "i see," responded mark. "it is a clever scheme. and i'm told i passed here because i cheated; how came you to fail?" "my son was sick at the time," cried squire bartlett, "and i can prove it, too." mark smiled incredulously at that; benny bartlett nodded his head in support of his father's assertion. "well?" inquired the squire. "is there anything more you want to know?" "no," said mark. "nothing." "satisfied now, are ye?" sneered the other; and then he turned to colonel harvey. "i think that is all, sir," he said. "what more do you want?" the colonel stood gazing into space with a troubled look. he did not know what to say; he did not know what to think. he could not call these three men conspirators; and yet the handsome, sturdy lad who had done so much to win his approval, surely he did not look like a thief! "mr. mallory," he inquired at last. "what have you to say to this?" "nothing," responded mark. "nothing, except to denounce it as an absolute and unmitigated lie from beginning to end." "but what proof can you bring?" "none whatever, except my word." after that there was no more said for some minutes. the silence was broken by the superintendent's rising. "mr. mallory," he said, "you may go now. i must think this matter over." and mark went out of the door, his brain fairly reeling. he was lost! lost! west point, his aim in life, his one and only hope, was going! he was to be dismissed in disgrace, sent home branded as a criminal! and all for a lie! an infamous lie! a few minutes later benny and the printer's devil, his accomplice, came out of that same door. but it was with a far different look. benny was chuckling with triumph. "it worked!" he cried. "by heaven, it worked to perfection! even the old man hasn't caught on!" "squire bartlett's as blind as mallory," laughed the other. "and mallory'll be out in a week. remember, you owe me that hundred to-day." chapter xix. texas turns highwayman. there were six terrified plebes up at camp mcpherson, when mark rushed in, pale and breathless, to tell them the reason for his summons to headquarters. the banded seven had not had such a shock since they organized to resist the yearlings. "benny bartlett!" cried texas, springing up in rage. "do you mean that little rascal i licked the day he got sassy during exams?" "that's he," said mark, "and he's come back to get his revenge." "and you don't mean," cried the six, almost in one breath, "colonel harvey believes it?" "why shouldn't he?" responded mark, despairingly. "i cannot see any way out of it. the whole thing's a dirty lie from beginning to end, but it makes a straight story when it is told, and i can't disprove it." "but i thought you said," cried texas, "that you saw benny himself cheating, or tryin' to, at the examinations right hyar." "so i did," said the other. "but i cannot prove that. i know lots of things about him, but i can't prove one of them. they've simply got me and that's all there is of it. there are three of them, and it's almost impossible to make the superintendent think they're lying. think of a rich old man like the squire's doing a trick like that!" "perhaps he ain't," suggested texas, shrewdly. "perhaps not," admitted mark. "benny would not hesitate to lie to his own father. but all the same i have no proof. and what in heaven's name am i to do?" mark sat down upon the locker in his tent and buried his face in his hands. his wretchedness is left to the imagination. the whole thing had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly, right in the midst of his triumph! and it was so horrible! the six could think of no word of comfort; for they were as cast down, as thunderstruck, as he. their regard for mark was deep and true, and his ruin they felt was theirs. they sat or stood about the tent in characteristic attitudes, and with dejection written upon every line of their countenances. first to move was the wild texas, ever impulsive and excitable. and texas leaped to his feet, with a muttered whoop! "i'm a-goin' to prove them air fellers are lyin', by thunder, ef i have to resign to do it!" by the time that brief resolution was finished texas was out of the tent and gone. the six glanced up as he left, and then once more resumed their dejected and bewildered discussion. "i can see no way out of it. no way!" groaned mark. "i am gone." and the others could see no other way to look at it. texas was rather more bizarre and unconventional, more daring than his companions from the "effete east," and his detective efforts were apt to be more interesting for that reason. he paced up and down the company street, hearing and seeing no one, thinking, thinking for all he was worth. "proof! proof!" he kept muttering to himself over and over again. "proof! proof!" perhaps it was ten minutes before he did anything else. texas was like a fisherman waiting for a bite during that time. he was waiting for an inspiration. and then suddenly the inspiration came. he stopped short in his tracks, opened his eyes wide and staring, and his mouth also; his fingers began to twitch with a sudden wave of excitement; his face flushed and he trembled all over. the next moment with a joyful "durnation!" he had turned and was off like a shot down the street. "i've got it! i've got it! whoop!" and then suddenly he halted again. "i won't tell 'em," he muttered to himself. "i'll keep it for a surprise! but then, i'll want some one to help me. who'll i--oh, yes!" texas had turned and started with no less haste the other way. "i'll git one o' them ole cadets," he chuckled, "some one the ole man'll believe. i know!" at the eastern side of the camp, in a company street, and facing the sentry post of number three, stood a single spacious tent. it belonged to the first cadet captain, fischer by name. and at that tent, trembling with impatience, the plebe halted and knocked. "come in," called a voice, and texas entered. there was but one occupant in the tent--the first captain has a tent to himself, if you please. it was fischer, tall and stately and handsome as usual, with his magnificent uniform and sash and chevrons. he was engaged in writing a letter at the moment; he looked up and then arose to his feet, a look of surprise upon his face as he recognized the plebe. "mr. powers," said he. texas bowed; and then he started right in to business. "mr. fischer," he began, "i know it ain't customary for plebes to visit first classmen, and especially b. j. plebes. but i got something to say right naow that's important, more important than ceremonies an' such. will you listen?" the officer bowed courteously, though he still looked surprised. "it's about mr. mallory," said texas. "i reckon you've heard the stories 'bout him?" "i have heard rumors," said the other. "i shall be glad to hear more." texas told him the story then, just as mark had told it a few minutes ago. and the look of surprise on the captain's face deepened. "this is a serious business, mr. powers," he said. "it's one lie from beginning to end!" growled the other. "now look a-yere. you been a pretty good friend o' mark's, mr. fischer. you're the only man i know of in this place that's tried to see fair play. when mark had to fight them yearlings it was you saw he had his rights. when they tried to get him dismissed on demerits, you were the one to stop 'em. now, i don't know why you did it, 'cept perhaps you're an honest, fair an' square man yourself, an' saw he was, too. anyhow, you've been his friend." "i have tried to see fair play," responded the other, slowly. "i have not approved of many of his acts, what he did last night at the hop, for instance. but still----" "if you knew this yere plot was a lie, would you say so?" interrupted texas. "i most certainly should." "an' if you saw a chance to prove it, knowin' that mark'd be dismissed if you didn't, would you?" "it would be my duty, i think, as captain of his company. i should do it anyway, for i respect mr. mallory." and texas seized the surprised fischer by the hand and gave him a mighty squeeze. "wow!" he cried. "i knew you would! whoop! we'll fool them ole liars yet!" then, to the still greater surprise of the cadet captain--who wasn't used to texas' ways--the plebe dragged him over to the corner of the tent and whispered in a trembling, excited voice. "don't you tell a soul, naow, not a soul. s-sh! do you want to turn highwayman?" fischer stared at the other in alarm. "turn highwayman!" he echoed. "yes," whispered texas. "don't you know what a highwayman is? he's a man what robs folks at night?" fischer gasped and looked dumfounded. the day that texas had gone on his "spree" and tried to wreck west point he had been reported by the surgeon on the sick list for "temporary mental aberration due to the heat." "this is an awfully hot day," thought fischer. "i hope to gracious he hasn't got any guns!" texas waited a moment longer, and then he went on to whisper. he had lots to say, and one would have been interested to observe its effect upon the officer. his look of consternation faded; one of interest, doubt, and then finally of delight replaced it. and by the time the other was through he had forgotten the lad was a plebe. he seized his hand and slapped him upon the back. "by george!" he cried. "i'll do it! it's a slim chance, slim as thunder, but if it'll clear mark mallory i'll try it if it costs me my chevrons!" at which texas gave vent to a whoop that awoke the echoes of the highlands. chapter xx. two midnight prowlers. on the night of the day we are writing about, there was something unusual happening. it was neither a sentry nor an officer, this stealthy figure that stole out of a tent in the street of company a. he waited cautiously until the sentry behind his tent had passed on to the other end, and then with the slyness of an indian he crept down the path. and when he disappeared again, it was the big tent of the first captain that swallowed him up. fischer was expecting that visit. he was up and dressing, and ready for the other. "there are the clothes, mr. powers," he whispered. "leave your uniform here and slip into them quickly." the captain's voice was trembling with excitement, and some little nervousness, too. this was a desperate errand for him. it might cost him his chevrons, if not worse; for he had desperate deeds to do that night. "have you got the guns?" he whispered. by way of answer texas slipped two shining revolvers into the other's hands. fischer gripped the cold steel for a moment to steady his nerves, and then thrust the weapons into the pocket of the rough coat he wore. "come on," he said. "i'm ready." he stepped out of the tent, texas close at his heels. the two crept around the side, then crouched and waited. suddenly fischer put his fingers to his lips and gave a low whistle. the effect was instantaneous. sentries number three and four promptly faced about and marched off the other way. it was contrary to orders for sentries to face in opposite directions at the same time. but it was handy, for it kept them from "seeing any one cross their beats." texas and his companion had sprung up and dashed across the path and disappeared over the earthworks of old fort clinton. "that was neatly done," chuckled texas. "we're safe now." "it would be a sad state of affairs, indeed," laughed the other, "if a first captain couldn't 'fix' two sentries of his own class. we're all right if we don't make any noise." a person who glanced at the two would not have taken them for cadets. they were clad in old dilapidated clothing, with collars turned up to increase the effect. to complete this disguise, they took two black handkerchiefs from their pockets, and in a few minutes more were as desperate-looking burglars as ever roamed the night. "burglary's not much worse than conspiracy, anyway," muttered fischer, as he hurried along. "i wonder what time it is." "twelve o'clock and all's we-ell!" rang the voice of the sentry from camp just then--an answer to the question. and the two villainous-looking men crept on in silence, gripping their weapons the tighter as they went. the hotel lies very near the camp; it was only a short walk for the two, even creeping and dodging as they were, before they were safely hidden close to the porch of the building. the house is in colonial style, with big, high pillars, painted white. it was a difficult climb, but the two lost not one moment in hesitation. they evidently knew just why they came, and had planned their task beforehand. texas sprang up on the shoulders of the other, and a short while later was lying breathless upon the tin roof of the piazza. fischer had dodged back into the shadow to wait. the other lay where he was for a short while, to glance about him and recover his breath; then he rolled over and crept softly and silently along until he reached one of the windows. texas had found out which one beforehand; he could afford to waste no time now, for this was a state's prison offense he was at. he raised himself and glanced over the sill of the open window; he glanced hastily about the room inside, and then dropped down again and crept to the edge of the roof. "they aren't there," he whispered. "s-sh!" "not there!" echoed the other. "then they haven't come home yet. drop down." texas slid down that pillar with alacrity that would have scared a cat. and the two were hiding in the bushes a moment or two later. "gee whiz!" muttered fischer. "just think of the risks we took. they might have come in on us." "where can they be?" whispered texas, anxiously. "i hadn't any idea they wouldn't be in by twelve." "there's nothing they can be doing around here," said fischer. "i don't know----" "look a here!" muttered texas, excitedly, as a sudden idea occurred to him. "i saw 'em a-goin' down to highland falls this evenin', an----" fischer gripped him by the arm. "jove!" he cried. "we'll go down and lay for 'em. it's a faint chance, but if we catch 'em there it'll be a thousand times less dangerous for us. and if we miss them we can come back. let's hurry." it was a dangerous business, that getting down to highland falls. there were the camp sentries and the sentries of the regular army, besides, patroling most of the paths. and any of them would have stopped those two rough-looking men if they had seen them skulking about the post. but fischer had been there three years, and he knew most of the "ropes." he dodged from building to building, always keeping the road in view so as to see their victims if they passed--and finally came out upon the road just at the beginning to cadet limits. here they hid in a thick clump of bushes and lay down to wait amid the silence of that dark, deserted spot. "i wonder if they'll come," whispered texas. "i wish i had one of 'em by the neck. the rascals----" the words were choked in their utterance; for the officer suddenly nudged his companion and pointed down the road. "look!" that was all he said. texas turned and glanced as he directed. there were two figures, clearly outlined in the moonlight, walking slowly up the road. "it's they," whispered fischer. "shall we try it?" and texas gripped the two revolvers in his pocket and muttered, "yes, we shall!" the two came nearer and nearer. out of the black shadows where they lay the cadets stared hard, watching them anxiously, waiting, panting with impatience and excitement. the strangers were slightly built, both of them, and young; texas recognized one of them plainly. it was benny bartlett; that the other was the printer's boy, he took for granted. then suddenly he noticed one of them stagger. "that solves it," whispered fischer. "they've been down to cranston's getting drunk. the beasts!" that last word cut texas like a knife; he had been that way not a week ago himself. texas was slowly learning the civilized view of drunkenness. he forgot that in a few moments more, however. there was excitement, plenty of it, to fill his mind. the pair drew nearer still in the bright moonlight, and the time for their desperate deed was almost upon the cadets. "for heaven's sake don't let them get away," whispered fischer. "if they cry out, make a break for camp, and i'll fix it." that word was the last to be spoken; they lay in silence after that, listening to the others. benny bartlett, it appeared, was the more hilarious of the two, as such feeble hilarity goes. the other was trying hard to keep him quiet. the bushes that hid the cadets were right beside the road; and as benny drew near they made out that he was trying to sing. "we won't go home till morning; we won't go----" "shut up, you fool!" the other muttered, shaking him by no means gently. "you'll wake the old man, and----" the two watchers rose upon their knees. two revolvers clicked gently, which made the printer's boy start in alarm, and then came a subdued "now!" before the victims could move or utter a sound two stalwart, roughly dressed, black-masked figures sprang out into the road. and the half-drunken pair found themselves gazing into the muzzles of two glistening revolvers. "hold up your hands!" half dead with terror the printer obeyed; the other sunk in a heap to the ground, his teeth fairly chattering. "not a sound!" was the next gruff order, obeyed equally well; and then the robbers got quickly to work. it was all done so expeditiously that the victims scarcely realized it. one of the men covered the two with his weapons and the other went swiftly through the pockets of both. he did not seem to care for watches or money. it was papers he looked for, and he glanced at what he found with feverish impatience. he had a matchbox in his hand, and he turned away from the party as he struck a light and read one after the other, tossing them aside with an angry exclamation. he searched the printer first and seemed to find nothing. then he went for benny, tumbling him about the ground and not forgetting to administer sundry vigorous kicks. he had almost searched benny, too, without success, when suddenly he gave an exclamation of joy, an exclamation which almost caused the other to drop his revolvers. the searcher had put his hand into a small, out-of-the-way pocket, and found a bit of carefully folded paper. "this'll do it!" he whispered. "come on." texas' heart began to throb with joy--texas was the one with the gun. "victory! victory!" he muttered. "wow!" ready to shout with excitement at his success he started to follow the other, who was already making for the dense woods at the side of the road. he backed away slowly, still facing the two horrified lads, still leveling his weapons at them. "not a sound!" he muttered gruffly. "remember!" he reached the edge of the shadow in safety, and then suddenly a noise caught his sharp ear. it was not from the two, but from up the road. it was the sound of a horse's hoofs, accompanied by a jingling of sword and spur. texas glanced around quickly; it was a horseman trotting up the road, an officer from the cavalry post! and in an instant more texas had sprung into the woods and was dashing away with all his speed. "run, run!" he whispered to the cadet just in front. "somebody's coming." benny bartlett had not nerve to give an alarm; but the printer's boy had. the fleeing pair heard his voice shouting: "help! help! murder!" and an instant later came a clatter and thunder of hoofs as the soldier dashed up. "what's the matter?" he cried. "robbers!" shrieked the two. "we've been held up! they ran in there! help! help!" the rescuer wheeled his horse sharply about; he whipped his sword from its scabbard and plunged furiously into the woods. the two heard his horse dashing up, and they knew their danger was great indeed. texas was flying on ahead, running for his life; but fischer, who was a good deal the cooler of the two in the emergency, seized him by the arm and forced him into a clump of bushes on one side. "lie there!" he cried. "s-sh! not a sound!" the wisdom of the ruse was apparent. crashing footsteps gave the officer something to follow; without it he might not find them in the black woods. they heard his horse thrashing about in the underbrush; the man was evidently afraid of nothing even in the darkness, for he plunged through it furiously, riding back and forth and beating the bushes. once he passed so near to them that texas heard the sword swish and felt for his revolvers instinctively. but that was the best the man could do, and finally he gave it up in disgust and rode out to the road again. then the two highwaymen arose and stole softly away in the darkness, congratulating themselves upon that narrow escape and still more upon their success. when they reached the camp, which they did in a great hurry, for they knew the officer would alarm the post, they passed the sentry in the same way, and separated, texas hurrying into his own tent. to his amazement he found his tent mates awake and sitting up, for what reason he had no idea. "what's the matter?" he cried anxiously, for he saw at once that something horrible had happened. "matter enough!" cried mark in just as much anxiety. "it's not enough for me to get dismissed, but you have to go to work and get yourself in the same scrape." "i dismissed!" echoed texas, in amazement. "how?" "your absence has been noticed," groaned mark. "lieutenant allen has ordered an inspection of the tent every half hour until you return. they've been here twice now, and you're a goner. and what makes it ten thousand times worse, i know it's on account of me. you've been doing something to clear me." all this was said in about as lugubrious a tone as one could well imagine. but as for texas, he merely chuckled as if he didn't care in the least. "i reckon it'll be all right," he chuckled, as he began to shed his "cits" clothing. "jes' you fellers go to bed an' be good. i reckon it'll all come out all right. good-night." chapter xxi. benny is exposed. "well, sir, i've come to ask what you propose to do about it." it was the pompous old squire, and he stood once more in the superintendent's office, impatience written in every line of his face. "yes, sir," he continued, "i should like to know your decision." "but, my dear sir," exclaimed colonel harvey, "i have not made up my mind entirely. it is only yesterday you stated your case. what is the hurry?" "hurry, sir?" returned the squire, "i am in a hurry for my rights. i mean that my son shall have the cadetship he has earned." "where is your son?" inquired the other, after a moment's thought. "he is up at the hotel," answered the squire. "why?" "i should like to see him for just a moment. i have one question to ask him, if you please. i'll send an orderly for him." the old man bowed stiffly; he sat up very straight in his chair and waited with dignity until his young hopeful appeared, wondering meanwhile what more the obdurate officer could want. master benjamin entered the room obviously pale and flushed. he did not feel very well as the result of his last night's "manliness," and he had dim visions of robbers and stolen papers besides. he bowed to his father and the grave superintendent. "take a seat," said the latter. "i shall not keep you long. take this pen and paper. i am anxious to see your handwriting. please write these words as i dictate them." benny, puzzled and alarmed, prepared to obey; he saw that the army officer was watching him narrowly, which did not increase his ease of manner. "write," said colonel harvey, "i--promise--to--pay-to--nick---what's the matter?" benny had begun to write promptly. at the sixth word he had turned pale as death, and his hand was trembling. "what's the matter?" thundered the colonel again. "why don't you write?" "i--i----" stammered benny. "i'm not very well." "i should say not!" responded the other, angrily. "let me see that paper." he took it from the trembling lad's hand. "is that your son's handwriting?" he demanded, turning to the squire. old mr. bartlett glanced at it quickly, a look of amazement upon his face. "no," he said, "it isn't. benny, why don't you write in your usual way? why don't you do as the gentleman tells you? and what's the meaning of this, anyway?" benny took the pen again, this time weakly. "i'll write it," he said. "here." colonel harvey dictated it again relentlessly. "i--promise--to--pay--to--nick--flynn--one--hundred--dollars--when m.--m.--is--fired. benjamin bartlett. received--payment--july--13. nick flynn." the officer took the result, laid it on his desk and took another from his pocket to compare. "that settles it," said he, looking up at last. "conspiracy." "what does this mean, sir?" demanded the angry old squire, who had been waxing more and more impatient under the ordeal. "why should my son be insulted like a common criminal? why----" "because he is one," responded the other, just as warmly. "look at those two papers, sir! your son wrote both, and i know it." "where did you get that other?" "the story is briefly told," said colonel harvey. "two cadets of my academy turned highwaymen yesterday and held up your son at the point of a revolver. i presume he has told you." "so that's who it was!" cried the furious squire. "so that's the kind of cadets you have! i shall have them both in jail." "you will not," laughed the other, "for several reasons. in the first place, you do not know who they are, and i do not propose to tell you. in the second, if you do, your son is guilty of conspiracy, and i shall see him punished for that." "this is preposterous!" exclaimed squire bartlett. "that paper proves absolutely nothing----" "his manner when i asked him to write it, and his attempt to disguise his hand, prove a good deal to me. it proves to me, sir, that he is lying, and that you are a very foolish and indulgent father to believe him as you do. he has lied to me and to you, and he lies still when he denies it. look at him cower now, sir! i knew that this whole thing was an outrageous plot the very moment the cadets showed me that paper this morning. one of them is one of my most trusted officers, and i believe his account. and what is more----" here the colonel stopped and glared at benny. "i say this for the benefit of your son, who evidently hates mark mallory. i believed and was glad to believe, that mallory, who is the finest lad i had seen for many a day, is as honest as he is brave. and i shall take great pleasure in telling him so, and in apologizing for my doubts. and in conclusion----" colonel harvey arose to his feet and bowed. "i bid you a good-day, squire bartlett. cadet mallory will not be expelled from this academy, if i can help it." and benny and the squire left west point that morning, which was the end of mark's peril in that direction. chapter xxii. mark receives a committee. "oh, say, mark, i wish you'd fight that ole cadet! an' ef you do, jest won't we whoop her up! gee whiz!" the speaker was texas. his quiet gray eyes were glistening as he spoke, and his face was alive with excitement. the two were resting from the morning's drill, and were lounging about a shady nook in the corner of the siege battery inclosure. grouped about them, and equally interested in the important discussion were five plebes, the other members of the banded seven. it will be remembered that one of the "hop managers," a first classman and an officer, cadet lieutenant wright, had ventured in behalf of his class to request mark to leave the floor. mark, who was in the midst of a dance at the moment, had been justly indignant. he had informed the other that an apology would be demanded; and that as a cadet, having an invitation, he proposed to stay and dance. whereupon the hop managers had stopped the music and "busted up their ole hop" and gone home in a rage. that was the end of the matter, except that there was a fight on between cadet mallory and lieutenant wright. it was to that fight that texas was alluding. "an' ef you lick him," he repeated, "won't we whoop her up!" "there will certainly be a fight," responded mark, after a moment's thought. "that is, unless wright apologizes, which he will not do of course. i do not like to fight; i'd a great deal rather get along without it; for it is a brutal sort of an amusement at best." "rats!" growled texas. "but it's necessary all the same," continued the other. "i do not see how i can keep my dignity otherwise. the notion that a plebe is a creature without any feelings who may be slammed about at will is altogether too prevalent to suit my taste; and i propose to have the cadets understand once and for all that they may haze me all they want to if they can, but that when they insult me they are going to get hurt." "bully, b'gee!" chimed in dewey, with a chuckle of delight. "do you think you can do him?" inquired one. "i don't know," said mark. "and what is more i don't want to know. if i knew i could whip him i wouldn't want to fight. i mean to try." "wow!" growled texas, angry at the mere supposition of mark's not being able to thrash any one on earth. "didn't he whop billy williams? an' ain't he the best man in the yearlin' class?" "they said he was," said mark. "and i had a hard time with him. but wright's been here two years longer and is trained to the top notch. he's stronger than williams, but i doubt if he's so quick. and still he's captain of the football team, which means a good deal, i'll tell you." "i wish 'twar my chance to fight him!" exclaimed texas. "say, mark, you always were lucky." "i don't even know if he'll fight yet," laughed the other. "b'gee!" chimed in dewey, "i think it's about time you began to think of getting ready to start to send over and find out. reminds me of a story i once heard, b'gee----" "good heavens!" groaned mark, with a look of anguish, "i'll send at once. everything i do seems to remind you of something. i'll send." "you will, hey?" laughed dewey. "b'gee, that reminds me of another. there was a fellow lived in kalamazoo, and he----" "you go!" said mark. "i'll make you my ambassador to keep you quiet. or at least you can tell your stories to the enemy. hurry up now!" dewey arose from his seat and prepared to start upon his errand. texas was on his feet in an instant. "naow look a yere, mark!" he cried. "why kain't i go? i want some fun, too. you wouldn't let me go that time to billy williams!" "i won't let you go now for the same reason," laughed mark. "you'd be in a free-for-all fight in half a minute yourself. you go ahead, dewey. tell mr. wright that i demand an apology or else that he name the time and place. throw in a few 'b'gees' for good measure, tell him a yarn or two, and make yourself charming and agreeable and handsome as usual. tra, la, la." dewey tossed him an effusive kiss by way of thanks for the compliment, and then vaulted over the embankment and set out for camp, marching right merrily to the tune of "the girl i left behind me," hands at the side, chest out, palms to the front, little fingers on the seams of the trousers! the remainder of the banded seven waited in considerable anxiety for the return of the "ambassador." they were one and all of them interested in their leader and hero; his triumph was theirs and theirs his. "he'll take half an hour, anyway," said mark. "so there's no use beginning to get impatient yet. let's take it easy." "yea, by zeus!" said the parson. "and in the meantime allow me to call your attention to a most interesting and as yet unclassified fossil which i unearthed this very morning." the parson cleared his throat with his usual "ahem!" and mark cast up his eyes. "i wish i had found an embassy for the parson, too," he groaned. but there was no necessity for mark's alarm, as it proved. the parson had barely time to give a few introductory bits of information about "the pteroreptian genera of the triassic and jurassic periods," when the "girl i left behind me" once more made herself audible and dewey appeared upon the scene, obviously excited. "what are you back so soon for?" inquired mark. "i hadn't anything to do," responded the other, hurriedly. "wright wouldn't see me." "what! why not?" "he says there's a committee from his class coming to see you about it, b'gee." "a committee!" echoed mark. "i've got nothing to do with any committee. it's my business to challenge him." "i know. but that don't make any difference. he wouldn't talk about it, he just said the committee would see you about it and explain the situation. and to make it more exciting, b'gee, they're coming now." "how do you know?" inquired mark. "i saw 'em," answered dewey, "and i told 'em where you were and, b'gee, they're on the way in a hurry. something's up, b'gee, and i'm going to be right here to see it, too." dewey dropped into his corner once more, and after that the seven said nothing, but waited in considerable suspense for the arrival of the distinguished first classmen, wondering meanwhile what on earth they could want and why on earth they found it necessary to interfere in mark's quarrel with the officer. they came, three of them, in due time. the parson immediately arose to his feet. "_hoi presbeis tou basileos!_" he said in his mist stately tone, and with his most solemn bow. "that's greek," he added, condescendingly--to the six; he took it for granted that the learned cadets knew what it was. "it's a quotation from the celebrated comedy, the _acharnians_, and it----" they were shockingly rude, that committee. they paid not the least attention to the parson and his classical salutation, but instead, after a stiff, formal bow, proceeded right to their business with mark. the parson felt very much hurt, of course; he even thought of challenging to a duel at once. but a moment later he found himself listening with rapt attention to the amazing information which that committee had to give. mark did not know the names of the three cadets who confronted him. their faces were familiar and he knew that they were first classmen. that was evidently all that the committee considered necessary, for they did not stop for an introduction. all of the banded seven's fun had, up to this point, been manifested against the yearlings, and it had been the yearlings, chiefly, whose wrath they had incurred. but that hop was too much; that had been an insult to every cadet, and mark knew that he had made new and more powerful enemies. he could see that in the looks of the three stern and forbidding cadets who glared at him in silence, with folded arms. "mr. mallory," said the spokesman. mark arose and bowed politely. "what is it you wish?" said he. "we have been sent to say a few words to you from the first class." another bow. "in the first place mr. mallory, the class instructs us to say that your conduct at the hop the other night deserves their severest censure. you had no business to go." "as a cadet of this academy," responded mark, calmly, "i considered it my right." "it has not been customary, sir," said the other, "for new cadets to go to the hops." "precedent may be changed," was mark's answer. "it should be when it is bad." there was a moment's silence after that and then he continued: "let us not discuss the point," he said. "i always consider carefully the consequences of my acts beforehand. i am prepared for the consequences of this one." "that is fortunate for you," returned the "committee," with very mild sarcasm. "to proceed however, lieutenant wright, one of our hop managers, acting, please understand, in behalf of the class, requested you to leave." "to continue the story," said mark, keeping up the sarcastic tone, "i was naturally insulted by his unwarranted act. and i mean to demand an apology." "and if you do not get it?" inquired the other. "then i mean to demand a fight." "which is precisely what we were sent to see you about," responded the cadet. mark was a trifle surprised at that. "i thought," he said, "that my second should arrange the matter with mr. wright's. however, i shall be glad to fix it with you." "you will fix nothing with us," retorted the other. "the class has instructed me to tell you that most emphatically you will not be allowed to fight with the lieutenant." mark stared at the three solemn cadets in amazement, and texas gave vent to a muttered "wow!" "not be allowed to fight!" echoed mark. "no, sir, you will not. mr. wright was the class' delegate; your quarrel is with the class." "b'gee!" put in dewey, wriggling with excitement, "let's lick the class, b'gee!" mark was silent for a while, thinking over the strange turn of affairs; and then the committee continued: "mr. wright will not do you the honor of a fight or of an apology." mark flushed at that stinging remark. the speaker never turned a hair, but stared at him just as sternly as ever, seeing that his thrust had landed. mark had a way of saying nothing when he was angry, of thinking carefully what it would be best to do. and now he gazed into space, his brows knitted, while his six friends leaned forward anxiously, wondering what was coming next. "suppose," the plebe inquired at last, "suppose, sir, i were to force a fight with mr. wright?" "if you do," said the other, "the class will take it upon itself to prevent that fight, using brute force if necessary, and punishing you severely for your impertinence. and moreover you will be required to defend your right to resist their authority, to defend it against every member of the class." "all at once?" inquired mark, with a tinge of irony. "no, sir. separately, and in fair fight." mark was thoughtful and silent again. "the consequences," he said, at last, "are unpleasant. the consequences of swallowing so gross and unmerited an insult as mr. wright's, given before hundreds of people, are more unpleasant still. dewey!" that young man sprang to his feet with an excited "b'gee!" "dewey," said mark, in slow and measured tones, and never once taking his eyes off the three stern cadets, "dewey, you will return for me, please, to mr. wright's tent. tell mr. wright for me that i demand an apology by this evening--or else that he name a time and place. and tell him finally that if he refuses i shall consider myself unfortunately obliged to knock him down the first time i see him." "bully, b'gee!" "wow!" the six plebes had leaped to their feet as one man, with a wild hurrah! oh, could anything have been better than that? those three cadets had fairly quailed before mark's bold and sudden, yet calm defiance. "i think, gentlemen," said he, "that my purposes are clear to you now. and i bid you good-morning." half a minute later mark was buried in the wild embraces and congratulations of his hilarious friends; texas was dancing a spanish fandango about the inclosure, and dewey, red and excited, was on his way to camp as fast as his delighted legs could carry him. "b'gee!" he kept chuckling. "b'gee, we'll wipe the spots off of 'em, b'gee. whoop!" the more excited dewey got the more b'gees he was accustomed to put in. he was back again at the siege battery ten minutes later, this time even more excited, more red, more breathless than ever. "b'gee!" he gasped. "i got it. he'll--he'll--b'gee, he'll fight." "whoop!" roared texas. "yes," continued dewey, "and b'gee, you can bet there'll be fun! you see, he wants to fight. he's no coward, i could see that, and he's mad as thunder because the class won't let him. and b'gee, i chucked in a few hints about his being afraid, which made him madder still, so that when i fired out that last part about knocking him down if he didn't, b'gee, he was wild. oh, say! he hopped about that tent like--like texas is doing now--and b'gee he wanted to have it out right away." "whoop!" roared texas. "let's go up now! i'll help! let's----" "sit on him and keep him quiet," laughed mark, shoving texas into a corner. "now go on." "we couldn't fight at fort clinton, b'gee," continued dewey still gasping for breath, "because the cadets would have learned. and so finally, b'gee, he said we'd get a boat and cross the hudson. how's that?" "when?" cried mark. "to-morrow morning first thing, b'gee!" texas had escaped by this time and was dancing about once more. and the rest of the seven were about ready to join him. this was the greatest bit of excitement of all. the most b. j. thing they had ever done, defying the whole first class and going out of cadet limits besides. there never were seven lads more full of fun than these boys; and never had they seen a chance for quite so much fun as in this daring venture. the seven adjourned for dinner soon after that. as they "fell in" on the company street it was evident to mark that the story of his bold defiance, his desperate stroke, was all about the place even then. it was known to the first class, and to the yearling enemies, and even to the plebes, who stared at him in awe and wondered where on earth he had gotten the "nerve" to dare to do what he had. for mark mallory stood pledged by his defiance to fight the whole corps of cadets. he bore his notoriety easily; he returned the stares of his enemies with cool and merry indifference, and as he cleaned his musket and turned out for drill, or made the dust about the camp fly while on "police duty," there was nothing about him to lead any one to suspect that he was, of all west point's plebes and even cadets, the most conspicuous, the most talked of. the story spread so far that it reached the ears of a certain very dear friend of his. an orderly handed him a note late that afternoon; he knew the handwriting well by this time and he opened the letter and read it hastily: "dear mr. mallory: please come over to the hotel as soon as you can. i have some important news for the seven, and for you particularly. "your friend, "grace fuller." mark went, wondering what could be "up," and he found that it was about that same all-important affair that grace wanted to see him. "i hear you are going to fight," she began as soon as she saw him; there was a worried smile on her face which made mark smile involuntarily. "it's nothing very desperate," he answered. "so you needn't be alarmed. you see it's necessary for me to fight once in a while else you and i couldn't play all our beautiful b. j. tricks." "i guess you'd better go then," she laughed. "but i don't like it a bit. you'll come home all bruised up and covered with court-plaster, and i shan't have anything to do with you until you get handsome again." "thanks for that last word 'again,'" responded he with a laugh. then, he added, more seriously, "how did you find all this out? i thought none of the cadets were going to speak to you since the hop?" "pooh!" said grace. "you didn't suppose they meant that, did you? half of them are beginning to capitulate already. i knew they wouldn't hold out." "i knew it too," thought mark to himself; he was watching the girl's beautiful face, with its expression of action and life. "it seems then that all my rivals are back again," he said, aloud. "none of them are your rivals," answered the girl; and then she added, quickly: "but that wasn't what i sent for you to tell you. i have been finding out some more secrets. i think if i keep on practicing on the cadets i'll be quite a diplomatist and confidence man by and by." "what have you found out now?" "simply that the whole first class proposes to keep you from fighting." "i knew that before," said mark. "yes," answered grace. "but you didn't know that they knew you and wright were going to cross the river to settle it." "do they know that, too?" cried mark. "they do; and moreover they intend to keep watch on you, and if you leave camp to-night you'll have the whole class to follow you." mark looked interested at that. "i can see," he said, "that i am going to have no small amount of fun out of this business. i wish you could manage to use a little of your diplomacy in helping me escape." "and i wish," added grace, gazing at him with the same anxious look he had noticed before, "i wish i could help you do the fighting too. i hate to think of your being hurt." "it hurts me to have you look so unhappy," said mark, seriously. "i can stand the other. as a fighter i don't think you would make much of a success. this is a case of 'angels for council; devils for war.'" "go ahead," sighed grace, "if you have to go to hospital i'll come over and nurse you." mark took his departure soon after that; he set out for camp, revolving in his mind all sorts of impracticable schemes for outwitting the first classmen that night. his thoughts were interrupted by hearing his name. he looked up; a cadet was addressing him. "mr. mallory," he said, "good-afternoon. my name is harden. mr. wright has asked me to be his second." mark bowed. "also to say that if you will be outside of your tent, dressed, at two to-morrow morning he will have a boat ready to take us to a quiet place." mark bowed again. "bring one second with you," the cadet continued, "mr. wright will have but one. and keep this very secret; tell no one, for the cadets will surely stop us if they learn. mr. wright has great doubts of our success anyway." "i shall do my best," answered mark. "i am as anxious to succeed as he. and i'm much obliged to you for your trouble." mark turned away and entered his tent. "there'll be fun to-night," he muttered; "plenty of fun to-night." there was. chapter xxiii. a fight, and other things. "are you ready in there? s-sh!" "yes, i'll be out in a moment." "two o'clock and all's we-ell!" the first speaker was harden, the first classman, the second was mark, and the third the sentry, calling the hour. the moonlight, clear and white, shone down on the glistening, snowy tents; the camp was almost as bright as day. two figures who stood crouching in the company street were plainly visible, dressed in old contraband "cit's clothing" for disguise. and presently two more appeared, similarly clad, mark and his old friend, the learned and pugilistic parson. the four said not a word, but stole silently down the street to the park that bounded the camp on the east, the river side, the beat of sentry no. 4. one of them gave a low whistle, a signal to the sentry to face about so that he might not "see any one cross his beat." the four sped across the line and were lost a moment later in the shadow of the woods. the sound of their whistle had an echo, though they did not know it. it came from another tent and was the signal for a strange scene, one that probably that camp had never before witnessed. in an instant, it seemed, the white ground was alive with dark figures and black hurrying shadows. one-third of the whole cadet corps, all the first class, in fact, were about to engage in the perilous task of dodging camp! there was no delay, no hesitation; the whole crowd fell in under one leader, stole down the street, signaled the sentry; and then came a dash and a tramp of feet that almost shook the ground. the class was gone. gone to stop that fight or die! one hates to tax a reader's credulity. to say that that sleepy moonlit camp was once more a witness of the same unusual scene not half a minute later seems beyond the possibility of belief. yet so it was. there was no signal this time; they simply met, five of them, all plebes, two from an a company and three from a b company tent just in the rear. they, too, fell in under a leader, a leader who punctuated his orders with a whispered "wow!" and they, too, crossed the sentry post and vanished in the woods. there was some one to trail the trailers! we shall skip forward to those in advance. the four would-be duelists had no idea of their detection. they thought that their early start had done the work. they climbed down the bank of the river, passed the riding hall, and came out on the railroad track below, just at the mouth of the tunnel. "the boat is down near highland falls," said harden, briefly; and then there was silence again. wright had not said one word since the start. they set out down the track. they stole by the little station, with its single light and its half-sleeping telegraph operator. and then--hark! what was that? tramp, tramp! the four turned in amazement. great heavens, they were followed! clearly visible in the moonlight, their white trousers glittering, the company was marching steadily behind them. they were in line and had a captain. at concealment there was no attempt; they seemed to say, every one of them. "well, here we are. now what are you going to do about it?" and the four stared at each other in amazement. "shall we resort to flight?" inquired the learned parson. "they're too many; they'd catch us," said harden, emphatically. "i don't know just what to do. i rather think we're outwitted. i--what's that?" "ding! dong! woow-oo!" "a train!" exclaimed mark. "that'll scatter 'em. but it'll do us no good." a moment later there was a glare of light in the tunnel, light that shone upon the figures on the track; and then the heavy train shot out and came rushing down upon them. the cadets scattered of course; and in the temporary confusion mark saw a golden chance. it was a slow train; he could see. a freight! and a moment later as the engine rushed past them, he shouted to the other three: "catch it! catch it as it passes!" it was all done so quickly they had scarcely time to think. they saw the last car whirl past the cadets; they saw the company reforming to march. and a moment later all four of them leaped toward the train and flung themselves aboard the last platform of the way car. it was going faster than they had thought; the sudden jerk they got nearly tore their arms from their sockets, and the parson's loose joints cracked ominously. but they hung on, all of them, with a grip like death. and they had the intense satisfaction of hearing a yell of rage from the cadets in the rear, and of seeing, as they clambered up and looked behind them, the whole crowd break into a run and set out in furious, though vain pursuit. "that settles it," said mark, joyfully. "we're safe! now then." but his words were just a trifle premature. the cadets were fast being left behind, running though they were; but there was a new danger hitherto unthought of. the car they were on was the caboose. the door was flung open; a rough figure strode out. "hey, there, git off o' that! what the divil are yez doin' there?" the four stared at each other in consternation. here was a rub! they looked for all the world like tramps, to be kicked off unceremoniously into the hands of the enemy again. but before the man could move harden thrust his hand into his pocket. "here," he said. "take that, and shut up." the man gazed at them dubiously. they might be burglars, robbers--but then it was good money, and nobody the wiser. that was none of his business anyhow. he muttered an apology and slammed the door again, while the four sighed with relief. "i wonder what next," said mark. there was nothing more; the long train rumbled on down the river bank and the party waited in silence until harden gave the signal. then they made more or less ungraceful and uncomfortable leaps from the platform, sprang down the bank into the rushes, and a moment or so later were on their way across the river in a rowboat. "which means," whispered the parson to mark, "that we'll have our fight after all." mark had thought of that. he was already calculating the chances. wright had a great, powerful frame, with massive, bull shoulders and a face that showed no end of grit. that much mark could see. he knew, too, that the man was a gymnast of three years' practice under a master as skilled as uncle sam could find; that every muscle had been worked and trained, that he was lithe and quick and active, skilled with foil and bayonet and broadsword, a perfect horseman, and the captain of west point's crack eleven besides. mark thought of all this; and then he clinched his own broad hands and gritted his teeth and waited. there was not a word said on the trip; all were too solemn and anxious. harden rowed--working silently and swiftly. the waves lapped against the boat, and the ripples spread out in long, silvery, moonlit trail behind them. and then the boat sped in under the shadow of the trees on the eastern bank, and a moment later grated on the pebbly beach. harden sprang ashore and drew up the boat. the rest landed and he went on into the woods. the three followed him a short ways, and then at a little clearing he stopped. "here," said he, "is the spot." mark halted and gazed about him. he saw a small turf-covered inclosure surrounded by the deep black shadows of a wall of trees. the moon strayed down through the center furnishing the only light. it was not three o'clock yet, and the sun was far below the horizon. mark whipped off his coat. "i am ready," said he. "let us lose no time." wright and his second were just as prompt and businesslike. the lieutenant stripped his brawny frame to the waist and bound his suspenders about him to hold his trousers. mark was ready then, too. "it is your choice," said he to the other. "how shall we fight?" "by rounds," he answered simply. he was a man of few words. "my second has a watch," he added. "mr. stanard may look on if he cares to, though we shall each have to rely upon the other's honor mostly. we have no referee." "i am willing," said mark. "let mr. harden manage it. and let us be quick. will you shake hands?" they shook. and then the "referee" pronounced the word. "go!" and they went, hammer and tongs. a man who chanced to be strolling along the river bank in the moonlight at three o'clock that july morning would have met with a startling scene. just picture it to yourself, a quiet glade in the deep shadows of the trees, and in the center of it two white half-naked figures battling to the death, landing blows that shook the air. and all in silence and mystery. the two seconds, kneeling in the shadows watching anxiously, feverishly, were hidden from view. wright had one advantage over mark. he had seen him fight, and he knew his method. he knew that in skill and agility mark was his equal; it was agility that had beaten billy williams, the yearlings' choice. and so wright relying on his strength and training pitched right in, for he and his second had agreed that a "slugging match" was the best way to beat mallory. mark was willing to have it so; time was short, and they might be interrupted any moment. the sooner that unpleasant episode were over the better. and he answered the officer's forward spring by another no less sudden and fierce. a fight such as this one could not last very long, for human bodies cannot stand many blows as crushing as human arms can deal. the two had leaped in, each bent on forcing the other back; and for a moment they swayed, as in a deadlock, landing blow after blow with thuds that woke the stillness of the forest depths. the two seconds sprang forward, staring anxiously. they could scarcely follow the flying white arms, they could not see the effects of the crashes they heard; but they realized that any one of them might end it all, that their man might go down at any moment. the end came, however, sooner than either had thought. harden, glancing feverishly at the watch, had counted off the first minute, was counting for the end of the second. he had opened his mouth to call time, when he heard the parson give a gasp. he looked up just in time to see one of the white figures--they had been bounding all about the inclosure and he knew not which it was--tottering backward from one mighty blow upon the head. a moment later the figure was lying gasping upon the ground, and harden sprang forward to see who it was. but he had hardly moved before he heard a shout, and glancing about him, saw a sight that made him start in alarm. the black woods were fairly alive with flitting white figures. and the figures with one accord were rushing wildly down upon the group. "kill 'em! soak 'em!" was the cry. "where's that plebe? hooray!" it was the baffled first class. chapter xxiv. six to the rescue. be it said in the first place, for the reader's comfort and relief, that the figure who lay upon the ground stunned and gasping was not that of mark mallory. harden saw that as he turned again, and he groaned. the parson saw it, too, and uttered a geological and classical exclamation of satisfaction, completely forgetful of his peril at the present moment. and as for mark, he had known it long ago; he had meant that it should be just so. the first classmen as they poured in upon the scene, furious and out of breath, took in the situation in one glance. they saw their friend and classmate, the mighty wright, stretched helpless on the turf, and they knew that mark mallory, the hated plebe, had defied them successfully, had outwitted them, and stood now in all his impudence, his purposes completely achieved. and their rage rose to bounds beyond the possibility of description. but they had him now! though triumphant, he was in their power, alone with no soul to help him in all that lonely forest! and like so many wild animals they leaped upon him. you have read of the fury of a mob? and you know what a mob may do? it is far more than any single one of them, any half dozen of them, would ever dream of doing. this mob had everything to urge them on, nothing to restrain them. had not this plebe tormented their very eyes out? had they not sworn to punish him within an inch of his life if he dared to fight with their lieutenant? and was not the lieutenant lying there now, half dead, calling upon them for vengeance? one and all they sprang upon him. the leader seized him roughly by the shoulder, flung him backward; the next moment mark's arm shot out and the man went down like a log. that made the crowd still more furious; a dozen of them reached the bold plebe at once, and then there was the wildest kind of a time. mark could not tell very clearly what happened; he was vaguely conscious of shouts and imprecations; of flying arms and closely pressing bodies; of blows and kicks that blinded him, stifled him. he himself was striking out right and left, and he felt that he was landing, too. he saw another figure beside him doing likewise, and he knew that the gallant old parson was at his side. and after that his head began to swim; lights danced before his eyes, and his strength began to fail him. he went down, and that was all he knew. there was no restraining those wild cadets, though fully half among them were manly enough to try. the brute passions of the rest were let loose and there was no stopping them. they still pressed about the two struggling plebes, a crowd roaring for vengeance and satisfaction. and they meant that nothing should prevent their having it, either. something did, none the less. and it was something startling and unexpected. the reader will remember that we left the five hot upon the trail. the five were upon the trail still. they had followed the crowd down the railroad track. the crowd had hired a schooner the day before, having learned that mallory and wright were going to attempt to cross the next morning; they had followed in that, and the five under the leadership of texas had broken the lock on a rowboat they found and had pursued the cadets across. they had landed a few minutes later; they had heard the shouts of the crowd; and now, wild and reckless with rage at what they saw, they were rushing from the woods to the rescue. to the rescue? it bid fair to be a weak attempt, for there were just five to attempt it, and of the others there may have been fifty. no one could count them; they were a mob, a wild-eyed, furious mob. but of the unevenness of the conflict the gallant five never once thought. they knew that their leader was in peril, and that it was their business to rescue him. and that was all. foremost among them was the wild texan and he was a sight to put a hundred in a panic, a sight to rival hercules and his club. texas had snatched an oar from the boat, and as he ran he was brandishing that. his hair was ruffled, his face was red, and his eyes staring and wild. from his mouth came a series of yells and whoops that made the forest echo. and a moment later he struck the crowd of cadets. how that mighty oar did cut the air! if it had been a broadsword it could not have swept a clearer furrow. and behind it came the other four, all armed with clubs, making a v formation that was simply irresistible. so long as the cadets were unarmed the fight was very one-sided, indeed, and the five might have rescued mark in no time. but quick as a wink one of the cadets stooped and seized a stick; his example was followed instantly, and in half a minute the gallant rescuers were confronted with a score of clubs and assailed by a shower of stones that beat them back in confusion--stalled! no, not quite! there was one rescuer left, a resource that texas alone had. texas had received a cut across the face that made him simply crazy. he dropped the oar, slung his hands around to his hip pockets, and a moment later with two huge six-shooters opened fire point-blank at the crowd. it happened that those revolvers held only "blanks." mark had insisted upon that beforehand, for he knew his friend's sudden temper. but that made no difference to the cadets. when they saw those weapons flash in the pale moonlight, saw them in the hands of that wild-haired, wild-eyed figure, heard the deafening reports and saw the powder flash blindingly in their faces, they turned as one man and fled in terror to the cover of the woods. and they left their victims lying on the ground! texas was not so mad but that he had some cunning left. he saw his chance, and shouted to his companions. the four seized the half-unconscious, sorely-battered pair in their arms, and whirling suddenly, made a dash for the shore. texas himself scorned to run. he gazed about him defiantly, balancing his revolvers in his hands; and when he saw that the alarmed cadets did not contemplate a sally, he backed slowly through the woods and rejoined the other plebes. the cadets had not the nerve to face those revolvers again, at least not at once. they had a moment later when they discovered to their horror what the plebes were going to do. it was a horrible revenge. instead of going to their own rowboat, the crowd deliberately marched out upon a little dock where the schooner lay. they put their charges into that, and then while the big texan coolly faced about with his guns, the others seized the two rowboats and deliberately proceeded to tie them on behind. they were going to leave the whole class stranded! a yell of fury, of horror, of fright went up from the crowd! leave them! impossible! it lacked then two hours of reveille. and for them to be absent meant disgrace, court-martial, dismissal! wild with alarm the crowd made a dash for the schooner, leaping into the water, running for the dock, shouting and yelling. and texas calmly raised his revolvers, and stood thus, firm and terrible in the clear moonlight. before that figure they quailed an instant; that instant was enough. the big vessel swung off from the dock, the night breeze filling her sails. and texas turned like an antelope and made a leap for the boat. the crowd saw him land on the stern; they saw the white glistening track bubble up as the vessel glided away; then in blank horror they turned and gazed at each other--lost! texas meanwhile, soon as he saw the boat clear, had but one thought in his devoted mind. he made a dash for mark and staring in horror and anguish at his white and bloody face, fell to flinging water upon him. and he gasped with relief when he saw mark open his eyes. mark's body was still stripped, and texas, even texas, shuddered as he saw the bruises upon it. there was one that made the victim cry out as his friend touched it, and texas started back in alarm. "good heavens!" he cried; "his shoulder is broken." mark smiled feebly; and at the same instant a chorus of cries arose from the despairing cadets on the shore. "tell mallory we'll leave him alone if he'll come back," was one of them. "b'gee!" cried dewey, "did you hear that? what do you say?" and mark raised himself with a struggle. "no, no," he gasped. "don't! i mean to fight them." "fight them! how can you fight with a broken shoulder?" "i--i won't tell them it's broken!" panted mark. "wow!" roared texas, wildly. "ef you don't lick 'em i will! whoop! an' as fo' them cowards on the shore, let 'em get fired an' bust!" "bully, b'gee!" echoed dewey. and the battered old parson chimed in with a feeble and gasping "yea, by zeus!" while the schooner sailed on in disdainful triumph. the first class, as it seemed, did not get fired. they ran all the way to garrisons, the town opposite the point, and there begged a boat secretly to cross. but the news when it spread next morning made them the laughingstock of all creation. and mark, in the hospital, was the hero of the whole cadet corps. chapter xxv. mark in the hospital. "general miles here? who told you so?" "i saw him myself. he just got off the train. and there's going to be a review of the corps and a whole lot of stuff. don't you hear those guns. that's the salute, b'gee!" texas and dewey paused in their excited conversation to listen to the booming of the cannon to the west of the camp. and scarcely had the sound ceased before the roll of a drum was heard coming from the guard tent at the head of the a company street. "that's the call to quarters, b'gee," continued the bearer of the news excitedly. "i bet we're going to see some fun, texas." that "call to quarters" brought cadets from every direction hurrying into camp to "spruce up," and "fall in;" but the two, who were seated on a bench over by trophy point, did not even offer to move. for that call to quarters had nothing to do with them; that was for old cadets, the first classmen, and the yearlings. when the battalion turned out for review in honor of its distinguished guest nobody thought of putting them on exhibition. the two sat looking at the line forming over by camp, and also at a group of figures way down at the other end of the parade ground, a group of blue-uniformed officers, with the west point band at the head. it was evidently the superintendent and his staff and the distinguished visitor with him. "looks as if there's goin' to be high jinks roun' hyar," observed texas. "it's a shame mark ain't hyar to see it." dewey assented to that emphatically, and texas after a few moments of moody thoughtfulness, continued: "hang them ole cadets!" he growled. "it makes me want to git up and slash round some whenever i think of half o' that whole battalion pitchin' in to punch a feller, because not one of 'em was man enough to lick him in a square, stand-up fight. tell you, it makes my blood boil! an' they broke his shoulder, an' sent him to hospital, an' he too much of a man to tell on 'em at that! the cowards!" "that's what i say, too, b'gee!" chimed in dewey. "mark's the spunkiest man that ever they laid eyes on." "that's what he is," growled texas. "jes' think o' whar we'd be ef twan't for him. we'd be lettin' them cadets haze us, that's what we would." "never mind," said dewey, prophetically. "just wait till he's well again, b'gee! and we'll stick by him meanwhile." "will we?" echoed texas. "i couldn't tell in a thousands years what that aire feller's done fo' me. an' i know one other besides us that'll stand by him, too." "grace fuller, you mean?" "that's what i do! ever since mark swam out and near killed himself savin' her from drownin' that girl's been the best friend ever he had. you jes' ought to go over to the hospital an' see how she sends him flowers an' fruit an' things. they let her in to sit with him an' talk to him where they won't let us plebes near him." "b'gee, i don't blame 'em!" laughed dewey. "they're afraid of you over there, since they had to nurse you after you rode out and 'held up' the artillery squadron at drill. but i tell you, mark's in luck to have grace spooney over him. she's the most beautiful girl i ever saw, and she's the belle of this place. i declare i can hardly believe it, that she's joined with us plebes to fool the yearlings." "she's jes' full o' fun," laughed texas, "but i reckon the great reason's cause she's so fond o' mark. i wish i had his luck. i jes' stand off, 'n look at her and wonder s'posin' 'twas me--dog gone it!" texas saw an amused smile begin to flit about his companion's merry face; he suspected he was about to "remind" that cheerful recounter of a yarn; so he stopped. "tell you what," he continued after some more thinking. "i know 'nother girl that's dead gone on mark." "b'gee!" cried dewey in surprise. "who's that?" "'moll' adams." "who on earth is she?" "i reckon she came in afore you met us," mused texas. "yes, 'twas 'fore you joined the banded seven. you know bull harris?" "b'gee!" laughed dewey. "didn't i lick the cuss once?" "that's so," said texas. "i forgot. well, bull--'twas jes' like him--was botherin' this girl down on the road to highland falls one day. he had hold of her arm an' she was fightin' to git away or somethin'. anyhow mark knocked him down, which was the beginnin' of all this hazin' business. bull got all his yearlin' gang after mark. after that mark did her 'nother favor, got her brother out of a terrible scrape. an' i think she's been mighty fond of him ever since." "b'gee!" laughed dewey. "this is real romantic. what makes you think so?" "i've seen her hangin' roun' the hospital inquirin' fo' mark. an' i can tell by the way she looks at him. i don't think she likes to see him so chummy with grace." "that's more romantic yet," chuckled dewey. "why don't mark care for her?" "you see," said texas, "some o' the cadets, one of 'em a pretty decent feller, a friend o' mark's, told him that she waren't--she waren't quite right. she's somethin' of a flirt, you know. i don't like girls that kind much myself an' i'm sure mark don't. he's kep' pretty shy o' her, an' i kinder think she's noticed it." "is she pretty?" inquired the other. "she's mos' as pretty as grace," responded texas. "an' that's sayin' a deal. she's what you call a brunette--black hair an' eyes. there's some girls a feller feels are all right; he feels he's a better feller when he's with them. grace fuller's one of 'em. she's jes' the angel we call her. then there's some that ain't, an' this girl's one of them." "quite a character analysis," laughed the other. "but i guess, b'gee, you're right, all the same. and speaking of unpleasant characters, there's that bull harris. we haven't heard from him for a long time." "i reckon," said texas, "bull's been wantin' to see what the first class'd do to mark since he'd failed to haze him. i reckon the durty ole rascal's right well satisfied now." "you don't love him much," observed the other. "why should i? ain't he tried every mean kid trick he could think of on mark an' me, too? he's all right to bully girls but when he tried mark now, he found he'd hit a snag. he's been doin' nothin' ever since but tryin' to get us into scrapes. an' i was thinkin' to-day, 'tain't no lucky sign he's quiet. i jes' reckon he's plottin' some new durnation trick." "i wish he'd come on with it," laughed dewey. "life is getting really monotonous the last two days since mark's been in hospital. we've been having so many lively and interesting brushes with the cadets, b'gee, that i can't get along without some excitement at least every day." "i reckon it'll come soon enough," observed texas. "an' they say when you speak of angels they flap their wings. i wonder how 'bout devils. there's ole bull harris now, the third feller from the right in the front rank of a." "and he's going out to salute the general," observed dewey. "i wish we had another bloodhound now so's we could put it on his trail the way we did once. b'gee, but he was mad!" as the two had been talking the battalion had formed on the company ground; roll call had passed quickly, and the cadet adjutant had turned the parade over to the charge of the tactical officer, lieutenant allen. the latter's sharp commands had rung out a moment later and the firmly-stepping lines had swung around and were now well on their way down the parade ground, at the other end of which stood the famous general and his staff. it was an inspiring moment. the air seemed fairly to shake with the gay music of the band. the cadet's uniforms and equipments were glittering in the sunlight, their banners waving on the breeze. they wheeled like so many splendid pieces of mechanism and in a few moments more were standing at "present arms" in one long line that extended the width of the field. the officers brought their swords up to the salute and the spectators cheered, as a handsome figure rode out from the group of officers and cantered down the line. it was general miles himself, a fine military figure, striking and imposing. the cadets would have cheered him, too, if they had dared. during this interesting ceremony our two friends of the plebe class had gotten up and started on a run for the scene. they had been so much interested in their discussion of "meg" adams and bull harris that they had forgotten all about watching this. but by the time they got there the review was over, and the cadets had scattered once more. this time to prepare for exhibition drill of the afternoon. the two wandered about disconsolately after that, texas growling at dewey for having talked too much. and then suddenly the former stopped short and stared at his friend. "i know what i'm going to do!" he declared. "what?" "i'm a-goin' to see mark." "i thought they wouldn't let you in," laughed dewey. "i'm a-goin' all the same," vowed the other. "ef they won't let me i'll make 'em. jes' you watch me!" and with that the impulsive texan faced about and set out for the hospital in a hurry. chapter xxvi. texas has an interview. texas' promised "fun" in the effort to see mark did not, as it proved, materialize; because, whereas texas had expected to be refused admittance and to raise a rumpus about it, he was allowed to enter and was escorted to mark's room with all politeness. "well!" thought texas, "i reckon he must be gittin' better." this eventually proved to be the case; and texas shrewdly guessed the reason for it as he approached the room and heard the sound of voices through the open door. "with her to talk to," he muttered, "anybody could get well." grace fuller was sitting by the window, dressed in white, an angel of loveliness, as she appeared to powers. she was reading aloud to mark, but she stopped suddenly as texas burst into the room. and a moment later the newcomer had seized his chum by his one well arm and was shaking it vigorously. "hello, ole man!" he cried. "i kain't tell you how glad i am to see you." "take it easy," said mark, smiling. "i've got better news still. they found that my shoulder was only dislocated; and i'll be out to-day." texas uttered a whoop that brought the attendants in on a run. he subsided after a threat of expulsion and sat down by the bedside and stared at mark. it was still the same old mark, handsome and sturdy, but just a little pale. "say," growled texas, "you've got no idee how lonely things are 'thout you. there's nobody to lick the cadets, or anything." "what's all the fuss i hear?" inquired mark. texas explained to him what was happening; and went into ecstasies when he was told that mark would be out to see that afternoon's drill. with just the same startling impulsiveness as that which had led him to pay his brief visit, texas sprang up again and made for the door. "wow!" he cried. "i'm a-goin' out to tell the fellers 'bout this. whoop! see you later, mark. i reckon you're in pretty good company." mark "reckoned" so too, and said so, as he laughed over his friend's hot-headed manner. texas in the meantime was bounding down the hall and out of the door of the building; he meant to turn up toward camp on a run, and he had even started up the street. but something happened just then that made him change his mind in a hurry. in the first place he heard some one call his name: "mr. powers! oh, mr. powers!" it was a sweet girlish voice, and "mr. powers" faced about with alacrity, to find himself, to his infinite surprise, face to face with mary adams, the girl he had not long ago been discussing. "hello!" thought he, "what on earth's up?" his surprise was the greater because he did not know the girl; he had never been introduced to her, and he wondered how she even knew his name. she was indeed a beautiful girl, with a full round figure, deep black hair and eyes, and a complexion that was warm and red. there was a look of anxiety upon her face that the cadet did not fail to notice. "tell me!" she cried. "mr. powers, how is he?" "why--why----" stammered texas, adding, "bless my soul!" after the fashion of his fat friend indian. "he's all right. he'll be out this afternoon." "i thought he was nearly killed," said the girl. "i have been so worried." there was a brief silence after that, during which texas shifted his feet in embarrassment. "tell me," she exclaimed, suddenly. "do you--do you think he would like to see me?" "why, er!" stammered texas. "to be sure. why wouldn't he?" the girl noticed his hesitating tone, and her dark eyes flashed as she spoke again. "answer me," she cried. "is she there?" "if by 'she,'" answered the other, "you mean miss fuller?" "yes, yes, i mean her." "then she is," said texas, defiantly. he said that with a dogged, none-of-your-business sort of an air, though rather sheepishly for all that. the girl stared at him for a moment, and then to texas' indescribable consternation and bewilderment, she buried her head in her hands and burst into a passionate flood of tears. "my lord!" gasped the astounded plebe. poor texas wasn't used to girls; the only things he knew of that cried were babies, and a baby he would have taken in his arms and rocked until it stopped. but he had an instinctive impression that that wouldn't do in this case. beyond that he was at a loss. "bless my soul, miss adams!" he cried--no exclamation seemed to do quite so well as indian's in that case. "please don't do that! what on earth's the matter?" texas had a vague idea that some one might come that way any moment; and he wondered what that person would think to look at them. texas just then wished himself anywhere on earth but there. in response to his embarrassed pleading, the girl finally looked through her tears. and her eyes, red with weeping, gave her beautiful face a look of anguish that touched the texan's big heart. "lord bless me!" said he. "miss adams, is there anything i can do?" she looked at him for a moment and then she answered "yes," and turned slowly down the street. "come," she said. "mr. powers, i want to talk to you." if he had wanted to, texas could not have disobeyed; the fact of the matter was that texas was too bewildered to have any wants. the true state of affairs had not dawned upon his unromantic mind. the two hurried down the road toward highland falls, the cadet following meekly. they came almost to "cadet limits," to an old lonely road that turned off to the right. up that the girl turned, and when she was well out of sight of the main road, turned and faced her companion. "now," she said, "i will tell you. oh, why is it you do not see?" the look upon her face made texas fear she was going to burst into tears again, and he shifted about uncomfortably. and just then came the crash. "tell me, mr. powers," demanded the girl, with a suddenness that almost took the other's breath away, "tell me, mr. powers, do you think he--he--likes me?" texas started; he stared at the girl's anxious face; a sudden light breaking in upon him. and the girl gazed into his deep gray eyes and saw--she knew not what. "why--why----" stammered texas. "i have thought so much of him," cried mary adams, pouring out her feelings, in a passionate flood of words. "i have followed him about, i have watched him all day! ever since he befriended me so that night when he saved my brother, i have thought of no one but him. he is so splendid and brave and handsome! he--never even looks at me!" the girl's last words were said in a tone of anguish and despair, and she buried her head in her hands once more. "it is all that other girl!" she continued, after a moment's pause. "he thinks of no one but her! oh, how i hate her! he is with her all the time; he asked her to join that society----" "how--how on earth did you know?" gasped texas. "do you think i am blind?" cried the girl, fiercely. "do you suppose i cannot see what mark mallory is doing? it is all that grace fuller--all! and, oh, what shall i do?" in a perfect convulsion of sobbing the girl flung herself down upon the bank at the side of the road. and texas stood and gazed at her in consternation and embarrassment, and vowing if the gods ever got him out of that most incomprehensible fix, he'd never look at a girl again. a dozen comanches could not have inspired texas with half the awe that this one passionate and beautiful creature did. "miss adams," he said, at last, "i--i really don't think mark knows how you regard him." "i know it," sobbed the girl; "he doesn't! but i cannot tell him!" a sudden and brilliant idea flashed across texas' mind. "i can!" he exclaimed. "i can, an' i will." the girl sprang to her feet and stared at him. "no! no!" she cried, in horror. "what would----" but texas had already turned and was striding off in excitement. "gosh!" he muttered. "that's jes' the thing! i'll tell mark fo' her, ef she kaint. an' anyhow, i couldn't keep a secret from mark. dog gone it, i'd have to ask his advice. this yere's a 'portant matter." texas heard mary adams crying out to him to come back, imploring him to listen to her. but texas, once well out of that embarrassing fix and beyond the spell of the beautiful girl had no idea of returning to his uncomfortable position. and to his rough old heart there was no reason on earth why he should not tell mark. who else ought to know it but mark? "an'," muttered texas, "ef she ain't got sense 'nough to tell him, i will." so, deaf to the girl's entreaties, he left her to bemoan her fate alone and set out in hot haste for camp. chapter xxvii. a plot to beat "the general." now the adventures of texas were wild and exciting, to him, anyway. but up at camp in the meantime another plebe was having adventures that fairly put texas into the shade. the plebe was "indian," and you may listen and judge for yourself of the adventures. indian had been rather less credulous of late, but the yearlings were still anxiously watching for another chance to have some fun with him. the chance came that day. nelson a. miles is a hero of a hundred fights, and as major general he commands the united states army. the more they considered the importance of that mighty visitor, the more the yearlings began to think of that plan. there were a dozen of them got together that morning and swore they'd fool indian or die in the effort. indian of course had seen the review and had been mightily impressed in his innocent soul. from the distance he had admired the military figure and imposing features of the great man. and then, filled with resolves to fight loyally under him and perhaps some day to be like him, he had turned away and strolled solemnly back to camp. he entered his tent, still in that serious, that really heroic mood. there was no one in the tent, and so indian had it all alone for his meditations philosophical. "oh, what a fine thing it must be to be a great hero like that!" he mused. "to gaze upon the world from a large, ethereal standpoint"--an ethereal standpoint would have made unsteady standing even for a hero; but indian did not think of that. "i can have no higher ambition in life than to imitate that man. as the poet has said: 'lives of great men all remind us, we can make our lives sublime, and departing, leave behind us footprints----' "bless my soul!" indian had stopped his meditations with startling suddenness; and this was the reason thereof. he had heard mysterious sounds in the company b tent next door. it was a yearling tent. two cadets had crept into it silently; and indian heard one of them mutter a subdued "s-sh!" have you seen a pointer dog prick up his ears suddenly? that was the way indian did. "a plot?" said one of the yearlings. "a plot did you say? what is it? tell me? i'll come in!" "s-sh!" said the other. "do you swear eternal secrecy, swear it by the bones of the saints?" "i swear!" growled the other in a low, sepulchral voice. "out with it!" "all the fellows know," continued the other. "they'll all help. but not the plebes! do you hear? not a word to the plebes! if any plebe should hear he'd surely tell on us, and that would ruin us. he might do it, you know, for he'd get no end of reward. they might even promote him, make him a yearling." indian's little fat heart was bounding with delight. a plot! and he knew it! ye gods! bless my soul! he crept close to the wall of his tent, straining eyes and ears to listen, not to lose the faintest sound of this most important news. "it must be something desperate," gasped the other. "yes, it is. s-sh! you'll nearly drop i know when i tell you. we're----" indian's eyes were like walnuts, half out of his head. "we're going," continued the yearling, slowly, "we're going to beat the general!" "beat the general!" echoed the other. "by george, i'll help! i'm glad of it. i----" indian heard no more. quietly he had arisen from the tent floor, glancing about like a serpent rearing his glittering head from the grass. he arose; he crept to the tent door; and a moment later he was striding down the street as fast as his little legs could carry him. so that was the plot! those wicked and reckless cadets who had hazed him so much were now going to beat the general! the general could, of course, mean only one general, the great general. there was no general at west point but major general miles. indian never once stopped until he was well out of camp, out of the enemies' hands. a man with so mighty a secret as that could afford to take no risks; he must lurk in the shadows until he saw his chance to reveal the whole daring conspiracy. visions rose up before his delighted mind, visions of himself a hero like mark, congratulated by all, even made a yearling as the cadets had hinted. indian even imagined himself already as hazing the rest of the plebes. these thoughts in his mind, he was suddenly startled by seeing two yearlings coming near. were they after him? indian trembled. nearer and nearer. no, they had passed him. and then, once more, he heard the words: "yes, yes! we're going to beat the general!" "what! heavens, suppose some one should find it out." that settled it. indian sprang up boldly and strode away, determination in his very waddle. he knew! and he would tell! at that moment indian saw cadet fischer crossing the parade ground. surely, thought indian, so high and responsible an officer as this had nothing to do with the plot! why not tell him? and so at him indian made a dash. "mr. fischer! oh, captain fischer!" the officer turned in surprise. hailed by a common plebe. "mr. fischer!" gasped indian. "bless my soul! i hear they're going to beat the general!" "yes," said the other. "in half an hour. but why----" good heavens, he knew it too! and like a flash, the frightened plebe wheeled and dashed away. there was only one resource left now. he would tell the general himself. across the parade ground dashed indian, panting, gasping. down by the headquarters building, he saw a group of horses standing. one charger he recognized instantly. the general was inside the building, and a moment later a group of officers appeared in the doorway. the handsome, commanding figure in front. indian's heart bounded for joy; and then suddenly the amazed general miles was greeted by a gasping, excited cadet in plebe fatigue uniform. "general, oh, general! bless my soul!" the officer stared at him. "a plot!" panted indian. "oh, general, please don't go"--puff--"near the camp--bless my soul! a plot!" "a plot!" echoed the other. "a plot! what do you mean?" "they're going to hurt you--bless my soul!" "hurt me! who?" "the cadets, sir! bless my soul, i--puff--heard them say, they were--puff--oh!--going to b-b-beat the general." there was a moment of silence, then a perfect roar of laughter came from the staff officers. the general laughed too, for a moment, but when he saw the plebe's alarm and perplexity he stopped and gazed at him with a kindly expression. "my boy," he said, "you've been letting the yearlings fool you." "fool me!" echoed indian in horror. "bless my soul!--how?" "beating the general means," answered the officer, "beating the general assembly, which is a drum call." the officers shook with laughter again, and as for poor indian, he was thunderstruck. so he had been fooled again! so he had let those mean cadets haze him once more! and--and---poor indian's eyes began to fill with tears. and he choked down a great big sob. the old officer saw his look of misery. "do they fool you often that way, my boy?" he asked, sympathetically. "ye--yes!" answered indian, at the verge of a weeping spell. "ye--yes, th-they do. and i think it's real mean." "so do i," said the general, smiling. "i tell you how we'll fix it. don't you let on they succeeded." "i can't help it," moaned indian. "they know! l-look!" with trembling finger he pointed across the street to where in the shadow of the sally port of the academy stood a group of hilarious yearlings, fully half the class, wild with glee. the general shook his head as he looked, and poor indian got out his handkerchief as a precaution. "too bad!" said the former. "too bad, i declare! we'll have to turn that joke on them somehow or other. let me see. let me see. how would you like it for me to help you get square, as you boys say?" indian gazed up at the stalwart and kindly form confidingly; he was all smiles in a moment. "i'll tell you," said the general at last, "you and i'll take a walk. and when they see you with me, they'll be sorry they sent you. come on." he took the arm of the delighted indian, who was scarcely able to realize the extent of his good fortune. "you'll excuse me a short while, gentlemen," said general miles to his military staff. "i'll return shortly. and now," to indian, "where shall we go? i guess i'll let you show me about camp." and sure enough, pinching himself to make sure if he really were awake, indian, on the arm of the mighty guest of west point, commander of uncle sam's whole army, marched away up the road past the parade ground and all through camp mcpherson. the general was enjoying the joke hugely, but he affected not to notice it, and plied the plebe with questions. why did the yearlings haze him so much? was he b. j.? oh, it was because he was a friend of mark mallory's, was it! general miles had heard of mark mallory. he was the plebe who had saved the life of the general's friend, judge fuller's daughter. a beautiful girl that! and a splendid act! indian had seen it, had he? colonel harvey had described it to the general. the general would like to meet mark mallory. no, he was not joking; he really would. mr. mallory was in hospital, was he? too bad! had been too b. j., had he? the general liked b. j. plebes. he hoped mark was not badly hurt. and---then suddenly the conversation was interrupted by a cry of joy from indian. "there's mark now! he's out of hospital!" "that handsome lad down the street there?" inquired the general, "let us go down by all means." a moment later, mark, to his great amazement, was confronted by the curiously contrasted pair. indian was beaming like a sunflower. "mr. mallory," he said, with a flourish, "allow me to present my friend, general miles." mark bowed, and the general took the hand he held out. "mr. mallory," he said, "i am proud to meet you. i have heard of what you have done. the service needs such men as you." and the whole corps heard him say so, too. the general had been very careful to say those words in a loud and clear voice that made the camp ring. then he turned and spoke to an orderly who was passing. "tell my staff to ride up here for me," he said, and added, turning to the two radiant plebes: "now, my young friends, i must ask you to excuse me. i am very pleased to have met you both. good-morning, mr. smith, and mr. mallory." with which he turned and strode away up the street again, smiling at the recollection of the incident. and mark stood and stared at his grinning friend indian. "well," said he, "you blessed idiot, you certainly do beat the dutch!" and then he turned and went into the tent. chapter xxviii. "bull" finds an ally. "for heaven's sake, man, you don't mean this for a fact, do you?" it was mark who spoke; he sat alone in his tent with texas late that evening, and texas was telling him the story of mary adams and what she had done during the day. "and did she tell you to tell me this?" mark continued, in amazement. "no," said texas; "she didn't want me to a bit. i couldn't make her out 't all. she wanted you to know it, but she didn't want me to tell it." "i'm afraid," laughed the other, "that you haven't a very delicate sense of propriety. i'm afraid you're no ladies' man, texas." "that's all right," answered texas. "i think i managed this yere affair right well. now, what i want to know is, what you're goin' to do 'bout it?" "that's just what i want to know," said his friend. "i'm as puzzled as you. why, i hadn't the least idea the poor girl felt that way about me." "don't you care for her?" "why, of course, man. i like her well enough, from what i know of her. but i don't want any of that sickly, sentimental business in mine, and especially about a girl like her. i'm afraid of her, and i don't know what on earth to say to her. i wish to gracious, old man, you hadn't said a word to me about it." texas gazed at mark with a grieved expression. that was a nice thing to say to a man who was just priding himself on having managed a delicate affair so nicely. and texas arose to his feet. "well," said he, "i'm sorry you don't like it. an' ef that's all i git, i'll keep out of it." with which he bounced out of the tent and strode away. mark also left the tent for a walk a moment later, still thinking. the girl was sincere, that was certain. and he knew it all, and so did she. the question was, what could mark do without hurting her feelings. she was wildly jealous of grace. now mark had not the remotest idea of dropping grace fuller, his "angel"; he did not like even to think of her in connection with this girl. he knew in his heart it would be best to let mary adams alone from this time on. but what would she think then? mark was weighing this question as he went. he was not noticing, meanwhile, where he was going. it was within half an hour or so of tattoo he knew, and a dark, cloudy night. he had taken the path down through "flirtation walk," heeding no one; he had strolled to the other end, and turned to retrace his steps when suddenly he halted in surprise. a dark figure was hurrying past him, and as he gazed at it and recognized it, he exclaimed aloud: "miss adams!" he cried. "you here!" the girl turned and faced him, pushing aside the shawl she wore and disclosing her face in all its passionate beauty. "mr. mallory!" she cried, in just as much surprise; and then gazed at him trembling. "miss adams," said mark, quietly, after a moment's thought. "i want to have a talk with you, if you please. may i?" "yes," she cried. "yes, but not here. i want to see you alone." she turned, and mark followed her, almost having to run to keep up with the girl's excited pace. they descended the hill at the end of the path, and then on they went almost to the hudson's shore. it was a dark, deserted spot, and there the girl halted. mark stopped too, and she turned about and gazed at him. "now, then," said she. mark said nothing at first; he was watching her features, admiring them and at the same time wondering at the emotion they showed. her cheeks became red as fire under his gaze. "mr. powers has told you all?" she demanded at last. "he has; i can see it!" mark started as he noticed the tone of her voice; he had never heard her speak that way before. usually her voice was soft and melodious, a voice with a hidden, musical charm. now it was cold and harsh, and mark knew at once what that meant. the girl was angry already. she saw that he was about to cast her aside, after all her passionate, humiliating confession. and she was putting a bold, brazen front upon it. "i can see!" she cried, suddenly. "i can see it all in your face. you do not care for me!" "miss adams," he began, quietly; the girl shook her head impatiently. "call me mary or moll!" she exclaimed. "call me mary and be done with it. they all do." mark was puzzled. he did not wish to call her mary, he did not wish to indicate any familiarity. he saw on the other hand that to refuse would be to cut her to the quick; but he chose the latter course. "i shall call you miss adams," he said, decisively. "and i want to explain to you----" the girl stamped her foot upon the ground. "there is no need for you to explain!" she cried. "i know! i know it all! i have watched you, followed you, dreamed of you, and you have flung me off." as she spoke, the girl had been striding about the spot. as she finished she bowed her head and broke into a passion of tears. "but, miss adams," expostulated mark, "you will not let me explain." "'explain!'" the girl raised her head and tossed her dark hair in anger, while her eyes flashed. "i do not want you to explain! your explanations are simply honeyed words to hide the facts. i know the facts. you want to tell me why. i know why! it is because of her, of her! i hate her, the yellow-haired creature. and i hate you! yes, i hate you! you have treated me as if i were a puppet, as if i had no right to live. and i do not want to live. i have no use for life. i wish i were dead!" the girl had raised her hands to the sky, a weird figure; she gazed about her despairingly as she finished. "i wish i were dead!" she cried, again. the wind whistled through the lonely trees as she spoke, and made a strange accompaniment to her impassioned voice. a steamboat, plying the river, was softly churning little waves that lapped against the shore and made a low, gurgling sound upon the rocks. the girl gazed over the steep, dark bank as she cried out in her wretchedness, and the next instant she sprang forward. the thought had flashed over mark at the same moment. he saw the girl move, and seized her. she turned upon him with the fury of a tiger, a tiger she was, with all a tiger's passions. for a moment they struggled and wrestled, the girl crying out all the time. and then she tore herself loose with one mighty effort--mark had only one free hand--and lunged down, down into the darkness. mark heard a splash and a gurgle of the black invisible waters. and then all was silent as the grave. mark mallory hesitated, hesitated for the first time in his life. one arm was bound tight in a sling and helpless. he was weak and faint yet from his maltreatment. still he could not see her die without trying to save her. his hesitation gone, he took a step forward, but he was too late. there was a quick noise behind him; he heard the word "coward!" hissed in his ear, and a white figure shot past him and dived out into the darkness. mark gasped with relief; and quick to act, he turned, and helpless though he was, clambered down around the side to reach the spot. he heard sounds of a struggle out beyond him; he heard some whispered words, and a moment later the figure of the rescuer arose out of the water and confronted him, bearing the girl in his arms. it was bull harris! mark started back instinctively; and bull sneered as he saw it. "coward!" he repeated. "coward! the corps shall know of this!" mark knew that expostulation and explanation were useless and unnecessary. he said not a word, but saw the girl safely brought to shore. and then, sad and heavy at heart, he turned and walked back toward the camp. bull harris stayed, to reap the fruit of his labors. he held the half-fainting, half-hysterical girl in his arms and wiped her straying hair from her face and sought to calm her. he seemed to like his task, for when she was better he made no move to stop. "did he push you over?" inquired bull, insinuatingly. "no," cried the girl, with fierceness. "he did not. but i hate him!" "you might say he did then!" the yearling whispered softly. mary adams glanced at him with a sharp look. "i might," she said, "if i chose. and i may. what's that to you?" "to me!" cried bull clinching the girl's hand in his until she cried out. "to me! i hate him! i could kill him!" "you were rude to me once," she muttered. "yes," exclaimed bull. "i was. you liked him, and i hated you for it." that was a lie, but the girl did not choose, for some reason, to say so. "come," she said, striving to arise. "help me home." "one moment!" cried bull, holding her back. "promise me one thing, one thing before you go." "what is it?" "i know the whole story, mary," he said. "i know how he has treated you, how he has cast you off, made a puppet of you, and all for that grace fuller! you say you hate him. so do i. promise me, promise me to be revenged if you have to die for it." "i will!" cried she, furiously. "will you give me your hand on it?" "i will." bull took her home that night, though he was in no hurry about it. he came in after taps, for he thought it would do him good to hand in his explanation that he had been saving a girl's life, and restoring her to consciousness. a girl; perhaps a girl upon whom murder had been attempted. he evaded all details, however, and went to his tent chuckling triumphantly at his evil work that night. he had laid a foundation for trouble, but would success follow? only the future could tell. chapter xxix. strange conduct. "say, fellows, what do you think?" "what's the matter?" "mallory's given in!" "given in! how do you mean?" "he's going to let himself be hazed." "what!" two more surprised cadets than the two who uttered this last exclamation it would be hard to imagine. they had been sitting on a bench near trophy point, and one of them had been carelessly tinkling a mandolin. he had dropped the instrument and leaped to his feet. now he was staring with open mouth at the new arrival, who bore the extraordinary tidings. "mallory given up! gus murray, what on earth do you mean?" the three were yearlings, all of them. the crowd which has usually been designated in these stories as "bull harris' gang." there was gus murray, the new arrival, a low, brutal-looking chap. there was the sickly and disagreeable "merry" vance. and there was the little fellow "baby" edwards, the meanest of them all. "you surely can't mean," cried vance, "that mallory has consented to allow the fellows to haze him?" "better than that even," chuckled murray. "better than that!" "for heaven's sake," gasped the other, "sit down and tell us what you do mean. what is the use of talking riddles?" thus enjoined, gus murray explained; he was nothing loath to tell the tale. "i'll tell you how it was," he said. "i was never more astounded in my life. i saw that plebe strolling down the street a while ago, holding his head high as ever and looking as if he owned the place." "confound him!" muttered vance. "you know," the other continued, "he's never done any work like the rest of the plebes. usually we yearlings make them fix our tents and guns, and carry water, and so on. mallory never has, and of course nobody's succeeded in making him. i thought i'd guy him a little just now and see how he'd take it. so i stopped and said, 'see here, plebe. let me show you how to clean a gun.'" "and what did he say?" cried vance. "just as b. j. as ever," growled murray. "'thank you,' he said, 'i'll go get mine and let you do it.' of course he knew perfectly well that i wanted to show him on mine and let him do the work. i said to him, 'i've a gun to show you on, if you please.' and by george----" "you don't mean he cleaned your gun for you!" gasped baby. "that's just exactly what i do! you might have knocked me over with a feather. he said, 'certainly, sir.' yes, by jiminy, he actually said 'sir.' and when i left him he was working away like a beaver. he had the gun half cleaned. what do you think of that?" gus finished and gazed at his two companions triumphantly. he felt that he had accomplished something that no other member of his class ever had. "i'll bet mallory was afraid of you," chirruped baby edwards. "don't you suppose that's it, merry?" vance picked up his mandolin and resumed his cynical smile. "i'll tell you what i think," he said. "what?" demanded murray. "that you're a fool." "what do you mean?" "simply," said vance, "that mallory was playing some kind of a joke on you." "but he wasn't!" cried the other. "i went back after he was through and the gun was perfect. the wood was polished till it shone like a mirror. i actually did not like to touch it, it was so pretty." "and how about the rest of the tent?" inquired vance. "he hadn't disturbed a thing. i looked particularly. i tell you, man, that mallory has given in." "it's not much like him," said merry, dubiously. "you don't have to look very far for the cause," began murray. "you remember how the first class gave him a licking the other day?" vance admitted that might have something to do with it. "it's got everything," chuckled murray. "it's simply broken his spirit. why look, man! he was black and blue all over. even now one of his arms is in a sling. i tell you he's made up his mind that it isn't safe to carry on as he's been, and so he's decided to get meek and mild for a change." "and, oh, say, if it's true!" cried baby, excitedly. "if it's true! gee whiz, won't we have some fun!" "just won't we!" responded murray, doubling up his fists and glaring as if the hated plebe were really in front of him. "i just tell you i mean to make him wish he'd never been born. i've been waiting for a chance to get even with that confounded beast, and now i'll have him." for the next half hour there was joy unbounded among those three young gentlemen. only those who are familiar with their dispositions can comprehend the amount of satisfaction they felt; and only those who know our friend mark mallory's character as they did can appreciate their surprise at his "flunk." "i wish bull were here to hear about it," remarked baby at last. "where is bull anyhow?" inquired murray, who was chief lieutenant in bull's gang and an invaluable assistant in all of bull's schemes for revenge upon mark. that question changed the topic of conversation for a few minutes. it was vance who answered it. "there's something mysterious about bull," he said. "i've been puzzling my head to think what it means. you know bull was absent from taps last night." "what!" "yes, he was. and you know that's a pretty serious offense. it may mean court-martial, you know." "good gracious!" gasped baby. "what would we do without bull?" "i guess we won't have to," laughed vance. "you needn't begin to worry. i was corporal of the guard last night when bull came in to report. it was way after eleven." "where on earth had he been?" "he wouldn't tell me. he was very mysterious. it seems that he had been in the water somehow and was soaking wet; all i could get out of him was that the business had something to do with mary adams." "mary adams!" cried gus. "i thought she wouldn't speak to him." "well, i don't know," said vance. "that was what bull told me. anyhow he didn't seem a bit alarmed about his absence." "the superintendent sent for him this afternoon," put in murray. "i suppose that was to give him a chance to explain the matter." "yes, and i saw bull with mary a while ago," added the other, shrewdly. "i shouldn't wonder if bull were getting up some scheme. he hasn't said much about mallory to-day. he's been very mysterious." the mystery, whatever it was, was destined to remain unsolved, however, for just then the rattle of a drum echoed across the field, and the three sprang up hastily. "it's dress parade," said murray. "yes," responded vance, dryly. "and now you'll have a chance to show off that beautifully cleaned gun of yours. come on." chapter xxx. a surprise for murray. gus murray went straight to his tent when the group broke up. he hastily dusted off his clothes and looked at himself in the glass to make sure that nothing was out of place. then he took up his gun from the rack and hurried out to "fall in." a moment later the order was given, "'tention company!" and after roll call the battalion wheeled and marched out upon the parade ground. the ceremony of dress parade has been described in these pages before. the solemn cadet adjutant formed the parade and then turned it over to his superior. the gayly-dressed band marched down the line and took its station. a few moments later the battalion was in the midst of its evolutions. it was not very long before they halted again, down toward the southern end of the plain, to go through the manual of arms. it was then that gus murray received a shock. the cadets had been marching with their guns at a "carry." gus had held his that way ever since he picked it up, and then suddenly the lieutenant in command gave the order: "present--arms!" in a "carry" the soldier holds his gun in the right hand, with thumb and first finger around the trigger guard. in coming to "present" he swings it up in front of him and seizes the stock in the left hand, at the same time letting go with the right and reversing his grip. the cadet lines work like a perfect machine in that drill. every gun swings up at the same instant, every hand moves in unison, so that the sound of the many motions is but one. this time, however, there was a break, and the cause of it was our dear friend gus. gus got through the first part of the motion all right. on the second part he got "stuck"--in more senses than one. when he went to let go with his right hand--he couldn't! at first he could hardly understand what was happening. he pulled and tugged with all his might. but it did no good; his hand was fast. and in an instant the horrible truth flashed over him--mallory--he had polished the gun with glue! every spectator on the grounds was staring at gus. as for him, he was still tugging and wrestling, blushing, and gasping with rage. finally he saw that his efforts were useless, and he gave it up in despair; he stood silent and helpless, gazing into space. lieutenant ross was the name of tac in command, and he was noted for being a crank. he gave no more orders, of course, but stood and stared at the offending cadet in horror and indignation, while the cadets, who did not dare to look, but who knew that something was "up," waited and wondered. how long this suspense and torture would last no one could tell; the tac broke in at last. "mr. murray!" he demanded. "what is the matter?" "my gun!" stammered murray. "i--i--why--that is----" "mr. murray, leave the ranks!" blushing scarlet, the yearling obeyed, conscious of the fact that hundreds of eyes were upon him. he strode furiously down the line and once clear, set out on a run for camp, almost ready to cry with vexation. he reached his tent, rushed in, tore off his glove, and hurled his musket into the corner. and then he stood in the middle of his tent and clinched his fists until his nails cut the palms of his hands. "by heaven!" he cried, "i'll be revenged on that plebe if i have to kill him to do it!" he stayed in his tent, nursing his wrath and resentment, until the battalion marched back to camp. and he refused to come out then; his classmates who inquired as to what was the matter received angry replies for their pains. and when the corps marched down to supper murray still sat where he was. he didn't want any supper. he was in just the mood to welcome a visitor who came then. the visitor was murray's chum and crony, bull harris. "hello, old man," said he, pushing aside the tent flap. "what's up?" "go to blazes!" responded murray, by way of answer. "come, come," said bull, pleasantly. "you don't want to get mad with me, gus. tell me what's wrong." "it's that confounded plebe!" snapped murray. "i thought so," said bull. "well, that's what my news is about. i've got a plot." and the other's sullen glare gave place to a look of delight in an instant. he leaped to his feet with an exclamation of joy. "by george, i knew it!" he cried. "quick! quick! out with it! nothing's too desperate for me to-night." "that's good," chuckled bull. "very good. come, let us go and take a walk. this is a long story; and no one must overhear it, either." such is the effect of bad motives upon men. those two precious rascals stooped instinctively as they hurried down the company street and dodged out of camp. bull led his company down through "flirtation walk" and out to the far end of it. here they scrambled down the hillside until they were in a lonely, deserted glen almost at the river's edge. it was already growing dark with the shadows of the evening. and here bull stopped and took a seat. "i hope this is quiet enough for you," said murray. "i had an especial reason for bringing you here!" responded bull. "all i've got to tell you about happened here. do you know, old man, i jumped into the river off that high bank last night." "what!" gasped the other. "for heaven's sake, why?" "that's in the story," answered harris. "i'll begin at the beginning. listen. you remember how i told you a a while ago when that plebe mallory first came here, how mary adams and i had a quarrel and that fool came along and knocked me down." "you never told me what you were doing," said murray. "never mind. i was a fool to try it, that way. anyhow, she's hated me ever since. and oh, how she has struggled to get that plebe. murray, i'm smarter than you think. i've been watching this business night and day, waiting for my chance. and now it's come. i found that plebe and mary on this very spot just before taps last night." "what doing?" gasped murray. bull told the particulars. "and, by george, i'll be hanged if she didn't end it by flinging herself head first over that bank!" he concluded. "what!" gasped murray. "yes, sir. and then i saw my chance. oh, it was a bonanza for me, gus! mallory was lame, you know, and he hesitated. i rushed past him and saved her life. throwing in some heroic flourishes, so's to have the right effect upon her. i carried her out, and upbraided him as a coward. he was lame, i knew, and couldn't do anything if he wanted to. and it made her hate him all the more." "how did it turn out?" "splendidly. he went back to camp, and i took her all the way home. and you can bet i fixed it all right with her on the way. i made up for what she was mad about before; and i talked about mallory and that other girl until she was wild. and, gus, we've got her!" "got her for what?" "mallory! she's our tool, man; we can do just what we please. she'll do anything on earth for revenge. i almost think she'd kill him." "you don't mean," gasped gus, "that she's going to swear he pushed her into the river?" "she wanted to," said bull. "oh, murray, you can't imagine how simply desperate that girl was! she'd simply thrown herself at mallory's feet, and he'd kicked her away. at least that was the way it seemed to her, and you can bet i didn't try to change her view. and she was crying with rage all the way home. her face was simply scarlet, and she was trembling like a leaf. i was honestly afraid of her. she vowed she'd swear to anything i said if she could only ruin him, and to get that grace fuller away from him. she said she'd swear to it and stick to it that he tried to murder her. she was even mad because i wouldn't let her." "why didn't you?" cried the other. "in the first place, i doubt if the superintendent would believe her. there have been several plots like that tried, but he has too much faith in that fool of a plebe. then, too, i doubt if the girl's rage'll last that long. we must use it while it does. all we want to do is to get that plebe dismissed." "that's all!" exclaimed murray. "but in heaven's name, how?" "didn't i tell you i had a plot?" "yes, but what? and when?" "to-night!" cried bull. "to-night! and i want you to help us." murray sprang up in excitement and joy. bull hushed his exclamations, and after glancing cautiously about him to make sure that no one was near in that now black and shadowy glade, went on in a low, muttering tone: "it's very simple," he whispered. "it's because it's so simple it's sure to work. it won't leave mallory the ghost of a chance. i'm just as sure, man, sure as i stand on this spot of ground, that mallory will be court-martialed in a week." "what is it?" cried murray. "listen. mary's going to write him a letter to-night, send it to him about midnight, asking him to come to her. then----" "but will he come?" "certainly. we can make it strong. she will. she can say she's dying, anything to make sure. he'll go. she lives beyond cadet limits. some of us'll be there, catch him, tie him--anything, i don't care. and i know the girl don't. i think she'd tear his eyes out. anyhow, we'll fix him there, beyond limits, and then back to camp we go, make some infernal racket and have the tac out in no time. then there'll be an inspection, and mallory'll be 'hived' absent after taps. they'll ask him next morning where he's been, and he'll tell." "he may lie." "he won't. he couldn't. i know him too well. and he'll be court-martialed, and there you are!" and gus murray leaped up with a cry of joy. he seized his companion by the hand. "that's it!" he cried. "that's it! by heaven, it'll do him. and if there's any blame to bear that fool of a girl shall bear it." chapter xxxi. the plot succeeds. that beautiful july evening, while those precious rascals sat whispering and discussing the details of their plan, while first classmen and yearlings were all down in the academy building at the "hop," a certain plebe sat in a tent of company a, all by himself. a candle flickered beside him, and he held a writing pad in his hand. the plebe was mark, his clear-cut, handsome features shining in the yellow light. "dear mother," he was writing. "it is hard for one to get time to write a letter here. we plebes have so much to do. but i have promised you to write once a week, and so i have stolen off from my friends to drop you a line. "this is the fifth letter i have written now, the close of the fifth week. and i like west point as much as i ever did. you know how much that is. you know how i have worked and striven for this chance i have. west point has always been the goal of all my hopes, and i am still happy to have reached it. if i should forfeit my chance now, it would be by my own fault, i think; i know that it would break my heart. "we plebes have to work hard nowadays. they wake us up at five with a big gun, and after that it is drill all day. but i like it, for i am learning lots of things. if you could see me sweeping and dusting i know you would laugh. texas says if 'the boys' saw him they'd lynch him 'sho'. "i told you a lot about texas the last time i wrote. he is the most delightful character i have ever met in my life. he is just fresh from the plains, and his cowboy ways of looking at things keep me laughing all day. but he is just as true as steel, and as fine a friend as i ever knew. "i believe i told you all about the banded seven, the secret society we have gotten up to stop hazing. well, we are having high jinks with 'the ole ya'rlin's,' as texas calls them. we have outwitted them at every point, and i think they are about ready to give up in despair. we plebes even went to the hop the other night. i can hear the music of the hop now as it comes over the parade ground. it is very alluring, so you must appreciate this letter all the more. "i shan't tell you about the fight i had, for it would worry you. and i haven't time to tell you how i saved the life of a girl last week. i inclose a newspaper clipping about it, but you mustn't believe it was so absurdly heroic. the girl's father is a very rich man here, and, mother, she is very sweet and attractive. she has joined the seven to help me fool the yearlings. "i guess i shall have to stop now. i hear some sounds that make me think it is time for tattoo, and besides, i am getting very homesick, writing to you way out in colorado. you need not be fearing any rival to my affections, mother dear, even if i am fond of grace fuller. i wish i could see you just once to-night to tell you how much i miss you. and i am still "your devoted son, "mark." mark laid down his pencil with a sigh. he folded the letter and sealed it, and then arose slowly to his feet. outside of his tent he heard quick steps and voices, and a moment later the rattle of a drum broke forth. "tattoo," he observed. "i thought so." he turned toward the door as the flap was pushed aside--and a tall, slender lad entered, a lad with bronzed, sun-tanned features and merry gray eyes. "hello, texas!" said mark. "hello," growled texas. "look a yere! what do you mean by runnin' off an' hidin' all evenin'? i been a huntin' you everywhere." "i've been right here," said mark, "writing a letter home. did you want me to go to the hop?" "no, i didn't. but i wanted you to tell me all 'bout that crazy mary adams last night an' what you did. you ain't had time to tell me all day." mark told him the story then. they were still discussing it when they turned out and lined up for roll call; and that ceremony being over, they scattered again, texas still eagerly asking questions about the strange affair. taps sounded half an hour later--ten o'clock--"lights out and all quiet." they stopped then. sentry no. 3 that night was "baby" edwards. his beat lay along the northern edge of the camp, skirting the tents of company a. and baby edwards let quite a number pass his beat that night. for instance, he was on duty from midnight until two. it was bright moonlight then, and baby could have seen any one who crossed his post; but he heard a signaling whistle and faced out in order not to see any one. the person who entered was a boy clad in a blue uniform, an "orderly," as they are called. he ran silently and swiftly in and made straight for one tent. when he got there he hesitated not a moment, but stepped in and crept up to one of the sleepers. it was mark who awoke at his touch, and mark sat up in alarm and stared at him. "sh!" said the boy. "sh! don't wake any one." "what do you want?" mark demanded. "i've a letter, sir, a letter from her again." mark stared at the boy and recognized him at once as a messenger who had given him a note from mary adams about a month ago. and he sprang to his feet in surprise. "she writing again!" he whispered. "quick, give it to me." he broke the seal, stepped to the tent door, where, in the white moonlight, he could read every letter plainly. and this was what he saw: "dear mr. mallory: oh, once more i have to write you to call upon you for aid. you cannot imagine the terrible distress i am in. and i have no one to call upon but you. if you respect me as a woman, come to my aid to-night and at once. and come alone, for i could not bear to have any one but you know of my terrible affliction. oh, please do not fail me! you may imagine my state of mind when i write you like this. and let me call myself your friend, "mary adams." mark finished the reading of that letter in amazement, even alarm. "did she give you this?" he demanded of the boy. "yes, sir, she did, not five minutes ago," replied the lad. "and she told me to run. she seemed scared to death, sir, and i know she'd been crying." mark stared into his earnest face a moment, and then he turned away in thought. "you may go," he said to the boy. "i know my way to her house alone." the lad disappeared; and mark, without a moment's hesitation, went over and woke one of the cadets. "wake up, texas," he whispered. "wake up and read this." texas arose from his couch in surprise and sleepy alarm. he read the letter, gasping; then he stared at mark. "do you think she wrote it?" he inquired. that problem was puzzling mark, too. he had received two letters before from the girl, under exactly similar circumstances. one had been a trick of the cadets to lure him out. the other had been genuine, and had resulted in mark's saving the girl's brother from disgrace and ruin. but which was this? mark made up his mind quickly. "i think she wrote it, old man," he said. "the drum boy who gave me this gave me the other she wrote, too, and he swears she wrote this. he said she was frightened and crying. texas, she lives way off there with her old mother, who's blind and helpless. and there's no telling what may have happened to her. just see how urgent that note is. i must go, old man. i'd be a coward if i didn't. she don't know a soul to call on but me." and mark, generous and noble to a fault, had turned and begun to fling on his clothing. texas was doing likewise. "i'm a-goin' too," he vowed. "she says not," whispered mark. "i know," was the answer. "she ain't a-goin' to know it. i'm a-goin' in case it's them ole yearlin's. ef i see it's all right, and she wrote it, i reckon i kin sneak home." nothing could deter the faithful and vigilant texan from his resolution, and when mark stole out of his tent his friend was at his heels. they passed the sentry, baby edwards, with the usual signal, mark fooled for once, was chuckling at his deception, thinking baby thought them yearlings. but baby knew who it was, and laughed. the two, once clear of camp, set out on a dead run. they dashed across the cavalry plain and down the road to highland falls. it was nearly a mile to where mary adams lived, but mark never stopped once, not even when he came to the dreaded cadet limits, to be found beyond which meant court-martial and dismissal in disgrace. he took the risk grimly, however, and ran on. when they finally reached the girl's house the texan was panting and exhausted. "you stay there," whispered mark, pointing to a clump of bushes nearby. texas crouched behind them, and doubled his fists in determination. mark just as promptly stepped up to the door and softly rapped. there was a light in one of the rooms on the ground floor. the curtain was carefully drawn, but texas, watching closely, saw a shadow swiftly flit across. and just after that the door was flung open, and the girl stood before them. "i knew you would come!" texas heard her cry. "oh, thank fortune!" then mark stepped inside, and the door shut again. texas waited in suspense and curiosity. he did not know how long mark might be in there, but he was resolved to stick it out. then suddenly, to his surprise, the door was opened again, and mark and the girl stepped out. she was leaning upon his arm, and hurrying him forward quickly. she was evidently in great distress, and from what the hidden listener heard, mark was striving his best to comfort her. the two figures hurried across the clearing and vanished in the woods. texas arose from his position. "i reckon it's all right," he muttered. "it's blamed mysterious, but there's nothin' mo' fo' me to do." and suiting the action to the word the faithful southerner turned and set out rapidly for camp. mark, when he entered mary adams' house, found her standing before him, a picture of misery and fright. he demanded to know what was wrong. "come, come!" the girl cried. "quick. i cannot tell you. oh! come and see." she flung a shawl about her shoulders, seized mark by the arm in a convulsive grip, and together they hurried through the woods. it was a little footpath they followed. mark had no idea where they were going in the deep black darkness. he abandoned himself entirely to the girl's guidance, trusting that no slight matter could have taken her there, and he was right. the girl said not a word during the trip. she kept her face hidden in the shawl, and only a sob told mark the state of her feelings. he was growing more mystified and curious every moment. on, on they went. they must have been hurrying continually for at least five minutes, the girl dragging the cadet faster and faster, when suddenly she turned and left the path. there was a dense thicket before them; she paused not a moment to hesitate, but plunged into the midst of it. the briars tore her clothing and hands, but she forced her way in. and when they were in the very center, without a word, she stopped and faced about. she pushed aside her veil and hair and stared wildly at mark. he gazed at her blood-red, burning cheeks and saw her black eyes glitter. "what is the matter?" he cried. she made not a sound, but suddenly to mark's infinite horror flung herself upon him and wrapped her arms about his neck. "why, miss adams," he gasped. "i----" his words stuck in his throat. his surprise changed to the wildest dismay and consternation. for he felt a pair of sinewy arms flung about his ankles, binding his feet together as in a vise. he had only one free arm, the other being bound to his chest with the bandages of the surgeon; the free arm was seized by the wrist with a grip that almost crushed it. and to his mouth another pair of hands were pressed, making outcry impossible as it would have been futile anyway. mark was as motionless and helpless as if he had been turned to stone! the swift emotions that surged through his excited brain defy description. he saw the plot in an instant, apprehended it in all its fiendish heartlessness; and he knew that he was ruined. he could not see behind him; he could not identify his assailants; but he was sure they were cadets, bull and his crowd leagued with this wretched girl to play upon his kind-heartedness. and that girl! oh, what a figure she was! she made no attempt to hide herself, however much bull harris might. she stood before her helpless victim's eyes a perfect figure of vengeance and triumph. there is a famous painting by sichel of the grecian sorceress, medea. the woman is standing clad in white that contrasts with her jet black hair. in one hand, half hidden, she clutches a shining dagger; her mouth is set in a firm, determined way, and her eyes are dark and gleaming. imagine that figure in the moment of victory, every feature convulsed with joy, with hatred gratified, and that is the girl mary adams. she was dancing about mark in fury, flinging her hands in his face, taunting him, jeering at him, threatening him so as to frighten even the desperate cadets. they, meanwhile, were working quickly; they bound his legs together, his arms to his side. they forced a gag into his mouth, and then lastly shut off his view of the wildly shrieking girl by tying a handkerchief about his eyes. and then they tumbled him to the ground and turned away and left him. mary adams stayed behind them a moment to vent her fury upon the helpless prisoner. "satisfied!" she cried. "how do you like it? i told you i would have revenge. i told you i hated you! and now, and now it is mine! you are mine, too! do you hear me? i can do what i please with you!" mark could not see her, but he felt a stinging pain in his cheek and he felt the warm blood flow. the girl's sharp heel had cut his flesh. and a moment later he heard a low voice mutter: "come away, you fool! come on." they dragged her reluctantly with them. mark heard the steps recede into the distance, heard the silence settling down about the place. they had left him alone, deserted and helpless, lost in the midst of the woods, left him to die for all he knew, certainly to be missed, to be expelled, to be ruined. and the poor fellow groaned within him as he realized the triumph of his enemies. chapter xxxii. triumph--conclusion. texas made his way back to camp in silence. texas felt it was none of his business, and yet he could not help trying to guess the errand upon which those two had gone. it was certainly a mystery. texas reached the camp without succeeding in forming the least guess. he raced past the same sentry in the same style as usual. he entered his tent and found the other two sleeping soundly, having not the least suspicion of the night's occurrences. "i reckon," he mused, reflectively, "there ain't much use o' my sittin' round. i'll go to bed." with which resolution he undressed and lay down to sleep. after such an exciting and lively half hour as the one texas had just spent, one does not usually drop off to sleep very easily. it was fortunate that texas did not; wide-awake as he was, he had a cooler and steadier head to think when the hour of trial came. for the "hour of trial" was coming very soon now. bull harris and his cowardly allies first took the precaution to calm the angry girl, and then set out on a run for camp. their hearts were beating high with hope and triumph. their time had come at last; their enemy was theirs, and theirs without any blame falling on them. it was a great day for the vengeful bull. they passed their sentry ally in safety and vanished in their tents. in a minute more they were all safely in bed, as texas was, and then the time had come. texas, lying in his silent tent, was just beginning to doze, when suddenly came a wild yell that shook the air, that made the hills to echo. it rang through the sleeping camp, and it was followed by a series of shouts. "help! help! help!" the place was in an uproar in an instant; and texas was almost paralyzed with horror. an alarm! the camp awake! inspection! and mark, his mark, his friend and hero, absent! he sprang to his feet with a hoarse cry; at the same moment the other two plebes sat up and stared about them wildly. "what's that?" cried one. "mark's gone!" fairly shrieked texas. "mark gone! how?" "he's out of bounds! great heavens, he went to see mary adams! and he'll be found out!" the two crowded about him, their faces pale with fright, their eyes staring. mark gone! mark, their leader! what on earth would they do? the texan's wild exclamation had been heard in the company b tent to the rear, and its occupants had rushed in regardless of rules, of discovery, of everything. an alarm! an inspection! and mark beyond limits! things were happening with incredible swiftness outside. the shouts had been echoed by excited inquiries from awakened cadets, by the cries of sentries for the corporal of the guard, and by the quick, sharp commands of officers. lieutenant allen, the "tac" in command, had sprung up from his bed at the very first cry. and in half a minute more, dressed and with lighted lantern in hand, he was rushing down the company street. "what's the matter?" he cried. no one knew. he saw cadets gathered in almost every tent door, staring out anxiously. thus he did not notice the state of affairs in mark's tent, where six horrified, frightened plebes were huddled, gasping. night alarms had been getting too frequent at camp mcpherson that year, and had excited the ire of the authorities. the lieutenant meant to find out the authors of this one, if such a thing were within the realms of possibility. first he thought of sounding the "long roll," the fire or mutiny signal, summoning the cadets out on the street for roll call. then it occurred to him that an inspection of the tents might do better. another "tac," lieutenant ross, had joined him at this moment. and without a moment's delay, the two set to work. and lieutenant allen started with company a, the very street in which mark mallory's tent stood! a thousand wild plans had occurred to the six, to texas in particular. he might "hold up" the tac, prevent the inspection! or dress up as mark and have himself reported! great heavens! he must do something! the officer began at the head of the street. it was the work of but one second to glance into each tent. it would take but five seconds more to reach mark's, to note the fact that there were but three in that tent, and that cadet mallory was absent out of camp, out of limits! texas turned to his comrades as the officer drew near. there were tears in texas' eyes, and his voice was choked. "you fellows," he said, to the three from the b tent, "you--you'd better go back, or you'll get soaked, too." nearer still came the officer. one tent more! the three had turned to go--and then suddenly texas uttered a cry of joy and staggered back against the tent wall! an instant later he leaped forward, seized dewey, one of the three, by the shoulders and fairly flung him to the ground. "lie there! lie there!" he gasped, hoarsely. "durnation!" dewey, quick as a wink, saw the ruse. the other two, confused and frightened, dashed across to their tent and hid, wondering what was up, what texas was trying to do. but dewey slid into the blankets that made mark's "bed," drew the sheet over him, all but his head, and then lay still, gasping and trembling like a leaf. texas and the other two sprang for their places and imitated him. and an instant later the white light of the officer's lantern flashed into the tent. the four held their breath; their hearts fairly ceased to beat as the tac glanced around. he saw a tent undisturbed; he saw texas, and the parson and sleepy; and he saw the brown curly hair of the fourth occupant, lying upon his stomach, his face turned away from the light. a second more and he passed on; and the four almost fainted with the reaction of relief. it was not over yet, though. "allen" had two more tents to visit up that row, and then he would turn to b company. texas peered out and watched him reach the last tent, and then uttered a whispered "now!" quick as a flash, dewey slid under the wall at the rear, whisked across the open space, and dived into his own tent--safe! the camp settled down into quietness a few minutes after that. but the six never slept another wink. mark had escaped that danger, he was safe for a moment. but another alarm might come any moment! and reveille was sure to come in a few hours! and where was mark? texas, ever sly, had become suspicious by that time; ever bold and faithful, he lost not a moment in hesitation. he left camp again! he ran straight to mary adams' house, and from it straight out the path he had seen the two take. it was a forlorn hope, but it met with fulfillment. texas heard a low groan, the only signal mark could make when he heard the step of a possible rescuer. and in half an hour more mark mallory was back in camp again, safe, telling to his furious friends the tale of his betrayal and hearing from them the tale of his "escape." "we must get square, b'gee!" cried dewey. "yes, we must get square, by zeus!" came from the parson. "give me time, boys, give me time," put in mark. "i will think up a plan." "gosh, but it was a night o' nights," was the comment from texas. "but we fooled them ole yearlin's nicely, didn't we?" "oh, they can't down us," chimed in dewey. "we'll go 'em one better, b'gee, every time, b'gee!" and the banded seven agreed to a man. the end. _the cream of juvenile fiction_ the boys' own library a selection of the best books for boys by the most popular authors the titles in this splendid juvenile series have been selected with care, and as a result all the stories can be relied upon for their excellence. they are bright and sparkling; not over-burdened with lengthy descriptions, but brimful of adventure from the first page to the last--in fact they are just the kind of yarns that appeal strongly to the healthy boy who is fond of thrilling exploits and deeds of heroism. among the authors whose names are included in the boys' own library are horatio alger, jr., edward s. ellis, james otis, capt. ralph bonehill, burt l. standish, gilbert patten and frank h. converse. special features of the boys' own library all the books in this series are copyrighted, printed on good paper, large type, illustrated, printed wrappers, handsome cloth covers stamped in inks and gold--fifteen special cover designs. _146 titles--price, per volume, 75 cents_ for sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by the publisher. david mckay, 610 so. washington square, philadelphia, pa. horatio alger, jr. one of the best known and most popular writers. good, clean, healthy stories for the american boy. adventures of a telegraph boy dean dunham erie train boy, the five hundred dollar check from canal boy to president from farm boy to senator backwoods boy, the mark stanton ned newton new york boy tom brace tom tracy walter griffith young acrobat c. b. ashley. one of the best stories ever written on hunting, trapping and adventure in the west, after the custer massacre. gilbert, the boy trapper annie ashmore. a splendid story, recording the adventures of a boy with smugglers. smuggler's cave, the capt. ralph bonehill. capt. bonehill is in the very front rank as an author of boys' stories. these are two of his best works. neka, the boy conjurer tour of the zero club walter f. bruns. an excellent story of adventure in the celebrated sunk lands of missouri and kansas. in the sunk lands frank h. converse. this writer has established a splendid reputation as a boys' author, and although his books usually command $1.25 per volume, we offer the following at a more popular price. gold of flat top mountain happy-go-lucky jack heir to a million in search of an unknown race in southern seas mystery of a diamond that treasure voyage to the gold coast harry collingwood. one of england's most successful writers of stories for boys. his best story is pirate island george h. coomer. two books we highly recommend. one is a splendid story of adventure at sea, when american ships were in every port in the world, and the other tells of adventures while the first railway in the andes mountains was being built. boys in the forecastle old man of the mountain william dalton. three stories by one of the very greatest writers for boys. the stories deal with boys' adventures in india, china and abyssinia. these books are strongly recommended for boys' reading, as they contain a large amount of historical information. tiger prince war tiger white elephant edward s. ellis. these books are considered the best works this well-known writer ever produced. no better reading for bright young americans. arthur helmuth check no. 2134 from tent to white house perils of the jungle on the trail of geronimo white mustang george manville fenn. for the past fifty years mr. fenn has been writing books for boys and popular fiction. his books are justly popular throughout the english-speaking world. we publish the following select list of his boys' books, which we consider the best he ever wrote. commodore junk dingo boys weathercock golden magnet grand chaco ensign clarke fitch, u. s. n. a graduate of the u. s. naval academy at annapolis, and thoroughly familiar with all naval matters. mr. fitch has devoted himself to literature, and has written a series of books for boys that every young american should read. his stories are full of very interesting information about the navy, training ships, etc. bound for annapolis clif, the naval cadet cruise of the training ship from port to port strange cruise, a william murray graydon. an author of world-wide popularity. mr. graydon is essentially a friend of young people, and we offer herewith ten of his best works, wherein he relates a great diversity of interesting adventures in various parts of the world, combined with accurate historical data. butcher of cawnpore, the camp in the snow, the campaigning with braddock cryptogram, the from lake to wilderness in barracks and wigwam in fort and prison jungles and traitors rajah's fortress, the white king of africa, the lieut. frederick garrison, u. s. a. every american boy takes a keen interest in the affairs of west point. no more capable writer on this popular subject could be found than lieut. garrison, who vividly describes the life, adventures and unique incidents that have occurred in that great institution--in these famous west point stories. off for west point cadet's honor, a on guard west point treasure, the west point rivals, the headon hill. the hunt for gold has always been a popular subject for consideration, and mr. hill has added a splendid story on the subject in this romance of the klondyke. spectre gold henry harrison lewis. mr. lewis is a graduate of the naval academy at annapolis, and has written a great many books for boys. among his best works are the following titles--the subjects include a vast series of adventures in all parts of the world. the historical data is correct, and they should be read by all boys, for the excellent information they contain. centreboard jim king of the island midshipman merrill yankee boys in japan ensign merrill sword and pen valley of mystery, the lieut. lionel lounsberry. a series of books embracing many adventures under our famous naval commanders, and with our army during the war of 1812 and the civil war. founded on sound history, these books are written for boys, with the idea of combining pleasure with profit; to cultivate a fondness for study--especially of what has been accomplished by our army and navy. cadet kit carey captain carey kit carey's protegã© lieut. carey's luck out with commodore decatur randy, the pilot tom truxton's school days tom truxton's ocean trip treasure of the golden crater won at west point brooks mccormick. four splendid books of adventure on sea and land, by this well-known writer for boys. giant islanders, the how he won nature's young nobleman rival battalions walter morris. this charming story contains thirty-two chapters of just the sort of school life that charms the boy readers. bob porter at lakeview academy stanley norris. mr. norris is without a rival as a writer of "circus stories" for boys. these four books are full of thrilling adventures, but good, wholesome reading for young americans. phil, the showman young showman's rivals, the young showman's pluck, the young showman's triumph lieut. james k. orton. when a boy has read one of lieut. orton's books, it requires no urging to induce him to read the others. not a dull page in any of them. beach boy joe last chance mine secret chart, the tom havens with the white squadron james otis. mr. otis is known by nearly every american boy, and needs no introduction here. the following copyrights are among his best: chased through norway inland waterways reuben green's adventures at yale unprovoked mutiny wheeling for fortune gilbert patten. mr. patten has had the distinction of having his books adopted by the u. s. government for all naval libraries on board our war ships. while aiming to avoid the extravagant and sensational, the stories contain enough thrilling incidents to please the lad who loves action and adventure. in the rockspur stories the description of their baseball and football games and other contests with rival clubs and teams make very exciting and absorbing reading; and few boys with warm blood in their veins, having once begun the perusal of one of these books, will willingly lay it down till it is finished. boy boomers boy cattle king boy from the west don kirke's mine jud and joe rockspur nine, the rockspur eleven, the rockspur rivals, the st. george rathborne. mr. rathborne's stories for boys have the peculiar charm of dealing with localities and conditions with which he is thoroughly familiar. the scenes of these excellent stories are along the florida coast and on the western prairies. canoe and camp fire paddling under palmettos rival canoe boys sunset ranch chums of the prairie young range riders gulf cruisers shifting winds arthur sewell. an american story by an american author. it relates how a yankee boy overcame many obstacles in school and out. thoroughly interesting from start to finish. gay dashleigh's academy days capt. david southwick. an exceptionally good story of frontier life among the indians in the far west, during the early settlement period. jack wheeler the famous frank merriwell stories. burt l. standish. no modern series of tales for boys and youths has met with anything like the cordial reception and popularity accorded to the frank merriwell stories. there must be a reason for this and there is. frank merriwell, as portrayed by the author, is a jolly whole-souled, honest, courageous american lad, who appeals to the hearts of the boys. he has no bad habits, and his manliness inculcates the idea that it is not necessary for a boy to indulge in petty vices to be a hero. frank merriwell's example is a shining light for every ambitious lad to follow. six volumes now ready: frank merriwell's school days frank merriwell's chums frank merriwell's foes frank merriwell's trip west frank merriwell down south frank merriwell's bravery frank merriwell's hunting tour frank merriwell's races frank merriwell's sports afield frank merriwell at yale victor st. clair. these books are full of good, clean adventure, thrilling enough to please the full-blooded wide-awake boy, yet containing nothing to which there can be any objection from those who are careful as to the kind of books they put into the hands of the young. cast away in the jungle comrades under castro for home and honor zip, the acrobat from switch to lever little snap, the post boy zig-zag, the boy conjurer matthew white, jr. good, healthy, strong books for the american lad. no more interesting books for the young appear on our lists. adventures of a young athlete eric dane guy hammersley my mysterious fortune tour of a private car young editor, the arthur m. winfield. one of the most popular authors of boys' books. here are three of his best. mark dale's stage venture young bank clerk, the young bridge tender, the gayle winterton. this very interesting story relates the trials and triumphs of a young american actor, including the solution of a very puzzling mystery. young actor, the ernest a. young. this book is not a treatise on sports, as the title would indicate, but relates a series of thrilling adventures among boy campers in the woods of maine. boats, bats and bicycles * * * * * transcriber's note: the following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. in chapter ii, "sword of the tryant" was changed to "sword of the tyrant", and "meant to spent that half-holiday" was changed to "meant to spend that half-holiday". in chapter iii, "wondering about everythings" was changed to "wondering about everything". in chapter v, a missing period was added after "from two minutes to twenty", and "b. b. j!" was changed to "b. b. j.!". in chapter vii, "the b. j-est plebe" was changed to "the b. j.-est plebe", "as those yearlings had even seen" was changed to "as those yearlings had ever seen", and "'will they try it' he thought?" was changed to "'will they try it?' he thought." in chapter x, "his face on a broad grin" was changed to "on his face a broad grin". in chapter xi, a missing question mark was added after "is he hurt". in chapter xiv, "a rougish look" was changed to "a roguish look", and a quotation mark was removed before "it'll take lots of planning beforehand". in chapter xx, "some little nervousness, to" was changed to "some little nervousness, too". in chapter xxii, "the corner of the seige battery inclosure" was changed to "the corner of the siege battery inclosure", "that reminds be of another" was changed to "that reminds me of another", "his mist stately tone" was changed to "his mist stately tone", and a period was changed to a comma after "he added, more seriously". in chapter xxiii, "bound his supenders about him" was changed to "bound his suspenders about him". in chapter xxiv, a period was changed to a comma after "as his friend touched it". in chapter xxvii, a quotation mark was removed after "and--and----". in chapter xxviii, "he knew in his hear it would be best" was changed to "he knew in his heart it would be best". in chapter xxx, "murray still sat where he was was" was changed to "murray still sat where he was". in chapter xxxi, "her mouth it set in a firm, determined way" was changed to "her mouth is set in a firm, determined way". in the advertisements, "to cutivate a fondness for study" was changed to "to cultivate a fondness for study", and "good, wholsome reading" was changed to "good, wholesome reading". 