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“If Crabtree is coming I think I’ll dust out!” murmured Pepper, and lost no time in disappearing.
Josiah Crabtree was the first assistant teacher, and he was as cordially hated by the majority of the cadets as George Strong, the second assistant, was beloved. Crabtree was a fine scholar, but he was headstrong and sarcastic, and continually “picking” at those under him, no matter how hard they studied or how well they behaved.
“What is this I hear about dynamite?” he demanded, as he strode up and glared at the assembled boys.
“Dynamite?” asked Andy innocently. “Did you say dynamite, Mr. Crabtree?”
“I did. There was an explosion out here. These boys’ guns – ”
“Why, these guns are all right,” said Dale Blackmore, picking them up. “I guess Fenwick and Sabine got scared at nothing.”
“They certainly did,” added Andy, and then, getting behind the teacher, he doubled up his fist and shook it threateningly at Mumps and Billy.
Now, if there was one thing both the younger cadets feared it was a whipping, and this suggestive attitude of Andy made each of them quail. They both realized that if they told on Pepper they would be punished for it. Each took his gun rather sheepishly.
“Fenwick, what have you to say?” began Josiah Crabtree. Just then the welcome rattle of the drum was heard, calling the battalion to get ready for the march.
“I – I guess it was a – a mistake,” faltered the sneak. “Can I go and get in line, please sir?” he added.
“I – er – I suppose so – since this is no time to investigate,” answered Josiah Crabtree; and off ran Mumps and Sabine, and the others also departed.
“Well, what did Crabtree say?” asked Pepper of Andy, when he got the chance.
“Didn’t have time to say much – the drum call broke in on his investigation. I hope, for your sake, Pep, he doesn’t take it up when we get back,” added the acrobatic youth.
It was a beautiful day for the outing, and the cadets certainly presented an inspiring sight as they marched from the campus and turned into the country road leading to the pasture where the rifle practice was to be held. Captain Putnam was on horseback, along with George Strong and an old army officer named Pallott, who was to assist in showing the boys how to hold their rifles while shooting and how best to take aim. Behind this little cavalcade came Major Jack with his sword flashing brightly, and followed by Company A and Company B. To the front were the two drummers and two fifers, making the welkin ring with their martial music.
“Hi, you look fine, so you do!” sang out an old farmer, as he drew up by the roadside with his wagon to let them pass. “You’re a credit to this section. If I had the money I’d send my son Jock to train with you, yes, I would!” And he waved a grimy hand after them.
A little later the cadets heard the honk honk of an automobile horn and soon a big touring car came into sight. It contained Roy Bock, Bat Sedley and several other students from Pornell Academy. As soon as Bock saw the young soldiers he stopped his machine.
“Hello, look at the tin soldiers!” he sang out. “Going to hunt mosquitoes?”
“No, we are going to hunt somebody who knows how to bowl,” retorted Pepper, who was near.
“Huh! We can bowl right enough and don’t you forget it,” growled Bock.
“Yes, but you can’t beat Putnam Hall,” retorted Dale; and then the cadets passed on, leaving the bully of the rival school in anything but a happy frame of mind.
“Those tin soldiers make me sick,” said one of the students in the touring car.
“We ought to get square with them for taking our trophies away,” said another.
“They did that because we stole their cannon and flagstaff,” added another.
“I don’t see how Fred Century can train with them,” added a youth named Carey.
“We’ll square it up with them some day,” came from Roy Bock. “Just wait till I think of something good. I’ve got it in for Jack Ruddy, Pepper Ditmore and that crowd, and don’t you forget it!”
“I’ve got it!” cried another boy. “The whole crowd is away from the school to-day. Why can’t we visit the place on the sly and turn things topsy-turvy?”
“Somebody must be left behind,” answered Will Carey, who was far from brave, as my old readers know.
“That doesn’t matter – we can keep out of the servants’ way – or get them out of ours,” answered Roy Bock. His crafty face became fixed for a moment. “That’s a good idea. Let us visit Putnam Hall by all means and fix things up! When those tin soldiers get back they won’t know what to make of it!”
“Well, we don’t want to get caught at this,” said Carey.
“Are you afraid?” demanded Bock.
“No, but – ”
“No ‘buts’ about it,” said a youth named Grimes, who hated Major Jack and his chums greatly. “I’m for visiting Putnam Hall to-day. We couldn’t have a better chance, with the captain and his cadets away.”
The touring car journeyed along slowly and the students from Pornell Academy talked the matter over carefully. Just as they came in sight of the Hall they saw a buggy drive away from the entrance and turn in the direction of Cedarville, the nearest village.
“There goes the head teacher, a fellow named Crabtree,” said Bock. “The fellow driving him is Peleg Snuggers, the general helper. Boys, outside of some help that doesn’t count, the coast is clear!”
“I’ve got a scheme,” said Grimes. “Let us hide the auto in the woods, and then disguise ourselves as tramps by rubbing dust on our faces and putting on the old auto dusters. Then we can sneak up to the school building and the gym., and learn how the land lays.”
“Yes, – and turn things inside out,” answered Roy Bock, with a gloating look. “Oh, won’t they be surprised when they get back to-night!”
The suggestion to hide the touring car and disguise themselves was quickly put into execution, and then, with great caution, the six students from Pornell Academy leaped a side hedge and made for the gymnasium. Here they spent nearly half an hour in “fixing things up” to their satisfaction. Then they entered the school building by a side door, and while three went to the library and classrooms the others ascended to the dormitories. They took care to keep out of the way of all the hired help, although to do so taxed their ingenuity to the utmost.
“Now, I reckon we have done something toward squaring accounts,” remarked Roy Bock, as he led the way back to the touring car. “Even the servants won’t be able to straighten things out. When those folks get back they won’t know their own school!”
CHAPTER III
AT TARGET PRACTICE
“Here we are! Now to make nothing but bull’s-eyes!”
It was Pepper who spoke, as the Hall cadets came to a halt in Rawling’s pasture, – a lot containing nearly a hundred acres which were almost as smooth as a barn floor. It had taken the battalion almost an hour to march there, and the students were allowed half an hour in which to rest up previous to beginning the contest on the three ranges which had been established in the pasture. The ranges were of one hundred yards, two hundred yards, and three hundred yards, the last named distance being deemed sufficiently great for the light rifles the cadets used. Had they had arms of greater caliber, Captain Putnam would have made the long range five hundred yards.
“I don’t expect to make very much of a score,” said Andy Snow. “I am not much of a shooter. Now if it was a contest in the gym. – ”
“Andy would win all the medals,” finished Jack, with a laugh.
“I’d rather have a fishing contest,” put in Stuffer, who loved to go out with his rod.
“Sure, and what’s the matter wid an eating contest, Stuffer?” inquired Hogan, with a broad grin. “I’m after thinking you’d take the head prize there – and all the others, too!”
“Huh, you needn’t talk,” grumbled Stuffer. “I notice you can do your share when we sit down in the mess hall.”
“That’s one thing I like about Putnam Hall,” declared Fred Century. “A fellow always gets enough to eat – at least I do. Now at Pornell Academy the meals were very uneven. The dinners were usually good, but some of the suppers were woefully slim.”
“If the meals were slim here I’d rebel,” answered Pepper.
“So would I!” cried Stuffer. “I’d raise the biggest kick you ever heard of.” How true their words were to become we shall see later.
The shooting soon began – at a distance of one hundred yards, and for two hours there was a steady crack! crack! of the rifles.
Each cadet had three shots at each target. A bull’s-eye counted five, so a perfect score would total up to forty-five.
On the short range, Jack managed to make three bull’s-eyes, thus scoring 15. Pepper got 13 and Andy 11. Much to his own delight Reff Ritter got 15, although one of his shots barely touched the bull’s-eye. Coulter received but 9, much to his disgust. The other cadets ranged from 10 to 5, – the five being made by Mumps, who was almost afraid to discharge his weapon.
“Wouldn’t Mumps make a fine soldier!” whispered Pepper to Jack. “If he saw the enemy approaching he’d run for all he was worth.”
“If he didn’t get too frightened to move,” added the young major.
“He certainly is both a coward and a sneak.”
At the two-hundred yard range Jack made 14, while Pepper finished with 13, the same as before. The long-range shooting was not to take place until after lunch.
“I don’t know whether to call it my unlucky thirteen or not,” said The Imp. “It’s not so good as your score, but it’s better than some others.”
“It is certainly lucky,” answered Andy, who had made but 9 on the middle range. “If you do so well on the long range you’ll be one of the leaders.”
“Reff Ritter made 14,” put in Joe Nelson. “He and Jack and Bart Conners are tied for first place so far.”
“Coulter had dropped behind, and Paxton’s score isn’t much better than Mump’s,” came from Dale Blackmore.
“I’ve got two elevens,” said Fred Century. “I don’t think that’s so bad for a fellow who hasn’t used a rifle for some years.”
Lunch was had in the shade of a number of trees growing at the edge of the pasture. While the cadets were eating many of them stacked their rifles and hung their belts and cartridge boxes on the weapons. Jack put aside his sword and also the gun and cartridge holder he had been using. There was a small brook nearby, fed by springs, and in this many of the boys washed their hands and faces before eating.
While the meal was still in progress Gus Coulter motioned to Reff Ritter and Nick Paxton, and the three drew away from the crowd and into some bushes behind the trees.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Coulter, in a low voice. “I don’t know if we can work it or not, but if we can – well, somebody will be surprised, that’s all.”
“What’s your idea?” demanded Ritter.
“I was hanging around when Bob Grenwood, the quartermaster, was giving out the ammunition for the shooting after lunch, on the three-hundred yard range. I heard him say that he had brought along a case of blanks by mistake. He said they looked a good deal like the cartridges that had bullets in. Now if we could get hold of that case of blanks – ”
“We can do that easily enough,” interrupted Nick Paxton. “The case is right over yonder, on a rock.” And he pointed with his hand.
“I reckon I know what you mean,” said Reff Ritter, a wise look coming into his face. “You mean for us to get the blanks and substitute them for the regular cartridges some of the fellows intend to use.”
“Exactly. Can we do it?”
“I don’t know. But it’s a great scheme. I’d like to put it up Ruddy’s back – and up Ditmore’s back, too.” Ritter bit his lip in thought for a moment. “Let’s see if we can get hold of that case of cartridges anyway.”
With great care the plotters stole through the bushes and up to the rock upon which rested the case containing the blank cartridges. All of the other cadets were busy lunching and nobody noticed them as they hauled the box out of sight.
“The cover is loose, anyway,” reported Ritter. “Guess I’ll take a few out, just for luck,” and he appropriated about a dozen blanks.
“Take out the top layer,” suggested Coulter. “Then Grenwood won’t be so apt to notice that the box has been trifled with.” And he and Paxton did so. Then the cover was slid into place once more and the case was restored to its original position. The blanks certainly looked like full cartridges, being tipped with silvery paper.
“Now to do some substituting,” said Reff Ritter. “That’s the hardest part of the job. Some of the fellows are hanging around those cartridge belts and boxes.”
“Maybe we can get them to walk away,” suggested Coulter. “Get them interested in something, you know.”
“I have it!” cried Ritter. “Nick, you walk down in the woods on the other side of the brook and yell like mad. Say you saw a big snake, or something. That will draw the crowd, and then Gus and I can get in our work with the blank cartridges.”
“I’ll do it,” answered Nick Paxton, and hurried around through the bushes and across the brook. He had been gone about five minutes when the cadets at lunch, as well as Captain Putnam and the others, heard a great yelling.
“Help! help! A snake! A snake!”
“What’s that?” exclaimed half a dozen, and then, as the yelling was continued, a rush was made in the direction of the brook.
“Now is our chance,” said Ritter to Coulter, and then the pair stole out of the bushes and in the direction of the stacked arms and the cartridge belts and boxes.
“What’s the matter, Paxton?” demanded Captain Putnam, who was the first to arrive at the spot from whence the cries for help emanated.
“A snake, sir!” answered the cadet glibly. “Ugh! He ran right between my legs!” And Paxton pretended to shiver.
“A snake!” cried several.
“Where is it?”
“Why didn’t you kill it?”
“Yes, a snake, and – and I guess it was a rattler, too. It was about that long,” and Nick Paxton held his hands as far apart as possible. “I couldn’t kill it for I didn’t have a thing in my hand. I – er – I looked for a rock, but the snake was too quick for me.”
The news that a snake was around – and that it might be a rattlesnake at that – alarmed many of the cadets, and some of them recrossed the brook to the open pasture. But others, and Captain Putnam, began a hunt for the reptile, but, of course, without success.
“We may as well give up the search,” said the master of the Hall, after a hunt of ten minutes. “If it was a rattlesnake it has managed to get away.”
“What was you doing here, Paxton?” asked Andy.
“Why I – er – I came over to look for – er – for ferns,” stammered the youth who had played the trick.
“Ferns? Didn’t know you were interested in ferns,” observed Joe Nelson, who was something of a collector of plants himself.
“Oh, I do a little collecting now and then,” answered Paxton, and then walked off, to escape being questioned further.
Half an hour later the noonday rest came to an end and the target practice was again taken up. In the presence of his pupils Captain Putnam took several shots at the long distance target, making a bull’s-eye each time. Then he and the old army officer who had been hired showed the boys how to fire to the best advantage.
Reff Ritter was one of the first to shoot at the three hundred yard target, and much to his chagrin got only three fours – a total of 12. Coulter got but 9, and Paxton 7.
When Jack stepped to the front with the rifle and cartridge box he had been using Reff Ritter winked suggestively at Coulter and Paxton.
“Now we’ll see something rich!” whispered Coulter.
“Hush! you want to keep this to yourself,” warned the bully of the Hall.
“Now, Jack, a bull’s-eye!” said Pepper to his chum.
“Right in the middle of the eye, too,” added Andy.
