"Lead the way, Kennedy, and we will follow; but be careful and not make a noise."
"Hush!" said Dobbin; "somebody is coming."
"Grand rounds!" added Kennedy. "Hurry him off as quick as you can. Stuff a handkerchief in his mouth; choke him if he attempts to cry out."
"But they will miss him," suggested Dobbin, "and then there will be a row and a search."
"Off with him! Off with him! We shall all get caught," whispered Kennedy. "I will take his gun, and keep guard."
Richard was literally dragged from the spot, and the fellow who called himself Kennedy—though that was not his name—took the musket of the defeated sentinel, and began to travel his beat as regularly as though he had been duly detailed.
"Who comes there?" demanded he, as the officer of the day, attended by a sergeant and two men, approached his beat.
"Grand rounds," replied the sergeant.
"Halt, grand rounds! Advance, sergeant, with the countersign."
The sergeant advanced to give the countersign, without discovering that he had been challenged by the wrong man.