  Mr. Terry Mackson chuckled and looked over the edge of his blanket at the other two beds in the room. In the farthest bed Jim Mercer was sleeping with just a bit of noise proceeding from his throat. On the bed near Terry, Don slept in silence, his face turned toward the red-headed boy. Terry glanced back at the window and then put one bare foot out of bed. It was the morning of the second Saturday in December and the weather man had sprung a surprise on the cadets. When they had gone to bed on the previous night it had been cold and clear, but during the night the weather had magically changed. Terry, lightest sleeper of the three friends, had awakened early, to find the world wrapped in a whirling, blowing snowstorm, the soft white flakes banked in little piles against their windows. For a single moment Terry had lain there contemplating the beauty of the early morning scene and then the light of mischief had dawned in his gray eyes. Consulting his watch he perceived that it was almost time for the bugle to blow, so he had no compunctions about what he intended to do. With the grace of a stalking cat the red-head crept to the window and scooped in a handful of snow. Keeping a wary eye on the two sleepers he made himself about five small sized snowballs and placed them on his bed. Then he dipped his hands once more into the wet snow and gathered a large quantity. Making his way with extreme caution he reached Jim’s bed and gently pulled the covers off that young man’s feet. Against the warm feet of the boy he placed the snow, and then, bounding over to Don, he placed a small pile on his forehead. From there it was but a single bound into bed, where he pulled up the covers over his chin, and carefully hiding the snowballs, pretended to sleep. It was not a moment too soon. Jim sat up suddenly, drawing his feet in a convulsive movement toward him. A running trickle of cold water woke Don at the same time. “Hey, who piled snow against my feet?” demanded Jim, knocking the cold stuff onto the floor with a single sweep. “Probably the same one who put a mound of it on my head,” retorted Don, and the two brothers looked suspiciously at Terry. But this aspect baffled them for a moment. Apparently, the red-head was fast asleep. Only a very little part of him showed above his cover, and a gentle sound, indicating deep breathing, came from the bed. But the more the brothers looked, the more suspicious they became. “That looks too innocent to suit me,” Jim announced, and began to get out of bed. “Yes, I doubt that peaceful, dreamy look on his homely face,” chimed in Don, throwing off his covers. The boy in bed stirred and apparently woke up, flashing them a happy smile. “Good morning, Don; good morning, Jim,” he greeted, quietly. Then he sat up and looked with wondering astonishment out of the window. “Why bless my soul, it has snowed, hasn’t it?” “Yes,” replied Jim, coming nearer. “And let me tell you, Chucklehead, that it has been a remarkable storm. It snowed right in under my covers and piled up against my feet, and there was even a little mound on my brother’s head!” “No!” cried the red-headed boy, in astonishment. “Yes,” cried Jim. “And now we’re going to hang you out the window to get a little snow on you!” “No, you’re not!” retorted Terry, bringing five melting snowballs into sudden view. “Here is where the artillery goes into action!” Five snowballs sped in rapid succession across the room, three of them landing on Jim and Don. They managed to dodge the other two, and then, seeing that his ammunition was exhausted, they helped themselves to some snow from the window sill and faced him. Terry quickly raised a wall of bed covers before him. “Don’t bother to make snowballs,” Jim begged. “I think we ought to do something useful with the snow. That lad’s face is dirty!” “I see what you mean,” Don nodded. “It is kind of red. Too much of that red thatch on top of his head, and the color runs down on his face. Think we ought to wash it off?” “Yep! Let’s get busy,” said Jim, earnestly. “You keep away from me with that stuff!” grunted the boy, as they hurled themselves on him. But the two brothers tore down his cover wall and proceeded to wash his freckled face vigorously, not without damage to themselves and their pajamas, for Terry fought like a wildcat. In the midst of the melee the bugle rang out. Abandoning their fun the boys began to dress rapidly, chattering away about the welcome snow. It promised them a variety of sport, in the nature of snow battles and sledding, and they were eager to get out and into it. “Luckily, it is only a half day,” whooped Don, slipping into his coat. “We can get out into the snow soon after dinner. It’s coming down steadily.” When they got downstairs they found only a few cadets ahead of them. Hudson was one of them. He stood out on the front steps, admiring the view across the rolling fields and hills. His back was toward the boys and Don quietly packed a snowball and threw it at him. It hit the senior captain on the back of the neck and he whirled around, grinning, intending to say something. But he closed his mouth with a snap and waited. Just above Don’s head was a tiny shed roof, and Hudson saw what was going to happen. A puffy drift had gathered there and a fierce swirl of wind hit it at the precise moment that he turned around. Hudson grinned broadly as the miniature snowslide hit Don on the shoulders, knocking off his hat and sifting in powdery masses down his neck. Don coughed and sputtered in surprise. “Very neatly and efficiently done,” cried Hudson lifting his hat politely to the snow drift. “I thank you!” All through the morning classes the cadets were impatient and when the noon meal was over they piled out into the snow with zest and a sense of pleasure. By this time it had stopped snowing, leaving about a foot of snow carpeting the ground. The sun came out briefly and the cadets were alarmed lest it do some damage, but in the long run it turned out to be their friend. It melted enough of the white material to make it watery and then the cold air promptly froze it, making a delightful surface for coasting. “Tonight we can go coasting on Nelson Hill!” cried Lieutenant Thompson. Nelson Hill was a long stretch of sloping hillside less than a half mile west of the school, and the majority of the cadets were preparing to spend the evening with their sleds. Most of them had already started for the hill with barrel staves and miscellaneous wood, with which to build fires on top of the long slope. When Terry, Don, Jim and Vench stood around considering, the distressing fact was brought home to them that they had no sled. “The seniors have got sleds,” remarked Vench. “And so have the second class men. I guess that the newer men are out of luck.” Douglas approached them, excitement showing in his hurry. “You guys got a sled?” he hailed. “No,” replied Jim. “Have you?” “I know where there is one!” was the satisfying reply. “There is an old bob-sled down in the boathouse, with a broken runner, that we can fix up. What do you say?” “Is the iron runner broken?” Don asked quickly. “No, but a wooden support is. The iron on it is all right, outside of being a bit rusty. Suppose we fix it up?” The cadets needed no further invitation but rushed to the boathouse without delay, there to find the old bob-sled of which Douglas had spoken. The broken wooden support, running from the body of the sled to the iron runner, was not a serious problem, and between them they soon managed to get it out and substitute another one for it. “There!” cried Jim, proudly. “As good as new, by golly!” “Well, just about,” agreed Vench. “If it was new it would have a little less dust on it, but as an A number one sled it is OK.” “We’ll soon clean the dust off it,” decided Douglas, and they got some water from the gym, a brush and soap, and went to work with a will, with the result that the sled was soon in a different condition. “Too late to try her out before supper,” decided Don, glancing out at the gathering darkness. “But we’ll go over to the hill after we eat.” As soon as the evening meal was over Woodcrest Military school was nearly deserted, almost all of the cadets going toward the distant hill. Only a few boys, more interested in warm quarters and books, remained in the school to miss the fun. The friends ran down to the boathouse, uncovered the bob, which they had hidden under some loose canvas, and placing it on the snow, pulled it at a rapid pace toward Nelson Hill. It took them a good half hour to get there, as it was uphill most of the way. The cadets who had arrived before them had lighted fires, which blazed against the black sky like flaming beacons, and by the light of these fires the cadets were coasting. The hill was long and sloping and gave them a good ride, and by the same token, a good stiff walk up again. The hill was covered with sleds. Shouts of laughter and merry yells echoed and re-echoed over the surrounding country as the cadets enjoyed the fun. Generosity prevailed, the cadets loaning their sleds to those who had none, while the lenders warmed themselves around the fires and waited for the borrowers to toil up the hill again. “Well, what say to our first trip down?” called Douglas, planting the bob firmly on the brow of the hill. “OK,” agreed Vench, sitting on the sled. Douglas eyed him with vast disapproval. “What are you going to do, sit on the sled?” he demanded. “Certainly,” retorted Vench. “What am I supposed to do, stand on it?” “You ought to know enough about tobogganing to lie down,” Douglas said. “Only girls sit up. Do you want me to clasp my hands around your tummy and scream when we hit a bump?” “Aw, go chase yourself!” growled Vench, lying down on the front of the sled. Jim and Terry followed and Don squirmed on top of them. There was now just room enough for Douglas. “All set?” inquired Douglas, taking hold of the rear of the sled. “Let her go!” the others cried, and Douglas gave the bob a push. It began to tilt over the top of the hill and moved slowly down. Douglas sprang on, kneeling on the little space left for him, and the bob, with its heavy load, began to move with increasing speed down the hill. It did not immediately gain a great rate of speed for the runners were still a little rusty, but it picked up gradually, until it was fairly flying down the hill. Past single sleds they went, Vench steering dexterously in and out between them, passing cadets toiling up the snowy slopes, who turned to stare after them. One or two light bumps were encountered, which caused the sled to jump a few inches from the ground, and they literally flew through the air, to land with a jarring thud a little further on. In this way they reached the bottom of the hill and kept going on the level ground, to stop finally a long way from the point at which they had started. “That was great!” cried Don, springing up. “The fires look to be a long way up in the air,” observed Vench, and they looked up to the top of the hill. The fires looked far away from where they were, sending licking yellow flames against a deep black sky. A number of black dots were streaking down the hill in their direction, but the bob had gone further than any of them because of its weight. “Now I suppose we have got to walk up again,” said Terry. “Too bad we can’t push a button and make the hill reverse for us!” “Why go up right away?” asked Jim. “Here is a smaller hill. Want to try it?” A few yards from them a smaller slope showed, on which the hard snow gleamed from the faraway fires. “We’ll run right down into the woods, if we go down this hill,” cautioned Don. “However, I’m perfectly willing. Want to try it?” The others agreed and with another push they dipped down this second hill, taking a long ride in between the trees that closed over their heads and shut out all light. But when they came to compare notes they found that sentiment was not very keen for this hill. “Nothing to it,” declared Vench. “The snow is packed harder on the long hill,” Jim decided. “No use using these little ones when we have a perfectly good big one.” “No,” agreed Douglas, gathering up the rope of the bob-sled. “Well, we might as well begin our upward hike.” “Wait a minute!” cried Don. “Did you hear a crash just then?” None of them had. “Must have been some snow falling, or an old tree crashing down,” Terry suggested. They turned to go back but once more Don stopped them. “Listen!” he cried. “Someone’s calling!” They stopped and were silent for a long interval, but there was no sound. Vench laughed. “Don’s hearing things,” he said. “We’ll have to get him back to the top of the hill right away.” “No, I tell you I did hear something,” insisted Don. “Listen, there it is again!” This time, clearly and distinctly on the night air, a call echoed through the woods. “Help!” cried a faint muffled voice. “Help, somebody!” |
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