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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
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