Suddenly Dick halted, an amused look creeping into his face.

“Now, who’d suspect good old Greg of getting into sheer mischief, all by himself?” the class president asked himself.

For Holmes was bending a bit low, a hundred yards or so away, and stealing toward the fieldpiece that does duty as reveille gun.

“It would be a shame to bet on what Greg’s up to—–­it would be too easy!” muttered Prescott, standing behind a flowering bush at the road’s edge.  “Greg is going to load the reveille gun, attach a long line to the firing cord, and rig it across the path here, so that some ‘dragger,’ coming back from seeing his ‘femme’ home, will trip over the cord and fire the gun.  The dragger can’t be blamed for what he didn’t do on purpose, and cute little Greg will be safe in his tent.  But if Greg should happen to be caught it might mean the bounce from the Academy!  And, oh, wow!”

Cadet Prescott’s heart seemed to stop beating.  Glancing down the road he saw a man standing, there, in the olive drab uniform of the Army officer.  Captain Bates, of the tactical department, was quietly watching unsuspecting Cadet Holmes.

CHAPTER IV

THE O.C.  WANTS TO KNOW

As has been said, Cadet Prescott felt as though his heart had stopped beating.

In another instant mischievous Cadet Holmes would actually be slipping a shell into the reveille gun, if it were not already loaded, and then attaching a cord, to lay a trap for some other unsuspicious cadet.

Captain Bates, who was quietly looking on, would have Mr. Holmes red handed.

Charges would be preferred.  Undoubtedly Greg would soon be journeying homeward, his dream of the Army over.

Dick could not call out and warn Greg.

That would be a breach of discipline that would recoil surely upon Mr. Prescott’s head, making him equally guilty with his chum.

Yet, to see Greg walk unsuspectingly into the “tac.’s” hands in this fashion!  It was not to be thought of.

For two or three seconds all manner thoughts played through Dick’s mind.

But, no matter what happened to him, loyalty would not allow him to stand by a mere mute spectator of Greg’s downfall.

Prescott felt sure that he himself had not yet been seen by the Army officer.

Slipping out from behind the bush, Cadet Prescott stepped briskly along the path, bringing one hand sharply to his cap in salute.

“Captain Bates, have I your permission to speak, sir?”

Dick Prescott’s voice, though not unduly loud, carried like a pistol shot to Greg’s alert ears.

Young Mr. Holmes did not immediately change his course, start or do anything else that would betray alarm.  Yet, ere Captain Bates’s voice could be heard in reply, Greg had swung slowly around, and he came toward the path.

“Permission is granted, Mr. Prescott,” replied Captain Bates—–­but, oh, how coldly he spoke.