Slowly the yearling sentry paced down to the further end of his
post. Then he came back again. Having saluted Prescott recently,
he did not pause now, but kept on past the cadet officer standing
there in the shadow.

As the sentry's footsteps again sounded softer in the distance,
Prescott suddenly became aware of something not far away from him.

It was a little glow of fire, at an elevation of something less
than six feet from the ground, over beside a bush.

This glow of fire looked exactly as though it came from a lighted
cigar.

If the cigar were held by a civilian, it was a matter that needed
looking into.

Cadets, if they wish, may smoke at certain times and within certain
limits. But nothing in the regulations permits a cadet to go
outside the guard lines after taps to smoke.

Dick Prescott drew further back into the shadow, noiselessly,
and kept his eye on the distant glow until he heard the yearling
returning.

"Sentry!" called Prescott sharply. The yearling, his piece at
port arms, came on the run.

"Investigate that glow yonder," ordered Prescott.