“Something wrong with the sentries,” cried Don.
“Who is at Number Three post?” asked Jim.
“Anderson,” answered Terry, fumbling with his shoes.
The camp was in motion. Lights flashed at various points and voices sounded. Past the tent went running feet. But the bugle did not sound, so they knew that it was not a fire or any similar emergency.
“I’m ready. How about you two?” Don called.
“Right with you,” was the response and the three soldiers burst out of the tent.
A central fire was burning and at this point the colonel was standing, half-clad and with mussed-up hair, his eyes heavy with sleep. The other cadets were clustering around him there, and the sentries were straggling in to that center. Just as the three boys reached the spot the sentries from Number Three and Number Four posts came up and saluted.
Number Three post was at a point up the Ridge and Number Four was right at the edge of camp. The shots from Number Four had followed so closely to those from Number Three that they knew the same thing had caused both signals.
“Sentries to report, sir,” announced the corporal of the guard, saluting.
The colonel saluted and faced the sentries. “Make your report, gentlemen,” he ordered.