Don Gordon's Shooting-Box

“I never thought of that,” soliloquized the latter, his ears telling him the while that Bert was tossing restlessly about on his bed. “It would be simply impossible for me to get up and dress and slip out of the room without his knowledge. Of course I might go out openly and above board, for I know that he would never blow on me; but if I do that, he will improve every opportunity to lecture me, and I would rather spend every Saturday afternoon in walking extras than listen to him. I ought to have told the fellows to allow me at least an hour.”

While Don was busy with such reflections as these, and trying in vain to conjure up some plan for leaving the room without attracting his brother’s attention, he was electrified by a gentle snore which came from the direction of Bert’s bed. Don thought it was a pleasant sound to hear just then, for it told him that the way was clear. In an instant he was out on the floor, and in five minutes more he was dressed. After wrapping one of his pillows up in the quilts and arranging them as well as he could in the dark, so that they would bear some resemblance to a human figure, he walked across the room with noiseless steps and cautiously opened the door. The hall was lighted up by a single gas-burner, under which the sentry, Charley Porter, sat reading a book. He looked up when he heard Don’s door grating on its hinges; but he did not look Don’s way. He turned his eyes in the other direction. Then he laid down his book, got upon his feet, and walking leisurely along the hall with his hands behind his back, took his stand in front of a window, and looked out into the darkness. His back was turned toward Don, who closed the door of his room behind him, moved along the hall on tip-toe, and dodging around an angle in the wall, was quickly out of sight. A few hurried steps brought him to another door, which yielded to his touch, and then Don found himself in utter darkness.

This door gave access to the back stairs, which ran from the ground floor to the upper story of the building, and were intended to be used only as a fire-escape. The doors that opened into it – there was one on each floor – were kept locked, and all the keys that rightfully belonged to them were hung up on a nail in the superintendent’s room, where they could be readily found by the teachers in case circumstances required that they should be brought into use. The superintendent was happy in the belief that by placing a sentry in charge of the dormitories on each floor, and keeping the keys of these doors under his eye all the time, he had put it out of the power of any student to leave the building during the night; but he had not taken into consideration the fact that sentries may sometimes prove false to their duty, and that an old rusty key, picked up in the yard, can, by the aid of a file and a little ingenuity, be made to fit almost any lock. Tom Fisher and his friends all had keys that would open these doors, and Don had resolved that he would have one too.

“B-l-e-r-s,” whispered Don, as he stepped out into the fire-escape.

“R-a-m,” came the response, in the same low whisper.

The pass-word of the band of worthies to which Don now belonged was “Ramblers.” Of course it was used only in the dark, or when the members could not see each other. If a boy desired to know whether or not a student whom he suddenly encountered in some out-of-the-way place was a friend, all he had to do was to spell the last syllable of the pass-word, as Don had done; and if he received the same answer that Don did, he knew at once that he had found some one who could be depended on. At least that was what Fisher and Duncan told Don; but the reader already knows that they did not tell him the truth.

“Who is it?” whispered Don.

“Fisher,” replied the owner of that name; and as he spoke he stepped forward to lock the door.

“Hadn’t you better leave it unfastened?” asked Don.

“Not by a great sight,” answered Fisher, quickly. “The officer of the day and the corporal on duty try all these doors every time they make their rounds, and if they should happen to find one of them unlocked, good-by to all our hopes of eating pies and pancakes at Cony Ryan’s again this winter.”

“Then how can I get back to my room?”

“Why, I shall be here to open the door for you.”

“But we might get separated, you know.”

“Oh, no we won’t,” answered Tom, confidently. “Don’t you be at all uneasy on that score. Duncan and I will stand by you. Come on, now; the boys are all ready and waiting.”

“How fearful dark it is,” said Don. “I can’t see my hand before me.”

“Neither can I; but I have been through here so often that I know every step of the way. Give me your hand.”

Fisher took Don in tow and succeeded in conducting him safely down two flights of stairs – it afterward proved to be a fortunate thing for Don that he remembered that – and out into the yard where Duncan and the rest were waiting for them. After greeting Don in the most cordial manner they moved off in a body toward the north corner of the grounds – all except Tom Fisher, who went on ahead to notify the sentry of their approach. This he did in some mysterious way, and without alarming any of the guards on the neighboring posts; and the boy, who ought to have called the corporal of the guard at once, went into his box and stayed there until Tom and his companions had crossed his beat and were out of sight. They easily found the place where two of the tall fence pickets had been loosened at the bottom, and pushing these aside they crept through the opening into the road.

“Well, Gordon, that wasn’t such a very hard thing to do, was it?” said Duncan, as he took off his overcoat and shook the snow out of it.

“No,” answered Don, “and I don’t see much fun in it, either. It is not a very smart thing to crawl by a sentry who is accommodating enough to keep out of sight until you have had time to get out of harm’s way. There’s no excitement in it – anybody could do it. If that guard had been faithful to his trust, I should think we had done something worth bragging about.”

“O, you want excitement, do you?” exclaimed Duncan. “You want a chance to run by some spooney who would be only too glad to report you and get you into a row, don’t you? All right. We’ll see that you get the chance, and very shortly, too; won’t we, boys?”

“Yes,” replied all the boys, in concert.

“And, unless I am very badly mistaken, you will see quite as much excitement as you want to-night,” added Duncan, to himself. “If Dick Henderson does his duty, you will be under arrest and a candidate for a court-martial before you see the inside of your dormitory again.”

During the walk to the big pond, near which Cony Ryan’s house stood, Don’s new friends entertained him with many thrilling stories of the deeds of daring that had been performed by themselves and former students, such as running the guard when all the posts were occupied by those who were not friendly to them; stealing the bell-rope when the cupola was guarded by some of the best soldiers in the academy; turning the bell upside down on a cold night, filling it with water and allowing it to freeze solid; and spiking the gun whose unwelcome booming aroused them at so early an hour every morning. As Don listened he began to grow excited; and when there was a little lull in the conversation, he proposed one or two daring schemes of his own that had suddenly occurred to him, and which were so far ahead of any his auditors had ever engaged in, that they could hardly believe he was in earnest.

“Gordon, you see around you a lot of fellows who never have and never will back down from any reasonable undertaking,” said Tom Fisher. “But the idea of stealing a cow, taking her into the grounds and hoisting her up to the top of the belfry, overpowering and binding every sentry who stands in our way – Great Cæsar’s ghost! Gordon, you must be taking leave of your senses.”

“And as for taking the butcher’s big bull-dog up to the top story of the building, tying a tin can to his tail, and starting him on a run down four pairs of stairs and through the halls – that’s another thing I don’t approve of,” said Duncan.

“I guess not,” said another of the fellows. “I wouldn’t touch that dog for a million dollars. We are in for anything new that promises to be either interesting or exciting, but, as Tom says, it must be something reasonable. Think up some other plans.”

The boys had by this time reached Cony Ryan’s house. Led by Tom Fisher they mounted the steps, and passing through a narrow hall entered a neatly furnished little parlor whose walls, could they have found tongues, would have told some strange and amusing stories of the scenes that had been enacted there. It was brilliantly lighted, and a cheerful fire burned in the grate.

“This looks as though Cony was expecting us, doesn’t it?” said Tom, gazing about the room with a smile of satisfaction. “Take off your overcoat, Gordon, and sit down. Make yourself at home.”

“Do you know,” added Duncan, “that this house was built and furnished with the money that the academy boys have put into Cony’s pocket? Years ago, when he was nothing but a poor fisherman and lived down there on the bank of the river in a little shanty about half the size of this room, it occurred to him that he might turn an honest penny by supplying the students with milk and pies. He drove a thriving trade until some of the teachers began to suspect that he was putting something stronger than water in his milk, and then they shut down on him and he was forbidden to enter the grounds. But that didn’t trouble him any. The boys had got in the habit of spending their extra dimes with him, and since he couldn’t come to them any more, they fell into the way of going to him. Why, Gordon, if you could look over some of his old registers, you would find in them the names of men who are known all over the land.”

Just then a side door opened, admitting a portly, white-bearded old fellow, dressed in a modest suit of black, who was greeted by the students in the most uproarious manner. They crowded around him, all trying to shake his hands at the same time, while Cony, for it was he, beamed benevolently upon them over his spectacles. This was the first time he had seen any of them since the close of the last school term.

“You see we are all on hand again, Cony,” said Duncan, when the greetings were over. “And if you will trot out a few plates of your pancakes, you will find that we are as hungry as ever. By the way, did you know a boy of the name of Gordon who used to attend this academy?”

“Gordon of Mississippi?” exclaimed Cony, who, having a retentive memory, never forgot the names of any of his patrons. “I should say so. He has spent many a pleasant evening in this room.”

“Well, here is one of his boys,” continued Duncan. “Mr. Ryan, Mr. Donald Gordon.”

The old fellow was very much surprised.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” said he, as he shook Don’s hand and gave him a good looking over. “He is the very image of his father, who was one of the finest-looking young soldiers I ever put my eyes on. Mercy on us, how time does fly!”

“Say, Cony,” said Tom Fisher, coaxingly, “can’t we have just one game of ‘sell out,’ to-night?”

“No, sir,” was the emphatic reply. “You can have all the pancakes you want, and as much sweet milk or buttermilk as you can hold, but you don’t turn a card in this house. It is bad enough for you to run the guard, and if I did my duty, I should report the last one of you in the morning.”

“Suppose you trot out the pancakes and milk, and let somebody else report us,” suggested Don.

“Yes; that’s the idea,” cried the others, with one voice.

Don thought he enjoyed himself that night, and his companions thought so, too, for he sang as many songs, told as many stories, and laughed as heartily as any of them. He listened with much interest while Cony told of the exploits of the students he had known in the years gone by, and who had since made themselves famous as lawyers, legislators and soldiers, and was greatly astonished when Tom Fisher jumped to his feet with his watch in his hand and a look of alarm on his face.

“Fellows,” said he, “where has the night gone? It is half-past three, and we have just half an hour in which to crawl by Dick Henderson’s post and get into bed. If we are two minutes behind time we are a gone community.”

This startling announcement broke up the party at once. The boys made a simultaneous rush for their overcoats and caps, and after Don had settled their bill – a proceeding on his part that raised him to a high place in the estimation of some of the students whose parents did not think it best to give them a very liberal allowance of spending money – they dashed out of the house and started for the academy on a dead run, Duncan and Don Gordon bringing up the rear. If the latter had known what the boy who kept so close to his elbow was thinking about, he would have thrown him headlong into the nearest snow-drift.

CHAPTER VII

RUNNING THE GUARD

“Now, boys,” said Tom Fisher, “one at a time, but remember lively is the word. Gordon, you had better stay back and watch the rest of us, and then you will know how to proceed when your turn comes. We are not afraid of Henderson, but still we don’t want to show ourselves to him too plainly, for fear that the corporal of the guard or the officer of the day may be loafing around somewhere within sight of his post.”

They had now reached the academy grounds, and half the time at their disposal had already been consumed. They had barely fifteen minutes left, and haste was necessary. As matters stood, all the floors and one of the outside beats were in charge of boys who had been duly posted, and would permit them to pass unchallenged; but these accommodating guards would very soon be relieved, and their places taken by those who would report them the first thing in the morning.

As Fisher spoke he pushed aside the loosened fence-pickets, squeezed himself through the opening, and, with his body half bent, made his way toward Dick Henderson’s post. Presently he threw himself upon his hands and knees, and in a few seconds more was out of sight. Another and another followed him, and finally Duncan took his turn, and Don was left alone.

“Don’t be in too great a hurry,” were the latter’s parting words. “Let me get out of your sight before you start.”

During the last hour and a half Dick Henderson had been walking his beat in no very pleasant frame of mind. Tom had told him that he and his friends would return some time between the hours of two and four; but at three o’clock Dick had seen no signs of them.

“I wonder if they went in at some other part of the grounds,” Dick often said to himself. “I can’t believe they did, for I think I am the only fellow in our crowd who holds an outside post to-night. Besides, Duncan said they would come in here, so that I could halt Don Gordon. They’ll have to hurry up if they want me to do anything for them.”

As the minutes wore away Dick’s anxiety increased, and finally he became really alarmed. The bell had struck three long ago, and Dick was beginning to look for his relief, when, to his great joy, he saw somebody creeping toward him through the deep snow. As soon as he caught sight of him he moved back to his box and stood behind it, leaning on his musket. The boy, Tom Fisher, crossed Dick’s beat in plain view of him, uttering a peculiar cough as he passed, and disappeared behind the high piles of snow that had been thrown out of the path leading to the academy.

“That’s one,” thought Dick, “and Duncan said there were to be nine in the party. I am to allow eight of them to go in peace, and the ninth man, who will be Don Gordon, is to be halted and turned over to the tender mercies of the officer of the day. That is two,” he added, as another boy crept by, giving the “signal” as he went.

When the eighth man was safely out of sight Dick shouldered his musket and stepping out from behind his box, prepared for action. As he came into view, a boy who was moving rapidly toward him, in a crouching attitude, suddenly stopped, and then as suddenly plunged into the nearest snowdrift, burying himself in it head and ears.

“That fellow is like an ostrich,” soliloquized Dick, as he walked quickly along his beat. “He thinks that because his head is out of sight, his whole body is concealed.”

Having taken up a position between the recumbent figure and the path that led from his beat to the academy, Dick brought his musket to “arms port” and sung out, in his loudest tones: “Who comes there?” immediately following up his challenge with lusty calls for the corporal of the guard No. 5. The last words had hardly left his lips when the prostrate boy sprang to his feet, and coughing up the snow which had filled his mouth and got into his throat when he made his sudden plunge into the drift, ran toward the academy with surprising swiftness. Dick heard that cough, and it affected him very strangely. He stood with open mouth and eyes, gazing in the direction in which the boy had disappeared, while his musket trembled in his grasp, and his face grew almost as white as the snow around him.

“Now I’ve done it,” he said to himself, with no little alarm. “I’ve gone and called the corporal for one of our own boys. What in the world shall I do? Tom and Clarence will read me out of their good books, and I shall have no one to be friends with, for those high-toned lads in the upper classes won’t look at me. Well, if trouble comes of it, they can just blame Duncan. He told me to stop the ninth boy, and I know I didn’t make any mistake in counting them. But what shall I say to the corporal? That’s what bothers me.”

Dick was obliged to come to a decision on this point very speedily, for just then the door of the guard-room was thrown open, and the corporal came out and hurried toward him.

“What’s the matter, sentry?” he asked, as soon as he had approached within speaking distance.

“Some fellow has just run by me,” was Dick’s reply.

“Whew!” whistled the corporal. “Running the guard has begun rather early in the term, hasn’t it? Who was he?”

“I don’t know,” answered Dick, and he told the truth.

“Whom did he look like?”

“I don’t know that, either. You can’t tell one student from another in the dark, when they are all dressed alike.”

“Then why didn’t you catch him and find out who he was?”

“Catch him!” repeated Dick. “Cony Ryan’s grayhound couldn’t have caught him. He ran like a deer.”

“Well, he’ll be stopped when he tries to get into his dormitory,” said the corporal, indifferently. “I’ll go and see what the officer of the day thinks about it. You’re sure this fellow, whoever he was, didn’t go out since you have been on post?”

“Of course he didn’t,” said Dick, indignantly.

“Then Patchen” (that was the name of the sentry who held post No. 5 when Fisher and his companions left the grounds), “will have to answer to the superintendent for neglect of duty,” said the corporal, as he turned on his heel and walked back toward the guard-room.

“And just as likely as not he will punch my head for getting him into trouble,” thought Dick, trembling again. “But I didn’t mean to do it. It’s all that Clarence Duncan’s fault, for he ought to have told me that he was going to add more boys to his party. Don Gordon must be outside the grounds yet, and perhaps some of our boys are with him.”

Meanwhile Tom Fisher, having gained the academy building in safety, opened the back door, climbed two pairs of stairs, and felt his way along the hall to the door that gave entrance to the floor on which Don Gordon’s dormitory was situated. This door he unlocked and opened, and stepping into the next hall saw the sentry who had relieved Charley Porter at midnight sitting under the light reading a book.

“Ahem!” said Tom; whereupon the sentry laid down his book and walked toward him.

“Well, you fellows have made a night of it, haven’t you?” said he, in a cautious whisper.

“I should think so,” answered Tom. “Had a splendid time, too. The pancakes were just as good as they used to be, and Gordon settled the bill like a prince.”

“You had better go to bed, and be in a hurry about it, too,” said the sentry. “It is almost time for me to be relieved.”

“I know it; but I promised to wait at this door and let Gordon in. He has no key of his own.”

“If he doesn’t come along pretty soon he’ll not get in this morning without being reported, for Gulick comes after me.”

“Is that so? Then he’d better hurry, that’s a fact. I can’t wait much longer for him without bringing myself into trouble.”

The sentry, who did not dare remain longer in conversation with Tom for fear that the officer of the day or the corporal of the guard might come quietly up the stairs and catch him at it, walked away toward the other end of the hall, while Tom closed the door and stood there in the dark, impatiently awaiting the arrival of Don Gordon. He heard his friends as they crossed the landing one after another, and went on up to their dormitories, but the boy he wanted to see did not make his appearance. Presently some one jerked open the back door, slammed it behind him, and came up the stairs in great haste.

“Who is that idiot, I wonder? He makes noise enough to arouse the whole school. B-l-e-r-s,” whispered Tom, as the boy sprang upon the landing.

“R-a-m,” came the prompt response.

“Who is it?” continued Tom.

“Brown.”

“Well you are making a fearful racket, the first thing you know,” said Tom, angrily.

“I am in a hurry,” panted the boy. “Here’s the very mischief to pay. That fool Henderson has gone and challenged one of our fellows.”

“No,” gasped Tom, who was greatly alarmed.

“But I say he has, for I heard him. Come on. We musn’t stay here another moment.”

“But I promised to let Gordon in,” said Tom.

“What do you care for Gordon? Let him go and take care of yourself. That’s what I am going to do.”

So saying the boy went on up the stairs, leaving Tom to himself. The latter could not make up his mind what to do. He knew that he was in danger, but still he did not like to desert Don in his extremity. Don, speaking in school-boy parlance, had shown himself to be a thoroughbred. He could sing a good song, tell an interesting story, and, better than all, he was provided with a liberal supply of pocket-money, which he spent with a lavish hand. This was enough to raise him to a high place in the estimation of Tom Fisher, whose own supply of dimes was limited.

“I have it?” soliloquized Tom, at length, “I’ll leave the key in the lock, and if he succeeds in getting by the guard he can let himself in. Of course he will have sense enough to fasten the door after him, and put the key in his pocket. Henderson will have to explain his conduct in the morning. He had no business to halt any of our fellows unless he did it to protect himself.”

Tom hurriedly ascended the next flight of stairs, but scarcely had he reached the top when the back door was thrown open again and another boy came bounding up the steps. It was Clarence Duncan, who was congratulating himself on the complete success of his plans. He lingered a moment or two in the hall where Fisher had stood waiting for Don Gordon, and then went on to his own dormitory. The floor-guard was so very deeply interested in a dime novel that he did not appear to see or hear him as he passed, and in a few seconds more Clarence was safe in bed. He was just in time. He had not been between the sheets two minutes before he heard the gruff tones of the officer of the day, who was questioning the floor-guard. Clarence could not hear what they said, but he knew what they were talking about. Presently he heard doors softly opened and closed. The sounds came nearer, and at last the door of his own room was opened, and the officer of the day, attended by the corporal of the guard, who carried a lantern in his hand, stepped across the threshold. The officer saw Duncan and Fisher lying with their faces to the wall, apparently fast asleep, took note of the fact that their clothes were deposited in orderly array upon the chairs at the side of their beds, and departed satisfied with his investigations. In a few minutes the relief came up, and Clarence began to breathe easier.

“Say, Fisher,” he whispered, “are you asleep?”

“No,” was the reply. “And what’s more, I don’t want to go to sleep. If I do, I am afraid I shall miss roll-call, and then the superintendent would know where to look to find at least one fellow who ran the guards.”