Harry Castlemon - Don Gordon's Shooting-Box

“That’s just the kind of a man that I like to get the advantage of,” said he to himself; “and if I had a few good fellows to help me, I would set him and his rules at defiance. I just know I could slip out of my room and get off the grounds at night; and if I had any place to go to spend the evening, I would try it and see what he would do about it.”

Don made this up all out of his own head. He had never heard of such a thing as running the guard, and he thought of it now simply as a daring exploit, and one that he would undertake without a moment’s hesitation if there were anything to be gained by it. He was in just the right humor to be manipulated by such fellows as Fisher and Duncan; and into their hands he fell before he had worn the academy uniform forty-eight hours. They took him up because they hated him and wanted to get him into trouble, and it was only by an unexpected stroke of good fortune that he escaped from their clutches. What he did to arouse their animosity shall be told further on.

“We’ll settle with you at some future time my fine gentleman,” said Tom Fisher, as he and his companions ran toward the academy in obedience to the call of the bugle. They had spent the hour after breakfast in strolling about the grounds, discussing the history of one of the new students, as we have related in the first chapter.

“All right,” replied Don Gordon, winking at his brother, who laid his finger on his lips and shook his head warningly. “Whenever you want to see me just send me word, and I will be on hand.”

“You may get some of that independence whipped out of you before you have been here many more days,” chimed in Clarence Duncan.

“Who’ll do it?” asked Don, cheerfully.

“ I will,” replied Duncan, in savage tones.

“O, you can’t. It’s bred in the bone. But I’ll tell you one thing – you and your partner there,” added Don, nodding his head toward Tom Fisher. “You want to keep your hands off my brother, or I’ll make spread-eagles of the pair of you.”

“Well, that beats anything I ever heard of!” exclaimed Dick Henderson, opening his eyes in surprise. “You have good cheek to talk of making ‘spread-eagles’ of such fellows as Fisher and Duncan, haven’t you, now?”

“Do you think so, little one?” asked Don. As he said this he patted Dick on the head in a most patronizing way – an action on his part that caused Dick to jump aside and bristle up like a bantam that had been poked with a stick. “Well, you hang around and you will see it done, unless they take my advice and mind their own business,” added Don.

Fisher and Duncan did not have an opportunity to reply to this threat, for just then they reached the door and found one of the teachers standing there. They were somewhat behind time, and they were obliged to hasten to their dormitories and take off their caps and overcoats so that they could march to their recitation-rooms with their classes. They looked daggers at Don as they went up the stairs, but he smiled back at them in the most unconcerned manner possible.

“I knew he was a tough one the moment I put my eyes on him,” said Fisher that night after drill hours, when he and about fifty other students were exercising their muscles in the gymnasium. “There isn’t another fellow in school who can do that.”

The subject of these remarks was Don Gordon, who had just come out dressed in neat dark-blue trunks and flesh-colored tights. His arms were bare to the shoulder, revealing muscles at which the boys around him gazed in admiration. His first act was to walk up to the nearest swing, take hold of one of the rings and draw himself up to his chin twice in succession with one hand.

“I tell you, Duncan, you had better let him alone,” continued Fisher, still watching Don, who was now going hand over hand up a rope toward the lofty ceiling.

“And swallow everything he said to me this morning?” exclaimed the bully.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Fisher hastened to reply. “Those insulting remarks must of course be taken back and apologized for; but you can’t make him do it alone.”

“Just give me the chance, and I’ll show you whether I can or not,” answered Duncan, who was always angry whenever there was any imputation cast upon his prowess. “He has come here intending to set at naught all the old-time customs of the institution – haven’t you noticed how persistently he refuses to salute everybody but an officer? – and if we are willing to stand by and let him do it, I say we are a pack of cowards. He must be made to come down from his high horse.”

“And he shall be,” said Fisher, encouragingly. “We will attend to that bootblack’s case to-night, and the first good chance we get we’ll take Mr. Gordon in hand. By the way, Duncan – ”

The two boys drew off on one side and entered into a whispered consultation, now and then beckoning to one or another of their friends, until there were a dozen or more students gathered about them. They conversed earnestly together for a few minutes, and then put on their clothes and left the gymnasium. Don and Bert Gordon followed them soon after, and on giving their names to the orderly in the hall, were admitted to the presence of the superintendent. After they had both saluted him, Don said:

“Colonel, we have brought with us a letter of introduction from our father, addressed to Mr. Packard, who is a relative of one of our nearest neighbors, and if you have no objections we should like permission to present it to-night.”

“Certainly,” said the superintendent, as he picked up a pen and pulled a sheet of paper toward him. “You can go immediately after supper, and I will write you a pass. You ought to have presented it when you first came. Why did you put it off so long?”

“Why – I – you know, sir, that we received a reprimand on the morning following our arrival here for not putting out our light at ten o’clock,” faltered Don, “and I was afraid you would think we ought to stay inside the grounds until we had learned to obey the rules.”

“Ah, yes,” said the superintendent with a smile. “I believe I remember something about that. Well, it did you good, did it not? You haven’t been reported since. I hope your record at the end of your course will be as good as that of your father, who, I must say, was a very exemplary student. It is true that he did run the guard now and then, the temptations at Cony Ryan’s proving rather too strong for him; and when he was here with you last August, I think he told me that while he was a member of my school he spent forty-three Saturdays in walking extras; but, for all that, he was a good boy – a very good boy. Here’s your pass.”

Don expressed his thanks for the favor, and he and Bert saluted and retired, lost in wonder.

“Running the guard!” repeated the former, in a loud tone. “What does that mean?”

“What’s walking an extra?” said Bert, in the same low voice; “and who is Cony Ryan?”

“Here comes Egan; we’ll ask him,” said Don.

The individual referred to was a first-class boy, and the first sergeant of Don’s company. When he was on duty he was a soldier all over; but during the hours of recreation he was as jovial and friendly a fellow as there was to be found about the academy.

“Say, sergeant,” said Don, not forgetting to salute, “what does a cadet do when he runs the guard?”

“What does he do?” repeated the sergeant. “Why, he spends a good portion of the next Saturday afternoon in walking an extra to pay for it.”

“I mean, how does he run the guard?” explained Don.

“Now, Gordon, isn’t that just the least bit – you know,” said the sergeant, laying his finger by the side of his nose and looking very wise. “You surely don’t expect me to tell you how it is done, do you? You had better ask Fisher or Duncan, or some of that crowd. They have had considerable experience in it.”