"TEXAS" RUNS AMUCK.
"Drunk! Drunk! For Heaven's sake what do you mean?"
Mark had been sitting in the door of a tent in "A" company street,
vigorously polishing a musket. At the moment he had dropped the gun and
the cleaning kit to the ground and was gazing in amazement at Indian,
who had halted, breathless, in front of him.
"Drunk!" the first speaker repeated. "Texas drunk! What on earth are you
talking about?"
The other was so red in the face and out of breath from what had
evidently been a long run that he could scarcely manage to answer. His
eyes were staring, and his face a picture of excitement and alarm.
"Bless my soul!" he gasped. "I tell you--I saw him! He's wild!"
"What do you mean? Where is he?"
"He--he's got a horse! He's ridden off! Oh--bless my soul--he's killing
everybody!"
Mark sprang to his feet in excitement. At the same moment another head
appeared in the opening, preceded by a hasty "What's that?" It was
Parson Stanard, and his learned classical face was a picture of
amazement.
"Texas drunk!" he echoed. "Where did he get anything to drink?"
"I don't know!" gasped Indian. "Bless my soul--I only saw him one
moment; he dashed down the road. Oh! And had a horse, and his
guns--Lord, I was scared nearly to death."
"Which way did he go?" inquired Mark, quickly, a sudden resolution
taking possession of his mind.
"Down toward Highland Falls," answered the other.
And before he could say another word, Mark had seized his hat, sprang
out of the tent, and bounded away down the company street to the great
amazement of the cadets who chanced to see him.
"Texas'll be expelled! Expelled!" he muttered. "And then what on earth
will I do?"
The time was morning. The plebe class had just been dismissed a short
while ago from an hour of drill, and most of them were over by the
cavalry plain, watching the preparations of the rest of the corps for
"light artillery drill," which was the programme of the morning.
Scarcely half an hour ago Mark had left Texas and now he was drunk! And
he was drunk after the fashion of the cowboys, reckless of everything,
shooting and yelling, ready to raid a town if need be. Where he had
gotten his whiskey, or his horse, what on earth had led him to such an
extraordinary proceeding, were questions that Mark could not solve; but
he knew that his friend was in imminent danger, that expulsion stared
him in the face. And that was all Mark needed to know.
He did not notice that the plain on his right was crowded with
spectators of the drill, and that those same spectators were staring at
him curiously as he dashed past. He had eyes for but one thing, and that
was a building to one side, down the hill toward the shore of the
Hudson. He did not stop for paths; he plunged down the bank, and finally
wound up breathless in front of the cavalry stables.
Most of the men were off to one side, at that moment engaged in
harnessing the horses for the drill on the plain above. But one was
left, and he sat in the doorway, calmly smoking his pipe, and gazing
curiously at the figure before him.
"What d'ye want?" he demanded.
"A horse!" gasped Mark.
"Plebe?" inquired the other, with exasperating slowness.
"Yes."
"Where's yer permit?"
"Haven't got any."
"Don't get no horse then!"
Mark gazed at the man in consternation--he hadn't thought of that
difficulty. Then a sudden idea occurred to him, and he thrust his hand
into the watch pocket of his uniform. There was money there, money which
as a cadet Mark had no business to have. But he thanked his stars for it
all the same. There was a five-dollar bill, and he handed it to the man.
"For Heaven's sake," he panted, "give me a horse! Quick! Don't lose a
moment! I'll see you don't get blamed--say I took it away from you if
you want to."
The man fingered the bill for a few moments, lost in thought.
"It'd take more'n you to take a horse away from me," he said at last.
"But since you're in such a hurry----"
He stepped inside the building, and a moment later reappeared, leading
one of the government cavalry horses.
"Saddle?" he inquired.
By way of answer Mark sprang at the animal's head, and in one bound was
on his back.
"Get up!" he cried, digging his heels into the horse's side. "Get up!"
and a moment later was dashing down the road as if he had been shot from
a catapult.
"Terrible hurry that!" muttered the stableman, shaking his head, as he
turned away. "Terrible hurry! Something wrong 'bout that 'ere."
There was; and Mark thought so, too, as he galloped down the road. He
feared there would be much more wrong in a very short while. In half an
hour or so the plebe class, his class, would be called to quarters once
more for drill, and if he and Texas were not on hand then, there would
be trouble, indeed. If they were, there was prospect of no less
excitement. From what Mark knew of his hot-tempered and excitable
comrade when sober, he could form a vague idea of what a terror he might
be when he was mad with drink; and being thus he would not be apt to
behave as the meek and gentle thing a plebe is supposed to be. Mark had
had great trouble in keeping Texas quiet, even under ordinary
circumstances.
Mark, it may be mentioned, had met this wild and uncivilized lad down at
the hotel at Highland Falls, some weeks before either of them had been
admitted to the academy. Texas had then with recklessness helped Mark in
outwitting some hazers among the candidates. Mark had been drawn to the
other by his frank and open nature, by their mutual love of fun and
adventure, and by a certain respect each felt for the other's prowess.
The story of the heroic efforts by which Mark had earned his cadetship
was known to Texas, as indeed it was to every one on the post.
The two had come up to the Point together, and passed their
examinations; and they had been fast friends ever since. Mark had
backed Texas in a battle in which Texas had "licked" no less than four
of the yearlings. Texas had been Mark's second in a fight with the
picked champion of the same class. And since then the two had set out
together on a crusade against hazing which had turned West Point customs
topsy-turvy and made the yearlings fairly wild with desperation.
Through all this the two had fought side by side, and were stanch
friends. And now! The Texan's wild passions had led him to an act that
might mean instant expulsion. And Mark felt that West Point was losing
half its charm.
All this he was rapidly revolving in his mind as the horse sped down the
road. Texas might be found! He might be brought back in time, if indeed
he had not already shot some one! Mark felt that the chance was worth
the risk, and he leaned forward over the flying horse's neck and urged
him on with every trick he could think of.
On, on they sped. Down the road past the riding hall, up the hill, past
the mess hall, the hospital and then on southward toward Highland Falls.
The passers-by stopped to look at the hurrying figure in astonishment;
people rushed to the windows to see what the clatter of hoofs might
mean; but before they got there the horse and rider had vanished down
the street in a swirling cloud of dust.
As if there were not enough to perplex Mark, a new problem rose up
before him just then. The village he had left behind him, and was
speeding down the road--when he chanced to think of the fact that he was
almost at "Cadet limits." There was a fork in the road just below; to go
beyond it meant instant expulsion if discovered! And how could he hope
to be undiscovered, he in a cadet uniform and on that public highway?
The risk was desperate, but Mark had almost resolved to take it, when a
startling sound broke upon his ears.
"Wow! Whoop!" Bang! Bang! "Wow!"
And a moment later, sweeping around a turn, a cloud of dust appeared to
Mark's straining eyes. The cloud drew nearer; the shouts and yells
swelled louder, accompanied now and then by a fusillade as from a dozen
revolvers; and at last, in the midst of the cloud, as if racing with it,
a horse and rider came into view, the rider with a huge revolver in each
hand and a dozen in his belt, flinging his arms, shouting and yelling as
if forty demons were on his trail.
"Heaven help him!" Mark thought to himself. "Heaven help him, for I
can't!"
The rider was Texas.
Mark had scarcely had time to take in the startling situation, before
the horse and rider were upon him with a rush and a whirl.
"Wow! Whoop!" roared Texas, with all the power of his mighty throat; and
at the same moment Mark heard a bullet whistle past his head.
Texas had not recognized his friend at the pace he was riding; he and
his flying steed were past and started up the road in the direction
whence Mark had come, when the latter turned and shouted:
"Texas! Oh, Texas! come back here!"
Texas gave a mighty tug upon the reins which brought his horse to his
haunches; he swung him around with a whirl that would have flung any
ordinary rider from the saddle; and then he dashed back, on his face a
broad grin of recognition and delight.
"Hi, Mark!" he roared. "Durnation glad to see you! Whoop!"
Mark's mind was working with desperate swiftness just then. He saw in a
moment that there was yet hope. Texas was not staggering; he sat his
saddle erect and graceful. His voice, too, was natural, and it was
evident that he had drunk only enough to excite him, to make him wild
and blind to the consequences. There was room for lots of diplomacy in
managing him, Mark thought. The only obstacle was time--or lack of it.
He reached over from his horse and seized the hand which the other held
out to him.
"How are you, old man?" he said.
"Bully!" cried Texas. "Ain't felt so jolly, man, fo' weeks! Whoop! 'Ray!
Got a horse, Mark, ain't you? Wow! that's great! Come along, thar! Git
up! We'll go bust up the hull camp. Wow!"
And Texas had actually turned to gallop ahead. Mark had but a moment to
think; he thought quickly, though, in that moment, and resolved on a
desperate expedient.
"Texas!" he called, and then as his friend turned, he added: "Texas, get
down from that horse!"
The other stared at him in amazement, and Mark returned that stare with
a stern and determined look. There was fire in Powers' eye, more so than
usually; but there was a quiet, unflinching purpose in Mark's that the
other had learned to respect.
That had been a hard lesson. Texas had lost his temper once and struck
Mark, and Mark thrashed him then as he had never been thrashed before.
Texas knew his master after that, and now as he stared, a glimmering
recollection of the time returned to his whirling brain.
"Texas, get down from that horse."
There was a moment more during which the two stared at each other in
silence; and then the right one gave way. Texas leaned forward, flung
his leg over the saddle, and sprang lightly to the ground. And after
that he stood silent and watched his friend, with a worried and puzzled
look upon his face.
Mark breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that he had won. He dismounted,
led his horse over to the side of the road, and sat down. Texas followed
him, though his unwillingness was written on his face.
"Now see here, old man," Mark began, having gotten him quiet, as he
thought. "I want to talk to you some."
"Pshaw!" growled Texas. "I don't want to talk. I want to git up an' git,
an' have some fun."
"Well, now, see here, Texas," Mark continued. "Don't you know if you are
seen carrying on this way you'll get into trouble? How about drill in a
few minutes?"
"Ain't goin' to drill!" cried the other, wriggling nervously in his
seat, and twitching his fingers with excitement. "Tired o' drillin'! I'm
a-goin' to have some fun!"
"But don't you know, man, that you'll be expelled?" Mark pleaded.
"Expelled! Wow!"
That was the spark that started the conflagration again. Texas leaped to
his feet with fury.
"Expelled!" he roared. "Who'll expel me? Whoop! I'd like to see anybody
in this place try it naow, by thunder! I'll show 'em! I'll hold up the
hull place! Watch me scare 'em! Whoop!"
And almost before Mark could move or say anything, the wild lad sprang
forward at a bound and landed upon his horse's back. A moment later he
was off like a shot, leaving only a cloud of dust and an echo of yells
behind him.
"Wow! Whoop! Who'll expel me? Come out yere, you ole officers, an' try
it! Wow!"
Texas was on the warpath again. This time headed straight for West
Point.
And riding behind him with desperate speed, scarcely fifty yards in the
rear, was Mark, pursuing with all his might, and trembling with alarm as
he thought of what that desperate cowboy might do when once he reached
the post.
For West Point, and the crowded parade ground, were not a quarter of a
mile away.