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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 2
The “Gossip” Runs Wild

The whole trick was clear to him now. In the general

orders of the day, read to the cadets on the previous
day, the fact that no excuse would be accepted had
been sternly emphasized. Terry was not the kind who
would carry tales even if he thought they would excuse
him and win him sympathy, and as he realized how
badly fooled he had been his eyes flashed in anger.

“I see the whole business, now,” he reflected. “Jack 22

Olson is a crony of Rowen’s and he carried that note
supposedly signed by Rush. They know I won’t tell Rush
about it, and there isn’t any use in thumping Olson,
because he probably had to take his orders from
Rowen. But I sure would like my hands on that surly
guy!”

Realizing that every moment counted the red-headed

youth looked around the small room, his eyes having
grown used to the darkness. He hoped that there might
be some instrument that would make it possible for him
to pry up a board and so make his escape, but the only
thing in sight was the pile of harness. There was not
even a piece of metal on the harness and although he
examined every corner of the little cell he was unable to
find a single object that would aid him.
“Guess I’ll just have to use my hands and feet, if that
will do any good,” he reflected.

Dropping on his hands and knees he examined the floor

carefully to see if any of the boards were loose, but all
of them were securely fastened to the huge beams that
made up the framework of the barn. The boards were
very thick and any thought of escaping under the barn
was out of the question. From there he went to the
door, feeling carefully along the sides to see if any signs
of weakness existed here, but once again he was
disappointed. Like the rest of the barn the door and the
frame had been strongly constructed and it did not even
quiver under his hearty kicks.

“About the only thing I can do—if I can do it—is to kick 23

a board off the side of the wall,” he decided.

With this thought in mind he raised his foot, but then a

sound reached his ears, a sound that made his blood
chill.

With a clarity and snap the call of assembly rang out on

the morning air!

“Good night!” groaned Terry, the sweat breaking out on

his forehead. “There goes the call to assemble! If I’m
ever going to get out of here in time, now is the
moment!”

With desperation Terry kicked stoutly at the wall boards,

but with the first kick the bitter truth was forced upon
him. The sides of the barn were as strongly composed
as the rest of the building, and all the kicking in the
world would not get him out of the room in which he
was held prisoner. To further worry him certain sounds
told him that the process of assembly was going
forward rapidly.

Doors slammed, running footsteps sounded on the 24

parade grounds, voices rang out as the assembling
cadets gathered. The butt of a rifle cracked on the
pavement, and the noise of stamping horses reached
his ears. The cavalrymen, of which Jim Mercer was the
chief, were leading out the spirited mounts, and the
creaking of leather, the snorts of the horses, and the
cries of the young soldiers, reached the ears of the
unfortunate young cadet. Hoping to attract their
attention he pounded and yelled at the top of his voice,
but no response came back to him. They were making
too much noise themselves to hear him.

Closer at hand there was a deeper rumble and Terry

groaned in spirit. It was the members of his own
division, the artillery, taking out the field guns that they
were to take with them for the summer practice. He was
the chief gunner on the sleek steel monster which he
had named the “Gossip” and he knew that the others of
his crew must be wondering where he was. Just as soon
as the guns were in formation and the roll call sounded
he would be officially marked absent from duty and held
guilty of disobeying orders. As he heard the guns roll
out of the barracks and heard the noise of the towing
cables being connected he knew it was too late.

From the barracks to the parade ground there was a

slight hill and the trucks began to pull the weapons up
the grade. He heard them go up one by one and then
something seemed to go wrong. There was a snap, a
rumble and somebody cried out.
“Look out!” he heard Captain Rush bellow. “Number One
gun is loose!”

That gun was Terry’s own piece of equipment. From the 25

cries that arose he gathered that the gun had broken
from the cable and was rolling down the hill. There was
an increasing rumble that seemed suddenly close at
hand, and before his brain had time to realize what had
happened there was a tremendous crash, the boards of
his cell burst open like matchwood, and the butt of the
“Gossip” halted a scant foot from his stomach!

For a single instant Terry was stunned. The sudden

glare of morning sunlight made him blink, the dust filled
his mouth and the echoes of the crash remained in his
ears. But it did not take him long to regain his
composure and spring forward. He placed affectionate
hands on the gun.

“Good old ‘Gossip,’” he whooped. “You wouldn’t go on

parade without me, would you? Talk about luck!”

A half dozen artillerymen appeared at the opening, led

by Captain Rush. At the sight of Terry they halted and
stared in amazement.

“Where have you been?” Cadet Emerson, Terry’s mate,

shouted.

“Waiting for the old ‘Gossip’ to let me out!” retorted

Terry gleefully.

Rush approached him. “Where have you been, Mr.

Mackson?” he inquired formally.

“Someone locked me in here and I couldn’t get out,

captain,” returned Terry.
“Then the accident was a lucky one for you,” nodded 26
the captain. He turned to the young artillerymen. “We
have only a few minutes to make the parade grounds.
Snap to it!”

Terry threw himself into the work, rejoicing in the

chance to be busy. The truck was backed down the hill
and the broken cable was stripped from it and new
material substituted. A loose pin was driven into the
shaft and when the “Gossip” was harnessed it was
drawn up to the top of the hill in safety and wheeled
swiftly into position. And on the rear box sat Terry,
grinning from ear to ear.

When his name was called he answered brightly,

stealing a look across the parade ground to the infantry,
where Rowen stood in the second rank. The face of the
sullen one was a study in amazement.

In accordance with previous instructions the cavalry

swung out first, taking the long, dusty road that led to
Rustling Ridge. Next in line marched the infantry and
the artillery rumbled in the rear. Terry sat on his gun,
happy and thankful for the good fortune he had had. He
smiled frequently, but there was a grim set to his jaw
nevertheless.

All through the morning they marched and it was noon 27

before they paused to make temporary camp. Just as
soon as the long column came to a halt and broke up
Terry made his way to where Rowen and his few friends
sat on a grassy bank. He halted directly in front of the
other.

“Didn’t work, did it?” Terry asked.

Rowen looked at him with a haughty frown. “I don’t
know what you are talking about,” he said.

“Yes, you do. Your plan to lock me in the barn until I

was late for camp didn’t turn out very well, did it?”

“I don’t know anything about it, and you can’t prove

that I do,” snapped the dark-haired boy.

“Don’t be silly!” growled Terry. “I can do that easily. All I

have to do is to give that little sneak Jack Olson a good,
stiff beating and he’ll tell. Look at how pale he is! Or I
can ask Captain Rush about it and we’d have you in a
fine mess. But I don’t intend to do anything like that,
Rowen, and you know it. I would have been blacklisted
by my captain if I had been late for encampment, and
you figured on that. Now, look here! Just one more
piece of freshness out of you and I’ll give you the
peachiest licking you ever saw, right in front of the
cadet corps. Don’t forget it, my friend!”

Turning on his heel Terry walked off, his eyes dancing

slightly. There was no word spoken by the ones back of
him, and perhaps it was just as well. The redhead was
dynamite and ready to go.

In that brief period he encountered Don. Jim was far 28

ahead with the supply corps but Don, who was a
lieutenant in the infantry, was close at hand. He was
delighted to see his pal.

“Where in the world were you at assembly?” Don

demanded. “Jim and I nearly turned the building upside
down looking for you.”

Terry explained briefly and Don approved of his recent

charge to Rowen. “That fellow certainly has a grudge
against you,” said Don. “You couldn’t exactly call him a
bully, because he isn’t big enough or strong enough, but
his surly nature makes him anything but trustworthy. A
fine mess you would have had if you had been several
days late for encampment. As far as that goes, you
might have been a prisoner in that storage room for a
long time.”

“That’s right,” agreed Terry. “And to anyone who likes to

eat as well as I do that would have meant something!”

After an afternoon of leisurely marching the cadets

came to an open meadow where the cavalry and the
supply corps had set up tents. Here they spent the night
and the next morning they pushed on to Rustling Ridge,
arriving there about noontime.

Rustling Ridge was a long slope that rose gradually from 29

a flat meadow. It was in the heart of delightful country,
and here and there solitary farmhouses could be seen.
Close beside the camp there was a deep swimming
hole, which the cadets welcomed with unrestrained
delight. The camp itself was pitched in a grove about a
quarter way up the slope, the white tents rising in
somewhat irregular lines between the trees. The wide
glades on either side of the camp permitted the creation
of natural centers for the horses and the supply wagons
and guns. By midafternoon the camp was in first-class
order and the tired cadets enjoyed their first swim in the
near-by swimming hole.

After supper large fires were lighted, but the cadets did
not linger long around them. Even before taps many of
them had sought their cots, falling asleep as soon as
they crawled in between their blankets. Sentries were
posted and soon the camp was quiet except for the
stamping of horses and the tramp of the sentries.

30
 3
At Rustling Ridge

The clear, thrilling strains of the bugle made scores of

cadets cordially hate Bugler Howes on the following
morning. Many a young soldier considered defying
orders and sleeping on in peace and comfort, but
wisdom prevailed in the long run. With a snap and many
groans the camp came to life.

“Oh, boy!” sighed Terry, casting his blankets to one side.

“I never felt less like getting up in all my life!”

“I don’t see why you or Jim should kick,” Don said, as

he pulled on his clothes. “You two rode out here but I
had to march all the way!”

“I’m tired just the same,” said Terry. 31

Once awake the cadets came alive to the glories of

camp life. A rush was made to the near-by brook where
they washed, and then dressing was speedily finished.
Before long they had fallen in for inspection, the reading
of orders and the march to breakfast.

A long tent had been erected for meals in bad weather,

but during the clear and warm weather they were
permitted to eat outside around the kitchen tent.
Before long they were all hard at work. On a flat plain at
the bottom of the hill they were all required to drill and
take routine exercises during the morning. This took up
their time until noon. Then, in the afternoon, the units
took up the tactics of their own particular division. The
infantry was busy that day with setting up range targets
for practice in the near future. After that was over they
worked steadily fixing the camp. Tents were made more
inviting by the addition of wooden floors, pegs were put
in with a view toward real strength and service, and
trenches were dug to carry off the rain water when it
fell from the sloping canvas. A permanent kitchen was
constructed and the long tables for the mess tent were
built and put in place. Benches then were hammered
into place along the tables, the wagons set in proper
formation and the camp looked vastly improved.

The cavalry escaped this task but was busy with tactics 32
of its own. Under Jim, who was its chief, it was required
to drill and go for a canter across the country. That used
up most of the afternoon and the sun was beginning to
sink when they returned. At school, during the term, the
cavalrymen got quite a bit of practice, but it was the
plan of the colonel to teach his boys to ride every day
during the encampment, so that they might become
used to having horses under them a good many hours
at a stretch. Many a young man found himself stiff and
sore before the end of the week.

The artillery was busy with what they called “silent drill.”
Artillery practice was always pretty expensive and only
during the fall and the last few weeks of summer
encampment did the colonel allow any firing of the
fieldpieces. During the summer the artillerymen were
instructed in the art of finding the range, wheeling the
guns into position, effectively concealing them from an
enemy, especially an enemy in the air, and tearing down
and rebuilding the guns.

With all of these activities the first day in camp sped by 33

with astonishing rapidity. This first day was different
from the ones that followed, for once the camp was
settled the work decreased materially. So busy had the
boys been that there was no time for a swim or any fun
on that initial day of camp life. A few hardy souls
managed to stay awake and talk and sing songs around
the campfires, but most of the young men stumbled to
bed at the first possible moment.

The three friends had not had much of a chance to see

each other that day, and at night they were too tired to
do much in the way of talking. In common with many
others they sought their beds before taps.

“If I’m going to be as tired as this every night I’ll never

enjoy this camping trip,” Jim grumbled as he undressed.

“You won’t be,” Don observed. “This was an unusual

day for all of us, but we’ll get used to it. With all our
outdoor life, this systematic drill, exercise, and work
makes us feel the grind.”

“I don’t see why we have to take regular exercises.”

Terry yawned and stretched out on his cot. “Seems to
me that we get enough to keep us physically fit as it is.”

“Yes, but the kind of routine exercises that we get help 34

to keep us limbered up,” Don returned. “Otherwise,
we’d get a whole lot of one kind of training and not
much of another. You and I get plenty of leg and arm
exercise but Jim would be riding all day if he stuck to
his particular branch of the corps.”
“That’s true,” agreed Terry. “Well, I suppose the colonel
and the officers know what we need most of. If anybody
asked me right now, though, I’d say it was sleep.”

On the second day things came more easily to the

active young soldiers. At first, stiff and sore muscles
cried out in protest and glum faces characterized the
corps. But as the day went on their hearts cheered and
slowly the joy of camping evidenced itself.

That afternoon they finished drill and maneuvers at

three o’clock and from then on the time was their own.
A dozen games of baseball were quickly organized but
most of the boys preferred to make a rush for the big
swimming hole. Before many minutes a score of the
boys splashed in.

One cadet had dropped in first to test the depth of the

stream, and finding that it was up to the average boy’s
shoulder at the bank and about ten feet deep in the
center, a number of boys had dived joyfully in. Don and
Terry were among the first, with Jim following a little
later.

“This is a dandy pool,” gasped Jim, shaking the water 35

from his eyes and floating close beside Don. “I like
snappy fresh water even better than I do the salt
water.”

“I don’t,” returned his brother. “I like the rush and the

sting of the green sea water. But this woodland water
makes you work to keep afloat.”

There was no springboard and the cadets were diving

from the bank. In time this proved disappointing. As
they clambered up the sides, the water running in
streams from their dripping bathing trunks made the
bank muddy and then dangerously slippery. More than
one sloppy fall plastered a swimmer with mud and
caused gleeful laughter, until a few cadets ran into
camp, brought out some long boards and some thick
supports, and in a very short time a fairly good diving
board had been placed on the bank.

“This is some improvement,” smiled Harry Douglas, as

he tried the board out.

The diving then became general and was enjoyed. One

of the best divers was Dick Rowen. His summers had
been spent largely in summer resorts where swimming
was the principal attraction and he had become quite
expert at it. Knowing that the eyes of many of his
comrades were upon him Rowen performed a good
many fancy dives, all of which were very well done.
Some of the cadets, with quiet generosity,
complimented him upon his prowess.

“Oh, diving comes easily to me,” answered Rowen, 36

poising for another, in answer to a word of praise from a
cadet. “This is one of my best.”

He jumped to the springboard, attempted to turn

around and over, but his twist did not work and his feet
slipped. Truth to tell, the cadets were growing tired of
his posing and a delighted shout went up as he slapped
the water with a sound that echoed over the camp.

Thoroughly angry, Rowen bobbed up out of the water

and scrambled ashore, turning a resentful ear to the
good-natured teasing of his mates. Jim was the next
one to follow Rowen out on the board, and he prepared
for his dive.
“Going to give us an exhibition of your best dive, Jim?”
Cadet Vench called out, laughing.

Jim grinned. “Yes, this is my best,” he answered, and

sprang away. But his foot slipped and he hit the water in
the same way that Rowen had. Instantly a roar of
laughter went up and Rowen’s face flushed a dull red.

Jim made his way out of the water. “That wasn’t so

good at that,” he remarked, as he gained the bank.
Then he came face to face with Rowen.

“Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Mercer?” hissed

the cadet.

Jim looked surprised. “Why, no, not especially. Not after 37

that dive, anyway. What do you mean, Dick?”

“Don’t call me Dick!” snapped Rowen. “I’m only Dick to

my friends, and that doesn’t include you. I said you
think you’re funny because you ridiculed me in that
dive!”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” retorted Jim. “I had no intention of

imitating you, Rowen. My foot honestly slipped, that’s
all.”

“I don’t believe you, Mercer,” said Rowen, at a white

heat.

There was a moment’s pause and the gathered cadets

looked on with interest. Jim’s jaw had set and he
thought a moment before replying.

“Listen, Rowen,” he said, when he had gained sufficient

control of himself. “I want you to understand one thing.
I only joke with a man who is enough of a man to take
a joke. If I were picking out anyone to have some fun
with I wouldn’t pick a sorehead like you. As for my not
being a friend of yours, Rowen, that is your own fault.”

“Fault!” shrilled Rowen, trembling. “Jeepers! Do you

think I care that you aren’t my friend?”

“Whatever you like,” nodded Jim, and turned away.

Unheeding the statement that “some fellows made him
sick” Jim went back into the water, to enjoy himself and
forget Rowen.

That evening the cadets remained up until taps, which 38

came at nine-thirty. A number of fires formed
convenient places for them to gather and chat. Just
before taps the three friends went to their tents.

“I didn’t notice Rowen around tonight,” remarked Don,

as they began to prepare for bed.

“Might have been sulking in his tent,” grinned Terry.

“Now, the only thing that remains is for him to pick a
fight with you, Don!”

“I don’t know if I could be as patient as you two have

been,” mused Don. “I think I should be tempted to
punch his nose for him!”

“Don’t worry,” smiled Jim, “we were tempted, all right!”

“Who took my bayonet?” questioned Terry, suddenly.

All of the cadets, including the artillerymen and

cavalrymen, were required to have guns and bayonets,
and Terry had looked aimlessly at his equipment, to
note that the bayonet was gone. In a moment Don
reported the loss of his.
“Mine’s gone, too,” announced Jim. “This looks funny to
me.”

Terry threw the blankets off his bed. “Not under the
covers,” he murmured. “Now, where—hey!”

He dropped to his knees and looked under the cot. Then 39

he reached under and brought out his weapon.

“Look under your cots,” he directed. Don and Jim did so

and uttered a sharp cry.

“Sticking upright, so that when we lay down on the bed

the point would prod us,” Don growled.

“And that explains where Rowen was this evening,”

guessed Terry.

“Say, this is going a little too far!” cried Jim. “That’s a

dangerous trick.”

“Well, not especially dangerous,” said Don slowly. “The

point wasn’t in such a position that it would have
actually run into us. But he figured that we’d come in
just at taps and jump into bed, landing on the points
with enough force to make us squirm. The worst part of
it all is that we can’t prove who did it.”

“From now on,” said Terry, his eyes narrowing, “we have
got to keep a wary eye on that guy.”

“Yes,” nodded Don. “I guess he placed all three

bayonets so that one of the disliked boys would be sure
to get it. It would be funny if it had been me, who so
far has done nothing to antagonize him.”
“If I catch him in any funny business I’ll sail right into 40
him,” promised Jim, as they replaced the bayonets in
the scabbards.

Taps rang out and the camp quieted down. In a

moment the three boys drifted off to sleep.

41
 4
Strange Tales from the Ridge

Three shots sounded from the east side of the camp.

Almost on top of them three shots sounded from a point
close by.

With the first shots the three friends stirred and woke
up, listening while half asleep. But with the second
three shots they rose up in their beds, wide awake.

Close at hand the sound of rapidly turning wheels

reached their ears, accompanied by the beat of horses’
hoofs. Something metallic bumped and banged. A voice
called out: “Corporal of the guard! Post Number Three!”

The boys jumped from their cots with one accord, 42

reaching for their clothes.

“Something wrong with the sentries,” cried Don.

“Who is at Number Three post?” asked Jim.

“Anderson,” answered Terry, fumbling with his shoes.

The camp was in motion. Lights flashed at various

points and voices sounded. Past the tent went running
feet. But the bugle did not sound, so they knew that it
was not a fire or any similar emergency.

“I’m ready. How about you two?” Don called.

“Right with you,” was the response and the three
soldiers burst out of the tent.

A central fire was burning and at this point the colonel

was standing, half-clad and with mussed-up hair, his
eyes heavy with sleep. The other cadets were clustering
around him there, and the sentries were straggling in to
that center. Just as the three boys reached the spot the
sentries from Number Three and Number Four posts
came up and saluted.

Number Three post was at a point up the Ridge and

Number Four was right at the edge of camp. The shots
from Number Four had followed so closely to those from
Number Three that they knew the same thing had
caused both signals.

“Sentries to report, sir,” announced the corporal of the 43

guard, saluting.

The colonel saluted and faced the sentries. “Make your

report, gentlemen,” he ordered.

Anderson, from Number Three post spoke up. “While

patrolling my post I heard a wagon coming along that
dirt road just above the camp on the Ridge. It appeared
to be coming at a great rate of speed and just as it
reached a point above my post it left the road and cut
right down through the bushes toward me. It had a
man and a boy in it and I challenged them, but without
slacking speed a single bit the wagon tore right past me
toward the camp. I then fired the shots to warn the
camp and the next sentry.”

“Very good,” nodded the colonel. “Mr. Simms?”

“I heard the shots, though I had heard the thrashing of
the wagon previously,” spoke up the second sentry. “I
turned to find the wagon bearing down on me, swinging
from side to side, and with a man and boy hanging onto
the seat. It cut straight across the lower end of the
camp grounds, down the slope and across the drill
grounds. I fired to bear out Mr. Anderson.”

“Very good, gentlemen,” said the colonel, with a puzzled 44

frown on his forehead. In the momentary silence that
followed they could hear the mysterious wagon
bumping and banging across the country, apparently at
top speed.

Now that the official reports had been given the talk
became general. The incident was extremely puzzling.
Both sentries remarked that the man and boy had been
huddled together much as though pretty badly
frightened, and the sight of the cadets with guns had
not seemed to reassure them any. Neither sentry had
been able to see what had been in the wagon because
it had passed them in too great a hurry, but from the
sound they judged the rattling was caused by pots and
pans. A single horse had pulled the cart.

“Strangest thing I ever heard of,” murmured the new

senior captain, Henry Jordan.

“I can’t figure out why the party in the wagon left the
dirt road,” said the colonel to Major Rhodes, the drill
instructor. “That road runs parallel with the Ridge and
works gradually down to the level of the countryside.
For some reason or other that pair in the wagon wanted
to get off the Ridge and out on the open meadow.”
“It is possible that they were fleeing from some crime,”
suggested Rhodes.

“True enough,” assented the colonel. “And when they 45

saw the cadets the vision didn’t reassure them any.
Well, it goes beyond my understanding.” He turned once
more to the attentive soldiers. “Corporal of the guard,
restation the sentries. Everyone back to his bed.”

The sentries were reposted and the other cadets

straggled back to their cots. Once in their tent Jim
looked at his watch.

“A quarter past three,” he announced. “Quite an

uncanny hour out here in the country. I’ll bet there is
something behind that wild wagon flight.”

“Funny they should cut right across the camp,”

remarked Don.

“I agree with Rhodes that those fellows were probably

fleeing from something like a crime,” advanced Terry.

“That may be the explanation,” agreed Don. “I can’t

think of any other reason for such a wild flight. Well, me
for some more sleep.”

The rest of that night was quiet and in the morning the
cadets discussed the event further. The details of the
day then took up all of their attention and the night
adventure was pushed from their minds.

Late in the afternoon Don and Terry hastened into the

tent to get their baseball gloves. Jim was in the tent at
the time.

“Going to play some ball?” Terry hailed.

Jim shook his head. “I’m out of luck today,” he 46
announced. “Six of us have to go to a near-by
farmhouse and buy some eggs and butter. The colonel
told me to try and strike a bargain with a farmer for
eggs, butter, milk and meat.”

“Don’t forget to wait for your change after you pay the
farmer!” advised Terry.

“Go chase yourself!” flung back Jim. “I guess I know

enough for that.”

While the other two went off to play ball Jim rounded
up his five companions and they set off on horseback
for the farmhouses that lay scattered over the Ridge.
Two of the farms they passed did not look very
promising but at last they came to a neat-looking one
which had a large sign on the front fence. This sign
announced that chickens, eggs and butter were on sale
and into this yard the six cavalrymen turned their
horses. An uproar of barking dogs announced their
presence and a farmer appeared, scanning their
uniforms with great interest. To him Jim explained their
errand.

The farmer was more than pleased and hastened to

bring out several dozen fresh eggs and a dozen pounds
of butter. In the meantime some children and two
farmhands had gathered about the soldiers, staring at
them curiously. When the supplies had been paid for
Jim asked the farmer to come to camp and confer with
the colonel concerning future food supplies. The farmer
was delighted beyond words.

“You bet your boots I’ll come down,” he cried. “Business 47

is mighty poor, and this is a big boost to me. My name’s
Carson.”

A little boy named Jimmie was particularly interested in

the cadets, and they took an instant liking to him. He
was a bright and sturdy little boy, and some of the
cadets invited him to visit the camp, an invitation which
he willingly accepted.

Just before they rode off the farmer spoke to Jim. “Ain’t
see nothing of the ghost, have you?” he asked.

Jim shook his head. “No. Have you one?”

The farmer nodded solemnly. “Haven’t you heard about

the ghost of Rustling Ridge?” he asked.

“No, we haven’t,” laughed Lieutenant Thompson.

“There is a sure-enough ghost that prowls this Ridge,”

said the farmer, gravely. “Every once in a while it walks
and scares people half to death. More than one family’s
up and moved away just on account of him.”

“So far we haven’t been lucky enough to see him,”

returned Jim, distributing the packages. “If we do, we’ll
try and take him apart and look at him.”

The farmer shook his head. “Very bad business, that 48

ghost. Look out he doesn’t turn up in your camp some
night.”

With more jests about the ghost the cadets swung out
of the yard and headed back toward camp, carrying
their packages carefully.

“So there is a ghost on the Ridge, is there?” Thompson

said to Jim.
“I’m not greatly surprised,” Jim said. “Most of these
country places have room for at least one good ghost.
They wouldn’t be quite happy if they didn’t.”

The colonel was pleased at their success and planned to

buy more things from the farmer in the future. The
provisions, with the exception of the canned goods
which they had brought with them from school, had
been all used up, for the invigorating outdoor life gave
all the cadets ravenous appetites.

The cadets had been asleep perhaps two hours that

night when a medley of shots rang out from post
Number One, deep in the woods. As on the previous
night the three boys hopped out of bed immediately.

“Golly, this is getting to be an epidemic,” snorted Terry.

“But this must be something different,” remarked Don.

“I don’t hear any wagon crashing through the bushes.”

“There aren’t any more shots, either,” mentioned Jim. 49

Once outside the corporal of the guard brought in

Douglas from the post. The colonel asked for a report.

“While standing at my post I saw a white shape pass

me about ten yards away!” was Harry’s startling
statement. “I challenged it, but it just glided on past
me. At my shots it flashed into the trees and was gone.
I was unable to find any trace of it.”

“A shape, Mr. Douglas?” frowned the colonel. “What sort

of a shape?”

“Well, it looked like someone in a sheet,” explained

Douglas. “I couldn’t see any head on the object, and it
seemed to glide along the ground!”

“Hmm, our ghost of the Ridge!” said Jim to Thompson.

“What was that, Mr. Mercer?” the colonel cried, alertly.

Jim explained the story which the farmer had told to

them that afternoon. “We didn’t say anything about it,
because we put it down for a lot of nonsense,” he
wound up.

“I see,” replied the colonel. “Captains and lieutenants go

to post Number One and look around.”

The others waited a long half-hour until the officers

came back. There was no news.

“We found no traces of anything,” Senior Captain Jordan 50

reported.

Puzzled over the events of the past two nights the

colonel ordered the boys back to bed. It was a long time
before a good many of them fell asleep. In their own
tent the three pals talked quietly of the situation, but
could not puzzle it out.

“If this business doesn’t stop pretty soon,” Terry

concluded the talk, “we won’t get enough sleep on this
camping trip!”

51
 5
A Fight and a Stampede

Captain Jim made his way around the last of the tents
that formed the A Company row and then paused. With
a motion that combined speed with caution he stepped
out of sight behind the slope of the tent, his eyes
narrowed, senses alert.

He was on his way to the section of the camp allotted to

the cavalry horses. It was midafternoon and active drill
was over for the day. Most of the young soldiers were in
swimming, a few played baseball out in the blazing sun,
and a few with less energy lay in the shade. Jim had
dismounted rather hurriedly to make a report and he
was on his way to see that the cadet orderlies had
properly taken care of his horse.

The horses were just before him at the present 52

moment, a score or more of restless, high-strung
mounts. No orderly or cavalryman was with them at the
moment and no one save one cadet could be seen. This
cadet was acting queerly, and Jim’s attention was the
more quickly attracted when he saw that the lone cadet
was Dick Rowen.

Rowen’s campaign hat was in his crooked arm and he

was standing directly in front of Jim’s horse, Squall.
From time to time Rowen looked furtively around the
camp to see if anyone was observing him, but he failed
to see the cavalry captain. The lone cadet dipped his
hand into the hat and extended something to the horse.
Squall appeared to reach out eagerly for whatever it
was each time, but the neck of another horse obscured
from Jim what it was that Rowen was feeding his horse.

“Now, what the dickens can that fellow be doing?” Jim

puzzled. “He seems to be unusually kind to my horse,
and it looks suspicious to me. Of course, it is possible
that Rowen likes horses and is feeding them, but he
knows that one is mine. Maybe he doesn’t carry his
grudges as far as the animals!”

One of the objects that Rowen was feeding to the horse 53

dropped to the ground, rolling a short distance. As soon
as Jim recognized it he became indignant.

“A green apple! A lot he knows about horses! If he

wants to be kind to them he should pick something else
beside—”

He stopped short in his thought. Rowen looked right

and left again and then moved off a few paces to the
left, reaching down for a bucket of water. With this in
his hand he walked back to the horse, raised it to his
eager lips, and tilted the bucket.

Jim Mercer waited to see no more. The whole cowardly

trick was plain to him now. Each cavalryman was
required to keep his mount in perfect condition and no
excuse would be accepted for failure to do so. He could
picture Squall after his meal of green apples and his
drink of cold water, rolling in agony for hours, and
himself severely blamed for criminal neglect. The boy’s
eyes blazed in fury as he hurled himself in Rowen’s
direction.
He was on top of the boy before Rowen was aware of
him. Rowen turned startled eyes in his direction, his
face paling swiftly. The tongue of the horse had just
touched the water’s surface when Jim landed his fist
with all his force on the cheek of the cadet.

Rowen went down promptly, the bucket of water spilling 54

all over his uniform. A dull red spot showed where Jim’s
fist landed, and Rowen rolled over with a faint bleat.
With bulging eyes he looked up to where Jim towered
over him.

“Why, you contemptible, sneaking coward!” Jim, his

voice trembling, exploded with emotion. “You intended
to bloat my horse so that I would do ‘growl duty’ for
neglect, did you? How about the hours of agony that
the horse would suffer? Did you think of that? Get on
your feet, because I’m going to thrash you until you
won’t be able to walk for the rest of the summer!”

“If you lay your hands on me, Mercer, I’ll report you to
the colonel,” cried Rowen, cowed at Jim’s attitude. The
captain was ablaze with wrath.

“Tell the colonel all you want to, but I’m going to put
you in the infirmary for a month,” promised Jim,
reaching for the collar of the fallen cadet.

At that moment Terry, Jordan, Don and Vench came

around the end of the tent row. They had been playing
ball and were on their way to change clothes for a
swim. They saw the two before them and hurried over.

“Look here, gentlemen,” commanded Jordan, briskly.

“You can’t fight in camp. What’s the row, anyway?”
“Mercer knocked me down,” complained Rowen, while
Don pulled Jim away. Don was surprised to feel how
violently Jim was trembling.

“Why did you knock Rowen down, Mercer?” Jordan 55

asked.

Jim did not in the least mind Jordan’s commanding

tone. Although they were both captains of divisions, and
Jim was therefore an equal as an officer, Jordan
nevertheless claimed a slight privilege as the senior
captain of the school. In the following year, their last
one at Woodcrest, Jim would be senior captain of the
cavalry, with the unusual record of having held that post
for three years. His heroism at Hill 31, when he rescued
Vench, had won him that rank. But in the final year Don
would be promoted from the infantry lieutenant to
Senior Cadet Captain of the Corps, thus ranking a step
higher than Jim, for all the latter’s three years of
captaincy in the cavalry.

Jim readily related the story of the short fight. He felt

that the action was so cowardly and sneaking that
Rowen did not deserve to have it hushed up. The faces
of the cadets described their feelings as the story was
told. Rowen turned white to red-faced as he saw the
looks cast in his direction.

“I don’t care so much about the punishment I would 56

have received,” Jim said in conclusion, “but how any guy
in the world with a grain of common decency in him
would stoop to give a horse hours of agony is more
than I can see. You fellows can see the evidences of his
guilt on the ground, the pail and the apple. When you
came along I was about to give him the biggest licking
he ever got in his life!”
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