CHAPTER XXXIX.
AN OPEN INSULT.
The spirit of mischief seemed to break loose in the camp that night.

A dozen times were some of the plebes hauled out of bed and slid around the streets enveloped in their own blankets, ridden on a tentpole, or an old wheelbarrow, tossed in tent flies, or nearly smothered with smoke that filled their tents from the burning of some vile-smelling stuff.
Time after time was the guard turned out to capture the perpetrators of these tricks, but still alarm followed alarm, and not one of the jokers was captured.
Every inspection seemed to show the older cadets all in their beds and sleeping with amazing soundness, considering the racket that was going on.
Lieutenant Gordan was at his wits' end, for never had there been such an outbreak in camp since his coming to Fardale, and he began to believe there was something radically wrong about the system as enforced at the academy.
The professors were driven from their tents and compelled to take refuge in the academy in order to get any sleep, and they all felt like resigning their positions and seeking occupations in other walks of life.
At West Point such things were once possible, but the introduction of long rows of gas lamps put an end to it by illuminating the camp so that the pranks could not be performed without the greatest danger of detection.
At Fardale the gas lamps were missing, and a dark night during the first weeks of each yearly encampment was certain to be a wild night.
It happened that Fred Davis had been assigned to guard duty on this particular night, and, for a long time, none of the disturbances took place on his post.
At length, however, when things had been quiet for an ominous length of time, Fred saw three figures coming swiftly toward him through the darkness.
"Halt!" he commanded, promptly.

"Who comes there ?" "The corporal of the guard," was the reply, given in a muffled tone of voice.
"Advance, corporal of the guard, and give the countersign." Then followed a suspicious hesitation.

Fred fancied he heard a faint sound in his rear, but, before he could make a move, a blanket was thrown over his head, and he was hurled to the ground.
He struggled with surprising strength, but he was helpless in the hands of his assailants.

His musket had been torn from his hands, and he seemed to feel something slitting and tearing his clothing.