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Dick Prescott's Third Year at West Point, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 22. The Row In The Riding Detachment |
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_ 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. _ |
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