Then he came back again.

Having saluted Prescott recently, he did not pause now, but kept on past the cadet officer standing there in the shadow.
As the sentry's footsteps again sounded softer in the distance, Prescott suddenly became aware of something not far away from him.
It was a little glow of fire, at an elevation of something less than six feet from the ground, over beside a bush.
This glow of fire looked exactly as though it came from a lighted cigar.
If the cigar were held by a civilian, it was a matter that needed looking into.
Cadets, if they wish, may smoke at certain times and within certain limits.

But nothing in the regulations permits a cadet to go outside the guard lines after taps to smoke.
Dick Prescott drew further back into the shadow, noiselessly, and kept his eye on the distant glow until he heard the yearling returning.
"Sentry!" called Prescott sharply.

The yearling, his piece at port arms, came on the run.
"Investigate that glow yonder," ordered Prescott.
"Very good, sir!" Prescott and the sentry started together.

For an instant the glow wavered, as though the man that was behind the glow meditated taking to his heels.
"Halt!" called the sentry.