That gun was Terry’s own piece of equipment. From the cries that arose he gathered that the gun had broken from the cable and was rolling down the hill. There was an increasing rumble that seemed suddenly close at hand, and before his brain had time to realize what had happened there was a tremendous crash, the boards of his cell burst open like matchwood, and the butt of the “Gossip” halted a scant foot from his stomach!
For a single instant Terry was stunned. The sudden glare of morning sunlight made him blink, the dust filled his mouth and the echoes of the crash remained in his ears. But it did not take him long to regain his composure and spring forward. He placed affectionate hands on the gun.
“Good old ‘Gossip,’” he whooped. “You wouldn’t go on parade without me, would you? Talk about luck!”
A half dozen artillerymen appeared at the opening, led by Captain Rush. At the sight of Terry they halted and stared in amazement.
“Where have you been?” Cadet Emerson, Terry’s mate, shouted.
“Waiting for the old ‘Gossip’ to let me out!” retorted Terry gleefully.
Rush approached him. “Where have you been, Mr. Mackson?” he inquired formally.
“Someone locked me in here and I couldn’t get out, captain,” returned Terry.
“Then the accident was a lucky one for you,” nodded the captain. He turned to the young artillerymen. “We have only a few minutes to make the parade grounds. Snap to it!”
Terry threw himself into the work, rejoicing in the chance to be busy. The truck was backed down the hill and the broken cable was stripped from it and new material substituted. A loose pin was driven into the shaft and when the “Gossip” was harnessed it was drawn up to the top of the hill in safety and wheeled swiftly into position. And on the rear box sat Terry, grinning from ear to ear.