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 w