The Mercer Boys in the Ghost Patrol Page 3

  3 At Rustling Ridge

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

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

  “I don’t see why you or Jim should kick,” Don said, as he pulled on hisclothes. “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 wasmade to the near-by brook where they washed, and then dressing wasspeedily finished. Before long they had fallen in for inspection, thereading of orders and the march to breakfast.

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

  Before long they were all hard at work. On a flat plain at the bottom ofthe hill they were all required to drill and take routine exercisesduring the morning. This took up their time until noon. Then, in theafternoon, the units took up the tactics of their own particulardivision. The infantry was busy that day with setting up range targetsfor practice in the near future. After that was over they workedsteadily fixing the camp. Tents were made more inviting by the additionof wooden floors, pegs were put in with a view toward real strength andservice, and trenches were dug to carry off the rain water when it fellfrom the sloping canvas. A permanent kitchen was constructed and thelong tables for the mess tent were built and put in place. Benches thenwere hammered into place along the tables, the wagons set in properformation 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 acanter across the country. That used up most of the afternoon and thesun was beginning to sink when they returned. At school, during theterm, the cavalrymen got quite a bit of practice, but it was the plan ofthe 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 manyhours at a stretch. Many a young man found himself stiff and sore beforethe end of the week.

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

  With all of these activities the first day in camp sped by withastonishing rapidity. This first day was different from the ones thatfollowed, 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 funon that initial day of camp life. A few hardy souls managed to stayawake and talk and sing songs around the campfires, but most of theyoung men stumbled to bed at the first possible moment.

  The three friends had not had much of a chance to see each other thatday, 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 thiscamping 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 systematicdrill, exercise, and work makes us feel the grind.”

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

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

  “That’s true,” agreed Terry. “Well, I suppose the colonel and theofficers 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 facescharacterized the corps. But as the day went on their hearts cheered andslowly the joy of camping evidenced itself.

  That afternoon they finished drill and maneuvers at three o’clock andfrom then on the time was their own. A dozen games of baseball werequickly organized but most of the boys preferred to make a rush for thebig 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, andfinding that it was up to the average boy’s shoulder at the bank andabout ten feet deep in the center, a number of boys had dived joyfullyin. Don and Terry were among the first, with Jim following a littlelater.

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

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

  There was no springboard and the cadets were diving from the bank. Intime this proved disappointing. As they clambered up the sides, thewater running in streams from their dripping bathing trunks made thebank muddy and then dangerously slippery. More than one sloppy fallplastered a swimmer with mud and caused gleeful laughter, until a fewcadets ran into camp, brought out some long boards and some thicksupports, and in a very short time a fairly good diving board had beenplaced on the bank.

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

  The diving then became general and was enjoyed. One of the best diverswas Dick Rowen. His summers had been spent largely in summer resortswhere swimming was the principal attraction and he had become quiteexpert at it. Knowing that the eyes of many of his comrades were uponhim Rowen performed a good many fancy dives, all of which were very welldone. Some of the cadets, with quiet generosity, complimented him uponhis prowess.

  “Oh, diving comes easily to me,” answered Rowen, poising for another, inanswer 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 histwist did not work and his feet slipped. Truth to tell, the cadets weregrowing tired of his posing and a delighted shout went up as he slappedthe 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. Jimwas the next one to follow Rowen out on the board, and he prepared forhis dive.

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

  Jim grinned. “Yes, this is my best,” he answered, and sprang away. Buthis 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 dullred.

  Jim made his way out of the water. “That wasn’t so good at that,” heremarked, 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, andthat doesn’t include you. I said you think you’re funny because youridiculed me in that dive!”

  “Oh, don’t be silly!” retorted Jim. “I had no intention of imitatingyou, Rowen. My foot hones
tly 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 withinterest. Jim’s jaw had set and he thought a moment before replying.

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

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

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

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

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

  “Might have been sulking in his tent,” grinned Terry. “Now, the onlything 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, wererequired to have guns and bayonets, and Terry had looked aimlessly athis equipment, to note that the bayonet was gone. In a moment Donreported 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,” hemurmured. “Now, where—hey!”

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

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

  “Sticking upright, so that when we lay down on the bed the point wouldprod 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 dangeroustrick.”

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

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

  “Yes,” nodded Don. “I guess he placed all three bayonets so that one ofthe disliked boys would be sure to get it. It would be funny if it hadbeen 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 boysdrifted off to sleep.