ng until he found himself once more in range
of the tactical officer's vision, raised his hand to his cap in
very correct salute. This salute, also, Captain Bates returned,
and then strode on toward camp.

"You came near missing me, Holmesy," Dick remarked carelessly
and in a low voice, though he felt very certain that his tone
overtook the departing tac.

In silence, at first, Greg and Dick turned and walked in the opposite
direction together.

"Going to load the signal gun, eh, Greg!" chaffed Prescott.

"Yes," confessed white-faced Holmes, a quiver in his voice.

"It's a childish sport, and a dangerous one. Better leave it
to the fellows who are tired of being at West Point," advised
Dick quietly.

"Oh, what a debt I owe you, old ramrod!" cried Greg fervently.

"Not a shadow of a debt, Greg. You'd have done just the same
thing for me."

"Yes, if I could have been quick enough to think of it. But I
probably wouldn't have figured it out as swiftly as you did."

"Yes, you would," Dick retorted grimly, "for it was the only way.
What's that bulging out the front of your coat, Greg?"

"The cord," Greg confessed, with a sheepish grin.

"Better get rid of it right where you are. Even a fishline is
rope enough to hang a cadet when he gets into trouble too close
to the reveille gun."

Greg had barely tossed away the coil of cord when-----

Bang! bang! bang!

Bang! bang! BANG!

The fusillade ripped out within a hundred yards of where they
now stood.

Dick and Greg halted in amazement. They did not start, or jump,
for the soldier habit was too firmly fixed with them. But they
were astounded.

As they stood there, staring, more explosions ripped out on the
night air, over by Battle Monument.

Cadets Prescott and Holmes could see the flashes, also, close
down near the ground, as though an infantry firing squad were
lying prostrate and firing at will.

Bang! bang! bang! The fusillade continued.

Behind the two cadets sounded running footsteps.

"Hadn't we better duck?" demanded Greg.

"No; it would look bad. We had no hand in this, and we can stick
to our word."

Over at camp, orders were ringing out. Though the two cadets
near Battle Monument heard indistinctly, they knew it was the
call for the cadet guard.

Now the nearest runner passed them. It was Captain Bates, on
a dead run, and, as Bates was not much past thirty, and an athlete,
he was getting over the ground fast.

As he