"It's criminal!" "What do you mean ?" demanded Haynes, straightening himself and glaring coldly into Holmes's eyes.
But Greg was one of the last fellows in the world to permit himself to be "frozen." "I mean what I say, Haynes," he retorted plumply.

"With that thing in the toe of your boot something would be likely to happen when some other horse's flank bumped you on the right.

And, by George, it's Prescott who rides at your right in platoon or column of fours!" Greg shot a look full of keen suspicion at the turnback.
"And it was Prescott who rode on your right the day he was thrown from Satan!" flashed Greg, his face going white from the depth of his sudden feeling.

"Haynes, did you have that pin in the toe of your boot the day that Prescott was thrown in the riding hall ?" "You-----" Haynes began, at white heat, clenching his free fist.
"Answer me!" broke in Greg insistently.
"I did not!" "I don't believe you!" shot back Cadet Holmes "Confound you, sir, do you mean to call me a liar ?" hissed the turnback.
"Yes!" replied Greg promptly.
Haynes dropped his bridle, stepping toward Greg Holmes, who, however, neither flinched nor looked worried.
"Hold my lines, Dobbs," urged Pierson, passing his bridle over to a fellow classman.
Then Pierson sprang in front of Greg, facing his roommate.
"Softly, Haynes!" cried Pierson warningly.
"What is this to you ?" demanded the turnback hotly.
"I am under the impression," replied Pierson, "that this is not a personal matter so much as it is a class affair." But Haynes, feeling that he was almost cornered, became reckless and desperate.
"This is a personal matter, Pierson.

Stand aside until I knock that cur down." "From any other man in the detachment," spoke Greg bitterly, "I would regard the use of that word an insult.