“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 passed, Bates, without slackening speed, took Dick and Greg in with one swift glance.

Back in Gridley Dick and Greg certainly would have dashed onward to the scene of the excitement.  As young soldiers, they knew better.  Their presence over by Battle Monument had not been officially requested.  Yet, as it was not time for taps, the cadets could and did stand where they were.

Two different armed forces were now moving swiftly forward to reinforce the O.C., as the officer in charge is termed.

Two policemen of the quartermaster’s department—–­enlisted men of the Army, armed on with revolvers in holsters—–­ran over from the neighborhood of the nearest officers’ quarters.

Cadet Corporal Haynes and the relief of the guard, moving at double quick, passed Dick and Greg on the path.

“Some fellows touched off firecrackers,” whispered Greg to his chum.

“Number one cannon crackers,” guessed Prescott.

They could see Captain Bates take a dark lantern from one of the quartermaster’s police detail, and scan the ground closely all around where the cannon crackers had been discharged.

“Nothing more doing,” muttered yearling Prescott.  “We may as well be going back to camp, Greg.  But we’ll lose a heap of that six hours and a half of sleep tonight.”

“Think so?” demanded Holmes moodily.

“Know it.  The tac. saw us twice on this path, and he has us marked.  The O.C. and the K.C. (commandant of cadets) will hold their own kind of court of inquiry tonight, and you and I are going to be grilled brown.”