It was a little glow of fire, at an elevation of something less
than six feet from the ground, over beside a bush.
This glow of fire looked exactly as though it came from a lighted
cigar.
If the cigar were held by a civilian, it was a matter that needed
looking into.
Cadets, if they wish, may smoke at certain times and within certain
limits. But nothing in the regulations permits a cadet to go
outside the guard lines after taps to smoke.
Dick Prescott drew further back into the shadow, noiselessly,
and kept his eye on the distant glow until he heard the yearling
returning.
"Sentry!" called Prescott sharply. The yearling, his piece at
port arms, came on the run.
"Investigate that glow yonder," ordered Prescott.
"Very good, sir!"
Prescott and the sentry started together. For an instant the
glow wavered, as though the man that was behind the glow meditated
taking to his heels.
"Halt!" called the sentry. "Who's there?"
Now the glow disappeared, but cadet captain and sentry were close
enough to see the outlines of a figure in cadet uniform.
The figure still moved uncertainly, as though bent on flight.
But the sight of two pursuers seemed to change the unknown's mind.
"A cadet," he called, in answer to the sentry's challenge.
The sentry halted.
"Advance, cadet, to be recognized," he commanded.
Prescott came to a halt not far from the sentry.
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