ho 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. Haynes, if you hit
me, I shall knock you clean into the Hudson River. But I will
not accept any challenge to fight until the class has passed on
this matter."

"The class has nothing to do with it," insisted Haynes.

"I think the class has," broke in Pierson. "When the time comes
I shall have considerable to say."

"Then say it now!" commanded Haynes, glaring at his roommate.

"I will," nodded Pierson. "The other night, Haynes, I was awakened
to find you walking about the room in your sleep. You also talked
in your sleep. At the time I could make nothing of it all. Now,
I think I understand."

Then Cadet Pierson swiftly recounted what he had seen and what
he had heard that night in the room.

"You were fingering something on the left front of your blouse,
and while doing so, you made the distinct remark that this was
what had done the trick for Prescott," charged Pierson. "I did
not see what it was that you were fingering, but the next day,
the first chance I got, I, too, examined the left front of your
blouse. I fo