# Dick Hamilton's Cadet Days/Chapter 9

CHAPTER IX
WHO FIRED THE GUN?
"Pick him up, and see if he's hurt," ordered Dutton though he did not take the trouble to get off his horse to ascertain. "Very likely he's only shamming."
But is needed only a look at Dick's pale face to show that he had had a hard fall. The breath was knocked out of him.
The three cadets bent over him, and, while one raised him to a sitting position, the others chaffed his hands. Dick opened his eyes, and stared wonderingly about him.
"What—what—where am I?" he asked, and then he saw the mounted students, he added, "I fell."
"Are you hurt?" asked Graham.
"No—no, I guess not."
But when Dick tried to stand he found he was so dizzy that his fellow cadets had to support him.
"Take him back to the hospital," ordered Dutton, "and then you three rejoin your company."
​At that moment Major Webster, who had been drilling some of the older cadets, in advanced tactics on a distant part of the field, came galloping up.
"What has happened?" he asked. "Ah, Hamilton, eh? Are you hurt?"
"I fell off my horse. He bolted with me," replied Dick."
"Are you sure you're not hurt?"
"Yes; only a trifle dizzy."
"I'm sending him back to the hospital," annouced Dutton.
"That's proper. Are you sure you'll be all right, Hamilton?" asked the major kindly.
"Oh, yes. I believe I can ride now."
"No, I can't allow it. You must take a rest."
On the way back with the cadets, Dick insisted that he could go alone, and did not need help.
"Orders are orders," replied Graham with a smile. "Dutton might make a fuss if we didn't do as he said."
"It was all his fault," added Paul Drew. "He deliberately collided with you, Dick."
"Oh, no; I hardly think he would do that!"
"But he did," insisted Butler. "He didn't need to gallop in front of you that way. I looked just as if he wanted to unseat you, didn't it, fellows?"
"That's right," added Paul. "I'd report him if I were you."
"Oh, no," answered Dick quickly. "There's ​no use making trouble. Even if he did do it on purpose, I wouldn't gain anything by reporting him. I'm no squealer."
"But you might have been badly hurt," said Butler.
"I wasn't though, and a miss is as good as a mile."
"That's a good way of looking at it," commented Paul. "I'd feel like fighting him, if he did that to me."
"Say, I'm all right. There's no need for you fellows to come back with me," went on Dick.
"If we don't Dutton may make a row," objected Butler. "We'd better do it."
Not wanting to get his fellow cadets into trouble, Dick allowed them to accompany him to the hospital, which was maintained by the academy. There the surgeon in charge, a grizzled war veteran, felt of our hero's bones, and announced, gruffly, that he was all right, but that he had better rest a while.
Which Dick was glad enough to do, as his head was beginning to ache.
"Dutton must want to get rid of me," he thought, as he stretched out on the bed in his room. "If he keeps on I shall certainly have a clash with him, and then I s'pose there'll be trouble. I don't want to fight, but I'm not going to submit to his meanness. I certainly am under a handicap here. I wish I could ask dad to send ​me to some other school. No, I don't either. I'll fight it out here, and I'll win, too, or I'll know the reason why!"
Major Webster, when he returned from the drill, inquired how Dick felt, and received the assurance that the lad was all right.
"We must give you a quieter horse," he said with a smile.
"Oh, no, I can manage him all right," said Dick. "Captain Dutton—er—he and I happened to collide, or it never would have happened."
"Strange, Dutton is an excellent rider," commented the major as he walked away.
A slight headache the next day was all the ill effect that Dick experienced from his tumble. He appeared at chapel, and took part in all the day's duties. For a week or more life went on rather uneventfully at the academy. Dick had a letter from his father, stating that business was likely to keep him abroad longer than he expected.
Dick also got a letter from Henry Darby, giving some news of Hamilton Corners, and telling how Dick's chums missed him. The letter closed with this:
"Grit misses you very much. He doesn't eat hardly anything, and he lies in his kennel all day."
"Poor Grit," said Dick to Paul, and he told of his bulldog. "I wish I could have him here with me."
"Why don't you?" suggested his roommate. "Some of the other cadets are allowed special ​privileges, why don't you ask if you can bring Grit here? You could keep him in the stable."
"I believe I will," said Dick, and he sought and received permission from Colonel Masterly to do this.
A few days later Grit arrived, and he was probably the happiest dog living, as Dick took him out of the shipping crate. The animal bounded about, and fairly leaped over his master's head in the excess of his joy.
Grit made friends with such few chums as Dick had among the freshmen, and they were not many, for Dutton's influence seemed even to extend to them. The advent of the bulldog appeared to further arouse the ire of the young captain.
"I expect our millionaire cadet will be having a private menagerie next," he said with a sneer. "But I tell you one thing, Hamilton, if I catch the brute around my quarters I'll kick him out."
"I shouldn't advise you to try it," said Dick coolly. "It might not be healthy—for you."
"Do you mean that you'd attack me?" asked Dutton, taking a step toward Dick.
"No, but Grit might; eh, Grit, old boy."
The dog growled in a menacing manner, and Dutton, turning on his heel, made off up the campus, but the scowl he gave Dick augured anything but well for the young millionaire.
It was about a week after this when, one ​evening, Dick, who was sitting in his room, studying with Paul, sucldently exclaimed:
"There, I've left my algebra out under the three elms. I was studying there this afternoon."
The three elms were a clump of giant trees on the campus, and a recognized stamping ground for the freshmen, who frequently studied there, when it was too hot in their rooms.
Better go out and get it," advised Paul. "It looks like rain, and you know it means a demerit to have soiled books."
"Guess I'll slip out and get it," decided Dick. "I'll have just about time enough before taps."
He started down the long corridor, but he had not taken a dozen steps before taps was sounded on the bugle, the plaintive call of "lights out" vibrating clearly on the night air.
"Better come back," advised Paul, from the open door of their room, as he prepared to turn out the electric lamp.
"No, I think I'll chance it," decided Dick. "No one is likely to see me, and I might as well get a demerit for this as for having a rain-soaked algebra. Leave the door open so I can find the place in the dark."
He kept on, stealing quietly down the hall. Paul went to bed, and was just dozing off when he was startled by the loud report of the cannon used for firing the sunrise and sunset guns. The echoes thundered among the academy buildings, and were re-echoed from the distant hills. Paul ​arose. Clearly some of the cadets were up to a trick, and had fired the gun.
A few minutes later Dick came running into the room.
"Did you get the book? Who fired the gun?" asked Paul in a whisper.
"Yes, I got the algebra, and, just as I did the gun went off. I saw some of the fellows running, and of course I was running too, but, just as I was coming in, Stiver, who is doing guard duty, saw me."
"What did he say?"
"Called to me halt, but I didn't."
"He'll report you, and you may be blamed for—"
An instant later the tramp of feet was heard in the corridor.
"It's inspection!" gasped Paul. "Undress quick, and get into bed!"