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Dick Prescott's Third Year at West Point, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 19. The Traitor Of The Riding Hall |
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_ 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." _ |
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