CHAPTER XIII.
THE SENTRY MAKES A CAPTURE "Post number one! Eleven o'clock, and all's well." "Post number two! Eleven o'clock, and all's well!" Cadet Prescott, midway on his post, came to a halt, bringing his rifle to port arms.
"Post number three! Eleven o'clock, and all's well." Nor did the plebe return his rifle to his shoulder and resume pacing until he heard the hail taken up and repeated by the man on number four.

Thus the call traveled the rounds, back to number one, and died out.
Just an instant later Plebe Prescott became suspicious that something was wrong in his immediate vicinity.
Rain was threatening, and the sultry night was so dark that, on this shaded post, the young sentry could see barely a few yards away from him.
Yet Dick was certain he saw something flash darkly by, not far away.

It could hardly have been a shadow.

Whatever it was, a clump of bushes now concealed the moving something.
"Halt! Who's there ?" hailed Cadet Prescott.

He stopped to listen, bringing his rifle once more down to port arms.
There was no response.
Certain, however, that his senses had not been deluded, the young sentry stepped quickly toward the clump of bushes.
From the other side of the bushes came a sudden sound of scrambling.
"Halt! Who's there ?" demanded Prescott again.
Whoever it was, and plainly there was more than one man there, the prowlers had no mind to be held up by the sentry or the guard.
"Halt, or I'll run a bayonet into you!" shouted Prescott resolutely.
"Corporal of the guard, post number three!" he bellowed aloud.
At the same time he was darting after the fugitives, whom it was too dark to distinguish.