"Ha! Hazing! A senseless and foolish proceeding! But just what I would expect of you soldier lads--heartless and cruel. Well, let me pass, I've wasted enough time on you." Mr. Duncaster's voice was grim and harsh. He brushed by Dick roughly and passed on down the street, muttering to himself about the foolishness of youths in general, and in particular regarding those boys who attended military schools. Dick, having assured himself that the hazed ones were still patrolling their post, returned to his chums and helped get away with some chocolate soda. There was a telegram awaiting our hero when he reached his room later that night, Porter and Weston having been released from their hazing duties. "Hum, I guess that's from dad," mused Dick. "I wonder what the new developments are?" Rapidly he scanned the few words. They were these: "Dear Dick: Enos Duncaster is the name of the man who holds a lot of trolley stock. See if you can locate him for me. I understand he lives somewhere in the vicinity of your academy. Trouble is thickening. I need help." "Whew!" whistled Dick. "Enos Duncaster! He's the man who holds the stock, and whom both sides are after. And I'm in his bad books if ever a fellow was! Whew! I can see the finish of this without any spectacles!" CHAPTER VII THE COACHES ARRIVE Cavalry evolutions were ordered for the next day, followed by a field drill, and a service march of several miles, so that there was no chance for football practice. "And we need all we can get, too," remarked Dick to Paul. "Let's suggest to Colonel Masterly that he give up lessons and drill while the gridiron season is on," suggested Paul with a smile. "Yes, I can see him doing it," cried the young millionaire. "Which horse are you going to ride, Paul?" "The little black--I'm fond of him, though he is a bit vicious." The boys were on their way to the cavalry barracks, and in their wake, and ahead of them, were other cadets hastening to secure their mounts, for the bugle was impatiently calling. "Do you think Spitfire is safe?" asked Dick, naming the steed Paul had said he would use. "Why don't you take the little gray I used to ride? He's a good steady mount, though a bit slow." "That's the trouble," was the answer, as Dick's roommate tightened the belt of his sabre. "I want to keep up with the rest of the bunch. No, I'll take Spitfire. I reckon you'll ride Rex; eh?" "Sure," for Dick had brought his own fine horse to Kentfield with him, together with his bulldog, and Grit was now ambling along behind the two chums, occasionally uttering a low bark of satisfaction, for the dog loved to go along on the practice "hikes." "Well, be careful," cautioned the wealthy youth, as Paul went in to saddle up. "All right," laughed his chum, but there was a serious look on the face of our hero, and he resolved to keep near his chum that day.