Don Gordon's Shooting-Box, Harry Castlemon [first ebook reader .TXT] 📗

open these doors, and Don had resolved that he would have one too.

“B-l-e-r-s,” whispered Don, as he stepped out into the fire-escape.

“R-a-m,” came the response, in the same low whisper.

The pass-word of the band of worthies to which Don now belonged was “Ramblers.” Of course it was used only in the dark, or when the members could not see each other. If a boy desired to know whether or not a student whom he suddenly encountered in some out-of-the-way place was a friend, all he had to do was to spell the last syllable of the pass-word, as Don had done; and if he received the same answer that Don did, he knew at once that he had found some one who could be depended on. At least that was what 102Fisher and Duncan told Don; but the reader already knows that they did not tell him the truth.

“Who is it?” whispered Don.

“Fisher,” replied the owner of that name; and as he spoke he stepped forward to lock the door.

“Hadn’t you better leave it unfastened?” asked Don.

“Not by a great sight,” answered Fisher, quickly. “The officer of the day and the corporal on duty try all these doors every time they make their rounds, and if they should happen to find one of them unlocked, good-by to all our hopes of eating pies and pancakes at Cony Ryan’s again this winter.”

“Then how can I get back to my room?”

“Why, I shall be here to open the door for you.”

“But we might get separated, you know.”

“Oh, no we won’t,” answered Tom, confidently. “Don’t you be at all uneasy on that score. Duncan and I will stand by you. Come on, now; the boys are all ready and waiting.”

“How fearful dark it is,” said Don. “I can’t see my hand before me.”

103“Neither can I; but I have been through here so often that I know every step of the way. Give me your hand.”

Fisher took Don in tow and succeeded in conducting him safely down two flights of stairs—it afterward proved to be a fortunate thing for Don that he remembered that—and out into the yard where Duncan and the rest were waiting for them. After greeting Don in the most cordial manner they moved off in a body toward the north corner of the grounds—all except Tom Fisher, who went on ahead to notify the sentry of their approach. This he did in some mysterious way, and without alarming any of the guards on the neighboring posts; and the boy, who ought to have called the corporal of the guard at once, went into his box and stayed there until Tom and his companions had crossed his beat and were out of sight. They easily found the place where two of the tall fence pickets had been loosened at the bottom, and pushing these aside they crept through the opening into the road.

“Well, Gordon, that wasn’t such a very hard thing to do, was it?” said Duncan, as he took off his overcoat and shook the snow out of it.

104“No,” answered Don, “and I don’t see much fun in it, either. It is not a very smart thing to crawl by a sentry who is accommodating enough to keep out of sight until you have had time to get out of harm’s way. There’s no excitement in it—anybody could do it. If that guard had been faithful to his trust, I should think we had done something worth bragging about.”

“O, you want excitement, do you?” exclaimed Duncan. “You want a chance to run by some spooney who would be only too glad to report you and get you into a row, don’t you? All right. We’ll see that you get the chance, and very shortly, too; won’t we, boys?”

“Yes,” replied all the boys, in concert.

“And, unless I am very badly mistaken, you will see quite as much excitement as you want to-night,” added Duncan, to himself. “If Dick Henderson does his duty, you will be under arrest and a candidate for a court-martial before you see the inside of your dormitory again.”

During the walk to the big pond, near which Cony Ryan’s house stood, Don’s new friends entertained him with many thrilling stories of the deeds of daring that had been performed by themselves 105and former students, such as running the guard when all the posts were occupied by those who were not friendly to them; stealing the bell-rope when the cupola was guarded by some of the best soldiers in the academy; turning the bell upside down on a cold night, filling it with water and allowing it to freeze solid; and spiking the gun whose unwelcome booming aroused them at so early an hour every morning. As Don listened he began to grow excited; and when there was a little lull in the conversation, he proposed one or two daring schemes of his own that had suddenly occurred to him, and which were so far ahead of any his auditors had ever engaged in, that they could hardly believe he was in earnest.

“Gordon, you see around you a lot of fellows who never have and never will back down from any reasonable undertaking,” said Tom Fisher. “But the idea of stealing a cow, taking her into the grounds and hoisting her up to the top of the belfry, overpowering and binding every sentry who stands in our way—Great Cæsar’s ghost! Gordon, you must be taking leave of your senses.”

“And as for taking the butcher’s big bull-dog up to the top story of the building, tying a tin can 106to his tail, and starting him on a run down four pairs of stairs and through the halls—that’s another thing I don’t approve of,” said Duncan.

“I guess not,” said another of the fellows. “I wouldn’t touch that dog for a million dollars. We are in for anything new that promises to be either interesting or exciting, but, as Tom says, it must be something reasonable. Think up some other plans.”

The boys had by this time reached Cony Ryan’s house. Led by Tom Fisher they mounted the steps, and passing through a narrow hall entered a neatly furnished little parlor whose walls, could they have found tongues, would have told some strange and amusing stories of the scenes that had been enacted there. It was brilliantly lighted, and a cheerful fire burned in the grate.

“This looks as though Cony was expecting us, doesn’t it?” said Tom, gazing about the room with a smile of satisfaction. “Take off your overcoat, Gordon, and sit down. Make yourself at home.”

“Do you know,” added Duncan, “that this house was built and furnished with the money that the academy boys have put into Cony’s 107pocket? Years ago, when he was nothing but a poor fisherman and lived down there on the bank of the river in a little shanty about half the size of this room, it occurred to him that he might turn an honest penny by supplying the students with milk and pies. He drove a thriving trade until some of the teachers began to suspect that he was putting something stronger than water in his milk, and then they shut down on him and he was forbidden to enter the grounds. But that didn’t trouble him any. The boys had got in the habit of spending their extra dimes with him, and since he couldn’t come to them any more, they fell into the way of going to him. Why, Gordon, if you could look over some of his old registers, you would find in them the names of men who are known all over the land.”

Just then a side door opened, admitting a portly, white-bearded old fellow, dressed in a modest suit of black, who was greeted by the students in the most uproarious manner. They crowded around him, all trying to shake his hands at the same time, while Cony, for it was he, beamed benevolently upon them over his spectacles. This was the first time he had 108seen any of them since the close of the last school term.

“You see we are all on hand again, Cony,” said Duncan, when the greetings were over. “And if you will trot out a few plates of your pancakes, you will find that we are as hungry as ever. By the way, did you know a boy of the name of Gordon who used to attend this academy?”

“Gordon of Mississippi?” exclaimed Cony, who, having a retentive memory, never forgot the names of any of his patrons. “I should say so. He has spent many a pleasant evening in this room.”

“Well, here is one of his boys,” continued Duncan. “Mr. Ryan, Mr. Donald Gordon.”

The old fellow was very much surprised.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” said he, as he shook Don’s hand and gave him a good looking over. “He is the very image of his father, who was one of the finest-looking young soldiers I ever put my eyes on. Mercy on us, how time does fly!”

“Say, Cony,” said Tom Fisher, coaxingly, “can’t we have just one game of ‘sell out,’ to-night?”

109“No, sir,” was the emphatic reply. “You can have all the pancakes you want, and as much sweet milk or buttermilk as you can hold, but you don’t turn a card in this house. It is bad enough for you to run the guard, and if I did my duty, I should report the last one of you in the morning.”

“Suppose you trot out the pancakes and milk, and let somebody else report us,” suggested Don.

“Yes; that’s the idea,” cried the others, with one voice.

Don thought he enjoyed himself that night, and his companions thought so, too, for he sang as many songs, told as many stories, and laughed as heartily as any of them. He listened with much interest while Cony told of the exploits of the students he had known in the years gone by, and who had since made themselves famous as lawyers, legislators and soldiers, and was greatly astonished when Tom Fisher jumped to his feet with his watch in his hand and a look of alarm on his face.

“Fellows,” said he, “where has the night gone? It is half-past three, and we have just 110half an hour in which to crawl by Dick Henderson’s post and get into bed. If we are two minutes behind time we are a gone community.”

This startling announcement broke up the party at once. The boys made a simultaneous rush for their overcoats and caps, and after Don had settled their bill—a proceeding on his part that raised him to a high place in the estimation of some of the students whose parents did not think it best to give them a very liberal allowance of spending money—they dashed out of the house and started for the academy on a dead run, Duncan and Don Gordon bringing up the rear. If the latter had known what the boy who kept so close to his elbow was thinking about, he would have thrown him headlong into the nearest snow-drift.