THE COACHES ARRIVE
Cavalry evolutions were ordered for the next day, followed by a field drill, and a service march of several miles, so that there was no chance for football practice.
"And we need all we can get, too," remarked Dick to Paul.
"Let's suggest to Colonel Masterly that he give up lessons and drill while the gridiron season is on," suggested Paul with a smile.
"Yes, I can see him doing it," cried the young millionaire. "Which horse are you going to ride, Paul?"
"The little black—I'm fond of him, though he is a bit vicious."
The boys were on their way to the cavalry barracks, and in their wake, and ahead of them, were other cadets hastening to secure their mounts, for the bugle was impatiently calling.
"Do you think Spitfire is safe?" asked Dick, naming the steed Paul had said he would use. "Why don't you take the little gray I used to ride? He's a good steady mount, though a bit slow."
"That's the trouble," was the answer, as Dick's roommate tightened the belt of his sabre. "I want to keep up with the rest of the bunch. No, I'll take Spitfire. I reckon you'll ride Rex; eh?"
"Sure," for Dick had brought his own fine horse to Kentfield with him, together with his bulldog, and Grit was now ambling along behind the two chums, occasionally uttering a low bark of satisfaction, for the dog loved to go along on the practice "hikes."
"Well, be careful," cautioned the wealthy youth, as Paul went in to saddle up.
"All right," laughed his chum, but there was a serious look on the face of our hero, and he resolved to keep near his chum that day.
Artillery practice followed the cavalry drill, and the cadets, sitting as straight as ramrods on the caissons while the horses galloped around at full speed, leaped off the moment the sudden halt was made, unlimbered, fired rapid shots and, limbering up again, went off at a mad gallop to repeat the operation.
"Forward march!" signalled the bugler when arrangements had been made for the "hike," and the eager horses, astride of which were the no less eager cadets, started off.
It was a pleasant day, though a trifle cool, and the service overcoats, with their flashily yellow linings, showing gaily in the sun when they flapped back, felt very comfortable.
At first the march was in orderly array, while Major Webster, and some of the other military instructors, passed here and there among the new cadets, telling them the proper way to manage their horses. Dick and his chums, however, having passed several terms at the academy, needed no hints.
"Don't hold your snaffle reins that way, Mr. Porter," said the major to the new lad as he rode up beside him. "You can't control your horse in an emergency. Let me show you," which he did, also correcting a fault he noticed in the way Weston sat on his steed.
"Humph! I guess I know something about horses," complained Porter, when the instructors had passed on. "I straddled one before I came here. I had a German riding master, and what he didn't know about horses wasn't worth putting on ice. I'll ride as I please."
As he spoke, he put spurs to his horse, digging them in viciously, and as the startled animal leaped forward, the cruel lad wrenched the poor brute's mouth open with the strong curb bit. There was a momentary confusion among the horses immediately surrounding Porter, and several of the older cadets called sharply to him to "stop his funny work."
"Oh, you fellows make me tired!" Porter grumbled. "Why don't you do some fast riding."
"You'll get all the fast riding you want if you stay long enough," spoke Paul sharply.
A little later the order was given to ride at will, and Major Webster, galloping back to Dick, said:
"Captain Hamilton, you and Lieutenant Drew take several of the new cadets and ride around by the long lake road. Give them some points. Take about ten—Mr. Porter and Mr. Weston, fall in with Captain Hamilton's squad."
"Hum! I guess Captain Hamilton thinks he knows it all," sneered Weston.
"Not a bit of it," answered Dick good naturedly. "But orders are orders you'll find. Come ahead, and I'll show you a fine bit of road, some magnificent scenery, and we'll have a good gallop. Look out there, Paul, I don't like the way Spitfire is acting!" The young millionaire called this suddenly as he saw his chum's steed waltzing up to another animal, with ears laid back as though to bite, and so cause trouble.
"I can manage him," answered Paul confidently, as he put the restless steed about in a rapid circle.
Dick's little squad, himself and Paul the only really military experienced riders in it, set off along a cross road that would bring them to the shore path of Lake Wagatook. There, as the young captain had said, was a fine road with scenery that one would have to travel many miles to equal.
"Now for some fast riding!" called Dick, when they came to a long open stretch. "You can go as far as you like, Porter."
"Good! Then here I go!"
Viciously he again spurred his horse, and his example was followed by his crony. The two animals sprang away together, but Porter's stepped on a round stone, stumbled, and almost fell. The boastful lad proved that he did know something about animals, for he pulled up the beast's head sharply, and got him in hand again. Not before, however, the frightened steed had collided with some force into Spitfire.
Paul's horse lashed out instantly with its hind hoofs, and then, with a shake of the head bolted. The cadet attempted to pull him in, but, a moment later, uttered a startled cry.
"My curb rein is broken!"
It flashed through Dick's head in an instant what that meant. Naturally ugly, Spitfire, now unusually frightened, was practically beyond control. Paul was doing his best but was rapidly being carried down the broad highway, with Porter and Weston galloping after him, their own steeds none too well in hand.
"I've got to stop him!" exclaimed Dick. "I've got to catch Spitfire and stop him, or Paul may be hurt! That brute isn't fit to ride. Come, Rex!"
Rex needed no spur. Off he started like a racer, and Dick, looking back, flung over his shoulder at the other cadets:
"Come on, fellows, keep up as well as you can!"
Rex soon fell into his stride, and fairly skimmed along the smooth road. But Paul was quite a distance ahead, and Spitfire was running hard. Dick could see his chum sitting easily in the saddle, now and then leaning forward trying to grasp the broken and flapping end of the curb rein.
"Don't do it! Wait! I'll catch you!" shouted Dick, but it is doubtful if Paul heard him.
"Come on, Rex old man, we must do better than this. We can beat Spitfire," spoke Dick gently, patting his horse on the neck. Rex understood and let out a few more "kinks" of his speed.
The young millionaire soon reached and passed Porter and Weston, whose steeds had soon tired of the speedy spurt. But not so with Spitfire. Dick knew he would have a race. On galloped Rex, and before him sped Spitfire.
"A little better, boy, a little better," urged Dick. And a little better Rex went.
Dick could now see that he was overhauling the uncontrolled steed, and he was glad of it, for he feared Paul might be flung off, in spite of the lad's skill in horsemanship.
"I'll have him in another minute," reflected Dick, when there suddenly loomed in sight a big touring car, and right at a point where the road narrowed. Spitfire was viciously shaking his head, now and then holding it low.
"Jove, he'll crash into that car!" cried Dick aloud. "Why don't they keep that infernal horn still? It's making him wilder," for the autoists were frantically tooting away.
"I've got to get in ahead of him, and ride him off to one side," thought our hero. "Rex, old boy, I hate to do it, but—just a touch."
Gently Dick pricked his pet animal with the spurs—just a touch, for voice was not quite incentive enough. Like a shot Rex sprang forward, and covered the ground so rapidly that in another brief instant the young millionaire was ahead of his friend, and between Spitfire and the now stationary auto. Then, with the skill of long practice, Dick urged Rex up to Spitfire, who was losing speed, and a moment later the frightened steed had been forced off the road, into the grassy side path, and headed toward a fence, which effectually stopped farther progress.
"Well ridden! Excellently well ridden!" cried the man at the wheel of the auto. Dick saluted, for there were several ladies in the car, and then turned to Paul.
"All right, old man," he asked anxiously.
"Yes, but I might not have been a little later. I should have looked to my reins. Thanks—for coming as you did," and Paul warmly grasped Dick's hand.
"You knew I'd come. Now let's see if we can mend that leather and ride back. Are you game?"
"Oh, sure. I fancy Spitfire has had all he wanted for to-day." In fact the animal was much subdued after his run. The auto passed on, not even the tooting of the horn causing Paul's steed to prance. Then he and Dick managed to patch up the curb leather, and rode back to meet the other cadets.
"Don't spur up so suddenly when other horses are too near you," advised the young captain to Porter, who seemed a bit ashamed of the trouble he had caused.
"I beg your pardon, old man—and yours, Captain," spoke the lad, who though impulsive, was not a bad fellow at heart.
"All right," answered Dick easily. "We'll take it a little more slowly now."
They finished the ride in about two hours, reaching the academy as the last of the other riding squads came in. Dick made no report of the little incident which, but for his promptness, might have had a fatal, or at least a serious, ending.
Rifle practice, and field telegraph work occupied the rest of the day, and there was a final drill and inspection in the late afternoon.
"A pretty strenuous day," remarked Paul to Dick, as they went to their room that evening.
"Yes, and there'll be another to-morrow."
"How so?"
"We must get in some good football practice, for I expect the two coaches soon, perhaps to-day."
"Then Martin and Spencer are both coming?"
"Yes, the good salary and the influence of the old grads, including dad, brought them around."
"I'm glad of it. Now Kentfield will do something."
Out on the gridiron were a score or more of the mole-skin clad warriors, doing all sorts of things to a harmless pigskin spheroid. It was booted and passed about.
"Line up! Line up!" called Teddy Naylor. "Get together fellows! Where are you scrubs? We're going to send all of you to the hospital. Come on, Dick, run through some signals."
Eleven panting youths faced eleven others, and the ball went sailing into the midst of the Varsity. George Hall caught it, and ran back with it, well protected by interference. But some of the scrub managed to get through, and downed him before he had gone far.
"Down!" panted George, as he tried to rise from underneath a mound of human forms.
"Down indeed, but too soon," remarked a strange voice, to one side of the scrimmaging lads. They all looked up. Two young men stood looking at the heap of humanity. They were strangers to all the cadets.
"May I ask—perhaps you don't know it, but only members of the academy are allowed out here," spoke Teddy Naylor a bit stiffly.
"Oh, but we were sent for," remarked one of the strangers. "We just came, and we were interested in seeing you play."
"You were sent for?" repeated the captain.
"Yes, that is——"
"Oh, isn't this Mr. Martin?" asked Dick, striding forward and holding out his hand.
"Yes," was the answer from the man with a small black moustache. "I'm Mr. Martin and this is Mr. Spencer," and he indicated his companion.
"Fellows, the coaches have come!" cried Dick. "Now to learn how to play football!"