Dick Prescott's First Year at West Point Part 18

In his glee Anstey seized Greg by one arm and started to rush him out of the tent.

"Oh, all right; go along," gibed d.i.c.k. "See who'll get the lash though, when I turn in my report."

"Would you skin us?" demanded Anstey, halting in the doorway of the tent and gazing back with a look of mock horror.

To "skin" a brother cadet is to report him for some dereliction in duty, thereby bringing down discipline upon the offender.

"Skin you?" repeated d.i.c.k. "Yes, sir! If you leave me to bring order out of all this military chaos I'll hand you in to the O.C. in a way that will take every square inch of cuticle from your body."

"Traitor!" hissed Anstey tragically.

"Mister, it's a whole year yet before plebes can sing, laugh, or be happy," came the muttered warning, as one of the newly-made yearlings pa.s.sed by the tent.

Anstey became silent at once. He had been at West Point long enough to know his place as a plebe.

"Say," whispered Anstey presently, his eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with glee, "have you seen poor old Dodge to-day?"

"Not particularly," responded Prescott.

"Well, he's the maddest rookie (recruit) you ever saw! Having been old Dodge's roommate up to reveille this morning, I am in a position to state that he took advantage of the general laxity last night, and slipped out of barracks after taps last night. He and some other embryo cadets got a rowboat, through connivance with a soldier in the engineer's detachment. They rowed across the river, to Garrison, and had some kind of high old racket. It must have been high," added Anstey pensively, "for I happened to turn over in bed this morning, and I saw old Dodge slipping back into the room about an hour before reveille."

"Well, what's he mad about, now?" demanded d.i.c.k.

"Why, he has been drawn for the new guard! He's on guard for to-day and to-night!" chuckled Anstey gleefully. "Already dead for sleep, his official duties will keep him without much more sleep for twenty-four hours, or until the new guard goes on to-morrow.

Even then he'll have some other things to take up some of his time."

By-and-by the tent was so much and well to rights that, when Cadet Corporal Brodie, of the new yearling cla.s.s, looked in, he could find no fault with its appearance.

d.i.c.k sat down on his box. Greg did the same. Plebes are not allowed campstools in the summer encampment--probably on the theory that so much luxury would be certain to demoralize them.

"I'm going out for a wee bit stroll," drawled Anstey, after taking a look in the tiny soldier's mirror to see that his appearance was in apple-pie order.

"Don't make the mistake of forgetting, and calling on one of the new yearlings," cautioned d.i.c.k dryly.

"There's no trace of insanity in our family history," responded Anstey gravely, as he stepped outside.

d.i.c.k and Greg found they had much to talk about in comparing notes of what each had learned about the nature of duties in the summer camp. They were still thus engaged when Anstey bounded back into the tent. The young Virginian looked as though he were having a tremendously hard time to keep himself from exploding.

"Oh, this is rich!" he chuckled.

"What is?" inquired d.i.c.k, looking up in some mystification.

"What do you suppose Dodge has gone and done, now?"

"Said a kind word about me?" smiled Prescott.

"I didn't say anything about miracles," drawled the Virginian. "No; poor old Dodge has drawn number three post for guard duty on the late tour to-night!"

"Well, isn't three a good enough number?" asked Greg innocently.

"A good post, you meandering old puddin'-head!" retorted Anstey.

"Good? The post that goes by old Fort Clinton?"

"Well, it is a bit lonely, off there in the woods," admitted Cadet Prescott.

"Lonely?" bubbled over Anstey. "And you've seen the ditch that runs along by that post?"

"Naturally," nodded d.i.c.k. "You will probably remember that I got past the eye-sight tests of the rainmakers" (doctors).

"Now, I've just been talking with a young cit. fellow, who's visiting one of the officers on post," continued Anstey. "He tells me that, every year, some of the yearlings slyly waylay a plebe whenever they can catch him pacing on number three post late at night."

"What do they do to him?" questioned Prescott.

"Oh, they don't do a thing to him, I reckon," drawled the Virginian.

"At least, nothing that a jovial fellow can object to. They may roll him down in the ditch, take his gun away from him, and hide it, or some little thing like that."

"Then, see here," proposed d.i.c.k solemnly, "Dodge may not be the most popular fellow in the corps, but he's one of us, anyway. He belongs to our cla.s.s. Anything that is done against him is, in a measure, done to the whole cla.s.s. Anstey, we ought to get Dodge aside and warn him."

"Warn him?" repeated Anstey aghast. "Warn him--and spoil all the fun!"

"I know I'd want to be warned, if it were likely to happen to me to-night," insisted d.i.c.k soberly.

"Oh--well, I don't know but that you're right," a.s.sented Anstey slowly. "Yes; I'm certain you are."

"Hullo, you raw-looking rookies," hailed Dodge, halting and looking in through the doorway.

"Come in here a minute, Dodge," urged Anstey.

For an instant Dodge looked suspicious. Then he muttered:

"As you're not yearlings, I accept the invitation."

Very spick and span Dodge looked as he entered the tent. As a member of the guard he wore a pair of immaculate white duck trousers, which held the "spooniest" crease imaginable. His gray coat and white gloves made him look more the dandy than usual.

"We've something to tell you, Dodge," Anstey continued almost in a whisper, as the four plebes stood in a close bunch. "At least, old ramrod says we ought to tell you."

Then, lowering his voice still more, Anstey gave an outline of what the new yearlings were supposed to try to do to the lonely plebe on post number three at the hour when ghosts walk.

"Humph!" rejoined Dodge quickly. "Let the yearlings try that sort of trick, if they dare. Have those fellows no idea of the sacred position of trust held by a United States sentinel? For I, on sentry duty, represent the sovereignty of the United States just as much as does any soldier patrolling a lonely post in the face of the enemy in war time!"

"All very well," grinned d.i.c.k "But how are you going to prove it, if the yearlings catch you napping tonight?"

"They won't," retorted Dodge pompously. "They shan't. And if any fellow, I don't care who he is, tries to rush my post to-night he'll feel the steel of one of Uncle Sam's bayonets prodding him in the tenderest part of his worthless carca.s.s!"

"Look out, Dodge!" cautioned Greg softly. "Don't let any of the yearlings hear you canning a brag like that, or they'll get you if they have to turn out the whole cla.s.s after taps to do the job."

"Let 'em try it!" insisted Dodge. "And you fellows are at liberty to tell anyone that I said it."

With that the speaker turned and strolled out of the tent, looking rather miffed.