in the corner. Then, as a look of understanding passed over his face, he
turned swiftly to the others.

"Here are the eagles!" he cried.

"I thought as much," whooped Hudson, tearing at the mouth of the bag
nearest him. "Sure enough, here they are."

They swiftly tore the sacking away and the brass eagles were disclosed,
swathed in straw. A thorough examination showed that they had not been
damaged.

"So here is where they were taken," murmured Vench, looking around the
hut.

"Yes, and who would ever think of looking for them out here?" put in
Douglas. "If it hadn't been for Jim's chance discovery we would never
have thought to look here."

"Things worked out in great shape all around," Jim said. "Well, now that
we have the big birds, what--"

"Look!" cried Don, suddenly. "Here come some men!"

                               Chapter 12
                         The Eagles Are Rescued

Looking out of the window of the hut the cadets saw three men coming
down the swamp pathway toward the hut. They were apparently laborers.
Two of them were big men, the third was short but sufficiently heavy to
be formidable. A single look convinced the boys that the men were coming
toward them for no good purpose.

"I'll bet those characters mean to take our eagles away from us," Vench
said in a low voice.

Hudson clenched his fists. "If they do, they'll be up against one of the
finest fights of their lives," he promised, his jaw set determinedly.
"We're not going to give up the eagles now that we have them in our
hands."

"That's right," Don backed him up. "We'll put up a fight. Suppose we
spring a surprise on them?"

"How do you mean, spring it?" Terry asked.

"Suppose only three of us go out and start walking away with the eagles?
Then, if they mean to fight, they'll charge three of us, and the others
can charge them from the rear. What do you say to that?"

"It's a good idea," Hudson said, briskly. "Don, Terry and I will go
first, while Doug, Vench and Jim wait, ready to turn the tide if they
should attack us. Are we all ready? Let's go."

Carrying the eagles between them Don, Hudson and Terry left the hut in
the swamp and began to cross the open space before the shack. The three
cadets in reserve watched them from their post and waited. When the
three men saw the cadets coming they halted.

"Hey, where you go?" the short man called out, scowling sullenly.

"We're going back to school with these eagles," Hudson replied, his
heart beating a trifle more rapidly than usual. "Then we're going to see
to it that the fellows who stole the eagles go to jail for it!"

A frightened look passed between the men and the short man whispered
something to his companions. One of the taller men growled loudly.

"They're only chucking a bluff. I'm for beatin' them up and pitchin' the
eagles into the swamp. That's to teach them soldier boys to mind their
own business!"

"I guess it is pretty much our business when you come and steal our
ornaments off of the front steps!" growled Terry, his cheeks showing a
red that did not appear there very often. "You big overgrown bullies get
out of the way or we'll put you in the mud instead of the eagles!"

The big man pushed up his sleeves and advanced threateningly. "Let's
spread a little o' this nice black mud on these kids," he invited.
"It'll take some of the freshness out of them."

Seeing that they meant business, the cadets dropped the eagles and
waited on the defensive.

Hudson deliberately picked out the biggest man and drove at him,
avoiding his grasping hands and planting a light tap on his chest. Terry
was exchanging lively blows with the other big man and the little man
ran at Don. He did not seem to be as determined about it as the other
two did, and Don, noting the fact, decided to finish him off rapidly. He
ducked under the outflung arm of the short man, allowed him to flop half
across his back, and then, with a well-timed heave, sent him flying over
his back, to land heavily in the mud. Before he could get up Don leaped
on him and a vigorous threshing battle ensued.

The two big men were more than a match for Terry and Hudson and they
were out to deliberately break bones and hurt as viciously as possible.
Under any other circumstances the reserve cadets would have held in for
a time, but realizing the character of the men who were opposing their
friends the three cadets rushed out of the hut and threw themselves on
the men. Vench made a flying tackle at the man who was trying to crush
Terry in his arms and Douglas and Jim rushed Hudson's foe. Before this
onrush the men went down in the mud.

"The whole confounded school is here!" yelled the leader as he went
down.

"Speaking of dipping us in the mud," panted Hudson. "Try it yourself!"
And he deliberately pushed the head of the man so that his nose burrowed
into the soft soil.

Realizing that they were in a bad position the two big men exerted all
their strength in the struggle and finally broke away from the lighter
cadets. They wasted no time but fled down the path, leaving the boys
winded and bruised, for the fight, though short, had been determined.
Vench was for chasing them, but Hudson was against it.

"Nothing doing," he cried. "Those men know the path and we don't. Don's
still got his man."

The short laborer had made a strong effort to get away from Don, but the
cadet had held onto him grimly, knocking him down with each attempt to
get up. The others went to his aid and they hauled both Don and the man
to their feet. The man gave one despairing look around and then,
realizing that he was trapped, whimpered brokenly.

"Please! No send Peter to jail! Peter not a bad man! I not mean to hurt
you!"

"Are you Peter Cozoza?" asked Don, wiping the mud from his face and his
overcoat.

The man nodded miserably. "Oh, please, not de jail. Think, mister,
Maretta and de five keeds! What dey do if Peter in jail?"

"You won't go to jail," Douglas reassured him. "All we want you to do is
to talk. Did you saw the eagles off up at the school?"

The man nodded. "I was paid to do it, mister! Peter not a bad man, but
he need de money so bad!"

The cadets understood readily. "Sure, we know that, Peter," Don said.
"You were paid to cut them off. Who paid you to go up to our school and
cut off the eagles?"

The man hesitated, but feeling that the truth would serve him better
than a lie, spoke out. "A man name Mr. Gates, up at the big house, he
tell me!"

"Sure!" nodded Jim, grimly. "Of course, it would be Mr. Gates."

"But why?" asked Vench.

"Oh, just to make us feel that he was right about his stand against
Dimsdale," Don answered, wearily. "Just a petty, babyish revenge, that
is all. He got these three men to take away the eagles so that it would
cast reflections on Dimsdale. Maybe he even hoped to plant the eagles on
their property later on, I don't know. Or, if they were never found he
would allow the suspicion between the two schools to rankle for years to
come. You can't say anything bad enough about a man like that."

"You bet you can't," agreed the captain. "How did you know we were down
here, Peter?"

"My wife, she tell me when I stop up there with my two friends," the
laborer replied.

"You just listen here, Peter," Terry lectured. "In the future you stop
having such kind of friends, do you hear? We're going to be good to you
and not take you to jail, just because we wouldn't want to be mean to
your wife and the kids, see? But if we ever catch you hanging around
with bad men like that again, we'll see that you go away to the big
prison for years and years. See, Mr. Peter?"

"Yes, yes!" the man agreed, eagerly. "I will make good friends always,
like you!"

"Thanks for the compliment!" laughed Hudson. "Now, we'd better get out
of here. Peter, you show us the way down the path, and no funny
business!"

They picked up the brass eagles, which were quite heavy, and following
Peter, lugged them down the path. It was growing dark and it seemed a
long way back, but in time they stood in the back yard of the Cozoza
house.

"Another thing, Peter," Don said to the laborer, as they prepared to set
out for the village. "We want you to keep quiet about the whole thing.
If you don't, we'll have to go back on our promise about the jail. If
Mr. Gates should ask you about the eagles you tell him some of the
soldier boys came and took them away, and that you couldn't stop them.
Outside of that we want you to keep your mouth closed about the whole
business. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. I keep ver' quiet!" the man promised.

They left him and trudged down to the village. The eagles were getting
heavier all the time and Jim proposed that they hire a cab to take them
up to the school.

"Good idea," approved Douglas. "These things get heavier with every
step. I guess we can scare up a dollar or two between us, can't we?"

They found that between them they had a few dollars and they hailed a
passing cab. Gratefully they piled in and told the driver to take them
to Woodcrest.

"What you got in them bags, boys?" the driver, a town character, said as
they drove up the hill toward the school.

"Flower pots!" returned Terry, promptly.

"You don't say!" cried the driver, sending out a cloud of smoke from his
battered pipe. "Must have quite a number of pots in those bags!"

"Oh, we have," Terry returned. "You see, the colonel is thinking of
relandscaping the whole school, so we're going to put plenty of flowers
around."

Almost the first one that they met in the hall when they carried the
rescued eagles into the school was the colonel himself.

"Where in the world have you been, boys?" the headmaster cried. "And
where did you collect all that mud?"

"We've been putting in a strenuous afternoon getting back the eagles,
sir!" replied the senior captain. "Here they are."

The story was swiftly told and then the cadets went upstairs to clean
up. Like wildfire the story ran around the building and the six boys
were admired by the others for their work.

It was decided to send a public apology to Dimsdale for holding that
school in suspicion, and this was done and graciously accepted. Then
Dimsdale acted by having a scorching editorial printed in the town paper
in answer to the one suggested by Melvin Gates. The conduct of his son
years ago was broadly hinted at and the good name of the Gates family
was crushed once and for all in that locality.

"Do you think that will drive them out of the town?" Don and Jim asked
the colonel, as they were discussing the editorial with him.

"I don't know," the colonel replied, slowly. "I hardly think so, for
they only recently bought the house they are living in and that may be a
big factor in keeping them here. I hope they do stay, for I'm still
hopeful that we'll find out why young Gates took that cup. Of course,
this editorial practically ruins the family with decent people, but the
Gates' have money enough to keep to themselves and pass it off."

"You yourself did not say anything to Melvin Gates, did you?" Don asked.

"No, that wasn't necessary. As you saw for yourselves, the Dimsdale
editorial was a scorcher and that was enough. Gates' trick was simply an
attempt at petty revenge that backfired. We'll just have our eagles
remounted and forget all about the whole thing."

"OK," nodded Jim. "Now that the Gates family is well established in
Portville, perhaps we can learn something important about that cup
business."

                               Chapter 13
                           The Call for Help

Mr. Terry Mackson chuckled and looked over the edge of his blanket at
the other two beds in the room. In the farthest bed Jim Mercer was
sleeping with just a bit of noise proceeding from his throat. On the bed
near Terry, Don slept in silence, his face turned toward the red-headed
boy. Terry glanced back at the window and then put one bare foot out of
bed.

It was the morning of the second Saturday in December and the weather
man had sprung a surprise on the cadets. When they had gone to bed on
the previous night it had been cold and clear, but during the night the
weather had magically changed. Terry, lightest sleeper of the three
friends, had awakened early, to find the world wrapped in a whirling,
blowing snowstorm, the soft white flakes banked in little piles against
their windows.

For a single moment Terry had lain there contemplating the beauty of the
early morning scene and then the light of mischief had dawned in his
gray eyes. Consulting his watch he perceived that it was almost time for
the bugle to blow, so he had no compunctions about what he intended to
do. With the grace of a stalking cat the red-head crept to the window
and scooped in a handful of snow. Keeping a wary eye on the two sleepers
he made himself about five small sized snowballs and placed them on his
bed. Then he dipped his hands once more into the wet snow and gathered a
large quantity.

Making his way with extreme caution he reached Jim's bed and gently
pulled the covers off that young man's feet. Against the warm feet of
the boy he placed the snow, and then, bounding over to Don, he placed a
small pile on his forehead. From there it was but a single bound into
bed, where he pulled up the covers over his chin, and carefully hiding
the snowballs, pretended to sleep.

It was not a moment too soon. Jim sat up suddenly, drawing his feet in a
convulsive movement toward him. A running trickle of cold water woke Don
at the same time.

"Hey, who piled snow against my feet?" demanded Jim, knocking the cold
stuff onto the floor with a single sweep.

"Probably the same one who put a mound of it on my head," retorted Don,
and the two brothers looked suspiciously at Terry.

But this aspect baffled them for a moment. Apparently, the red-head was
fast asleep. Only a very little part of him showed above his cover, and
a gentle sound, indicating deep breathing, came from the bed. But the
more the brothers looked, the more suspicious they became.

"That looks too innocent to suit me," Jim announced, and began to get
out of bed.

"Yes, I doubt that peaceful, dreamy look on his homely face," chimed in
Don, throwing off his covers.

The boy in bed stirred and apparently woke up, flashing them a happy
smile. "Good morning, Don; good morning, Jim," he greeted, quietly. Then
he sat up and looked with wondering astonishment out of the window. "Why
bless my soul, it has snowed, hasn't it?"

"Yes," replied Jim, coming nearer. "And let me tell you, Chucklehead,
that it has been a remarkable storm. It snowed right in under my covers
and piled up against my feet, and there was even a little mound on my
brother's head!"

"No!" cried the red-headed boy, in astonishment.

"Yes," cried Jim. "And now we're going to hang you out the window to get
a little snow on you!"

"No, you're not!" retorted Terry, bringing five melting snowballs into
sudden view. "Here is where the artillery goes into action!"

Five snowballs sped in rapid succession across the room, three of them
landing on Jim and Don. They managed to dodge the other two, and then,
seeing that his ammunition was exhausted, they helped themselves to some
snow from the window sill and faced him. Terry quickly raised a wall of
bed covers before him.

"Don't bother to make snowballs," Jim begged. "I think we ought to do
something useful with the snow. That lad's face is dirty!"

"I see what you mean," Don nodded. "It is kind of red. Too much of that
red thatch on top of his head, and the color runs down on his face.
Think we ought to wash it off?"

"Yep! Let's get busy," said Jim, earnestly.

"You keep away from me with that stuff!" grunted the boy, as they hurled
themselves on him. But the two brothers tore down his cover wall and
proceeded to wash his freckled face vigorously, not without damage to
themselves and their pajamas, for Terry fought like a wildcat. In the
midst of the melee the bugle rang out.

Abandoning their fun the boys began to dress rapidly, chattering away
about the welcome snow. It promised them a variety of sport, in the
nature of snow battles and sledding, and they were eager to get out and
into it.

"Luckily, it is only a half day," whooped Don, slipping into his coat.
"We can get out into the snow soon after dinner. It's coming down
steadily."

When they got downstairs they found only a few cadets ahead of them.
Hudson was one of them. He stood out on the front steps, admiring the
view across the rolling fields and hills. His back was toward the boys
and Don quietly packed a snowball and threw it at him. It hit the senior
captain on the back of the neck and he whirled around, grinning,
intending to say something.

But he closed his mouth with a snap and waited. Just above Don's head
was a tiny shed roof, and Hudson saw what was going to happen. A puffy
drift had gathered there and a fierce swirl of wind hit it at the
precise moment that he turned around. Hudson grinned broadly as the
miniature snowslide hit Don on the shoulders, knocking off his hat and
sifting in powdery masses down his neck. Don coughed and sputtered in
surprise.

"Very neatly and efficiently done," cried Hudson lifting his hat
politely to the snow drift. "I thank you!"

All through the morning classes the cadets were impatient and when the
noon meal was over they piled out into the snow with zest and a sense of
pleasure. By this time it had stopped snowing, leaving about a foot of
snow carpeting the ground. The sun came out briefly and the cadets were
alarmed lest it do some damage, but in the long run it turned out to be
their friend. It melted enough of the white material to make it watery
and then the cold air promptly froze it, making a delightful surface for
coasting.

"Tonight we can go coasting on Nelson Hill!" cried Lieutenant Thompson.

Nelson Hill was a long stretch of sloping hillside less than a half mile
west of the school, and the majority of the cadets were preparing to
spend the evening with their sleds. Most of them had already started for
the hill with barrel staves and miscellaneous wood, with which to build
fires on top of the long slope. When Terry, Don, Jim and Vench stood
around considering, the distressing fact was brought home to them that
they had no sled.

"The seniors have got sleds," remarked Vench. "And so have the second
class men. I guess that the newer men are out of luck."

Douglas approached them, excitement showing in his hurry. "You guys got
a sled?" he hailed.

"No," replied Jim. "Have you?"

"I know where there is one!" was the satisfying reply. "There is an old
bob-sled down in the boathouse, with a broken runner, that we can fix
up. What do you say?"

"Is the iron runner broken?" Don asked quickly.

"No, but a wooden support is. The iron on it is all right, outside of
being a bit rusty. Suppose we fix it up?"

The cadets needed no further invitation but rushed to the boathouse
without delay, there to find the old bob-sled of which Douglas had
spoken. The broken wooden support, running from the body of the sled to
the iron runner, was not a serious problem, and between them they soon
managed to get it out and substitute another one for it.

"There!" cried Jim, proudly. "As good as new, by golly!"

"Well, just about," agreed Vench. "If it was new it would have a little
less dust on it, but as an A number one sled it is OK."

"We'll soon clean the dust off it," decided Douglas, and they got some
water from the gym, a brush and soap, and went to work with a will, with
the result that the sled was soon in a different condition.

"Too late to try her out before supper," decided Don, glancing out at
the gathering darkness. "But we'll go over to the hill after we eat."

As soon as the evening meal was over Woodcrest Military school was
nearly deserted, almost all of the cadets going toward the distant hill.
Only a few boys, more interested in warm quarters and books, remained in
the school to miss the fun.

The friends ran down to the boathouse, uncovered the bob, which they had
hidden under some loose canvas, and placing it on the snow, pulled it at
a rapid pace toward Nelson Hill. It took them a good half hour to get
there, as it was uphill most of the way. The cadets who had arrived
before them had lighted fires, which blazed against the black sky like
flaming beacons, and by the light of these fires the cadets were
coasting. The hill was long and sloping and gave them a good ride, and
by the same token, a good stiff walk up again.

The hill was covered with sleds. Shouts of laughter and merry yells
echoed and re-echoed over the surrounding country as the cadets enjoyed
the fun. Generosity prevailed, the cadets loaning their sleds to those
who had none, while the lenders warmed themselves around the fires and
waited for the borrowers to toil up the hill again.

"Well, what say to our first trip down?" called Douglas, planting the
bob firmly on the brow of the hill.

"OK," agreed Vench, sitting on the sled. Douglas eyed him with vast
disapproval.

"What are you going to do, sit on the sled?" he demanded.

"Certainly," retorted Vench. "What am I supposed to do, stand on it?"

"You ought to know enough about tobogganing to lie down," Douglas said.
"Only girls sit up. Do you want me to clasp my hands around your tummy
and scream when we hit a bump?"

"Aw, go chase yourself!" growled Vench, lying down on the front of the
sled. Jim and Terry followed and Don squirmed on top of them. There was
now just room enough for Douglas.

"All set?" inquired Douglas, taking hold of the rear of the sled.

"Let her go!" the others cried, and Douglas gave the bob a push. It
began to tilt over the top of the hill and moved slowly down. Douglas
sprang on, kneeling on the little space left for him, and the bob, with
its heavy load, began to move with increasing speed down the hill. It
did not immediately gain a great rate of speed for the runners were
still a little rusty, but it picked up gradually, until it was fairly
flying down the hill.

Past single sleds they went, Vench steering dexterously in and out
between them, passing cadets toiling up the snowy slopes, who turned to
stare after them. One or two light bumps were encountered, which caused
the sled to jump a few inches from the ground, and they literally flew
through the air, to land with a jarring thud a little further on. In
this way they reached the bottom of the hill and kept going on the level
ground, to stop finally a long way from the point at which they had
started.

"That was great!" cried Don, springing up.

"The fires look to be a long way up in the air," observed Vench, and
they looked up to the top of the hill.

The fires looked far away from where they were, sending licking yellow
flames against a deep black sky. A number of black dots were streaking
down the hill in their direction, but the bob had gone further than any
of them because of its weight.

"Now I suppose we have got to walk up again," said Terry. "Too bad we
can't push a button and make the hill reverse for us!"

"Why go up right away?" asked Jim. "Here is a smaller hill. Want to try
it?"

A few yards from them a smaller slope showed, on which the hard snow
gleamed from the faraway fires.

"We'll run right down into the woods, if we go down this hill,"
cautioned Don. "However, I'm perfectly willing. Want to try it?"

The others agreed and with another push they dipped down this second
hill, taking a long ride in between the trees that closed over their
heads and shut out all light. But when they came to compare notes they
found that sentiment was not very keen for this hill.

"Nothing to it," declared Vench.

"The snow is packed harder on the long hill," Jim decided. "No use using
these little ones when we have a perfectly good big one."

"No," agreed Douglas, gathering up the rope of the bob-sled. "Well, we
might as well begin our upward hike."

"Wait a minute!" cried Don. "Did you hear a crash just then?"

None of them had. "Must have been some snow falling, or an old tree
crashing down," Terry suggested. They turned to go back but once more
Don stopped them.

"Listen!" he cried. "Someone's calling!"

They stopped and were silent for a long interval, but there was no
sound. Vench laughed.

"Don's hearing things," he said. "We'll have to get him back to the top
of the hill right away."

"No, I tell you I did hear something," insisted Don. "Listen, there it
is again!"

This time, clearly and distinctly on the night air, a call echoed
through the woods.

"Help!" cried a faint muffled voice. "Help, somebody!"

                               Chapter 14
                          Inside Gates' House

"Someone is in trouble!" cried Vench, as the startled cadets looked at
each other in the dense gloom.

"Yes, and we had better get on the job," announced Don, with decision.
"The call came from over this way."

"Shall we leave the bob here?" Douglas asked.

"Might as well," Jim nodded. "It will only be in the way. We can easily
find it when we come back."

There was no sound from the one who had called out a few moments ago,
but the boys had the direction in mind, so they struck off into the
tangle of the woods without further delay. They had gone about two
hundred yards when they came upon a country road which had been cut
through the woods.

"I wonder if the call came from this road?" mused Don, as they halted in
perplexity.

"I think it did," Terry replied. "I don't believe that it was in the
woods. Shall we split into two parties?"

"You mean one go up and one down the road?" Don asked.

"Yes. You and I will go east and Vench, Doug and Jim can go west. We'll
sing out if we see anything."

This plan was agreed to and the boys set out, Terry and Don running
along the road in the general direction of Portville. But they had not
gone far before someone whistled back of them.

"That's Jim," Don said, as they halted. "They must have found something.
Let's go back."

Accordingly, they turned around and ran back, passing the spot where
they had split and continuing on until they came to a bend in the
snow-covered road. Around this bend they found the other boys gathered
around a small automobile, the nose of which was smashed against a tree.
The three boys were busy around the car as Don and Terry hastened up. By
the faint light of the one headlight that was burning the two boys could
see that a figure was hunched over the wheel of the club coupe. The
others were trying to pull the man out and finding it a trying task, for
the driver was tightly pinned by the wheel, which had rammed into his
stomach.

"His feet are free," announced Douglas, who had been giving his
attention to them. Don grasped the bent steering wheel and exerted all
of his strength. It yielded a little and he tugged some more.

"Pull, you guys," he commanded, and they drew the body of the driver
from the car. The man was unconscious and groaned slightly. When they
had placed him on the snow in the road they saw that it was Melvin
Gates.

"Somebody run and get the bob-sled," directed Don, and Vench and Douglas
dashed into the woods at once. Quickly and efficiently Don ran his hands
over the man's arms and legs.

"No bones broken that I can feel," he announced. "However, he may be
internally injured, and it is possible that some of his ribs are broken.
I wonder if we ought to move him?"

"We've got to," decided Terry as the others appeared with the big sled.
"He must be taken home or to a doctor's at once. We'll lift him gently
onto the sled and get going right away."

There was a blanket in the car and this they spread on the sled. Then,
with infinite care they placed the limp body of the elder Gates on the
sled and covered him up protectingly. Don and Douglas took the rope and
began to pull the sled, while Terry, Jim and Vench brought up the rear
and helped by pushing.

"Don't you thing somebody had better run ahead and get a doctor?" asked
Vench.

"Yes," nodded Don. "We're not far from Portville, and we'll take Gates
right to his home. Suppose you and Jim run ahead and get a doctor, and
we'll take Mr. Gates to his own house."

"OK," cried Jim, and he and Vench set off at a brisk trot and soon were
lost to sight down the winding road.

"Car must have skidded on the road," observed Douglas, as they pulled
the sled with its silent burden.

"It did," agreed Don. "I noticed the marks on the snow. This old road
must be a shortcut to Portville and Mr. Gates was taking it on the way
home from wherever he has been. The snow just at that point was pretty
hard and slippery and the car hit the tree, buckling up. That was the
crash that I heard."

"It must have been," Douglas replied. "Do you think he'll die?"

"Hard to tell," shrugged Don. "We can't be sure how badly he is hurt
inside. I hope we aren't far from Portville."

They were not, but it seemed like a longer journey than it actually was.
Terry helped greatly by pushing and guiding the sled over obstructions
and places that would have jarred the man. Now and then they heard low
groans from Mr. Gates, but he did not regain consciousness.

Don knew the Gates' home by a description which the colonel had given
him and they had no difficulty in finding it. Since there was no
hospital nearby they knew that their best plan was to get Gates to his
own home as soon as possible. It was with a vast sense of relief that
they ran the bob-sled up the driveway of the Gates home and came to a
halt before the wide front doors.

"Well, I'm glad that is over!" murmured Terry, straightening his aching
back.

Don ran swiftly up the front porch and rang the bell madly. It seemed an
unusually long time before a very deliberate and correct butler opened
the door. He stared at Don with expressionless eyes.

"Mr. Gates has been hurt," Don cried. "Get his bed ready and open these
doors wide, so that we can carry him upstairs."

The butler came to life, his correctness vanished and he ran with
undignified but practical haste up the front stairs, calling aloud for
the younger Mr. Gates. Don opened the front doors as wide as they would
go just as Arthur Gates and his wife appeared anxiously in the doorway.
Without paying any attention to their frightened inquiries Don ran back
to Douglas and Terry.

"Lift him gently," Don said, and the three boys exerted all their care
as they raised the elder Gates from the sled. At that same moment a car
stopped at the front gate and the doctor, with Jim and Vench, jumped
from the car. Arthur Gates lent a helping hand to the cadets and
together they carried the old man up the front stairs and to his
luxurious bedroom on the second floor. When they had laid him on the bed
the boys quietly withdrew, leaving Gates, his wife and the doctor alone
in the room with the injured man, while the agitated butler patrolled
the upper hall.

"Do you suppose we had better beat it?" Douglas whispered, after Don had
closed the front doors and kicked some loose snow outside.

"No, we'll stay and see if his condition is serious," Don replied.

"But his family is none too friendly with us," Douglas persisted.

"I guess all that will be forgotten in a time like this," Don answered.

The cadets waited. The house had become quiet after the first flurry of
excitement and no one appeared to be downstairs. To Don this state of
affairs was gratifying, for he had a plan in mind. Taking care not to
seem too curious he edged away from the others, who were looking at some
magazines on the table, and in time made his way around the downstairs
floor on a tour of inspection, keeping a wary eye about for a possible
maid or the upset butler.

He looked into a large room off the library in which the cadets were
gathered and found that it was the dining room. From there he moved to
the door which opened into a large living room, and he looked carefully
at every object on the mantelpiece. There was a small study near that
which he looked over, and then the hall and library. He returned to the
others when his tour of inspection was over.

"The cup is not downstairs," he reflected. "I didn't think it would be
in plain sight anywhere, but I wanted to make sure."

After a considerable delay Arthur Gates came down the central stairs and
joined them. His face was pale and he showed signs of anxiety, but his
message was a cheering one.

"Nothing really serious," he told them, in answer to their eager
question. "There are no bones broken and outside of a bad bruising my
father is all right. It was a narrow escape, however. Tell me how you
found him and how you happened to get a doctor here so quickly."

The boys told him and Gates was impressed. "It was very lucky for all
concerned that you happened to be at that particular point in the
woods," he said. "My father had been over to Easton and was taking the
old road home again. If he had remained there the result would have been
far different. I don't know how to express my appreciation to you."

"Don't try," begged Don. "We were just lucky enough to be there at the
time. We are glad to hear that your father is not in any danger."

Gates' eyes wandered to their uniforms. "You are cadets up at Woodcrest,
aren't you?"

"Yes," the boys nodded. Gates was silent for a moment. "I shall see to
it that Colonel Morrell knows of your service to us."

"Don't bother," said Don, glancing at the clock. "We are late now and
we'll have to report our reason for staying over the limit, so the
colonel will find it out from us. That will be sufficient. When you come
right down to it, it didn't amount to much on our part."

"You fellows are too modest," smiled Gates, as he saw them out.

They retrieved the bob-sled and started back for the school at a rapid
pace. Terry whistled as they walked along.

"Well, it was quite a night," he observed. "I'm glad the old gentleman
wasn't hurt badly."

"So am I," agreed Don. "But it all served one useful purpose. We know
where the Gates home is and I know what the inside of it looks like.
Don't know if that will ever do us any good or not, but it may come in
handy some day."

                               Chapter 15
                          Arthur Gates' Letter

The following day Don decided to walk to town and see if there was a
letter for him at the postoffice. He expected one from his father. The
others were studying so Don went alone to the town. He could have waited
until the mail was delivered to the school, but that would be over the
weekend, and he did not feel like waiting. He walked to town and entered
the local postoffice.

A number of persons were waiting for their mail, so he took his place in
line and waited patiently. A man ahead of him looked familiar to Don,
and when the man had obtained his mail he turned away from the window
and Don saw that it was Arthur Gates.

Gates had a number of letters in his hand, some of which he had received
at the window and some of which he intended to mail. He passed Don and
the boy paid no further attention to him. Don got his letter and left
the window. As he did so he saw Gates walk to the door, open it, and as
he was going out, drop a letter.

Don stepped forward and picked up the letter which Gates had dropped.
The man was evidently in a hurry, for he passed out of the door and
walked down the street rapidly. Thinking that the letter was one which
Gates had intended to mail Don decided to drop it in the slot himself,
but when he got to the mail opening he noted that the letter was
addressed to Gates, and that it was postmarked Canada.

"Shucks," he muttered in disgust. "Now I've got to go and catch him."

With this thought in mind Don darted out of the door and looked down the
darkened street for Gates, but he was not to be seen. He walked to the
corner and looked up and down but without success. Gates was nowhere in
sight. Feeling that he must go back and leave the letter with the
postmaster Don was on the point of returning when a church clock struck
the hour.

"Golly," he reflected. "I haven't time. I'll have to get back to school
at once, and on the double."

There was no time to drop the letter off at Gates' house and Don decided
to put it in his pocket and take it around to the house on the following
day when he took his regular Sunday afternoon walk. He thrust it deep
into his pocket and half walking, half running, reached the school
building just in time. Without even thinking of the letter which did not
belong to him he hung up his overcoat and went to supper.

It was not until after supper that he again thought of the letter and
then he went to the room. Jim and Terry were in the Recreation Hall,
watching a game of chess between two upper classmen, and Don was alone
in the room. He took the letter from his pocket, stared at it, thrust
his hand quickly into the pocket and then uttered a cry of dismay.

"Wet!" he cried. "I must have gotten some snow in my pocket and it has
soaked the letter through. Darn it, the glue on the envelope has come
off."

The envelope had indeed opened and the letter was wet through on one
end. He decided to dry the paper and without any intention of looking at
its contents pulled the dampened sheets out of the bedraggled envelope
and spread them on top of the table.

"There, that will dry in a short time," he thought. "Then I'll seal it
up and explain about it to Mr. Gates tomorrow."

The last sheet was turned up toward him. He glanced at it and was about
to turn away, when a word struck his attention. He looked down and then
hesitated.

"Humph, I musn't read this," he thought. "I shouldn't even have it.
But--"

Then he decided to see what the word "cup" was about. He picked up the
letter and read the paragraph. It read as follows:

"I understand your anxiety about that trophy cup that has caused all of
the trouble, and I will do my best to help you. As long as I and George
Long are the only ones who know the full story about that cup, I feel it
my duty to help you in any way that I can. I was wondering why you
didn't take the thing to a jeweler and have the bottom scraped, but I
can see what that would have meant, and the best thing is to get it away
from your house. There is no telling who might some day get ahold of the
thing and find out the truth, and with those cadets in the same town
such a thing wouldn't be wise. I will be down to see you in a week's
time, and when I return to Canada I'll take the cup with me and will
keep it safely in my cabin here. When you come to visit me next summer
we can scrape the bottom ourselves or we can throw it in the river,
whatever you say. Too bad you ever did such an outlandish thing."

The letter was signed "Oliver Burgess."

"Now, what the devil can that mean?" puzzled the astonished Don. "It is
surely referring to the missing 1933 trophy, but I wonder what all that
stuff about the scraping of the bottom means?"

                               Chapter 16
                            News from Inside

"So he is worrying about the cup, eh?" asked the colonel, when Don and
Jim showed him the strange letter.

At the colonel's suggestion they had read the entire thing, taking the
responsibility upon themselves in view of the fact that every effort to
clear George Long was justifiable. But outside of the one passage that
Don had read there was no other clue in the letter.

"He seems to be," Don answered. "What do you make of that part about
scraping the bottom of the cup, sir?"

"I don't know what to make of it," the headmaster confessed. "It is very
strange, and I'm afraid that we will have to get possession of the cup
in order to find out just what all this mystery is. We must get the
cup."

"If we do get it, we'll have to work fast," Jim put in. "This friend of
his is to take it away to Canada with him."

"Yes," agreed the colonel. "We will have to work fast. In the meantime,
I shall have a copy of this letter made and then we'll seal it up and
one of you should take it to the postoffice and drop it in the incoming
mail slot. In that way Gates will get it without ever knowing that it
had been tampered with."

The colonel had a copy made of the letter and then Don and Jim walked
down to the postoffice and placed it in the proper slot.

In a day or two the colonel reported very satisfactory developments. He
showed Don an advertisement in the town paper. The advertisement read as
follows:

"Wanted: A butler for large household, must have previous experience and
good references. Apply at any hour to 14 Portville Avenue and ask for
Mr. Melvin Gates."

"That ad just suits our purpose and couldn't be better," the colonel
told Don.

"How so, sir?" asked Don, puzzled.

The colonel laughed. "I'll show you this afternoon. Go to Captain Rhodes
and tell him I have excused you from drill formation, then come and
report to me. We will take a little drive together."

After classes that day Don reported to Rhodes and repeated the colonel's
order, and the drill instructor readily excused him from duty. While the
other cadets were drilling on the windswept field Don went to the
colonel's office to accompany the headmaster on his unknown journey. The
colonel was ready for him and when Don entered he called up a local taxi
agency and ordered a cab.

"We are going in style--and in secrecy," the colonel chuckled, amused at
the wondering look on the cadet's face.

In due time the taxi arrived and the colonel and Don got into the cab,
after the headmaster had given an order to the driver in a low tone.
When they were safely underway Colonel Morrell told Don that they were
going to call on the police.

"A sort of a diplomatic excursion," he smiled. "The fewer who see us,
the better."

They rode down into Portville and stopped at last in front of the town
hall, where the colonel alighted, paid his bill and then led Don inside
and into a small private office, where they remained alone for some
fifteen minutes. At last a small door opened and Captain Dorran of the
local police came into the room. He was an old friend of the colonel's
and they shook hands heartily.

"This is one of my cadets, cap'n," remarked the colonel, nodding to Don.
"One of my very best, too, the young man who helped me out of that bad
scrape last year."

"Glad to know you, young man," the police chief laughed. "I thought at
first that the colonel was bringing you to me for business purposes!"

"We have some business on hand," said the colonel, as Don shook hands
with the police chief. "And we'll want a little help from you."

"Sit down, both of you," Dorran invited. "Now what can I do to help
you?"

"Don," directed the colonel, "tell Captain Dorran the whole class trophy
story up to date. Don't leave a thing out."

Don complied, being careful to remember and relate everything that had
happened, and when he had finished the colonel nodded in approval.

"Yes, that is about right. What do you think of it, Dorran?"

The chief frowned. "This Arthur Gates is a pretty black character, isn't
he? What is it that you want me to do, Morrell?"

"There was an advertisement in the paper last night calling for a
butler, and the Gates family placed the ad. I want you to scare me up a
good detective that will pass as a butler, and have him placed in the
house. When the man from Canada comes this butler-detective is to try
and get hold of that cup, or at least to prevent it from going to
Canada. Can you do that?"

"I think I can," replied the chief promptly. "I'll have Proctor come
in."

Mr. Proctor was called in and the colonel and Don saw he could play the
part well. He looked anything but a detective, with his expressionless
face, soft brown eyes and sleek hair. He did look every inch a
soft-spoken, efficient butler. He was informed of the necessary details
and ordered to either get the cup or at least keep it from going to
Canada. Even before Don and the colonel left the station he was on his
way to Gates' place to apply, with references in his pocket that had
served him more than once in similar cases.

"Well, what do you think of my plan?" the colonel asked his young
companion on the way back to school in the cab.

"I think it should be just the thing to clear up all this business," Don
replied. "We know that the cup is in the house and the detective should
be able to get hold of it. Once we get a good look at the thing we
should be able to clear up all the mystery surrounding it and then
George Long can be wholly cleared."

"Yes, that's what I think," Colonel Morrell nodded. "When I do announce
the story of George's innocence to the world I don't want any loose
ends. I want to be able to tell the whole story. I think the detective
is clever enough to get the cup and then we'll be at the end of our
problem."

Some of the cadets were standing around the door when the cab stopped
and they were surprised to see Don alight and hold the door open for the
colonel, who got out and paid the driver. The colonel went on inside and
Don lingered to talk to some of his friends. He came in for a lot of
good-natured bantering for going riding with the colonel.

"It beats me," said Lieutenant Thompson, with mock seriousness, "how
some fellows do get along in this world. Here the rest of us go out and
drill all afternoon, while Don goes riding in a taxi with the colonel!
Some fellows have all the luck!"

The colonel kept Don fully informed of the progress of events at the
Gates home. Mr. Proctor had become butler at the house and in two days'
time reported the arrival of the friend from Canada. As yet the
detective had not been able to find the missing trophy, but he believed
that it would soon be forthcoming.

The next report came in one evening while Don and Jim were making out a
report in the colonel's office. The telephone rang out and the colonel
answered it. They heard him say: "What? That's fine. Get hold of it in
some way, and bring it right up to the school when you do. That's good
news. All right, and best of luck."

He turned to the boys and lowered his voice. "That was Mr. Proctor," he
told them. "The friend from Canada is going home tomorrow, and in
addition to his regular suitcase, which he brought with him, he is
carrying a small black bag, and if he does not get an opportunity to get
the bag in the house, he will follow the man to the railroad station and
try to get it there. He'll get it somehow, and I told him to bring it
right up here to the school when he did get it."

"That is good news from inside," said Don, with satisfaction. "I hope he
manages it."

                               Chapter 17
                        Mr. Proctor Gets the Bag

Saturday evening, the telephone in Colonel Morrell's office rang. After
a short conversation he sent an orderly in quest of Don and Jim, as well
as Douglas and Hudson. When they were all assembled he told them what he
had in mind.

"I have just had a call from Mr. Proctor, boys. He has the black bag
with the 1933 trophy in it!"

"He has?" cried Don. "That's fine."

"Yes, and he is on his way here now. I wanted you young men on the spot
to get a good look at it as soon as I did. All we have to do is to wait
until the detective comes."

It took Mr. Proctor a good half hour to arrive, but at last they heard a
taxi drive up to the front of Locke Hall and a door slam. A moment later
and Mr. Proctor was with them, a satisfied expression on his sleek face.
In his hand he carried a small black bag, of which he took excellent
care.

"Well, so we have it at last, eh?" boomed the colonel. "How did you get
hold of it?"

"I didn't get it in the house at all," the detective explained. "Mr.
Burgess, the visitor from Canada, kept it so close beside him that I
didn't have a chance. I had to wait until after he was gone. I followed
him down to the station and watched my chance, but it didn't come until
after I got on the train. He had placed it in the rack overhead and when
we came to a small station I got up, took the bag and made for the door,
just as he raised a cry. It was good and dark, so I just beat it away
and took a cab here. I called you up from Orangeville, colonel."

"I see," said the colonel. "Well, now let's have a look at that cup."

Mr. Proctor went to work on the bag, which was locked, but with the aid
of some keys and a huge knife forced the top open, while the cadets
looked on in breathless interest. As the bag split open with a rush they
all craned forward to see what was in it.

It was full of old newspapers, and nothing more.

For just a minute there was complete silence in the room. The boys
looked from one to another and the detective looked as though his eyes
would pop out with surprise and mortification. The colonel breathed
hard.

"Looks as though something had been put over on you, Mr. Proctor," he
said quietly.

The detective nodded miserably. All the way to the school he had been
congratulating himself on his cleverness and now it turned out to be but
a mockery.

"Then he must have the thing in his suitcase!" he cried. "But I
distinctly heard Gates tell him to take the cup in the black bag."

"It looks very much as though they both knew you were on the trail and
switched the cup to the suitcase," Hudson remarked.

"If that is the case, the cup is lost, for it is on its way to Canada,"
the colonel declared.

"I don't see how they could have gotten onto me," the detective cried.
"I never did a better job in my life."

"I have just thought of something," ventured Don. "Do you remember the
night you called up the school here and told the colonel all about it,
Mr. Proctor?"

"Yes," replied the man.

"Was Arthur Gates at home when you called?"

"Yes, but he was upstairs, for I made sure of that. Oh, he couldn't have
heard me!" the man protested.

"When I was at that house, on the night we took Mr. Gates home from the
accident, I noticed a telephone upstairs. Do you suppose--"

"Ah!" almost shouted the detective. "That click on the wire!"

"Did it sound as though someone upstairs picked up the telephone
receiver while you were talking?" pressed Don quietly.

"Yes," acknowledged the detective. "Now that you put it that way, it
did. I remember hearing a click while I was explaining things to Colonel
Morrell, but I thought nothing of it. Somebody, probably Arthur Gates
himself, must have heard that conversation."

After the crestfallen detective had departed they talked it over,
realizing that the game was up. There was now no hope of ever recovering
the cup.

"I guess we'll just have to go without knowing what was on that cup that
made it worth while for Gates to steal," the colonel admitted. "Now, the
only thing for me to do is to have another Alumni meeting soon after
Christmas and have Long there. At that meeting we'll publicly clear him
and let it go at that."

"All I can say is that Mr. Proctor is not the best detective in the
world," said Douglas.

"No," seconded the colonel. "He should never have called up from the
house, or from any other place. He should have come directly here and
told me things personally. Well, boys, that is the end of the cup
affair. I thank you most heartily for your very real interest in it and
your services to Mr. Long. That ends the matter of the 1933 class's
trophy as far as we are concerned, with the exception of the apology to
Long."

                               Chapter 18
                           The Published List

Christmas came and Woodcrest was almost deserted. For a whole week the
school looked empty and forlorn as the boys went to their homes to spend
the holiday season.

The Mercers and Terry had returned to Maine, separating for a brief week
to be with their own families. The Mercer brothers thoroughly enjoyed
the week at home, visiting friends, spending time with the family, and
getting in some fine skating.

It was the day following New Year's Day that the brothers returned to
Woodcrest and once more plunged into the routine of school life. Things
went along smoothly for a week, and then something unexpected happened.

Just as Don and Jim were cleaning up one evening for dinner Terry burst
into the room, his eyes shining with excitement.

"A little excitement now and then, is relished by the best of men!"
recited the red-headed boy.

"Admitting that I am the best of men, what is the excitement!" grinned
Jim, carefully hanging up his towel.

"The Portville Bank was held up and robbed this afternoon!" came the
startling answer.

"What's that?" Don exclaimed.

"Sure enough," affirmed Terry, bouncing down on the bed. "A big car
drove up to the bank just before closing time and three masked men got
out, walked into the place, forced their way into a couple of private
vaults and ran off with a few thousand dollars, to say nothing of some
valuable family plate."

"Right in broad daylight?" asked Jim.

"Yes, bold as brass. It was all over so quickly that the police didn't
have a chance to do a thing about it. The bandits drove out of town
before anything could be done in the way of turning in an alarm."

"They must have had the thing planned for a long time ahead, to pull off
a stunt like that in the daytime," Don said. "They must be a slick
bunch, to drive out of town in a car in broad daylight."

The supper bell rang at that moment and they went downstairs, to find
the corps buzzing with the news from town. Nothing else was talked of
during the meal, for such things were unusual and it was the first time
in its history that Portville had come in for such distinction. Scores
of different plans for catching the bandits were advanced, some of which
made the colonel smile.

"Too bad the authorities don't request that you boys be put on the trail
to run the outlaws down," he suggested.

"If we were put on the job we'd do our best to catch those thieves,"
Lieutenant Thompson boasted.

After the drill the cadets managed to straggle down into town to see if
there was anything unusual, but they were disappointed. A number of the
local police stood about, but that was the only sign that anything was
wrong. Of course there were the extra knots of townspeople who buzzed
and hummed, but as most of their talk was fruitless speculation the
cadets paid no attention to it.

On the following day the Portville paper carried a screaming account of
the robbery, in fact, there was little else in the paper but the news.
Beside a dozen different accounts of the affair, given by the cashier
and the clerks who had been eyewitnesses of the holdup, there were
accounts of the activities of the police and promises for a speedy
capture of the bandits. Pictures of the bank adorned the inside sheets,
and the history of the institution took up an entire page.

It was Jim who found a paragraph of unusual interest in the account.
Most of the cadets had contented themselves with a glance at the
headlines of the paper, but Jim had taken the trouble to read the
details. He lost no time in finding Don and Terry.

"Look here," he commanded them, pointing to the paper. "I just found one
item of interest to us. Did you fellows know that the private vault of
the Gates family was robbed?"

"I had heard so," Terry nodded. "Anything of value taken?"

"Yes, some very expensive silver plate. But this is what the paragraph
says: 'Besides a quantity of silver plate and some family heirlooms in
the way of jewelry, a silver cup trophy, won at school by Arthur Gates,
was also taken from the family vault.'"

"A silver cup, eh?" said Don, his eyes narrowing. "Now, can that be our
silver cup?"

"Nope, it must be Gates'," grinned Terry.

"You know what I mean," rejoined Don, impatiently. "We thought that the
friend from Canada took the cup back with him. Well, we may have been
wrong all along, and Gates probably put it in the safe deposit vault at
the bank."

"I guess that is what happened," Jim agreed. "Gates figured that we
would think it went to Canada and would give up the search for it. And
all the time it was right here in the town!"

"I think we had better show this article to the colonel," decided Don.
"If the police ever do catch these men we may be able to see the cup
before Gates gets it back."

The colonel was of the same opinion. "It may be another cup, of course,"
he warned. "Gates went to other schools and he may have won other cups.
I hope more honestly than he won the 1933 cup. But if we get a chance
we'll surely take a look at the cup the bandits took."

It was a foregone conclusion that it would take months to catch the
bandits and no one had much faith in the Portville police. But with
brilliant swiftness the local police caught the bandit trio. Working on
the theory that the man had only pretended to flee in some nearby woods
the local representatives of the law combed the thickets thoroughly, to
run down their astonished quarry in less than a week. The three men were
surprised in bed in a lonely cabin in the nearby hills, and the entire
proceeds of the bank robbery were found with them.

It developed later that the three men planned to bury the plate and
divide the money, hoping to split up and leave the region singly, but
the prompt work of the town police effectively prevented that. They were
swiftly brought to justice and the first inkling that the cadets had of
the fact was when the morning newspaper arrived at the school.

"Well, what do you know about that!" murmured Terry, as they scanned the
paper. "I didn't know the local police force had it in them."

"They surprised everyone, perhaps even themselves," smiled Don.

Jim was reading the account closely. "All of the effects of the Gates
family were recovered," he announced. "The cup is mentioned here again,
but there is no description of it. I certainly would like to know what
cup it is."

"I guess we should be able to find out," said Don. "Suppose we go down
to the newspaper office and hunt up the reporter that took the account?
Surely he should be able to tell us something about the cup, for it is
more than probable that he saw it."

At their earliest opportunity they went to town and to the newspaper
office, where they asked for the reporter who had taken down the account
of the robbery. He was a young man of a pleasant personality and he was
very willing to talk to them.

"Just what is it that you want to know, boys?" he asked.

"In the account that you wrote up of the robbery you detailed the
articles stolen from the different vaults," Don said. "We saw that among
the effects taken from the Gates family vault there was a silver cup
mentioned. Did you see that cup?"

"Yes," responded the reporter. "I saw all of the recovered articles. The
cup was among them."

"What did it look like?" Don asked, trying not to appear too interested.

"Why do you want to know?" countered the reporter.

"Mr. Gates won several cups in his school days, and he won one at
Woodcrest," Don answered. "We were just wondering if it was the
Woodcrest cup that was stolen."

The boys, when planning their method of procedure before coming to the
newspaper office, had decided on that story. The reporter was satisfied
at once.

"Why, I can't tell you that exactly," he said, slowly. "I didn't notice
anything but the date on it."

"What was the date?" Terry asked quickly.

"The date was 1933," was the answer.

"That was the Woodcrest cup," nodded Don. "We were wondering up at the
school, and we three fellows decided to stop in and see if that was the
cup. Thanks a lot."

"That is perfectly all right," the reporter smiled. "Shall I ask Mr.
Gates sometime if that was the cup?"

"No, it won't be necessary," Don replied, casually. "We know that it is
the cup he won at Woodcrest, because he won one in that year. I suppose
he locked it up in the vault again?"

"No!" was the unexpected reply. "He left all of the other valuables
there, but he took the cup back to his home with him!"

"Maybe he feels so much pride in it that he wants it at hand," suggested
Jim as a venture.

"I don't know, I'm sure, but I know that he took it home with him," the
reporter concluded.

When they had thanked him once more the boys left the office and started
back to school, talking the situation over between them.

"Well, the cup is still in our midst, and we may have another try at
it," Don remarked.

"As long as it is at the house, yes," agreed Jim. "Maybe he feels that
it will be safest where he can keep an eye on it."

"Um," observed Terry, sarcastically. "All we have to do is to get in and
get at it!"

"Something may turn up and give us the chance," said Don, hopefully.
"You never can tell."

                               Chapter 19
                       A Conversation in the Dark

Early one February morning a committee of ladies and gentlemen waited on
Colonel Morrell. He saw them come up the drive, and was surprised to
note that the group was made up of a clergyman, two well-known
businessmen, and two ladies whom he knew to be leaders of women's
activities in Portville. When they had all been seated in his office,
the clergyman, a fine, straight-forward young man who was making good in
the largest church in the town, broached the subject to him.

"Colonel Morrell," began Dr. Bicknell. "You may be a bit surprised to
see such a formidable gathering bear down on you, but I assure you that
we have good intentions. I don't know whether you have heard anything
about it or not, but on Washington's Birthday Portville is to celebrate
its small but honored share in the events of the Revolutionary War. We
are a committee in charge of arrangements and have come to ask you for
you co-operation on that day. The center of attraction will be the old
Gannon House and the picturization of the stirring events that happened
in it."

"The Gannon House?" asked the colonel. "I've heard of it, but I don't
just recall where it is."

"It is the house at present occupied by Mr. Melvin Gates and his family.
You know the place now?"

"Oh, yes, surely," affirmed the colonel. "Now I do remember. That is the
most historic house in Portville, eh?"

"Yes," replied Dr. Bicknell. "At the time of the Revolution our armies
were harried by one particular spy who seemed to find out every move
that the Continental Army made. At last this spy was run down by two
determined citizens of Portville, and was found to be a young teacher
who lodged at the Gannon House. He was taken from the house by indignant
patriots and hanged just outside the town. The act was most fortunate,
for from that moment there was no more leaking of news to the British.

"On Washington's Birthday we propose to have a pageant which will show
most of that, all but the actual hanging, which people can dispense
with, I imagine. The events leading up to the capture of the British spy
were highly dramatic, and we wish to show them in the pageant, which
will take place in the daytime. What we want you to do, Colonel Morrell,
is to permit your boys to parade in the morning. There will be a parade
of ex-service men, fraternal organizations and business clubs, to say
nothing of the patriotic organizations, and we feel that the line of
march would not be complete unless your splendid boys marched with us."

"In the name of the cadet corps, I thank you," acknowledged the colonel.
"I shall be most happy to have the cadet units march in the parade. The
boys haven't been in a public parade for a number of years and it would
do them good to get in one. Yes, I shall be very happy to allow the boys
to parade."

"That is very helpful, and we are grateful to you for your
co-operation," smiled the pleasant young pastor. "Now, there is one
other thing we would like to request. In the evening there will be a
public inspection of the Gannon House and at that time we would like to
post some of your cadets at various points about the house, to act as
guides or whatever else may come up. Can you see your way clear to let
us use a few of your honor pupils, say one at the front and rear doors,
and one on each side and the staircases? That will add an impressive
tone to the whole thing."

"Yes, that can be easily done," promised the colonel. "I shall be glad
to help in any way possible. I shall detail my captains and lieutenants
to take posts in the house and do whatever else you wish them to do."

The members of the committee once more thanked the colonel, and after a
few plans were made they left him. In due time the news was circulated
among the corps and the cadets looked forward with more or less pleasure
to the event.

"It will be something different," Terry expressed it. "Won't I enjoy
marching through town, the center of all eyes."

"You mean the town will be the center of all eyes?" asked Jim, slyly.

"No, dope! I will be!"

"If I remember correctly, you will be perched on the rear of a gun
carriage," retorted Jim. "But just think of me, my boy! I'll be sitting
on a horse, the captain of the cavalry, as proud as you please, bowing
to the ladies."

"With all due respect to your exalted position," grinned Terry. "I would
advise you not to bow too much. You might tumble over the neck of the
horse and bump your nose!"

"I guess I'll be the only one who won't shine at all," said Don. "I'm
just a poor, plain little infantry soldier! A lieutenant on foot doesn't
show up much."

"I thought that Gates' house looked like a very old one when we were in
it," said Don. "But I never guessed that it had such a history. Now that
we know the history we can account for the huge doors, the massive bolts
and the wide, spreading staircase."

An account in the newspaper interested the boys. It related how, at a
time when the British raided Portville, the Gannon family took their
silver plate and buried it out in the garden. The British had stolen
everything in sight, but the silver was later dug up by the members of
the family and saved.

"I'd like to see the spot where it was buried, sometime," said Terry.
"That must have been an interesting sight. Imagine the men out in the
garden in the dead of night, burying the boxes of silver plate!"

Parade orders were given two days before Washington's Birthday and the
cadets found themselves in for a busy time. Dress uniforms were brought
out and cleaned, swords polished and bayonets rubbed down. Rifles were
inspected and the horses well groomed, for the colonel was anxious for
his boys to give a good account of themselves.

Good fortune fell to Jim. As an officer he had received a post inside
the historic house. In high spirits he told Don and Terry of his good
fortune.

"Nice going, kid!" approved Don, generously. "Where is your post to be?"

Jim made a wry face. "I'm not so sure that the post is a good one, for I
am stationed at the back door. I won't be able to see much of what goes
on there, but at least I'll be in the house."

"Maybe we're luckier than you are, at that," chuckled the red-headed
boy. "Those of us who are not to be on post in the house will be able to
roam around the town, for the colonel has given us full liberty on that
day. But just the same, I think I'd rather be in the house."

"So should I," nodded Don. "At any rate, keep your eyes open, Jim. There
is no telling what you may see."

"I'll do that," Jim promised.

On Washington's Birthday the school showed the marks of feverish
activity. After breakfast and the school exercises the corps assembled
on the campus. It was indeed a splendid sight. The cavalry, with Captain
Jim and Lieutenant Thompson at the head, assembled on the road in front
of the campus, while the cadet brigade took up the campus. Back of the
infantry the artillery unit stood at attention, the several guns
polished to the last degree. All of the cadets were in dress uniform,
with the tall military hats, the braided coats, and the white gloves.
When the corps was fully formed and the orders of the day read, they
started out to join the other divisions of the parade, the citizen
units.

With the jangle of trappings the cavalry, in perfect formation four
abreast, moved off down the road, and the infantry, also marching four
abreast, with the band playing a lively march and the heels of the young
men ringing out on the pavement, followed. A dull rumble to the rear
marked the progress of the artillery division. When they struck the
center of town they fell into place behind the patriotic clubs. The
parade began at eleven o'clock.

It was a fine parade from start to finish. A number of ex-service men
led the van, with the town organizations following. They made up fully
one-half of the parade and then came the Woodcrest Military Institute
corps. Afterward, everyone gave praise to the young soldiers from the
school up in the hills. The cavalry was superb, the infantry marched
with precision, every foot in step and every white glove swinging with
accuracy, the flags drooping colorfully and the young men erect. The
field guns rolled along looking grim and effective, and when the parade
finally came to an end the colonel was more than satisfied.

In the afternoon the pageant was held and the cadets, no longer under
orders, watched the display. Fortunately, the Gannon House stood back
from the street and was favored with wide lawns, and the people who came
to see the spectacle, and that included practically the entire town,
were all able to see the display. Actors dressed in the costumes of
Revolutionary times took part and it proved to be most entertaining. A
young man came to the door of the Gannon House, dressed in the Colonial
costume, and asked for lodging, explaining that he was a teacher and
wanted to earn his living in the town. He was graciously received by the
Gannon family and installed as one of the family. But no sooner had this
young man settled himself than he began to entertain strange visitors.
Very erect men visited him, listening to his low-spoken talk with great
attention and then going away. At night the teacher left the house,
wrapped in a great cloak, explaining to Mr. Gannon, who asked his
purpose, that he was merely walking for exercise and recreation. Then
came two patriots who pretended great friendship for the young teacher
and watched him at night, crouching beneath the windows to do so. Toward
the end of the pageant they unmasked the spy and Mr. Gannon was the
first to condemn him to the fate of hanging. The last scene showed the
Gannon family hearing from the lips of American officers that no more
information was "leaking" to the British.

The pageant was well given and the spectators enjoyed it. Gates' house
was then opened to the public for a supper, which was served to the
members of the committee. At eight o'clock the doors were formally
opened to the general public, and Jim took his post at the back door.

Hudson, as senior captain of the corps, occupied the central position at
the front door. Other captains and lieutenants had posts throughout the
house. There were two cadets on the lower floor, one in the center of
the house and another in the huge, Colonial kitchen, a cadet on the
central staircase and one on the landing of the second floor. One cadet
stood post on the third floor, where the quarters of the servants still
stood unchanged since the days of the building of the house. And at the
back door stood Jim.

He was not sure that his post was the best in the world, but he did have
an active one. Early in the evening numbers of townsfolk, some of them
brilliantly dressed, entered the house and were led through it by
members of the Daughters of the American Revolution, who were all
dressed in costumes of that period. When they finished inspecting the
house they went to the grounds in the back and kept Jim active. When he
heard a step on the other side of the door he would step quickly to the
door, open it wide and step back, holding it open until the persons had
passed through and then closing it. The yard had been lighted only in
the immediate vicinity of the house. The back gardens remained in
darkness.

Of course much was seen of the Gates family. Melvin Gates, who had
recovered from his accident, was everywhere in evidence, easily the
center of the affair. A few knew that the senior Gates was more than
delighted at the entire circumstance, as it was raising him vastly in
the eyes of the townspeople in general. He had not himself offered his
house for inspection, but had been very willing when the subject had
been broached to him by the leaders of the movement. Arthur Gates was
also much in the public eye as he moved with immense sociability around
the house, his wife beside him, bowing and smiling. When the party
happened to be composed of persons of wealth and distinction in
Portville the bow and the smile became very genial indeed.

However, not only the rich and influential came that night to the old
Gannon House, but also the poor and humble. Many a plain working man,
interested in the history of his country or the structure of the house,
came to look through it and Jim opened the door to such as well as to
the others who swept by him with a swish of costly garments. To all of
them Jim extended the same unfailing courtesy.

Toward nine o'clock in the evening a man who looked to be a laborer
passed out of the back door and went into the garden. Jim noted that the
man looked at his watch and then seemed to be waiting. After a time he
went down to the gardens, losing himself in the blackness beyond the
electric lights.

Not fifteen minutes after he had gone there was another step inside the
kitchen and Jim quickly opened the door. Arthur Gates stepped out,
looked all around him without paying any attention to Jim, and then set
off at a rapid pace for the garden, following the same direction taken
by the man. Jim was curious at once.

"I'd like to know what is going on," he reflected. "I wonder if I ought
to go down and see? Very few people are coming through any more, and
besides, if I do leave my post, it will be thought I did so to run an
errand. I guess I'll take a chance on it."

Seeing that no one was about Jim slipped quickly to the side of the yard
and away from the glare of the lights. Then, following a path which
wound down into the farther reaches of the place he moved forward,
treading with infinite care, avoiding gravelled walks where possible and
fairly creeping over them when they could not be avoided. In a short
time he reached the garden and saw ahead of him in the darkness two
forms.

A screen of bushes loomed between him and the two men and Jim crouched
as he made his way to them. Once in their shelter he was able to hear
plainly what was being said.

"--close against the back wall," Gates was saying.

"You want me to mark the spot so you'll know the place?" the man asked.

"No," replied Gates. "I don't care if I never see it again."

"Not valuable, eh?" the man asked, cautiously.

"No, only a trinket I won at school, but I'm sick and tired of having it
around. It is better off buried. But never mind that; all you have to do
is to bury the thing. I don't want it done by daylight, either. Will you
do it tomorrow night?"

"Sure, around ten o'clock. I got to work up until that time. Right here
will be all right eh?" the laborer said.

"Yes. I'll pay you well for it, but you are to keep your mouth shut.
Good heavens! this thing you're to bury isn't worth a dollar, and yet
I've had more trouble with it than if it cost a thousand. Now, let's get
back and you be sure to go to work tomorrow night."

With that they separated and Jim could see them going toward the house,
but the laborer branched off and left the grounds while Arthur Gates
went in the back door. Before he went to his post again Jim looked
carefully around the garden where he stood. There was a high wall nearby
and he knew that he was at the end of the property.

Then he went back to his post, taking care to approach it from the side
of the house, casually and as though he was coming from an errand. Once
more he took up his post at the back door.

"So Gates is going to bury the cup?" he reflected. "And it had given as
much trouble as though it cost a thousand dollars. Of course, it may not
be the cup, after all, but I'll bet it is. Well, we'll just dig it up as
soon as he gets it planted!"

In another hour all inspection of the Gannon House was over and it once
more became simply the home of the Gates family. The cadets on post
assembled and marched up to the school reporting in from duty, and soon
after that Jim was relating his remarkable story to Don and Terry.

                               Chapter 20
                        The Digger in the Garden

"This must be the place!"

Jim whispered it cautiously and the two shadows with him nodded
silently. Don and Terry crouched down beside him behind the high wall
which ran back of the home of Arthur Gates.

It was on the following night, and three cadets were there with the full
permission of Colonel Morrell. Jim, after his talk with his friends, had
gone straight to the headmaster with the story. The colonel had also
been of the opinion that it was the cup that Gates planned to bury. He
agreed that it would be best for them to watch the digging and to get
the object at once, before the time elapsing would give the ground a
chance to freeze. So the three cadets crouched behind the wall bordering
Gates' place on this February night.

"You think this is the right spot?" Don whispered.

"Yes," returned Jim. "What time is it?"

Terry consulted a watch with a lighted dial. "Just five minutes of ten,"
he replied. "We got here just in time."

They had reached the property a few minutes before and had skirted the
wall, halting at the place which Jim had believed to be opposite the
spot where Gates and the man had conferred on the previous night. They
straightened up and Jim reached upward, finding that he was just able to
place his fingertips on the top of the wall.

"Give me a boost up," he ordered.

Don cupped his hand and by the aid of this step Jim sprang onto the
wall. For a moment there was silence as he peered down into the garden
inside, and then he leaned toward them.

"This is the place," he whispered. "Come on up."

Terry formed the step by which Don joined his brother on the wall and
then they both pulled the red-head up. Jim then looked carefully back of
him.

"There are no lights back of us," he said. "I'm pretty sure that no one
can see us."

They settled themselves to wait and the minutes dragged by. It seemed an
age, though it was in reality only fifteen minutes when Terry hissed
warningly.

"Somebody is coming!"

They crouched low as they saw a bobbing light coming down the path
toward them. It was a man with a lantern and as he drew nearer they saw
that it was a short man, whom Jim recognized as the man who had talked
with Gates. Near the wall the man halted, and placed a wooden box on the
ground. Setting the lantern down, and without looking around him, he
dropped a pick and shovel from his shoulder. He took up the pick, raised
it above his head and brought it down with a thump on the hard earth.

The boys, when talking the situation over at school, were agreed that
Gates had received his idea from the newspaper account of the burying of
the silver plate by the Gannon family. When they saw the wooden box on
the ground they were firmly convinced that it held the disputed silver
cup, for it was just the right size.

The digger in the garden worked steadily at his task, breaking the stiff
earth with his pick and then shovelling it away with his shovel. He had
made a hole perhaps three feet deep when something wholly unexpected
happened.

There was a sudden flash of fire back of the watching cadets and they
were bathed in an embarrassing glow of light. Turning startled heads
over their shoulders they saw that a garage nearby had caught fire and
that a pan of oil was blazing up to the sky. The man working in the
garden looked up with a grunt of fright, but fortunately not in their
immediate direction, for the glare was spreading and he looked slightly
to one side of them. Seeing how things stood the three cadets dropped
from the wall swiftly and with as little noise as possible, crouching at
the bottom of the wall outside Gates' property. The glare died down
abruptly.

"Did he see us?" questioned Don, eagerly.

"No," whispered Jim. "But that was a narrow escape."

"You bet," agreed Terry. "There we were, sitting on the wall like three
chickens! That was a lucky escape."

"We had better wait here until he finishes his digging," Jim suggested.
"Listen; he has gone back to work."

They could hear the man resume his digging. But it was unfortunate that
they could not see into the garden, for real trouble was coming their
way rapidly.

Arthur Gates, uneasy over the affair, had been standing at an upper
window when the flare had illuminated the sky, and clearly and
distinctly he had seen the three cadets on the wall. Uttering an
exclamation the man ran from the house and made his way to the digger.
Unknown to the boys a rapid interchange of words followed and then Gates
took up the box and went back to the house. The man who was doing the
digging dropped his shovel and waited a moment, until he was joined by
the caretaker of the property. Some whispering passed between them and
then they silently made their way to a gate in the wall.

The three cadets crouched there in the blackness of the night beside the
wall and waited. They strained their ears to hear continued sounds of
the digging but they heard nothing.

"He must be finished," Terry whispered.

"I should think that we would hear him replacing the dirt," suggested
Jim.

"Suppose you go aloft and see?" said Don, in a low voice.

Jim straightened up and Don gave him a hand to the top of the wall. Once
there Jim peered carefully over to see how far the man had gotten in his
work. But in a moment he was down again.

"The man is gone!" he told them, in wonder.

"Then he has finished," concluded Don, but Jim shook his head.

"I don't know why he should be. The lantern is still there and the hole
is open, but the box is gone!"

"Gone?" the others cried guardedly.

"Yes, and I don't see a sign of the man," Jim replied.

"Let me take a look," Don directed briefly.

When he had been hoisted up he made the same observation that Jim had.
The three boys were puzzled.

"Confound that fire!" growled Terry. "If it hadn't been for that we
would know what was going on."

"It doesn't look very good to me," observed Jim.

They waited for a moment, undecided as to what to do. The only sound
that reached their ears was the sound of men in the nearby garage, who
had put out the unexpected fire and who were talking about it. They were
not near enough to cause the cadets any misgivings, however.

"Give me another boost," said Don, but Jim caught his arm in a firm
grasp.

"Listen!" commanded his brother.

There had been a faint sound near them, along the wall, the sound as of
a small stick breaking. There was no further noise but they had heard
that one plainly. A suspicion leaped into Don's mind.

"Maybe someone saw us and they are after us," he whispered.

No sooner had he spoken than two distinct shadows loomed up before them
along the wall.

"Run, you guys!" cried Jim.

They dashed away from the wall as fast as they could go toward the open
field, the two men hard at their heels. Jim and Terry were slightly
ahead of Don and running swiftly, breaking their way recklessly through
the bushes that barred their way. Don had been a bit slower but was
sufficiently ahead of his pursuers to keep him out of danger. They ran
in the general direction of the school, trusting to luck to keep them
out of holes and other pitfalls.

But Don was the unlucky one. Jim and Terry veered to the right across
the fields but Don kept on going, failing to follow their lead closely.
When he noticed that they had changed their course he swung around to
follow them. There was nothing ahead of him, but as he ran forward he
felt himself flung back abruptly, to tumble breathless to the ground.
Before him was a long chicken run, with high chicken wire strung from
pole to pole to pole, and Don had run against this net in the dark, to
be playfully tossed for a considerable loss.

It proved to be a fatal loss. Just as he scrambled to his feet the two
men swooped down on him and two pairs of strong arms gripped him. He
struggled but the men held him fast.

"Let go of me," he demanded, somewhat breathlessly.

"Nothing doing, bub," growled the man who had been digging. "You come
along with us."

"Where are you taking me?" Don asked, as they led him along.

"Back to the house," replied the other, an older man. "We want to find
out what you were doing snooping around there. I'm caretaker at the
house and I can have you arrested for trespassing."

Don had a pretty fair idea that Arthur Gates would not have him arrested
but he realized that he was in a tough spot.

                               Chapter 21
                            The Cup at Last

There was nothing more said until they reached the house, where Don was
quickly ushered into the presence of Arthur Gates. The man was seated in
the library when they entered, with a book in his hand, and he looked up
in apparent surprise when Don was brought in.

"What is this, Garry?" he asked of the caretaker.

"Caught this fellow trespassing on the grounds, sir," said the
caretaker.

"You did not!" denied Don. "You caught me way over in the next field."

"But you must have been on the grounds, in order for Garry to have seen
you," declared Gates, putting his book down. He looked keenly at Don.
"Why, you are one of the cadets from Woodcrest, aren't you?"

"Yes," nodded Don. "I am."

"What are you doing out at this late hour?" asked Gates. "Taking French
leave, I suppose?"

"Yes," said Don, seeing his course.

"You should be in bed by this time at the school," Gates went on. "What
were you doing on my property?"

"I haven't been on your property yet," said Don.

"The wall is my property," flashed Gates.

"Oh, so you saw me on the wall?" questioned Don.

Gates bit his lip. He had not intended to say so much. "Never mind who
saw you there; you were there." He turned to the other two. "You may go
now." To the laborer he said: "I won't need you any more tonight, Tom.
Drop around to see me in the morning."

The two men went out and Gates turned to Don once more. "Now, young man,
what is your name?"

"Mercer," replied Don.

"What were you snooping around here for tonight, Mercer?"

"Three of us were out on a lark and we looked over your wall on the way
back," replied Don.

"You were sitting on the wall," accused Gates.

"Yes, we sat on the wall," confessed Don. "But we didn't trespass on
your property and so you can't hold us. All you can do is report us to
the colonel."

"I think you were prowling around here for something else, young man,"
growled Gates, rising.

"What for?" asked Don, looking straight into Gates' eyes.

"How should I know?" the man evaded. "I'm going to take you into custody
for a time at least, Mercer. You come with me."

"Where are you taking me?" Don asked, as Gates took hold of his arm.

"Never mind asking so many questions, but come along. Don't make any
resistance or I shall call in the police. By the way, aren't you one of
those cadets who brought in my father from that accident?"

"Yes," acknowledged Don.

"Too bad you had to mix yourself up in this business."

"What business are you talking about?" asked Don pointedly.

"Never mind that. What became of your companions?"

"I suppose they got away."

"Well, I'll find out who they were and have them punished, too. Now, out
this way."

Curiously Don followed his captor out into the hall and up the big
staircase to the second floor, down that hall and up a flight of stairs
to the third floor. Coming to a door there Gates opened it and thrust
Don inside, closing the door after him. A moment later and Don heard a
key rattle in the lock. Then the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps
came to his ears.

He attempted to move around the room and bumped into something sharp
that poked into his waist. Striking a match that he found in his pocket,
Don saw that he was in a billiard room and that he had bumped the table.
Seeing a light switch on the wall he moved toward it and turned on the
lights. Then he looked curiously around his prison.

There were no windows in the room, but a skylight gave it illumination
in the daytime. If necessary Don was sure that he could jump from the
table to the skylight and make his way to the roof, but he had no
intention of trying it at present. Instead, he went to the door and
tried it carefully, finding it locked.

"They won't keep me in here long," he thought grimly. "I'll raise such a
racket that he'll be glad to let me out. But I wonder if that will be
the best thing to do?"

He began to shake the door, to try its strength, and at last pressed
against the lock with all his strength. Although that had no effect on
the lock directly it had an unexpected outcome. There was a step out in
the hall, and the key was turned in the lock. When the door was thrown
open Don stared into the face of a butler.

He was the first one to recover himself. "Oh, thanks a lot for opening
the door," he said, carelessly, seeing his way out. "Someone must have
turned the key in the lock."

"But what--who are you, sir?" the surprised butler stammered.

"I'm an acquaintance of Mr. Gates," said Don. "I came up here with him
and he left me to go down stairs. Someone must have turned the lock
while I was in here."

"But, sir," protested the butler. "No one has been past this door. I
sleep in the next room and I came out before going to bed because I
heard you rattle the door."

"And that was very kind of you," said Don. He saw that the butler was
not overly bright and that he would probably have no trouble with the
man. "It must have been an accident, my getting locked in here. Well,
I'll go downstairs and join Mr. Gates. Thank you very much."

"You are very welcome, sir. But--"

"But what?" inquired Don, frowning at the man. "Do you think I am a
burglar, man? Can't you see the uniform I have on? I'm a cadet at
Woodcrest School."

"No offense meant, sir," hastily replied the butler. "It was
just--hum--irregular, sir, and I wondered. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight," responded Don, hoping that Gates had not heard the talking.

Apparently he had not, for there was no movement as he walked cautiously
down to the second floor. The butler had gone back to his room and no
one was in the hall. The young cadet was undecided as to what to do now
that he was free.

"I ought to make a good effort to get hold of that cup, now that I am in
the house," he reasoned. "But I don't know how to go about it."

He tiptoed along the second floor hall, determined to go to the lower
floor and look around down there for the cup. He was not greatly worried
about the whole situation for he knew that the colonel was back of him
in whatever he did, and even in the event that the Gates family got
highhanded about things he was sure that the significant word spoken to
them would serve to cool their temper. So he had some degree of comfort
in the fact that it would probably come out right in the end. And when
he stopped to think of the heavy injustice that George Long had suffered
all these years because of the flagrant villainy of these same people he
had no scruples against prowling around Gates' house.

A light showed under the door of the room into which the cadets had
carried Melvin Gates the night of the accident and Don stopped there,
struck by an idea. He moved up close to the door and listened, being
rewarded by the murmur of voices inside. Although they were pitched in a
low key he was nevertheless able to make out what was being said.

"But you cannot keep that young man a prisoner," he heard Melvin Gates
say.

"Well, what am I going to do with him?" his son asked impatiently.

"I do not know, Arthur. You think he was prowling around to find that
cup?"

"Oh, of course!" cried the son, wearily. "That cup has cost me more
anxiety than anything I ever had anything to do with in my life!"

"That is entirely your own fault, Arthur. If you had not been so
dishonest all of your life you wouldn't be in such a fix."

"Don't preach to me, father," snapped the son, angrily.

"It is too bad I didn't preach to you when you were smaller, instead of
filling your pockets with money that you didn't have the sense to take
care of. Where is the cup now?"

"I threw it in the closet in my study, at the end of the hall," was the
answer, which sent a thrill of hope through Don.

There was a rustle inside the room, much as though someone was getting
out of bed. "Tomorrow we'll dispose of that cup by melting it in the
furnace," said the elder Gates. "Wait until I get a bathrobe on and
we'll go up and interview that young man in the billiard room."

Don waited to hear no more. Arthur Gates had given him the clue he
needed and like a shot he darted off down the hall to the room at the
end. This was the room which tallied with the brief description the man
had given, but Don poked his head carefully in the door before entering,
as he did not wish to walk into anyone's bedroom.

But it was a small study which lay before him. In the dim light which
flooded in from the hall he could see the outline of a table, an easy
chair and a pile of books on the table. On the other side of the room he
made out a door. He entered the room and made his way to it, finding it
slightly open. At that moment he heard the two Gates leave the room of
the older man and begin to mount the stairs to the third floor.

Don's groping hands encountered a wooden box on the floor of the closet.
It seemed to be the same size as the one which had been in the garden
that night, and as there was no other object on the floor or on the
single shelf he was sure that he had at last come across the 1933 class
trophy.

"I've got the cup at last," he reflected. "Now, the big job is to get
out of this house!"

                               Chapter 22
                             Direct Action

Terry and Jim ran with all the speed they could muster across the
fields, believing that Don was close behind them.

But Jim finally realized that no one was close to them and he came to a
halt, calling to Terry in a low tone. The red-headed boy stopped and
joined him.

"Did we lose our pursuers?" Terry panted.

"Yes," gasped Jim, gulping in the fresh air. "And I'm afraid that we
have lost Don!"

"Isn't he around?" cried Terry.

"No. I don't know what has happened to him. I heard him pounding along
after us and then I lost the sound. Maybe he just branched off in
another direction."

"Let's give him the old signal," urged Terry, puckering up his lips. He
whistled in a low, penetrating note, the signal which had always been
known to the three friends and which had been agreed upon before they
had left on their night's quest. The sound went across the fields but
there was no answer, though they strained their ears to listen.

"I wonder if those men caught Don?" said Jim.

"Oh, I don't think so," reassured Terry. "I guess he just got separated
from us. Before we came out we agreed to meet under the lamp post in
case we got separated. Let's go over to the street and see if he is
waiting there."

Together they crossed the lots and emerged on the street upon which the
Gannon House faced, approaching the lamp light with some degree of
caution. But after they had waited in the shadow of a tree for ten
minutes they were both forced to the same conclusion.

"Not a doubt in the world that he was captured," sighed Terry.

"I'm afraid so," agreed Jim. "If he had gone off in another direction he
would surely have come here directly. At this moment he must be a
prisoner in Gates' house."

"What are we going to do about it?" demanded Terry practically.

"What can we do?" asked Jim helplessly.

"I think we need a little direct action," said Terry. "Let's go back to
the house and see if we can get a look at him. We may even be able to
set him free."

"OK, I'm willing," responded Jim, moving off down the street. "Perhaps
they have turned him over to the police."

"That isn't likely to do them any good," explained Terry. "We have the
colonel back of us and have nothing to worry about. Anyway, I think that
Don will drop a word or two that will give 'em something to think
about."

"Take it easy now," warned Jim, as they drew close to the gate before
the big house. "No telling who is snooping around the grounds."

Seeing no one in immediate range of vision they flitted across the
sidewalk and entered the grounds of the old place. Keeping close to the
hedge they made their way along it up to the house and then paused.

"Lights are none too plentiful in the house," whispered Terry.

There was only one lighted room in the downstairs. A low light burned in
a bedroom on the second floor and two rooms were lighted on the third
floor. With one accord, after a hasty glance around, the two cadets
crept to the window and looked under the shade into the library.

"No one in there," Jim whispered.

The room was empty. A single reading lamp burned in the place but there
was no sign of life. At that moment Terry nudged his companion's arm.

"Say! Doesn't something occur to you?"

"No," said Jim. "What?"

"It was under this same window that the patriots stood and saw that spy
school teacher talking with British officers!"

"Gee, that's right," mused Jim. "But we have one consolation. The Gates'
won't take Don out and hang him!"

"No," agreed Terry, with a half chuckle. "But they'll want to do it to
us if they catch us around here."

"You missed your cue," grinned Jim. "You should have said that we are
doing all the hanging around here!"

"Oof! Bad pun," snorted Terry. "But what are we going to do now?"

"Golly, I don't know," admitted Jim. "There is no question that Don is
in the house, and that we have got to get in and rescue him. But how the
devil are we to do it?"

"Don't know how many of my ancestors were burglars!" said Terry, grimly.
"But let's see how we stand in regard to windows."

He reached up and pushed on the frame of the window but found that it
was locked. He tried another with the same result.

"Careless people!" he grunted. "Leave their windows locked every night!"

"Perhaps we can find one open on the other side of the house," suggested
Jim. "Suppose we take a look."

They passed around the back of the house, but just as Jim turned the
corner of the kitchen pantry he stopped and crouched down, pulling his
companion with him.

"What's up?" Terry whispered.

"Caretaker prowling around," returned Jim. "Keep still, he's coming this
way."

The form of a man loomed up before them and they held their breath as
the man passed within five feet of them. When he had turned the corner
of the house back of them they breathed in relief.

"Narrow escape, that," commented Chucklehead.

"Yeah," agreed Jim. "Well, I guess he has gone around to the other side
of the house. Lucky thing he didn't come and catch us under the window.
Let's look this side over before he returns."

They crept along the side of the house, examining windows and testing
them, but they were all firm. At last the two friends drew back under a
tree.

"It's no use," groaned Jim. "We can't get into the house."

"It would be a rough joke on us if Don wasn't in there, after all,"
commented the disappointed Terry.

"But he must be. Too bad we can't get at the second floor windows.
Surely a bedroom window must be open."

"No doubt. But who wants to climb into a bedroom, to have a lady yell
blue murder or get shot at?"

"I hope it wouldn't be as bad as all that. Say! This tree arches right
over that porch roof!"

Jim had been looking up into the branches of the tree thoughtfully and
now his friend followed his gaze. He saw that the tree, which grew so
close to the house, extended at least two strong limbs a few feet over
the roof of the porch shelter.

"There isn't any reason why we shouldn't climb this tree and drop onto
the roof," Terry said. "There are four windows that we can reach."

"Yes, and the roof can't be seen from the street," Jim pointed out.
"Think we had better go to it?"

"Yes, I do. The trunk of the tree isn't so big that we can't climb it.
But I'm afraid that we'll get our uniforms fearfully dirty, because
we'll have to take off our overcoats to climb."

"Bother the uniforms!" cried Jim, impatiently. "We can have them
cleaned. I'm going up."

"Wait until I take a look around, to see if the gentleman is still
taking a walk," suggested Terry. "Stay here and keep close to the tree
until I get back."

With this final word the red-head glided off into the darkness and was
lost to Jim's sight. Two or three minutes passed, and Jim was just
growing restless, when young Mr. Mackson rejoined him.

"Coast is clear," he informed him. "The caretaker is around on the other
side and just bound for the back garden. I don't think we'll be troubled
with him. So here goes my overcoat."

Without wasting further time the cadets slipped out of their heavy coats
and Terry dropped his carelessly on the ground nearby. But Jim shook his
head at that.

"Don't leave the coats lying around here," he warned. "That fellow may
be back at any time, and we don't want him to find the coats while we
are up aloft."

"Good head you have, Jimmie boy," approved Terry. "Never thought it of
you. Let's park them behind these bushes, close to the porch."

When the two boys had stowed the overcoats away so that there was no
likely chance that they would be found, they returned to the foot of the
tree and Terry gave Jim a boost as far up the tapering trunk as he
could. From his shoulders Jim began his climb and stuck doggedly to it
until he reached a small limb below the level of the tin roof. Then he
called down for Terry to follow him.

His friend had a much harder job of it because he had to start from the
ground but he moved slowly and surely upward. It was some years since
Terry had "shinnied" up a tree and he found it hard work, but, resting
at intervals, he soon joined Jim at the small limb. Without words they
moved on, and before long wormed their way out on a limb that hung
suspended over the roof.

"Be awfully careful when you drop on that roof," whispered Jim. "Try to
land on your toes and don't thump if you can help it."

Jim then swung down under the limb, hanging by his hands, and measured
the distance to the roof. It was a matter of less than a foot, he
discovered, and with his toes pointing downward he let go and dropped.
There was scarcely a sound as he landed.

"Come on," he whispered.

Terry swung down under the limb and after a moment of steadying himself
dropped to the roof. Jim steadied him as he landed and they stood
together on the tin surface and looked around.

"Hooray, a partially opened window!" breathed Jim.

Close to them a window had been left open some few inches and they made
their way to it quietly. Both of them felt a tingle of excitement.

"We'll want to get into the upper hall, if possible," said Terry,
guardedly. "Let's hope this isn't a bedroom. What does it look like?"

Jim was in the lead and he peered into the room, finally raising the
window noiselessly in order to see better. He turned to his waiting
friend.

"It doesn't seem to be a bedroom," he informed him. "Looks more like
some kind of a study. I can see a table and an armchair, and a little
light comes in from the hall. I guess this is just the kind of a room we
are looking for."

"Then let's get in and go a-snooping," urged Terry.

Jim raised the window fully and stepped into the room, Terry following
closely at his heels. They paused to make out their surroundings, when
Terry gripped Jim's arm tightly.

"Somebody in this room!" he hissed.

Before Jim could move someone stepped out of the closet and confronted
them. For a single instant there was a silence that froze them, and then
the light from the hall fell on the features of the one who stared at
them.

"Don!" they whispered.

A sigh of pure relief broke from the one who had stepped out of the
closet. "Boy, oh boy," Don returned. "You two fellows scared me out of a
year's growth!"

"You gave us a mighty good start, too," returned Terry as they moved
close to him. "What are you doing in here?"

"I have the cup!" Don replied.

"No fooling?" gasped Jim.

"Yes, it was in that closet. Listen, we have got to get out of here. The
two Gates--"

A cry broke out on the third floor and a door slammed. They waited to
hear no more.

"Quickly, out the window with you," cried Don. "We've got to clear this
house on the double!"

Terry skipped through the window like lightning and Jim threw himself
after him. Just before Don followed he could hear Arthur Gates roaring
at the butler on the third floor. He joined his companions on the roof.

"Go on down and I'll toss the cup to you," he told Jim.

"Shall I take a chance by dropping off the roof?" asked Jim.

"No," said Don. "You might break a leg, and you don't know where you'll
land."

Jim measured his distance and jumped up, catching the limb and swinging
out on it with the agility of a monkey. He slid down the tree and
dropped safely to the ground.

"Drop the cup," he called.

Don dropped the cup over the edge of the roof and it fell to the ground.
It was still boxed and he had no fear that any harm would come to it.
Terry was already in the tree and swinging down toward the ground.

Jim, leaning down to pick up the box, felt himself gripped by a strong
hand, which fastened itself on his shoulder. Before he could cry out he
was dragged upright, to find himself in the grasp of the caretaker.
Terry landed at the foot of the tree and was immediately seized by the
other hand of the man. So taken by surprise were they that for the
moment they uttered no sound.

"Goodnight!" flashed through the mind of the red-headed boy. "The end of
a perfect day!"

                               Chapter 23
                         The Mystery Is Solved

It was a black moment for the two cadets in the grasp of the caretaker.

With the cup in their possession and the task to which they had set
themselves almost successfully completed it was little short of
heartbreaking to miss the mark in this fashion. The man who held them
was a big and powerful man and they knew by the iron grip upon their
shoulders that resistance was out of the question. It was possible for
them to put up a fight, of course, but it would probably take them so
long that the entire effort would be useless.

Terry was the first to recover his wits. The man who held them was not
looking up into the tree; he looked in grim satisfaction at them and
apparently had no knowledge of the presence of Don above him. Terry
realized that the other must be warned quickly.

"Well, Mr. Caretaker," he said, loudly. "You seem to have taken my
friend and me prisoners. What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to run you kids down to the town lockup in a mighty big hurry
and put you behind the bars for housebreaking," the man replied.

A very slight scraping noise in the tree above them ceased abruptly as
the sound of the different voices could be heard on the night air. For a
second there was an agony of doubt in Terry's mind, but the man did not
look up.

"You can't prove that we were housebreaking," said Jim, the idea
suddenly dawning upon him.

"I can't, heh?" snorted the man. "Then why else--"

The sentence was never completed. Something big and heavy that closely
resembled a boy in a gray uniform shot down out of the tree, landing
with all force upon the shoulders of the caretaker. Under the impact of
Don's body the man fell forward, losing his hold on the shoulders of Jim
and Terry. Don went down too, but was up like a shot.

"Beat it as fast as you can!" he cried, seeing that Jim had the box in
his hand.

"The overcoats!" cried Jim, as Terry darted forward.

"Got 'em," the boy shouted. "Let's go!"

A roar burst from the man as he scrambled to his feet, slightly dazed by
the force and suddenness of the encounter. At the same time the side
door of the house opened and the butler appeared. But by this time the
three cadets were running like frightened deer over the lawn in the
direction of the street.

"There they go!" shouted the caretaker. "Stop them!"

He began to run in their direction, but he was no match for the fleet
cadets. By the time he reached the street the cadets were turning the
corner a block away and were soon lost to sight. Back at the house
Arthur Gates snorted with rage.

"Wait until I get dressed, Arthur," commanded the senior Gates. "Order
the car out at once."

"Where are you going?" the son asked.

"Right up to the school to make the colonel pay dearly for this
outrage!" shouted Melvin Gates, entering the house.

Meanwhile the three were on their way to the school, talking over their
lucky escape.

"Let's take the back streets, fellows," Don advised. "There was quite an
uproar at Gates' house and we don't want to meet up with any police who
might be suspicious. Of course we could explain things to the chief but
the thing we want to do is to get back to the school as fast as we can."

"OK," agreed Terry. "I guess we had better get into our overcoats, Jim.
We're pretty heated up and we don't want to catch cold."

"No, we don't," said Jim. "Here, you hold the cup, Don."

When they had put on their coats Terry chuckled. "I want to compliment
you on being a huge success as a sky rocket, Don! The way you shot down
out of that tree onto that fellow's shoulders was a treat!"

"I couldn't have done it if you and Jim hadn't been so prompt to warn me
of what was going on down there," said Don. "I had no idea, from up in
the tree, that there was anyone else down there with you."

"He must have been prowling around and heard us up there," Jim said. "I
didn't hear him come up and the first thing I knew about him was when he
grabbed my shoulder. It was a good thing that he thought there were only
two of us."

"When I dropped out of the tree I saw him, but it was too late to do
anything about it," explained Terry. "My first impulse was to yell to
Don, but that would have been the worst thing I could have done."

"Yes," smiled Don. "As it was, it turned out for the best. He certainly
went flying. Somebody coming fellows, and it looks like a policeman!"

"Had we better duck him?" whispered Jim.

"I think we had," admitted Don. "He must know that cadets aren't usually
on the streets at this hour and the least he'll do is to question us. He
may even want to go up to the school with us, and we don't want that."

"No, we don't," Terry supplied. "He hasn't seen us yet, so let's slide
in here."

There was a garage close by with a narrow alley running alongside it and
the boys quickly glided into it. But this particular policeman strolled
right by the place and was soon lost in the darkness of the long street.
When they were sure that he was safely out of sight they emerged from
their hiding places.

"Whew, that was close, too," commented Terry, as they resumed their way.

"It would have been bad for us if we had been caught," admitted Jim.
"Let's hustle up to the school."

The streets were all deserted and the houses black, for the hour was
late. The three cadets met no one else as they hastened on to the
school. They entered the grounds with a sense of profound relief.

"I hope that the colonel is still up," Don said.

"He will be," predicted Terry. "He knew what an errand we went on and
he'll be waiting for us."

Terry proved to be a true prophet. When they entered the school office
they found the colonel there waiting for them. He was impatiently
tapping a long letter-opener on the desk, and at the sound of their
entrance he sprang to his feet, glancing sharply at the clock.

"We beg to report ourselves back, Colonel Morrell," said Don, saluting
and smiling at the same time. The others saluted at once and the colonel
somewhat hastily returned it.

"And I'm more than glad to see you back here," the colonel exploded.
"I've been worrying about you. Did you have any luck?"

"Unless I am greatly mistaken we have the cup right with us, in this
box," said Don quietly. He placed it on the desk.

"We'll open it and see," the colonel stated.

A hammer was procured from a nearby closet and with a few swift blows
the colonel broke open the wooden box. As the last board fell away a
somewhat tarnished silver cup was disclosed to view. The colonel raised
it from the box and they looked at the inscription on the side. It read:
"Presented to Woodcrest Military Institute by Melvin R. Gates for
Excellence in Scholastic Effort. Won by Arthur F. Gates of the Senior
Class, April 7, 1933."

"That's the cup," murmured Jim.

Without a word the colonel turned it up so they could all see what was
written on the bottom. All of them craned forward to read the brief
message which had been written deep into the silver by the aid of a pin
or knife.

The message was simple but tragic. It read: "I cheated. Arthur Gates."

There was a moment of silence on the part of the colonel and his loyal
cadets. Then the colonel said very quietly, "You see what it means,
boys?"

"I think I do," nodded Don in a low voice. "After Gates had promised
Long that he would confess his dishonorable action he said he would
write it where it would stand for good. Long didn't know what he meant
by that, but when he had left the room Gates scratched that confession
on the bottom of the cup with a sharp instrument."

"Yes," went on the colonel. "Long never knew of that, and during the
night Gates must have experienced a change of heart, so he took the cup
on the following morning. He knew that Long would expose him if he went
back on his promise to confess, so he stole that cup in order to create
an atmosphere that would make Long the butt of ridicule if he ever came
out with the story of Gates' dishonesty."

"How can a man with any sense of common decency do a thing like that?"
wondered Jim.

The colonel shrugged his shoulders. "I'm very much afraid that Arthur
Gates was never a shining light of virtue. We have found out that he was
dismissed from at least one school for an offense such as he committed
here. You can see that he would never have the courage to face the
school and say, 'Gentlemen, I cheated.' Under Long's persuasion he
relented long enough to write the confession on the cup, but I guess he
bitterly regretted his act later."

"The cup was a nightmare to him," said Jim. "He didn't have the nerve to
take it to a jeweler, so he kept it hidden in his own house."

"Things are getting pretty bad," murmured Terry, staring at the simple
confession on the cup. "A fellow can't tell a lie without having it come
back after him years later!"

"That's something a man can never escape," replied the colonel briefly.
"But tell me how you got the cup."

Don related his share and the other two boys had just finished telling
their part in the adventure when there was the sound of a car stopping
outside the school door. The sound of determined footsteps followed and
then the hall door was opened. Don, guessing what was in the wind,
pushed the cup from sight under the colonel's desk. A slight nod from
the portly headmaster showed that he grasped the situation.

Melvin Gates strode into the office with his son Arthur at his heels.
The elder Gates was fairly bristling and his son wore a blustering air
that deceived no one. Melvin Gates shot a triumphant glance at the
assembled party and then addressed the colonel.

"Look here, Morrell, do you know that these boys have been breaking into
my house tonight?" he rasped.

"Yes," said the colonel.

"You do, eh?" shouted the irate man. "Maybe you sent them to do it, eh?"

"No," the colonel denied. "I only told them to go to your garden, but as
long as they found it necessary to go into your house I'm glad of it!"

The elder Gates became purple in the face and Arthur stepped forward.
"Look here, Colonel Morrell, this is no joking matter. I'm going to have
these boys locked up!"

The colonel only smiled. Melvin Gates rapped the desk with his cane.

"So you teach your boys housebreaking, do you, colonel?" he cried.

"Why no," said the colonel, thoughtfully. "That isn't part of the
program. But we do teach them to play the game of life honorably and to
put forth every ounce of their strength to find out the truth and do the
square thing!"

"Oh, what nonsense are you talking now?" growled Melvin Gates.

The eyes of the colonel blazed as he reached under his desk and brought
up the silver cup. "This is the preaching that speaks for itself, Gates.
After you have taken a good look at the bottom of this cup I want to
hear you say that you intend to lock my boys up!"

The faces of the two turned pale when they saw the inscription on the
bottom of the cup. Melvin shot an angry glance at his son.

"I told you to get rid of that thing long ago," he cried.

"These boys have been after that cup for months, Mr. Gates," went on the
colonel. "It was for that purpose that they broke into your house
tonight, and I want you to understand definitely that I heartily back
them up, and so will the world in general when it knows the story."

"But see here, Morrell, you are surely not going to let this thing get
out?" begged Melvin Gates. "I have shielded this boy of mine from his
folly and weakness for years, and it will be perfectly terrible if it
gets out now. Think of our good name in this town, man!"

"How many times have you and your son thought of George Long, carrying
the stigma of a thief all of these years?" blazed the colonel, seeming
to swell up in his honest wrath. "Have you ever given him or his name
any consideration? If it was simply a case of covering up a weak moral
escapade of your boy which had not hurt anyone but himself I would
gladly help you by saying nothing. But you have had no thought for the
burden that George Long has been compelled to carry with him. Under the
circumstances I have no sympathy for you, Mr. Gates, and I warn you that
Long shall be cleared publicly as soon as possible."

"Colonel Morrell," said Melvin Gates, putting on an air of cunning that
turned the boys against him even more, "I have a little money in this
world. Now, if we can come to some sort of an agreement on this thing,
I'll make it well worth--"

But the colonel became red in the face with suppressed anger. He pointed
toward the door.

"Get out of my school, both of you!" he quivered. "I won't have my clean
young boys insulted by your presence here any longer. If you think you
can buy my tongue with your money you are badly mistaken, Melvin Gates.
Please take your son and leave the school at once, sir."

Realizing that any more talk would be a pure waste of time the father
and son withdrew, gloom written on their faces. When they had gone the
colonel turned to his grave-faced cadets.

"Boys, your work is over, and you may report to your quarters. If any
discipline officer says anything to you because of absence from your
rooms tonight, refer him to me. I commend you on your interest and
courage in this matter, and Mr. Long shall know the full particulars.
The cadet corps will be proud of you. Goodnight, boys."

Silently the cadets saluted, returned the colonel's goodnight and went
to their room.

                               Chapter 24
                            The Alumni Dance

"I see the next Alumni affair will be a dance," Don remarked, looking
across the table to Jim, who was studying.

"Yes. Looking in the _Bombardment_, are you?" his brother replied.

"Sure. I guess that is the affair at which Colonel Morrell intends to
clear George Long," Don went on.

"It is. There will be a dinner and a dance and then the colonel will
tell his story. It will be a pleasant evening for Long and his wife."

"Goodness knows they have it coming to them," mused Don. "I'd hate to go
around for a number of years with a cloud like that hanging over me. If
I met an old fellow student I'd have to be prepared to see suspicion
showing in his face or even to meet with outspoken slighting. It has
been a fearful burden and I'm glad that it is to be lifted soon."

"So am I," agreed Jim. "Mr. Long must think we have forgotten him,
though. So many months have gone by since we went to see him about the
matter. Here it is the last of February already."

"Yes, time has passed rapidly. It won't be long before the spring is at
hand."

"That was a terrible tongue-lashing that the colonel gave Gates the
other night, wasn't it?"

"Nothing more than he deserved," retorted Don, promptly. "Just imagine,
he wanted to pay the colonel to keep quiet and let Long go on with this
blight on his good name! Just as the colonel said, if the whole thing
had been some failing of the son's in which he had injured no one but
himself, why we'd all be glad to keep still and give the man a chance.
But that particular type of outrage calls for extreme measures."

"Right you are. Where is that red-headed friend of ours?"

"Out visiting," grinned Don. "That boy surely has a multitude of
friends!"

Terry returned to the room just before the lights went out and brought
some news with him. But before he told them the news he played one of
the tricks of which he was so very fond. When he approached the room he
tapped on the door sharply, turned the knob and stepped briskly into the
room. Imitating to perfection the tones of Officer of the Section he
called out:

"Attention, gentlemen! Stand at attention for inspection, please!"

Once a day their rooms were rigidly inspected and although the officer
of that section was not in the habit of calling them to attention so
pointedly the boys fell into the trap. Terry's voice was so like that of
the officer that the two boys put down their books, leaped to their feet
and were just about ready to stand at attention when they caught sight
of the grinning face of their friend.

"Ho, ha!" roared Terry, seeing the look of disgust on their faces.
"Wasn't that a pretty picture? I almost expected you to salute,
gentlemen!"

"We're going to salute you so that you won't sit down for some time to
come," growled Jim, moving around the table with his chemistry book in
his hands. Don leaped at Terry and bore him to the bed. The red-head was
too weak to offer any resistance and Jim paddled him vigorously with the
book, until he cried for mercy.

"I just heard something that will interest you," Terry said, when the
fooling had stopped.

"What is it?" asked Jim. "Out with it, or we'll paddle you some more!"

"The Gates family has moved out of town!" Terry said.

"I'm glad of it," cried Don, promptly. "I've always thought it too bad
that such rascals should live in that fine, historic old place."

"That isn't such a sanctified place," observed Jim. "Don't forget the
spy that lived there."

"But the spy had even purer motives in life than the Gates family did,"
Don defended. "The house is really a historic relic and I think some
fine American family ought to live in it."

"I see your point," nodded Jim. "So the Gates' skipped, did they?"

"Yes, moved out completely," Terry replied. "No one seems to know just
where they did go. Of course, they were dreading the time when the
colonel will tell the truth about them."

"Oh, sure," Don said. "Well, we're not a bit sorry to see the last of
them. For a number of years the school has actually suffered from
contact with father and son and nothing is lost by their going."

"By the way," observed Terry. "What is to be done about the matter of
that scholarship that Woodcrest won so many years ago from Roxberry?
When the story is published the preparatory school will find out that we
didn't win the contest fairly."

"I imagine that it will be held all over again, or the matter entirely
dropped," Jim said. "I'm pretty sure that Roxberry won't care to say
much when they find that one of their professors gave Gates the list of
questions before the exams."

That proved to be the case. The scholarship contest was never held again
and nothing was said by the Roxberry Alumni when the story got into the
papers. As for the dishonest professor, nothing more was ever heard of
him.

Just before the Alumni Dance certain cadets were appointed for the posts
of honor at the affair. A good many of the first classmen served as
waiters, but the cadets who had been most active in the establishing of
George Long's innocence were given posts of honor at the long tables at
which the guests ate. In this class Don, Jim, Terry, Hudson, Douglas and
Vench found themselves on the night of the affair.

The colonel had made it a point to gather together all of the men of the
former 1933 class who could come and he was delighted to find that all
but five members of that class were present. Three of these men lay in
graves overseas and many more from that class were ex-servicemen from
the United States Army. Two members lived so far away that they were
unable to get there. Many from other classes were there and it was an
impressive gathering.

Mr. and Mrs. Long entered late and were just in time to sit down at the
table. The cadets and the colonel felt that Long had been purposely
late, so as not to have to face any unpleasantness that would have
spoiled Mrs. Long's evening. Long had in his heart another and more
chivalrous purpose, of which his wife alone was aware. He did not want
to make any of his former classmates feel cheap by cutting him at first
and then having to apologize afterward.

The cadets were seated at the head of each table, a procedure that
puzzled the members of the alumni, for they had never seen such an
arrangement before, and they wondered why it had been done. They were
not long in finding out. After the dishes had been cleared away the
colonel arose. Beside him, on either side, sat Mr. and Mrs. Long,
purposely placed there so that no one could slight them. The colonel
spoke amidst an impressive silence.

"Gentlemen of the Alumni Association, I wish to tell you a story that
combines all the elements of tragedy, drama and fine courage. I will
waste no words in telling it for I predict that after I am through you
will all of you have some hand-shaking and talking to do. I wish the
members of the class of 1933 to pay special attention to my story."

Here the colonel reached under the table and brought forth the class cup
which had been the cause of all the trouble and placed it on the table.
A murmur went around and Long turned pale with conflicting emotions. And
in the silence that followed the colonel carefully and quietly told the
whole story.

"And gentlemen," wound up the colonel, when the murmurs of amazement and
indignation had subsided, "I wish to present to you the cadets you have
just heard about. These are the men who tracked this thing to its lair.
Mr. Donald Mercer, Mr. James Mercer, Mr. Hudson, Mr. Vench, Mr. Douglas
and Mr. Mackson, please stand up so that everyone can see who you are."

A storm of handclapping greeted the modest cadets as they stood in their
places and instinctively the men of the school alumni stood up and
saluted the red-faced cadets. With a sense of the fitness of things the
uniformed cadets briskly returned the salutes and sat down. The colonel
now turned to Mr. Long.

"Mr. Long, please stand up." As Long obeyed: "Gentlemen of the Alumni,
there is nothing that is necessary for me to say, except that in the
name of the school I apologize for the tremendous wrong done Mr. Long. I
present to you gentlemen in all his unspotted honor Cadet Captain George
Long!"

This time the present cadets rose with the company and clapped heartily
for George Long. Tears ran down Mrs. Long's face and she was not in the
least ashamed for them. When the applause had died down Long said a few
words to the assembled men, thanking such of them who had believed in
him and graciously excusing those to whom the facts had looked so black
that they could not help suspecting him. Then the supper formation broke
up and Long was deluged with those who wished to shake his hand and
express their delight and beg his pardon for their past conduct.