Part 2

“Don’t be silly!” growled Terry. “I can do that easily. All I have to do is to give that little sneak Jack Olson a good, stiff beating and he’ll tell. Look at how pale he is! Or I can ask Captain Rush about it and we’d have you in a fine mess. But I don’t intend to do anything like that, Rowen, and you know it. I would have been blacklisted by my captain if I had been late for encampment, and you figured on that. Now, look here! Just one more piece of freshness out of you and I’ll give you the peachiest licking you ever saw, right in front of the cadet corps. Don’t forget it, my friend!”

Turning on his heel Terry walked off, his eyes dancing slightly. There was no word spoken by the ones back of him, and perhaps it was just as well. The redhead was dynamite and ready to go.

In that brief period he encountered Don. Jim was far ahead with the supply corps but Don, who was a lieutenant in the infantry, was close at hand. He was delighted to see his pal.

“Where in the world were you at assembly?” Don demanded. “Jim and I nearly turned the building upside down looking for you.”

Terry explained briefly and Don approved of his recent charge to Rowen. “That fellow certainly has a grudge against you,” said Don. “You couldn’t exactly call him a bully, because he isn’t big enough or strong enough, but his surly nature makes him anything but trustworthy. A fine mess you would have had if you had been several days late for encampment. As far as that goes, you might have been a prisoner in that storage room for a long time.”

“That’s right,” agreed Terry. “And to anyone who likes to eat as well as I do that would have meant something!”

After an afternoon of leisurely marching the cadets came to an open meadow where the cavalry and the supply corps had set up tents. Here they spent the night and the next morning they pushed on to Rustling Ridge, arriving there about noontime.

Rustling Ridge was a long slope that rose gradually from a flat meadow. It was in the heart of delightful country, and here and there solitary farmhouses could be seen. Close beside the camp there was a deep swimming hole, which the cadets welcomed with unrestrained delight. The camp itself was pitched in a grove about a quarter way up the slope, the white tents rising in somewhat irregular lines between the trees. The wide glades on either side of the camp permitted the creation of natural centers for the horses and the supply wagons and guns. By midafternoon the camp was in first-class order and the tired cadets enjoyed their first swim in the near-by swimming hole.

After supper large fires were lighted, but the cadets did not linger long around them. Even before taps many of them had sought their cots, falling asleep as soon as they crawled in between their blankets. Sentries were posted and soon the camp was quiet except for the stamping of horses and the tramp of the sentries.

3 At Rustling Ridge

The clear, thrilling strains of the bugle made scores of cadets cordially hate Bugler Howes on the following morning. Many a young soldier considered defying orders and sleeping on in peace and comfort, but wisdom prevailed in the long run. With a snap and many groans the camp came to life.

“Oh, boy!” sighed Terry, casting his blankets to one side. “I never felt less like getting up in all my life!”

“I don’t see why you or Jim should kick,” Don said, as he pulled on his clothes. “You two rode out here but I had to march all the way!”

“I’m tired just the same,” said Terry.

Once awake the cadets came alive to the glories of camp life. A rush was made to the near-by brook where they washed, and then dressing was speedily finished. Before long they had fallen in for inspection, the reading of orders and the march to breakfast.

A long tent had been erected for meals in bad weather, but during the clear and warm weather they were permitted to eat outside around the kitchen tent.

Before long they were all hard at work. On a flat plain at the bottom of the hill they were all required to drill and take routine exercises during the morning. This took up their time until noon. Then, in the afternoon, the units took up the tactics of their own particular division. The infantry was busy that day with setting up range targets for practice in the near future. After that was over they worked steadily fixing the camp. Tents were made more inviting by the addition of wooden floors, pegs were put in with a view toward real strength and service, and trenches were dug to carry off the rain water when it fell from the sloping canvas. A permanent kitchen was constructed and the long tables for the mess tent were built and put in place. Benches then were hammered into place along the tables, the wagons set in proper formation and the camp looked vastly improved.

The cavalry escaped this task but was busy with tactics of its own. Under Jim, who was its chief, it was required to drill and go for a canter across the country. That used up most of the afternoon and the sun was beginning to sink when they returned. At school, during the term, the cavalrymen got quite a bit of practice, but it was the plan of the colonel to teach his boys to ride every day during the encampment, so that they might become used to having horses under them a good many hours at a stretch. Many a young man found himself stiff and sore before the end of the week.

The artillery was busy with what they called “silent drill.” Artillery practice was always pretty expensive and only during the fall and the last few weeks of summer encampment did the colonel allow any firing of the fieldpieces. During the summer the artillerymen were instructed in the art of finding the range, wheeling the guns into position, effectively concealing them from an enemy, especially an enemy in the air, and tearing down and rebuilding the guns.

With all of these activities the first day in camp sped by with astonishing rapidity. This first day was different from the ones that followed, for once the camp was settled the work decreased materially. So busy had the boys been that there was no time for a swim or any fun on that initial day of camp life. A few hardy souls managed to stay awake and talk and sing songs around the campfires, but most of the young men stumbled to bed at the first possible moment.

The three friends had not had much of a chance to see each other that day, and at night they were too tired to do much in the way of talking. In common with many others they sought their beds before taps.

“If I’m going to be as tired as this every night I’ll never enjoy this camping trip,” Jim grumbled as he undressed.

“You won’t be,” Don observed. “This was an unusual day for all of us, but we’ll get used to it. With all our outdoor life, this systematic drill, exercise, and work makes us feel the grind.”

“I don’t see why we have to take regular exercises.” Terry yawned and stretched out on his cot. “Seems to me that we get enough to keep us physically fit as it is.”

“Yes, but the kind of routine exercises that we get help to keep us limbered up,” Don returned. “Otherwise, we’d get a whole lot of one kind of training and not much of another. You and I get plenty of leg and arm exercise but Jim would be riding all day if he stuck to his particular branch of the corps.”

“That’s true,” agreed Terry. “Well, I suppose the colonel and the officers know what we need most of. If anybody asked me right now, though, I’d say it was sleep.”

On the second day things came more easily to the active young soldiers. At first, stiff and sore muscles cried out in protest and glum faces characterized the corps. But as the day went on their hearts cheered and slowly the joy of camping evidenced itself.

That afternoon they finished drill and maneuvers at three o’clock and from then on the time was their own. A dozen games of baseball were quickly organized but most of the boys preferred to make a rush for the big swimming hole. Before many minutes a score of the boys splashed in.

One cadet had dropped in first to test the depth of the stream, and finding that it was up to the average boy’s shoulder at the bank and about ten feet deep in the center, a number of boys had dived joyfully in. Don and Terry were among the first, with Jim following a little later.

“This is a dandy pool,” gasped Jim, shaking the water from his eyes and floating close beside Don. “I like snappy fresh water even better than I do the salt water.”

“I don’t,” returned his brother. “I like the rush and the sting of the green sea water. But this woodland water makes you work to keep afloat.”

There was no springboard and the cadets were diving from the bank. In time this proved disappointing. As they clambered up the sides, the water running in streams from their dripping bathing trunks made the bank muddy and then dangerously slippery. More than one sloppy fall plastered a swimmer with mud and caused gleeful laughter, until a few cadets ran into camp, brought out some long boards and some thick supports, and in a very short time a fairly good diving board had been placed on the bank.

“This is some improvement,” smiled Harry Douglas, as he tried the board out.

The diving then became general and was enjoyed. One of the best divers was Dick Rowen. His summers had been spent largely in summer resorts where swimming was the principal attraction and he had become quite expert at it. Knowing that the eyes of many of his comrades were upon him Rowen performed a good many fancy dives, all of which were very well done. Some of the cadets, with quiet generosity, complimented him upon his prowess.

“Oh, diving comes easily to me,” answered Rowen, poising for another, in answer to a word of praise from a cadet. “This is one of my best.”

He jumped to the springboard, attempted to turn around and over, but his twist did not work and his feet slipped. Truth to tell, the cadets were growing tired of his posing and a delighted shout went up as he slapped the water with a sound that echoed over the camp.

Thoroughly angry, Rowen bobbed up out of the water and scrambled ashore, turning a resentful ear to the good-natured teasing of his mates. Jim was the next one to follow Rowen out on the board, and he prepared for his dive.

“Going to give us an exhibition of your best dive, Jim?” Cadet Vench called out, laughing.

Jim grinned. “Yes, this is my best,” he answered, and sprang away. But his foot slipped and he hit the water in the same way that Rowen had. Instantly a roar of laughter went up and Rowen’s face flushed a dull red.

Jim made his way out of the water. “That wasn’t so good at that,” he remarked, as he gained the bank. Then he came face to face with Rowen.

“Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Mercer?” hissed the cadet.

Jim looked surprised. “Why, no, not especially. Not after that dive, anyway. What do you mean, Dick?”

“Don’t call me Dick!” snapped Rowen. “I’m only Dick to my friends, and that doesn’t include you. I said you think you’re funny because you ridiculed me in that dive!”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” retorted Jim. “I had no intention of imitating you, Rowen. My foot honestly slipped, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe you, Mercer,” said Rowen, at a white heat.

There was a moment’s pause and the gathered cadets looked on with interest. Jim’s jaw had set and he thought a moment before replying.

“Listen, Rowen,” he said, when he had gained sufficient control of himself. “I want you to understand one thing. I only joke with a man who is enough of a man to take a joke. If I were picking out anyone to have some fun with I wouldn’t pick a sorehead like you. As for my not being a friend of yours, Rowen, that is your own fault.”

“Fault!” shrilled Rowen, trembling. “Jeepers! Do you think I care that you aren’t my friend?”

“Whatever you like,” nodded Jim, and turned away. Unheeding the statement that “some fellows made him sick” Jim went back into the water, to enjoy himself and forget Rowen.

That evening the cadets remained up until taps, which came at nine-thirty. A number of fires formed convenient places for them to gather and chat. Just before taps the three friends went to their tents.

“I didn’t notice Rowen around tonight,” remarked Don, as they began to prepare for bed.

“Might have been sulking in his tent,” grinned Terry. “Now, the only thing that remains is for him to pick a fight with you, Don!”

“I don’t know if I could be as patient as you two have been,” mused Don. “I think I should be tempted to punch his nose for him!”

“Don’t worry,” smiled Jim, “we were tempted, all right!”

“Who took my bayonet?” questioned Terry, suddenly.

All of the cadets, including the artillerymen and cavalrymen, were required to have guns and bayonets, and Terry had looked aimlessly at his equipment, to note that the bayonet was gone. In a moment Don reported the loss of his.

“Mine’s gone, too,” announced Jim. “This looks funny to me.”

Terry threw the blankets off his bed. “Not under the covers,” he murmured. “Now, where—hey!”

He dropped to his knees and looked under the cot. Then he reached under and brought out his weapon.

“Look under your cots,” he directed. Don and Jim did so and uttered a sharp cry.

“Sticking upright, so that when we lay down on the bed the point would prod us,” Don growled.

“And that explains where Rowen was this evening,” guessed Terry.

“Say, this is going a little too far!” cried Jim. “That’s a dangerous trick.”

“Well, not especially dangerous,” said Don slowly. “The point wasn’t in such a position that it would have actually run into us. But he figured that we’d come in just at taps and jump into bed, landing on the points with enough force to make us squirm. The worst part of it all is that we can’t prove who did it.”

“From now on,” said Terry, his eyes narrowing, “we have got to keep a wary eye on that guy.”

“Yes,” nodded Don. “I guess he placed all three bayonets so that one of the disliked boys would be sure to get it. It would be funny if it had been me, who so far has done nothing to antagonize him.”

“If I catch him in any funny business I’ll sail right into him,” promised Jim, as they replaced the bayonets in the scabbards.

Taps rang out and the camp quieted down. In a moment the three boys drifted off to sleep.

4 Strange Tales from the Ridge

Three shots sounded from the east side of the camp. Almost on top of them three shots sounded from a point close by.

With the first shots the three friends stirred and woke up, listening while half asleep. But with the second three shots they rose up in their beds, wide awake.

Close at hand the sound of rapidly turning wheels reached their ears, accompanied by the beat of horses’ hoofs. Something metallic bumped and banged. A voice called out: “Corporal of the guard! Post Number Three!”

The boys jumped from their cots with one accord, reaching for their clothes.

“Something wrong with the sentries,” cried Don.

“Who is at Number Three post?” asked Jim.

“Anderson,” answered Terry, fumbling with his shoes.

The camp was in motion. Lights flashed at various points and voices sounded. Past the tent went running feet. But the bugle did not sound, so they knew that it was not a fire or any similar emergency.

“I’m ready. How about you two?” Don called.

“Right with you,” was the response and the three soldiers burst out of the tent.

A central fire was burning and at this point the colonel was standing, half-clad and with mussed-up hair, his eyes heavy with sleep. The other cadets were clustering around him there, and the sentries were straggling in to that center. Just as the three boys reached the spot the sentries from Number Three and Number Four posts came up and saluted.

Number Three post was at a point up the Ridge and Number Four was right at the edge of camp. The shots from Number Four had followed so closely to those from Number Three that they knew the same thing had caused both signals.

“Sentries to report, sir,” announced the corporal of the guard, saluting.

The colonel saluted and faced the sentries. “Make your report, gentlemen,” he ordered.

Anderson, from Number Three post spoke up. “While patrolling my post I heard a wagon coming along that dirt road just above the camp on the Ridge. It appeared to be coming at a great rate of speed and just as it reached a point above my post it left the road and cut right down through the bushes toward me. It had a man and a boy in it and I challenged them, but without slacking speed a single bit the wagon tore right past me toward the camp. I then fired the shots to warn the camp and the next sentry.”

“Very good,” nodded the colonel. “Mr. Simms?”

“I heard the shots, though I had heard the thrashing of the wagon previously,” spoke up the second sentry. “I turned to find the wagon bearing down on me, swinging from side to side, and with a man and boy hanging onto the seat. It cut straight across the lower end of the camp grounds, down the slope and across the drill grounds. I fired to bear out Mr. Anderson.”

“Very good, gentlemen,” said the colonel, with a puzzled frown on his forehead. In the momentary silence that followed they could hear the mysterious wagon bumping and banging across the country, apparently at top speed.

Now that the official reports had been given the talk became general. The incident was extremely puzzling. Both sentries remarked that the man and boy had been huddled together much as though pretty badly frightened, and the sight of the cadets with guns had not seemed to reassure them any. Neither sentry had been able to see what had been in the wagon because it had passed them in too great a hurry, but from the sound they judged the rattling was caused by pots and pans. A single horse had pulled the cart.

“Strangest thing I ever heard of,” murmured the new senior captain, Henry Jordan.

“I can’t figure out why the party in the wagon left the dirt road,” said the colonel to Major Rhodes, the drill instructor. “That road runs parallel with the Ridge and works gradually down to the level of the countryside. For some reason or other that pair in the wagon wanted to get off the Ridge and out on the open meadow.”

“It is possible that they were fleeing from some crime,” suggested Rhodes.

“True enough,” assented the colonel. “And when they saw the cadets the vision didn’t reassure them any. Well, it goes beyond my understanding.” He turned once more to the attentive soldiers. “Corporal of the guard, restation the sentries. Everyone back to his bed.”

The sentries were reposted and the other cadets straggled back to their cots. Once in their tent Jim looked at his watch.

“A quarter past three,” he announced. “Quite an uncanny hour out here in the country. I’ll bet there is something behind that wild wagon flight.”

“Funny they should cut right across the camp,” remarked Don.

“I agree with Rhodes that those fellows were probably fleeing from something like a crime,” advanced Terry.

“That may be the explanation,” agreed Don. “I can’t think of any other reason for such a wild flight. Well, me for some more sleep.”

The rest of that night was quiet and in the morning the cadets discussed the event further. The details of the day then took up all of their attention and the night adventure was pushed from their minds.

Late in the afternoon Don and Terry hastened into the tent to get their baseball gloves. Jim was in the tent at the time.

“Going to play some ball?” Terry hailed.

Jim shook his head. “I’m out of luck today,” he announced. “Six of us have to go to a near-by farmhouse and buy some eggs and butter. The colonel told me to try and strike a bargain with a farmer for eggs, butter, milk and meat.”

“Don’t forget to wait for your change after you pay the farmer!” advised Terry.

“Go chase yourself!” flung back Jim. “I guess I know enough for that.”

While the other two went off to play ball Jim rounded up his five companions and they set off on horseback for the farmhouses that lay scattered over the Ridge. Two of the farms they passed did not look very promising but at last they came to a neat-looking one which had a large sign on the front fence. This sign announced that chickens, eggs and butter were on sale and into this yard the six cavalrymen turned their horses. An uproar of barking dogs announced their presence and a farmer appeared, scanning their uniforms with great interest. To him Jim explained their errand.

The farmer was more than pleased and hastened to bring out several dozen fresh eggs and a dozen pounds of butter. In the meantime some children and two farmhands had gathered about the soldiers, staring at them curiously. When the supplies had been paid for Jim asked the farmer to come to camp and confer with the colonel concerning future food supplies. The farmer was delighted beyond words.

“You bet your boots I’ll come down,” he cried. “Business is mighty poor, and this is a big boost to me. My name’s Carson.”

A little boy named Jimmie was particularly interested in the cadets, and they took an instant liking to him. He was a bright and sturdy little boy, and some of the cadets invited him to visit the camp, an invitation which he willingly accepted.

Just before they rode off the farmer spoke to Jim. “Ain’t see nothing of the ghost, have you?” he asked.

Jim shook his head. “No. Have you one?”

The farmer nodded solemnly. “Haven’t you heard about the ghost of Rustling Ridge?” he asked.

“No, we haven’t,” laughed Lieutenant Thompson.

“There is a sure-enough ghost that prowls this Ridge,” said the farmer, gravely. “Every once in a while it walks and scares people half to death. More than one family’s up and moved away just on account of him.”

“So far we haven’t been lucky enough to see him,” returned Jim, distributing the packages. “If we do, we’ll try and take him apart and look at him.”

The farmer shook his head. “Very bad business, that ghost. Look out he doesn’t turn up in your camp some night.”

With more jests about the ghost the cadets swung out of the yard and headed back toward camp, carrying their packages carefully.

“So there is a ghost on the Ridge, is there?” Thompson said to Jim.

“I’m not greatly surprised,” Jim said. “Most of these country places have room for at least one good ghost. They wouldn’t be quite happy if they didn’t.”

The colonel was pleased at their success and planned to buy more things from the farmer in the future. The provisions, with the exception of the canned goods which they had brought with them from school, had been all used up, for the invigorating outdoor life gave all the cadets ravenous appetites.

The cadets had been asleep perhaps two hours that night when a medley of shots rang out from post Number One, deep in the woods. As on the previous night the three boys hopped out of bed immediately.

“Golly, this is getting to be an epidemic,” snorted Terry.

“But this must be something different,” remarked Don. “I don’t hear any wagon crashing through the bushes.”

“There aren’t any more shots, either,” mentioned Jim.

Once outside the corporal of the guard brought in Douglas from the post. The colonel asked for a report.

“While standing at my post I saw a white shape pass me about ten yards away!” was Harry’s startling statement. “I challenged it, but it just glided on past me. At my shots it flashed into the trees and was gone. I was unable to find any trace of it.”

“A shape, Mr. Douglas?” frowned the colonel. “What sort of a shape?”

“Well, it looked like someone in a sheet,” explained Douglas. “I couldn’t see any head on the object, and it seemed to glide along the ground!”

“Hmm, our ghost of the Ridge!” said Jim to Thompson.

“What was that, Mr. Mercer?” the colonel cried, alertly.

Jim explained the story which the farmer had told to them that afternoon. “We didn’t say anything about it, because we put it down for a lot of nonsense,” he wound up.