Dick Prescottss Fourth Year at West Point | Page 3

glance
or word, but walked with swift step back to the task of which he was in
charge.

With face flushed, Mr. Jordan walked over to the instructor, reporting
himself as directed.
"Dismissed from to-day's instruction," said the Army officer briefly.
"Wait and return with the detachment, however."
So Cadet Jordan, first class, saluted, turned on his heel, sought the
nearest shady spot and sat down to wait.
His body idle, the young man had plenty of time to think---about Cadet
Captain Dick Prescott.
"There's nothing to Prescott but swagger and cheap airs," decided Mr.
Jordan, idly tossing pebbles. "It's a pity he can't be taken down a peg or
two! And now I'm in for demerits before the academic year starts.
Probably I shall have to walk punishment tours, too!"
Somehow, Jordan had come along through his more than three years in
the corps without attracting much attention.
He had made no strong friends; even Jordan's roommate, Atterbury, felt
that he knew the man but slightly.
True, Jordan had not so far been strongly suspected of being morose or
surly; he had escaped being ostracized, but he certainly was not popular.
If he had made no strong friendships, neither had he so deported
himself as to win enmity or even dislike. He was regarded simply as a
very taciturn fellow who desired to be let alone, and his apparent wish
in this respect was gratified.
Dick Prescott was of an entirely different character. Open, sunny, frank,
manly, he was a born leader among men, as he had always been among
boys.
Dick was a stickler for duty. He was in training to become an officer of
the Regular Army of the United States, and Prescott felt that no man
could be a good soldier until the duty habit had become fixed. So, in his
earlier years at West Point, Dick had sometimes been unpopular with

certain elements among the cadets because he would not greatly depart
from what he believed to be his duty as a cadet and a gentleman.
Readers of the _High School Boys' Series_ will recall that Prescott, in
his home town of Gridley, had been the head of Dick & Co., a sextette
of chums and High School athletes. It was in his High School days that
young Prescott had developed the qualities of manliness which the
Military Academy at West Point was now rounding off for him.
Readers of the preceding volumes in this series, _Dick Prescott's First
Year at West Point_, _Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point_ and
_Dick Prescott's Third Year at West Point_, are already familiar with
the young man's career as a cadet at the United States Military
Academy. Our readers know how hard the fight had been for Dick
Prescott, who, in addition to his early struggles to keep his place in
scholarship in the corps, had been submitted to the evil work of
enemies in the corps. Some of these enemies had been exposed in the
end, and forced to leave the Military Academy, but many had been the
bitter hours that Prescott had spent under one cloud or another as the
result of the wicked work of these enemies.
At last, however, Prescott and his roommate and chum, Greg Holmes,
had reached the first class. They had now less than a year to go before
they would be graduated and commissioned as officers in the Army.
On reaching first-class dignity, both Dick and Greg had been delighted
over their appointment as cadet officers. Prescott was captain of A
company and Greg Holmes first lieutenant of the same company.
With Anstey chasing the balk carriers, and all the other squads
attending briskly to business, the pontoon was quickly built, so that a
roadway extended from shore to shore.
Now came the supreme test as to whether Prescott had done his work
well.
In the shade of the nearest trees a team of mules had dozed while the
bridge construction was going on. Behind the mules was hitched a

loaded wagon belonging to the Engineer Corps.
"Sir," reported Prescott, approaching Lieutenant Armstrong and
saluting, "I have the honor to report that the bridge is constructed."
Lieutenant Armstrong returned the salute, next called to an engineer
soldier.
"Carter!"
"Sir," answered the engineer private, saluting.
"Drive your team over the bridge and back."
Mounting to the seat of his wagon, the soldier obeyed.
Dick Prescott and his mates did not watch this test closely. They were
sure enough of the quality of the work that they had done.
Reaching land at the further side of the bridge, the engineer soldier
turned his team in a half circle, once more drove upon the bridge and
recrossed to the starting point.
"Very well done, Mr. Prescott," nodded the Engineer officer, with a
satisfied smile.
"Take