"A letter for me, did you say?" The speaker was a tall, handsome lad, a plebe at the West Point Military Academy. At the moment he was gazing inquiringly out of the tent door at a small orderly. The boy handed him an envelope, and the other glanced at it. "Cadet Mark Mallory, West Point, N. Y.," was the address. "I guess that's for me," he said. "Thank you. Hello in there, Texas Here's a letter from Wicks Merritt." This last remark was addressed to another cadet in the tent. "Texas," officially known as Jeremiah Powers, a tall, rather stoop-shouldered youth, with a bronzed skin and a pair of shining gray eyes, appeared in the doorway and watched his friend with interest while he read.