“It is more than likely that we will find them on the front campus,” said Edwards, under his breath. “It would be no triumph for the Park men unless they display their spoils prominently.” “Yes,” answered Ray; “and it is just like their impudence to place the cannons in an exactly similar spot to that which they occupied on our campus so long.” In accordance with this idea, we stole softly along the paths and around the buildings toward the front of the grounds. In our progress we met no one. The campus and buildings were dark and silent. Not a sound nor a ray of light betrayed the fact that the gloomy halls about us were inhabited by slumbering inmates. Trusting in the protection of the deeper shade of the large elm trees in the front campus, we moved forward more confidently. Suddenly Percy Randall turned and grasped Ray Wendell by the wrist. “Well, well, what is it?” asked Ray in a startled whisper, as the rest of us joined them. “There, there! look there, by the gate!” exclaimed Percy with a low chuckle of exultation. His exclamation was not without good cause. Percy’s eyes were sharp, and they had not served him in vain on this occasion, for down by the gate, close together, stood our dear old cannons, and looking so natural in that position that we felt for a moment that we must be upon our own campus. Perhaps an ordinary passer by might not have noticed them on a night like this; but our eyes, long grown accustomed to the shape of the old carriages, quickly discerned them even in the dark shadows of the elm trees. Forgetting everything but our discovery, we hastened forward, and in silent delight clasped the old iron cylinders in our arms. “Now for the other fellows!” exclaimed Percy Randall. “You wait here till I come back with the rest.” Just at that moment the bell up in the tower of the main building struck one single note, that rolled and echoed over the campus with startling emphasis. It was one o’clock. Suppressing our excitement, we stretched ourselves out beside the cannons and awaited Percy’s return in absolute silence. The minutes dragged along wearily, and the stillness was growing almost burdensome, when we heard numerous stealthy footsteps behind us; and rising up, we found ourselves surrounded by Percy Randall and his masked followers. Even to us, who knew them to be our companions, this sudden appearance of a band of disguised men, creeping towards the cannons in the dim starlight, had a strikingly weird and fantastic effect. Had Percy Randall been enacting some dire melodrama, he could not have prepared his materials or set his scene better. “Now then, quick with the ropes!” said Percy, as the fellows gathered about. At that moment, Tony Larcom, who had been investigating the wheels, gave a groan. “Great Scott! they are chained!” he exclaimed. “Chained?” cried Percy. “Yes. The right wheel of this cannon is chained to one gate, and the right wheel of the other cannon is fast to the other gate.”