Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point Part 6

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k's stroll took him over in the neighborhood of "Execution Hollow," the depression in the ground below where the reveille gun is stationed.

Suddenly d.i.c.k halted, an amused look creeping into his face.

"Now, who'd suspect good old Greg of getting into sheer mischief, all by himself?" the cla.s.s 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 sh.e.l.l 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.

d.i.c.k 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 fas.h.i.+on! It was not to be thought of.

For two or three seconds all manner thoughts played through d.i.c.k'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?"

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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 cla.s.ses 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 d.i.c.k saluted very respectfully.

"Any other questions, Mr. Prescott?"

"No, sir."

d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k retorted grimly, "for it was the only way.

What's that bulging out the front of your coat, Greg?"