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ARMY AND NAVY WEEKLY. 3
‘Don’t I always go with you, you chump? Come aliead.”’
“It didn’t take you very long to change your mind,’’ laughed
Wicks. ‘‘I guess because there’s not much to change. But it isn’t
your fault. Let’s get ready.”
Getting ready consisted in getting into bed and putting out the
lights, and waiting for the camp to quiet down sufficiently. Mean- —
while let us go outside for a look about the place.
West Point! The training school of the various heroes, the
Mecca toward which are turned the eyes of every boy who longs to
become a hero of the future.
The spot needs to be described in. detail.. It is situated on the
West bank of the Hudson, some fifty miles above New York. A
steep bluff, difficult of ascent, rises from the bank; at its foot runs
the West Shore road; and up above, upon a: level plain, are the
academy grounds. ‘Toward the south are the barracks, and numer-
ous other buildings; north from them stretches a vast parade
ground, and still further on, and near the river bank, one comes:
upon the summer camping ground of the corps. Here are the tents,
arranged in four parallel rows, ‘‘Company Streets.’
It is into one of these tents, one on an inside row, that our two
friends have disappeared. Disappeared, but only for a time.
Roll call and tattoo have passed some half hour ago. ‘The
sentinels had begun their weary march about the spot; the last
signal ‘“‘lights out,’? had been given, and the camp had sunk into
the slumbers of the night. ‘There was a movement then in one of
the tents, that belonging to the two scamps whose plan had. been
told. A flap was pushed .carefully aside, and a head protruded.
After a cautious glance about, camnea muttered exclamation.
“The coast is clear!”
The head was followed-by a body which dodged quickly around
and hid between the tents. It was Wicks Merritt; a moment later
his* companion followed him and the two crouched behind the
shelter and waited.
Then caine a grinding tread down the street and ‘past their tent—
a tread which made them hug the ground in sudden alarm.
‘It’s an officer,’’? whispered Harty.
The footsteps died away in the distance and silence came again.
“‘T bet that’s old Scad wandering about!’’ exclaiined Wicks.
‘Heavens, I hope he don’t run over, us! I wonder how late it is.
As if in answer to his question came the sentinel’s call:
‘*Half-past ten and all’s well!’
‘Come on,’’? whispered Wicks, ‘Sand say,’’? he added, ‘‘we’ll
have to be extra careful to-night. Sentry Number. Five——”’
““Tt’s a plebe!”’ .
‘No, sir, it’s Hopkins, in our own class. . And he’s got eyes
like a cat.”?
The two made their way along: cautiously, dodging and crouch-
ing, favored by the darkness of ‘the night. "They passed the last
tent in the street; and then lying flat, with their ears to the ground,
they waited and listened for the sentry’s tread.
‘Hang it!’ muttered Wicks, ‘‘it’s so dark I can’t tell where he
is at all.”’
‘‘He’s somewhere out in that direction,’’ responded the other.
pointing, ‘‘for I see the tents behind us.”’
“Well, come on; if we can’t see him, he can’t see us.’
The two crept forward again, feeling their way shead, step by