Chapter II: Part 2

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 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 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 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!”

“Get up, Rowen!” commanded the senior captain, sternly. “We are not on duty, or I’d put up with this trick just long enough to order you under arrest! I don’t mind telling you frankly that you won’t last long enough in the corps to ever graduate if this story gets out!”

“I don’t care a hang about the corps!” snapped Rowen. “How about Mercer here? Don’t forget that he struck me.”

“I won’t forget him for doing it, instead I will remember him gratefully for doing it. Perhaps it was too bad that we arrived just as we did.”

Rowen looked up at Jordan shamefaced yet still belligerent. “I’ll get even with you boys! Just wait and see. And you can’t prove I harmed your old horse, either, Mercer.” With these remarks, Rowen turned on his heel and strode away, his chin high in the air.

“Gee! How do you like that?” Terry exclaimed. “He sure has some nerve carrying a grudge after what’s happened just now!”

“I thought I had met up with a lot of the mean, tricky people!” exclaimed Jordan. “But that beats me!”

“What about the horse, Jim?” Don asked.

“I’ll have to duck over to the canteen and get out some of the horse medicine and then run him around until he gets over the effects of the green apples,” replied the cavalry captain. “No water for you, Squall old boy, until you have lost the effects of your unexpected meal.”

While Jim was looking after the horse the others walked over to the tents, talking the matter over. All of them were deeply upset by the total unjustness of it all.

“Just because Jim slipped on the springboard and made a dive like Rowen’s!” said Vench. “I can’t understand some fellows.”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” replied Don, slowly. “For a long time Rowen has had a grouch against all of us; for no particular reason at all. He’s the kind of boy who just seems to have trouble wherever he goes.”

It was not until they were preparing for bed that evening that the three boys had an opportunity to further discuss the afternoon’s incident.

“Is your horse OK?” Terry asked, kicking off his shoes.

“Yes,” Jim answered. “As long as he didn’t get a big drink of water he—Oh, golly!”

“What’s the matter?” the other two asked, aroused at the dismay in Jim’s tone.

“I’ve lost my belt,” Jim returned. “I had it on when I went to the corral, and I guess I must have dropped it there. I’ll have to go back and find it.”

“You’ve got to have it for inspection tomorrow,” said Don. “Wait a shake, and I’ll go back with you.”

“No, you won’t,” vetoed Jim. “I can sneak out myself and make the trip in record time. No use in running the risk of having you reported with me. Douglas is patrolling post Number Five and I can slip through him.”

“Yes, but the guard will have been changed by the time you get back,” Terry reminded him. “Then what are you going to do?”

“I’ll just have to take my chances and slip through while he is at the far end of the patrol,” replied Jim, putting his shirt on again. “I should have seen to it that I didn’t drop my belt, that’s all. You fellows go to sleep, and I’ll soon be back.”

“OK,” agreed Don. “Good luck, kid!”

“Thanks,” murmured Jim, looking carefully from the flap of the tent. “See you later.”

With that he was gone, slipping back of the tents and keeping well in the shadows. At the edge of the camp he waited until he saw Douglas standing with his back toward him. Then Jim slipped by him and plunged into the woods.

It didn’t take him long to reach the spot where the horses were corralled and after a little hunting he found his belt. It had dropped close to the foot of a clump of bushes and was out of the direct rays of the moon. Buckling it around his waist Jim began his return journey to the camp.

But now, as he approached the place, he became very cautious. He must trust to luck to slip past the man at the post and it would be no easy task.

He decided that perhaps by flitting along past the animals he could more easily gain the corner of the nearest company street and by lying on his stomach in the shadow of a tent he could escape the eyes of the cadet until it was safe to move on. With this thought in mind Jim moved to the horses and then paused.

There was a tall white shape close to the animals, and they had sensed the presence of the thing. It looked to be a very tall man shrouded in white, and he was at the moment near the foremost horses. Forgetting his unusual position Jim rushed forward to see what was going on.

The shape before him heard his quick step, turned toward him, and then moved with an agility that astonished the cadet captain. Slapping the flanks of the horses right and left the man in white started them moving. Jim jumped forward.

“Hey, you!” he cried. “What are you doing to those horses?”

The figure in white took to the trees swiftly and Jim was unable to stop him. For the horses, frightened by something, perhaps the white shape itself, moved with increasing speed out of the corral. Before Jim could call to them it had developed into a wild stampede, and the horses were headed like a cyclone for the nearest tents.

6
The Trouble Bug Bites Deep

After that, things happened rapidly. Just as the horses began their rapid flight the sentry on the post rushed up to Jim. As luck would have it, it was none other than Rowen.

Before he could say anything the stampeding horses hit the first tents. They had spread out fan-wise on their wild run, and those on the wings were unable to push into the company streets. Blindly they crashed into the tents, taking two of them down in a flash and tipping a third over. The thunder of hoofs, the ripping of tent cords and the shouts of bewildered cadets buried under the entangling canvas turned the peaceful camp into a raging scene of chaos.

Cadets at the further end of the camp ran out, only to meet the galloping horses face to face. They were too bewildered to comprehend at once just what was going on, but they scurried back under cover. There was a vast uproar on all sides. A cloud of dust rose over the camp, partially obscuring the moon. To add to the confusion the sentries on other posts excitedly fired their guns.

Jim stood confused, wiping the dust from his eyes impatiently. Close beside him stood Rowen, coughing violently from the dust that the horses had raised. When he could speak he turned to Jim sternly.

“What are you doing here, Mercer?” he asked.

“I went back to the corral for my belt and then I saw a white shape near the horses,” related Jim. “Just as I challenged him he slapped them on the flank, starting the stampede.”

Rowen looked around the near-by woods. There was nothing to be seen. Deliberately he faced Jim.

“Absurd, Mercer,” he declared, his intention plain.

“Do you mean you think I’m lying?” Jim demanded, his cheeks flushing.

“I don’t have to mean anything. You tell me a story like that but I don’t see the faintest evidence of it. What do you expect of me?”

“Look here, Rowen,” said Jim. “How far away were you when these horses started?”

“A few yards. I was just patrolling this way when I heard them go,” answered the sentry.

“Then you heard me say, ‘What are you doing to those horses?’ didn’t you?”

“No, Mercer, I did not,” returned Rowen, steadily.

“You did so!” retorted Jim, flatly.

“I heard nothing,” repeated Rowen. “When I got here I found the horses in flight and I saw you standing back of them. Under the circumstances I must tell that to the proper officers and the colonel.”

“Certainly you must. But I will also tell them about the white shape.”

“I hope they will be a little more inclined to believe you than I am,” sneered Rowen.

Jim took a step forward. “Rowen, if you intimate that I lie, I’ll surely thrash you worse than I did this afternoon!”

“Mercer, in addition to reporting you for stampeding the horses, I shall also report you for threatening the sentry while he was performing his duty,” followed up the vengeful cadet.

Hot words leaped to Jim’s lips, but he stopped them. More words would lead to trouble, and he was sure that he had enough of that on his hands right now to last him for some time. Beside that, the camp was a bedlam and the horses were scattered all over the meadow below. Outwardly cool he faced the sentry.

“I am going to help round up the horses,” he told Rowen. “I’ll see you later.”

With this Jim turned and ran across the camp, heading down the slope to the field below. The colonel was now on the job, with some realization of what had occurred. A detail of cadets was busy at the fallen tents, lifting the canvas and helping the stunned soldiers out into the open. One boy had had his shoulder sprained but that was all the physical damage there was. Most of the horses had halted on the plain below and were quietly cropping the grass.

All of the cavalrymen turned instinctively toward the horses and were now engaged in the difficult job of trying to secure them. The infantrymen and artillerymen stood around talking things over, understanding that there had been a stampede but not fully realizing why the horses had run away.

“Guess something just scared them and they bolted,” Cadet Douglas said, speaking to a group.

“I’d like to know where Jim is?” murmured Terry.

“Too bad it had to happen while he was out of the camp,” returned Don, in a low voice. “If the colonel ever learns that he was absent at the time he’ll have a job explaining where he was. If he doesn’t turn up and go hunting the horses he’ll have to answer for that.”

Drill Master Rhodes bore down on the assembled cadets. “A few fires to be lighted, please,” he directed briskly. At this word the cadets scattered and fell to work gathering fuel for fires. A short time later a half-dozen fires lighted up the sky and threw the camp into bright relief.

“There’s Jim!” cried Don, pulling at Terry’s sleeve. “He has been right on the job.”

Jim was riding Squall bareback and driving other horses before him. Lieutenant Thompson brought in others, and the main band of the animals had been captured. But there were now at least five horses that had run far off and some of the cadets saddled and went after them.

This time they found real work cut out for them. The horses that had run the farthest away were the unruly ones. They objected strongly to being captured and led the cadets a merry chase. After an hour of hard work all but one horse had been captured.

“Mr. Mercer,” called the colonel. “Take Mr. Thompson and get that one stray horse.”

Jim and Thompson mounted and dashed across the field toward Twinkletoes, the stubborn cavalry horse. The animal, a beautiful chestnut stallion, tossed his head disdainfully and trotted off in a sweeping circle, seeming to enjoy the chase keenly. He was moving away from the camp and Jim saw that unless he could get on the far side of the horse he would lose him. Accordingly, he abandoned the direct chase, heading Squall out across the moonlit field until he had passed the cavorting horse. Then Jim swung sharply in toward the camp, the animal now in front of him. Thompson stopped and allowed Twinkletoes to retreat past him, and then the two cavalry officers began a chase that entertained and delighted the camp.

Twinkletoes tried in vain to dodge out of the circle which the two young soldiers had drawn around him, and it took all of their skill to keep him from attaining his objective. Twinkletoes raced and plunged, first toward one side and then toward the other, making short, mad little dashes, but as fast as he dashed the officers dashed after him. In this fashion, working ever in toward the slope, the two cadets drove the frisky animal in far enough to make escape possible only by dashing up the hill. This Twinkletoes refused to do, and Jim, staking all on a last desperate drive, forced Squall up beside the fugitive horse and secured him. As he led him into camp a cheer went up.

“Very good work, men,” nodded the colonel.

The horses were now all in and the work of securing them firmly went on. No recall was sounded and the cadets wandered aimlessly around the camp. When Jim and the other cavalrymen returned to the central fire they found the colonel standing there, surrounded by the instructors and most of the cadets. Jim was walking toward the colonel to make his report when Rowen stepped from the group, triumph written on his face.

“Mr. Mercer!” he called, loudly. All of the assembled soldiers, including the colonel, turned to look at him.

“What is it, Mr. Rowen?” Jim asked, quietly.

“You will kindly consider yourself under arrest for starting the stampede!” continued Rowen, still in the loud voice.

His words produced a decided sensation. The colonel looked particularly astonished. Terry groaned and nudged Don.

“What do you know about that! Jim started the stampede!”

“Mr. Mercer, did you start the stampede?” the colonel asked.

“No, sir,” replied Jim, promptly.

The colonel turned to Rowen. “What is your exact charge against Captain Mercer, Mr. Rowen?” he asked.

“I charge Captain Mercer with being absent from camp without official leave, of stampeding the horses, and of threatening a sentry in the performance of his duty!” cried Rowen.

“Those are very serious charges, Captain Mercer,” the colonel told Jim. “What have you to say to them?”

“I admit being out of camp without leave, but refuse to acknowledge stampeding the horses or having been in any way responsible for their breaking loose. I did threaten to thrash Mr. Rowen because he insisted that I was deliberately lying when I informed him that a figure clothed entirely in white slapped the horses and started them on their stampede,” reported Jim. There was a stir of eager interest from the cadets.

“A figure in white?” said the colonel, sharply. “What was that, Captain Mercer?”

“I do not know, sir,” replied Jim. “I challenged him sharply and at the sound of my voice he slapped the horses on the flanks, starting them on their break.”

“Captain Mercer says he called out to the figure in white,” said the colonel, turning to Rowen. “Did you hear him call, Mr. Rowen?”

“I did not, sir,” answered the sentry. “Colonel Morrell, Captain Mercer did not call out!”

“Limit your statement to the fact that you did not hear him, Mr. Rowen,” advised the colonel. Rowen flushed and trembled with rage.

“And you really saw a white shape at the horses, Captain Mercer? This talk of ghosts has not influenced you any, has it?”

“Not a bit, sir,” affirmed Jim, gravely. “I distinctly heard the sharp sounds of his slaps and as I started for him he glided into the woods close at hand.”

“Did you see anything, Mr. Rowen?” the colonel asked.

“The only thing I saw was Mr. Mercer standing there, watching the horses tear across the camp, sir,” answered Rowen.

The colonel thought for a moment. “Very well, men,” he returned. “I will consider the case carefully. Captain Mercer, you will consider yourself at least temporarily under arrest, on the two charges preferred by Mr. Rowen, namely, for being absent without official leave and for threatening the sentry, although I realize that you threatened Mr. Rowen not for ordering your arrest, but for doubting your word. All these things don’t go well with an officer’s commission, Captain Mercer, and I shall be compelled to look into the entire affair.”

“Very good, sir,” responded Jim, saluting.

The cadets were sent back to their cots and soon quiet settled over the entire camp. In their tent Jim, Terry and Don discussed the situation.

“Just your luck to run right into Rowen,” commented Terry. “I’d like to bet my last nickel that he heard you call out, too.”

“I think that he did, but we can’t prove it,” sighed Jim. “Well, I’m not going to worry about it.”

“You won’t need to,” reassured Don. “The colonel will see to it that you have the proper justice. Your word is as good as Rowen’s and he will find out the truth some way.”

7
The Old Man of the Ridge

Jim’s punishment did not last long. A circumstance came up that made the colonel suspend judgment for some time.

One morning, soon after the incidents related, a man in a battered old car drove up to the camp. He was a minister who preached in a regular circuit of county churches and he was known to the colonel. The headmaster received him with great pleasure and the two men talked of many things as they sat in the colonel’s tent.

“By the way,” said the Reverend Mr. Powers, after a time. “Did someone go past your camp very hurriedly a few nights ago?”

The colonel showed signs of unusual interest. “Why, yes, a few nights ago a wagon with two men in it tore right through the camp,” he said. “We couldn’t stop it.”

“There was a man and a boy in it,” corrected the pastor. “Well, then you don’t know what sent them flying past you like that?”

“No,” confessed the colonel. “If you had seen the way they flew by, you wouldn’t wonder that I didn’t learn anything about them. But tell me what you know.”

“First, I would like to ask you a question. Have you heard anything about a ghost of the Ridge, since you have been here?”

The colonel snorted. “I haven’t heard much about anything else,” he retorted.

“The ghost scared these two off. The father is a farmer who came down here from Pennsylvania. As it turns out, he is very superstitious, and the very first night on his own farm, while driving into the yard with his only son, he saw the white shape skulking along near his barn. He was just about crazed with fear and fled to the valley, passing your camp as he did.”

“Of course this ghost is simply some would-be humorous person who is having some fun,” was the colonel’s opinion. But Mr. Powers had another opinion.

“I doubt that very much, Morrell. The thing has been going on for years and some very good citizens have given up their homes just on account of it. The joke would have worn out years ago. No, I’m inclined to think that there is something deeper in it than mere fun.”

“Some determined effort should be made to drive the ghost from the Ridge,” grumbled the headmaster.

“Who is to start it?” shrugged the parson. “No one seems to want to and the sheriff of the county simply laughs at the whole business.”

As a result of this talk the colonel called Rowen and Jim into his tent after drill that very afternoon. They faced him expectantly.

“Gentlemen,” said the colonel. Then he paused, and a frown swept over his face. “I call you gentlemen, and will continue to do so until one of you is proved guilty of deliberate lying. Your conflicting stories show that one of your statements, coming from one or the other of you, is a deliberate falsehood. But to get back to the business in hand: I have just heard some more tales concerning this ghost of the Ridge, and in view of it I have decided to drop the suspension against Captain Mercer. The word of one of you is as good to me as the word of the other, and until I prove that one of you is trying to conceal anything I must consider the case dismissed until further notice. Mr. Rowen, you say you did not hear Mr. Mercer call out nor did you see the white shape. But on the other hand, Captain Mercer did tell you immediately that he had seen a white shape, and that the ghost—or whatever it was—had started the stampede. Inasmuch as you did not see Captain Mercer start the stampede, and you doubted his word, I shall be able to hold him only on the count of being absent without official leave. For that Captain Mercer will receive demerits. It that all clear, and satisfactory?”

“Very much so, to me, sir,” approved Jim. Rowen muttered.

“What was that, Mr. Rowen?” the colonel asked, sharply.

Rowen lost his temper in his sudden fright. “I simply said that of course a Mercer would get the breaks, sir!” he sneered. Then, realizing the slip he had made, his face turned white.

“So!” murmured the colonel. His eyes flashed but his voice was calm. “I asked you if my decision was satisfactory, Mr. Rowen.”

“Yes, sir,” murmured the disappointed cadet.

“Very well. You are both dismissed,” nodded the colonel. Left alone, his brain worked busily. He saw a good many things in a clear light now.

“Petty jealousy, and he is trying to revenge himself on Mercer,” thought the little colonel. “I guess I can pretty well tell which one of those young men is lying!”

On the following morning, when the Orders of the Day were read, Jim and his friends were delighted to hear in the crisp voice of the battalion orderly that the charges brought against Captain Mercer by Sentry Rowen were to be temporarily dismissed, with the exception of the charge of leaving camp unofficially, for which Captain Mercer was to receive twenty-five demerits.

A hundred demerits were sufficient to send a man home from the encampment and two hundred at school would dismiss any cadet permanently.

That afternoon there was a partial holiday and the cadets set out to enjoy themselves. It was a mild and warm afternoon, with a fleecy sky overhead, through which the sun peeped at intervals. Don and Jim sat in the tent, trying to decide just what to do.

“What do you say to a hike over the Ridge, a sort of exploring trip?” was Don’s suggestion.

“Sounds good,” approved Jim. “Who can we get to go along with us?”

“We’ll scout around and find out,” announced Don, getting up from his cot.

After looking up their most intimate friends they found that only Terry and Raoul Vench cared to go tramping.

“We’ll be glad to go along,” yawned the redhead. He and Raoul had been idly watching the swimmers when Jim and Don found them. “I’m weary o’ doing nothing!”

“Too lazy to do anything but watch the other fellows swim around and enjoy themselves, is that it?” inquired Jim.

“Yes, but you see, I enjoy it that way,” returned Terry, seriously. “I have a vivid imagination and in time, by concentrating on the swimmers, I too feel the cool of the water and the exhilaration of the exercise. Just requires a little imaginative concentration, Jimmie my friend.”

“You’re a wonderful fellow,” glowed Jim. “Just you imagine me a couple of ice-cream sodas, will you?”

“Pay me first!” grinned Terry. “Money back if I fail to come across.”

The four cadets set out at a brisk pace up the slope of the Ridge. It was heavily wooded and every now and then they came across a clearing in which a farmhouse could be seen. They were not long in reaching the very top of the series of hills called Rustling Ridge and they paused to look down into the opposite valley from the one above which their camp was pitched.

“Nice picture,” observed Terry. “Why do they call this place Rustling Ridge?”

“In the fall, when the wind blows hard, the leaves rustle, and from that fact comes the name,” Don volunteered.

“How’d you learn that?” Vench wanted to know.

“I asked a farm boy who was watching us play baseball the other day,” replied the infantry lieutenant.

“Look at that old house up there,” called out Jim, pointing to a huge square structure that showed a battered roof with leaning chimneys over the tops of the trees. “Looks like a fitting habitation for the ghost of this place.”

“Just about,” agreed Vench. “But that little cabin down below looks better to me, because I bet we can get a good drink at the place. Let’s go down.”

The others agreed and they tramped down the side of the slope toward a plain little cabin, constructed of unpainted boards, with a roofed front porch on it. At some distance below them they could see the largest town in the county.

“What town is that?” asked Jim.

“I think that must be Rideway,” replied Don.

Reaching the cabin they rounded the corner, to halt suddenly as they saw a figure there. It was a little old man in a wheelchair, a man with sparse gray hair, sallow cheeks, and a few good teeth remaining. His eyes were keen and penetrating and he was puffing in evident enjoyment on a huge pipe.

He greeted them readily enough. “Hi, there, boys, step right up,” he shrilled, in a rasping voice. “Soldiers, eh? You look pretty young. Where you stationed?”

“We aren’t soldiers of the United States Army,” Don told him. “We are cadets from Woodcrest Military Institute, and we’re camping over on the other side of the Ridge. We were passing by and thought we’d drop in for a drink of water.”

“Thought you were too young-looking for regular soldiers,” nodded the old man, taking in every detail of their uniforms. “Want a drink of good water, eh?”

“Yes,” Don replied. “But we wouldn’t want to trouble you any.”

“Oh, hush up!” was the good-natured reply. “I know that you’re thinking I’m out of commission and I can’t help you. Just sit down on the porch here and see how old Peter Vancouver does it.”

With that the old man gave the right wheel of his chair a whirl and to the astonishment of the boys shot himself around in a half circle and in through the open door. From there they saw him roll across the room and vanish through the door of another room.

“My gosh!” breathed Terry. “Can’t he work that buggy of his!”

“Probably years of practice has made him proficient,” said Don, softly.

With the same bewildering speed and dexterity the man returned in his chair, holding a pitcher and a tin cup in his hand. Even while in motion he poured the water out.

He seemed to enjoy watching the boys drink deeply, and when they had finished he wheeled back to the kitchen and returned at lightning speed. Noting the interested looks of the boys he chuckled.

“Guess the old man knows how to walk well’s if he had feet, eh?”

“You walk better than a whole lot of people who have feet,” gravely affirmed Vench.

“If you was spending your life in one of these all-fired things you’d know how to ride one, too,” he told them. “Don’t you fellows go. I don’t see a heap of folks and I like to chin once in a while.”

“We’ll be glad to stay and talk with you, Mr. Vancouver,” smiled Jim, leaning back against a post. “We are just out exploring and we’d just as soon sit here and talk as wander around.”

“Glad to hear you say it,” approved the old man. “Let’s hear something about that there camp of yourn.”

The boys told him several things about the camp, all of which seemed to interest him deeply. In the course of the talk the incident of the ghost and the stampede was mentioned. The old man bent eagerly forward.

“Did you get a visit from the ghost?” he cried.

“Yes, he stampeded our horses,” Jim told him. “What do you know about him, Mr. Vancouver?”

The man chuckled. “All a poor old invalid would know about such like he hears,” the man replied. “I ain’t never seen the thing, but I heard plenty. Raises old Ned in the hills here, and has been at it for years.”

“If we get a chance we are going to nail him good,” Don promised.

“Good idea,” Mr. Vancouver approved. “Blasted business has been driving people off the Ridge for years. Wouldn’t be surprised if the fellow drove you cadets home.”

“Drive us out of camp!” ejaculated Vench, stirring.

“He might!” the old man said.

“He’ll have to go some to do that,” snorted Terry. “He’ll be lucky if we don’t steal his best nightgown right off him!”

“Getting late, fellows,” warned Don. “We had better be getting back. Thanks a lot for your good drink of water, Mr. Vancouver, and we’ve enjoyed being with you.”

“Enjoyed being able to talk to you boys,” he returned heartily. “Come up again some time.”

“We’ll be glad to,” promised the boys, as they started off. Mr. Vancouver called a final word after them.

“You had better keep your eyes open for that cussed ghost! No tellin’ when he’ll pop up and scare the life out of you!”

The cadets laughed good-naturedly and walked at a rapid pace up the side of the Ridge. The sun was going down in the west and they would have to keep up a good stride in order to arrive in time for supper.

“Interesting old fellow, that Vancouver,” Jim observed.

“He surely is,” Vench agreed. “We’ll have to chat with him some other time.”

“Too bad he can’t move around—that is, walk around,” Don said. “As a matter of fact, he does move around mighty fast, but I mean it is a shame he can’t go walking around, same as you and me.”

“Like everybody else around here, he believes that dog-goned ghost is the last word in efficiency,” growled Terry. “I guess the real trouble is that nobody dares to put on a real hunt for the ghost. Fellows, we’ll have to make it our business to run down that ghost!”

“If it pops up again soon, we will,” Don promised.

8
Moving Flame

For a week or more there were no unusual events. Camping life went on calmly, the drill and fun occupying the days in regular succession. By this time all of the boys were enjoying themselves to the utmost. Muscles were limber and strong, bodies straight and vigorous, and the appetites outrageous.

“We certainly are keeping the cooks hustling,” Terry chuckled one day in the mess tent. “I’m going for another helping of beans.”

But when the genial redhead went to the kitchen tent he was firmly but politely refused “Nothing doing, Mr. Mackson,” said the mess sergeant, firmly. “You’ve already had three plates full and that is the allotment.”

“No more beans for a starving man?” Terry inquired, in dismay.

“No more for you anyway. I don’t know why you should be starving, I’m sure.”

“All right,” returned the red-headed one, calmly. “My mother will get even with you!”

“What do you mean, your mother will?” cried the cook, staring.

“When my body is shipped home, and she learns that her darling boy starved to death in the camp, she will spend the rest of her life calling down vengeance upon the head of the hard-headed and hard-hearted cook that turned him away with tears in his eyes!” was the answer. The mess tent shook with the laugh that went up. But the cook was prepared to answer him back.

“You’re right about the cook turning him away with tears in his eyes,” the cook said. “It brings tears to my eyes to see the hole in the bean pile when you get eating!”

Terry retired thoughtfully, paying no heed to the mocking gibes which greeted him on all sides. After a moment he looked at Vench, who was eating across the table from him. Vench had just pushed his plate to one side.

“How many plates of beans did you have, Raoul?” Terry whispered.

“Two was enough for me,” returned the little one.

“My son, heaven’s blessings upon you! Just take my plate and hit the trail for the cook!”

Mr. Vench took Terry’s plate and gravely approached the cook. But as soon as that worthy saw the particular dent in the tin plate he shook his head wisely.

“Nothing doing, Mr. Vench,” he said. “That is Mackson’s plate. You don’t work that game here!”

“Thank you, sir!” Vench murmured, while the cadets enjoyed the failure of the move to the utmost. With that Vench turned away. But at that moment the cook was called to the far end of the mess tent. With swiftness that was commendable Vench reached over the stove and heaped the plate. Then he sped back to the delighted Terry.

“Ram that in your musket and keep still!” he said, as he took his place.

Terry needed no second invitation. He dug into the pile of beans with alacrity. And in a moment the sharp voice of the cook reached him.

“Mr. Mackson, where did you get those beans?”

Terry looked blank. “I am not at all sure, sir,” he answered, politely. “I had just turned my back, and when I looked around there they were, right under my nose!”

“Did you come and take them while I was not looking?” cried the cook.

“Haven’t been out of my seat since you broke my heart with your refusal,” was the answer. “And you didn’t give any to Mr. Vench, so it is up to you to figure out how I got the beans!”

“Bring them here, Mr. Mackson!” ordered the mess sergeant.

Terry shoveled the last forkful into his mouth. “Beg pardon?” he asked blandly.

“I’ll put you on report!” growled the sergeant.

“My dear fellow, you can’t,” smiled Terry. “I didn’t take them myself and so you have no charge to prefer. And if you did I’d pound all the beans out of you once I got you away from the mess tent!”

“That amounts to threatening an officer while on duty, Mr. Mackson!” charged the sergeant.

“That’s not a threat, that’s a promise,” grinned the redhead. The sergeant muttered savagely but subsided.

“Much obliged,” Terry whispered to Vench. “Some day I’ll help you out.”

“But not in the matter of beans,” smiled Vench. “They just don’t happen to be my weakness!”

One of the steady visitors to the camp was the little Carson boy. He was the son of the farmer from whom the camp supplies were purchased, and the cadets had taken a great liking to him. He was a friendly, likable boy and obviously deeply interested in the activities of the young soldiers. He watched all of their maneuvers with fascinated interest and the cadets welcomed him in their tents.

“That youngster has the makings of a good cadet in him,” Don said. “Too bad he isn’t one of us. How would you like to be a cadet, Jimmie?”

The boy flushed with pleasure and looked around the tent. “I’d like it more than anything else in the world,” he told them. “I’ll tell you a secret. Want to hear it?”

“Well, if it isn’t too deep for us, we would,” Jim assured him.

“I’m saving my money to go to Woodcrest,” the little fellow confided. “Guess how much I have saved already?”

“I can’t imagine, but I hope it is a lot,” replied Don.

“It is!” was the eager retort. “I have a dollar and fifty-seven cents toward it!”

“That’s great!” said Terry promptly. “You’ll need a little more than that, but it is a good beginning, anyway. Just you keep on going.”

“I’ll surely be glad when I get a uniform like you have,” the boy went on, wistfully. “I think they’re swell.”

There were other boys who drifted to the camp but they did not attract the attention of the cadets as much as the Carson boy did. They came to look around and fool a bit and in time most of them were chased away. But Jimmie Carson was never in the way and so he was allowed to come often to camp.

One afternoon a group of cadets went for another hike over the Ridge and on the way back they passed the Carson farm. Jimmie called to them to come in and they did so. To their delight Mrs. Carson, a plain, kindly woman of middle age, insisted that they try a huge apple pie that she had made.

“Don’t give any to Terry, Mrs. Carson,” begged Jim, as they sat on the back porch. Don, Jim, Terry, Douglas and Vench were there at the time.

“Why is that? Doesn’t he feel well?” the farmer’s wife inquired, anxiously.

“He has had stomach trouble for a long time,” returned Jim, gravely. “The doctor said that of all things in the world, he mustn’t eat apple pie!”

“I’ll tell you what it is, Mrs. Carson,” spoke up the persecuted one, before anything else could be said. “I have a falling stomach and I can’t seem to locate the bottom at any time. But I’m sure that if I can only have a slice of that apple pie I’ll surely plug up the floor of my stomach and have no more trouble!”

“Of all the left-handed compliments in the world!” gasped Douglas. “He must think your pie is some kind of cement with which to secure his stomach. Tell a lady that her pie will plug him up!”

Mrs. Carson laughed heartily. “I guess there is nothing the matter with any of you boys,” she said. “Try my pie and see if it is like cement!”

“I could die of embarrassment!” murmured Terry, as he bit into his piece of pie. “But this pie will surely revive me.”

The farmer himself came up and talked to the boys for a time. The unexpected arrival of the soldiers on the Ridge and the subsequent contract to supply them with fresh food had done wonders for the poor farmer and his family. A good many dollars were coming his way from the camp down the slope.

“Here is the baby of the family,” smiled Mrs. Carson, appearing a little later with a pretty little girl of six. The cadets promptly forgot all else in their efforts to amuse and entertain Dorothy Carson. It was late before they headed back to camp, after thanking the farmer’s wife for the good time they had had.

“I’ve had pie before,” murmured Terry. “But never such pie as that!”

“Is that so?” inquired Jim. “Well, it is a cinch that Don and I can’t believe anything you say hereafter!”

“Why not?”

“Because one time at our house you said the same thing about my mother’s pie,” said Jim.

“But don’t forget, this pie helped his stomach!” said Vench, slyly. “Probably your mother’s pie didn’t plug up the bottom of his stomach!”

“If I ever speak again, it will be to myself, and in a dark room,” sighed Terry.

They had not been back in the tent long before the Officer of the Guard appeared at the tent with a list in his hand. “Lieutenant Mercer, you will report for guard duty at Post Number Three at twelve o’clock,” he informed Don.

“Very good, sir,” Don saluted.

At midnight Lieutenant Don reported to the sentry at the far end of the camp, at a point near the farm belonging to the Hyde family. After an exchange of instructions he took the post, waiting for the call. It came soon after.

“Sentry, Post Two,” someone said near to him. Don faced toward the sentry who was next to him. “Sentry, Post Three,” he called. Number Four passed the report call on until eight sentries had reported. Then they began their pacing up and down on their patrols.

Don’s stretch was a long one, extending from the edge of the camp at the company street to a point back of the horse corral. At no time did he meet the sentry who patrolled Post Four. Just at the time Don reached the place where Post Four joined his post the other sentry was at the far end of his stretch, and when Don had returned to the company street Number Four was at the beginning of his post patrol. In this way there was no likelihood of sentries stopping to chat and no huge gaps left in the line of patrol duty.

The moon was a mere slice but the stars were bright pinheads in the sky. The air was warm and heavy with the smell of the woods. Don enjoyed his patrol thoroughly. At twelve-thirty he looked up the Ridge casually. Toward the top he saw a tiny jet of flame, right above the Hyde place.

“Looks like somebody striking a match,” he reflected, pacing slowly.

Then he stopped quickly. The jet of flame sprang up rapidly. Something was burning, flaring up into a huge ball of roaring fire. And as Don looked, completely at a loss, this mass of flame moved with ever increasing speed down the hill toward the Hyde house!

9
Sharp Work as Fire Fighters

Don stood spellbound while the huge ball of fire rolled down on the Hyde place. There was a crash that he could hear plainly even at his distance and the burning ball hit the barn. In a twinkling of an eye the wooden structure caught fire.

Then Don came to life. Raising his rifle he fired three swift shots, waking the camp instantly.

The Officer of the Guard rushed up to him. “What is the trouble, Lieutenant?” the cadet panted. But a red glow in the sky told him the story at once.

“Report a large fire at that farmhouse,” said Don. The Officer of the Guard dug for the colonel.

By this time the cadet camp was well lighted by the glare from Hyde’s barn. The colonel saw that hard work was needed and he directed the bugler to sound assembly. This was done, and the half-dressed cadets fell in formation.

“Secure all pails and double-quick it to the farmhouse!” was the order. The colonel knew that in this rural area there was no organized fire department and whatever attempts were made to extinguish a fire always came from helpful neighbors. Instantly, the ranks broke and the commissary department was fairly turned upside down as the soldiers rummaged for pails. When these had been secured they raced down the company street and took the road to Hyde’s house.

Fortunately for them—and for the Hydes—the distance was short. When the first cadets arrived in the front yard the barn was a roaring furnace. Hyde and his two sons were running around the yard in an aimless fashion and as Jim and Terry arrived the three of them dashed into the blazing barn. A moment later they came out, each of them hanging onto squealing, thrashing horses.

“The horses!” cried Jim, and at the word the cavalrymen and the artillerymen formed a body around him. In a mass they rushed the door of the barn. Fighting their way inside past the Hydes, who were coming out, the cadets paused to look about the stable, gasping as the heavy smoke crowded down their lungs.

The inside of the barn was curiously lighted. A pall of heavy smoke hung in the structure, and through this curtain the dull red flames shone and licked. Snapping and crackling sounds reached their ears as the wood burned, and a terrible shrieking, from the terrified horses, went right through them. Blind with fear the animals kicked and screamed.

No word was spoken as the cadets made a rush for the nearest horses. Jim had not put on a shirt, but some of the others had and these they now whipped off, throwing them over the heads of the rearing animals. Jim scooped a blanket up from the rack as he passed and made a cast for the head of a big dray horse in a stall.

But now his troubles began. The horse, wild with fright, avoided the blanket. It kicked at Jim and even snapped, tearing frantically on its halter. The heat was cracking Jim’s skin, the smoke choked him, and the crazy horse made his head ache trying to follow his rapid movements. Worse than that, the halter was tied in a ring on the wall, and the cavalryman was unable to pull it loose. As he was ready to sob with anger his fingers closed over the catch and with a jerk that tore his skin he loosed the rearing horse. Like a flash the animal backed from its stall and tried to find the door.

Now Jim succeeded in getting the blanket over his head and he felt his way to the door. The first breath of fresh air that he got went through him like the stab of a sword. Stumbling at every step he led the trembling horse to a tree far away from the barn and tied him securely. The smell of burning hair jabbed his nose and he knew that the animal had been burned in more than one place.

“I’ve got to go back,” he gasped, gulping the air in huge draughts. “But I can’t, I just can’t!”

But he started back, his feet like lead and his head ready to burst. Before he reached the door of the barn, however, a blackened figure with red hair stopped him.

“They’re all out,” Terry shouted. “And I’m all in!”

Together they sank down on the rude back steps of the farmhouse, entirely played out. While they sat there the bucket brigade was in full swing.

Those cadets who had been fortunate enough to secure buckets had jumped into action without wasting a moment’s time. The vanguard found the well and began to pump vigorously. As soon as the first pail was filled it was passed from hand to hand and the last cadet, running as close to the fire as the heat would allow him to, tossed it on the blaze. By the time he had finished a second cadet had run forward with another pail full. A second contingent of cadets, impatient at waiting around the well, found a small creek back of the barn and the buckets were dipped in here. Two steady streams were now being played in splashes on the blaze.

There was no hope of saving the barn but the work went grimly forward. A mountain of sparks was ascending, threatening the house and the smaller structures near by, to say nothing of the fields and woods. It required a special corps to put out scores of small fires that jumped up in the fields and on the other buildings. But in time the splashing buckets of water kept the sparks down and although the barn burned to the ground the house and smaller buildings were saved.

It seemed to the cadets that they had been working for hours on their task. Numerous neighbors had run over from near-by farms, armed with buckets and blankets, and their assistance was a welcome help. A wheezing old hand-pump on a flat truck was finally run into the yard and the water from the creek was thrown in a more or less uncertain stream on the smoldering embers of the ruins, but had the Hydes been compelled to wait for it and for the neighbors they would have been burned out of the house and home. Clouds of hissing steam rose from the blackened wood as the water was pumped and thrown on it.

Jim and Terry had braced up sufficiently to join the bucket brigade and they passed the pails with the others. Some of the cadets had stormed in the back door of Hyde’s house and had located a few pails and pans. As for the father and his two sons they had not been of much use after the horses had been taken. Utterly bewildered by the swift events they had run from place to place, too shaken to do anything practical.

“Were all of the animals taken out?” the colonel asked the farmer. He nodded dully.

“Wasn’t nothing but horses in that barn,” he returned. “The chickens is in the run there.”

The unfortunate chickens were scorched by the heat which had been so near to them but all of them were alive. They had run around the long inclosure squawking and screeching but the damage had not touched them. Some pigs near by were safe enough, and the only thing which had suffered was the barn itself and the horses, most of whom were burned in patches. Jim, who had recovered from his experience, dispatched a man to the camp to bring soothing salve for the animals’ burns. This was done and under Jim and Thompson’s watchful eyes the scorches were tenderly glossed over to heal.

A large group had gathered around the farmer and his sons and the cadets. One of the neighbors asked how the fire had started. Hyde shrugged his shoulders.

“I dunno,” he said. “All of a sudden I waked up to see the fire and we run out in a jiffy. I didn’t see how it got afire.”

The colonel turned to Don, who was close by. “How did you happen to see this fire, Lieutenant Mercer?” he asked.