TO THE RESCUE.
Things happened in a whirl of confusion after that. To the horrified
cadets a thousand incidents seemed to crowd in at one moment.
In the first place there was the terrified captive, bound helplessly to
the tree, his clothing on fire, himself shrieking at the top of his
lungs. Then there were the yearlings themselves, all crying out with
fright and alarm and rushing wildly in to drag the burning wood away.
Finally there were other arrivals, whom, in the excitement, the
yearlings scarcely noticed. There were two of them; one tore a knife
from his pocket and cut the rope in a dozen places, the other flung off
his jacket and wrapped it quickly about Indian's feet, extinguishing the
flames. And then the two stood up and gazed at the rest--the frightened
yearlings and their infuriated victim.
Infuriated? Yes, wildly infuriated! A change had come over Indian such
as no one who knew him had ever seen before. The fire had not really
hurt him; it had only ruined his clothing and scorched his legs enough
to make him wild with rage. He had tugged at his bonds savagely; when he
was cut free he had torn loose from the friendly stranger who had knelt
to extinguish the fire, and made a savage rush at the badly scared
cadets.
Indian's face was convulsed with passion. His arms were swinging wildly
like a windmill's sails in a hurricane, while from his mouth rushed a
volley of exclamations that would have frightened Captain Kidd and his
pirate band.
It made no difference what he hit; the fat boy was too blind with rage
to see. He must hit something! If a tree had lain in his path he would
have started in on that. As luck would have it, however, the thing that
was nearest to him was a yearling--Baby Edwards.
Baby could have been no more frightened if he had seen an express train
charging on him. He turned instantly and fled--where else would he flee
but to his idol Bull? He hid behind that worthy; Bull put up his hands
to defend himself; and the next instant Indian's flying arms reached the
spot.
One savage blow on the nose sent Bull tumbling backward--over Baby.
Indian, of course, could not stop and so did a somersault over the two.
There was a pretty _melee_ after that. Baby was the first to emerge,
covered with dirt and bruises. Indian got up second; he gazed about him,
his rage still burning; he gave one snort, shook his head clear of the
soil as an angry bull might; and then made another savage rush at Baby.
Baby this time had no friend to hide behind; Harris was lying on the
ground, face down, as a man might do to protect himself in a cyclone.
And so Baby had no resource but flight; he took to his heels, the
enraged plebe a few feet behind; and in half a minute more the pair were
lost to sight and sound, far distant in the woods, Indian still
pursuing.
It might be pleasant to follow them, for Indian in his rage was a sight
to divert the gods. But there was plenty more happening at the scene of
the fire, things that ought not be missed.
In the first place, who were the two new arrivals? It was evident that
they were plebes--their faces were familiar to the cadets. But beyond
that no one knew anything about them. They had freed their helpless
classmate and saved him from serious injury, as has been told. They had
done one thing more that has not been mentioned yet. One of them, the
smaller, just after Indian had broken loose, had reached over and dealt
the nearest yearling he could reach a ringing blow upon the cheek.
"Take that!" said he. "Bah Jove, you're a cur."
There was another _melee_ after that.
Of course the setting fire to Indian had been a pure accident; but the
two strangers did not know it. They saw in the whole thing a piece of
diabolical cruelty. The yearling the wrath chanced to fall upon was Gus
Murray--and his anger is left to the imagination. He sprang at the
throat of the reckless plebe; and the rest of the crowd rushed to his
aid, pausing just for an instant to size up the pair.
They did not seem "to be any great shucks." The taller was a big
slouchy-looking chap in clothes that evidently bespoke the farmer, and
possessing a drawl which quite as clearly indicated the situation of the
farm--the prairies. Having cut Indian loose he was lounging lazily
against the tree and regarding his more excitable companion with a
good-natured grin.
The companion was even less awe-inspiring, for one had to look at him
but an instant to see that he was one of the creatures whom all
well-regulated boys despise--a dude. He wore a high collar, ridiculously
high; he was slender and delicate looking, with the correct Fifth Avenue
stoop to his shoulders and an attitude to his arms which showed that he
had left his cane behind only on compulsion when he "struck the Point."
And any doubts the yearlings may have had on this question were settled
as the yearlings stared, for the object turned to the other and spoke.
"Aw say, Sleepy," said he, "come help me chastise these fellows, don't
ye know."
As a fact there was but little choice in the matter, it was fight or die
with the two, for at the same instant Gus Murray, wild with rage, had
leaped forward and made a savage lunge at the dude.
What happened then Murray never quite knew. All he made out was that
when he hit at the dude the dude suddenly ceased to be there. The
yearling glanced around in surprise and discovered that his victim had
slid coolly under his elbow and was standing over on the other side of
the clearing--smiling.
The rest of the crowd, not in the least daunted by Murray's miss, rushed
in to the attack; and a moment later a wild scrimmage was in progress,
a scrimmage which defied the eye to comprehend and the pen to describe.
The former never moved from the tree, but with his back flat against it
and his great clumsy arms swinging like sledge hammers he stood and bid
defiance to his share of the crowd.
The dude's tactics were just the opposite. He was light and slender, and
should have been easy prey. That was what Bull Harris thought as he
hastily arose from the spot where Indian had butted him and joined his
eager comrades in the hunt. The hunt; a hunt it was, and no mistake.
While the farmer stayed in one place, the dude seemed everywhere at
once. Dodging, ducking, running, he seemed just to escape every blow
that was aimed at him. He seemed even to turn somersaults, to the amazed
yearlings, who had been looking for a dude and not an acrobat.
The dude did not dodge all the time, though; occasionally he would stop
to cool the ardor of some especially excited cadet with a sudden punch
where it wasn't looked for. Once also he stuck out his foot and allowed
Bull Harris to get his legs caught in it, with a result that Bull's nose
once more plowed the clearing.
The writer wishes it were his privilege to chronicle the fact that the
two put the eight to flight; or that Indian, having put the Baby "to
sleep," returned to perform yet greater prodigies of valor. It would be
a pleasure to tell of all that, but on the other hand truth is a
stubborn thing. Things do not always happen as they should in spite of
the providence that is supposed to make them.
The farmer, after a five-minute gallant stand, was finally knocked
down--from behind--and once down he was being fast pummeled into
nothingness. The dude--his collar, much to his alarm, having wilted--was
in the last stage of exhaustion. In fact, Bull had succeeded in landing
a blow, the first of the afternoon for him. The dude was about to give
up and perish, when assistance arrived. For these gallant heroes were
not fated to conquer alone.
The first warning of the arrival of reinforcements was not the
traditional trumpet call, nor the roll of a drum, nor even the tramp of
soldiers, but a muttered "Wow!" This was followed by Texas himself,
bursting through the bushes like a battering ram. Mark was at his side,
and behind them came the Parson. Dewey, being rather crippled, brought
up the rear.
The four lost no time in questions; they saw two plebes in distress, and
they had met Indian on the warpath and learned the cause of the trouble.
They knew it was their business to help and they "sailed right in" to do
it.
Mark placed himself by the side of the panting "dude." Texas and the
Parson made a V formation and speedily got the farmer to his feet and in
fighting array once more. And after that the odds of the battle were
more even.
It was a very brief battle, in fact. A mere skirmish after that. Mark's
prowess was dreaded, and that of Texas but little less. After Texas had
chased two yearlings into the woods, and Mark had stretched out
Bull--that was Bull's third time that afternoon--the ardor of the eight
began to wane. It was not very long then before the attack stopped by
mutual consent, and the combatants took to staring at each other
instead.
The rage of Bull as he picked himself up and examined his damages must
be imagined.
"You confounded plebes shall pay for this," he roared, "as sure as I'm
alive."
"Now?" inquired Mark, smiling, rubbing his hands, and looking ready to
resume hostilities.
"It's a case of blamed swelled head, that's what it is," growled the
other, sullenly.
"Which," added the Parson's solemn voice, "might be somewhat
more classically expressed by the sesquipedalian Hellenic
vocable--ahem!--Megalacephalomania."
With which interesting bit of information--presented gratis--the Parson
carefully laid his beloved "Dana" on the ground and sat down on it for
safety.
"Why can't you plebes mind your business, anyhow?" snarled Gus Murray.
"That's what I say, too!" cried Bull.
"Curious coincidence!" laughed Dewey. "Reminds me of a story I once
heard, b'gee--I guess it's most too long a story to tell through. Remind
me of it, Mark, and I'll tell it to you some day. One of the most
remarkable tales I ever heard, that! Told me by a fellow that used to
run a sausage factory. It was right next door to a 'Home for Homeless
Cats,' though, b'gee, I couldn't ever see how the cats were homeless if
they had a home there. They didn't stay very long, though. That was the
funniest part of it. They used to sit on the fence near the sausage
factory, b'gee----"
Dewey could have prattled on that way till doomsday with unfailing good
humor. It made the yearlings mad and that was all he cared about. But by
this time Bull had perceived that he was being guyed, and he turned away
with an angry exclamation.
"You fellows may stay if you choose;" he said, "I'm going back to camp.
And those plebes shall pay for this!"
"Cash on demand!" laughed Mark, as the discomfited crowd turned and
slunk off.