TEXAS TURNS HIGHWAYMAN.
There were six terrified plebes up at Camp McPherson, when Mark rushed
in, pale and breathless, to tell them the reason for his summons to
headquarters. The Banded Seven had not had such a shock since they
organized to resist the yearlings.
"Benny Bartlett!" cried Texas, springing up in rage. "Do you mean that
little rascal I licked the day he got sassy during exams?"
"That's he," said Mark, "and he's come back to get his revenge."
"And you don't mean," cried the six, almost in one breath, "Colonel
Harvey believes it?"
"Why shouldn't he?" responded Mark, despairingly. "I cannot see any way
out of it. The whole thing's a dirty lie from beginning to end, but it
makes a straight story when it is told, and I can't disprove it."
"But I thought you said," cried Texas, "that you saw Benny himself
cheating, or tryin' to, at the examinations right hyar."
"So I did," said the other. "But I cannot prove that. I know lots of
things about him, but I can't prove one of them. They've simply got me
and that's all there is of it. There are three of them, and it's almost
impossible to make the superintendent think they're lying. Think of a
rich old man like the squire's doing a trick like that!"
"Perhaps he ain't," suggested Texas, shrewdly.
"Perhaps not," admitted Mark. "Benny would not hesitate to lie to his
own father. But all the same I have no proof. And what in Heaven's name
am I to do?"
Mark sat down upon the locker in his tent and buried his face in his
hands. His wretchedness is left to the imagination. The whole thing had
come so suddenly, so unexpectedly, right in the midst of his triumph!
And it was so horrible!
The six could think of no word of comfort; for they were as cast down,
as thunderstruck, as he. Their regard for Mark was deep and true, and
his ruin they felt was theirs. They sat or stood about the tent in
characteristic attitudes, and with dejection written upon every line of
their countenances.
First to move was the wild Texas, ever impulsive and excitable. And
Texas leaped to his feet, with a muttered whoop!
"I'm a-goin' to prove them air fellers are lyin', by thunder, ef I have
to resign to do it!"
By the time that brief resolution was finished Texas was out of the tent
and gone. The six glanced up as he left, and then once more resumed
their dejected and bewildered discussion.
"I can see no way out of it. No way!" groaned Mark. "I am gone."
And the others could see no other way to look at it.
Texas was rather more bizarre and unconventional, more daring than his
companions from the "effete East," and his detective efforts were apt to
be more interesting for that reason. He paced up and down the company
street, hearing and seeing no one, thinking, thinking for all he was
worth.
"Proof! Proof!" he kept muttering to himself over and over again.
"Proof! Proof!"
Perhaps it was ten minutes before he did anything else. Texas was like a
fisherman waiting for a bite during that time. He was waiting for an
inspiration. And then suddenly the inspiration came. He stopped short in
his tracks, opened his eyes wide and staring, and his mouth also; his
fingers began to twitch with a sudden wave of excitement; his face
flushed and he trembled all over. The next moment with a joyful
"durnation!" he had turned and was off like a shot down the street.
"I've got it! I've got it! Whoop!"
And then suddenly he halted again.
"I won't tell 'em," he muttered to himself. "I'll keep it for a
surprise! But then, I'll want some one to help me. Who'll I--oh, yes!"
Texas had turned and started with no less haste the other way.
"I'll git one o' them ole cadets," he chuckled, "some one the ole man'll
believe. I know!"
At the eastern side of the camp, in A Company Street, and facing the
sentry post of Number Three, stood a single spacious tent. It belonged
to the first cadet captain, Fischer by name. And at that tent, trembling
with impatience, the plebe halted and knocked.
"Come in," called a voice, and Texas entered.
There was but one occupant in the tent--the first captain has a tent to
himself, if you please. It was Fischer, tall and stately and handsome as
usual, with his magnificent uniform and sash and chevrons. He was
engaged in writing a letter at the moment; he looked up and then arose
to his feet, a look of surprise upon his face as he recognized the
plebe.
"Mr. Powers," said he.
Texas bowed; and then he started right in to business.
"Mr. Fischer," he began, "I know it ain't customary for plebes to visit
first classmen, and especially B. J. plebes. But I got something to say
right naow that's important, more important than ceremonies an' such.
Will you listen?"
The officer bowed courteously, though he still looked surprised.
"It's about Mr. Mallory," said Texas. "I reckon you've heard the stories
'bout him?"
"I have heard rumors," said the other. "I shall be glad to hear more."
Texas told him the story then, just as Mark had told it a few minutes
ago. And the look of surprise on the captain's face deepened.
"This is a serious business, Mr. Powers," he said.
"It's one lie from beginning to end!" growled the other. "Now look
a-yere. You been a pretty good friend o' Mark's, Mr. Fischer. You're the
only man I know of in this place that's tried to see fair play. When
Mark had to fight them yearlings it was you saw he had his rights. When
they tried to get him dismissed on demerits, you were the one to stop
'em. Now, I don't know why you did it, 'cept perhaps you're an honest,
fair an' square man yourself, an' saw he was, too. Anyhow, you've been
his friend."
"I have tried to see fair play," responded the other, slowly. "I have
not approved of many of his acts, what he did last night at the hop, for
instance. But still----"
"If you knew this yere plot was a lie, would you say so?" interrupted
Texas.
"I most certainly should."
"An' if you saw a chance to prove it, knowin' that Mark'd be dismissed
if you didn't, would you?"
"It would be my duty, I think, as captain of his company. I should do it
anyway, for I respect Mr. Mallory."
And Texas seized the surprised Fischer by the hand and gave him a mighty
squeeze.
"Wow!" he cried. "I knew you would! Whoop! We'll fool them ole liars
yet!"
Then, to the still greater surprise of the cadet captain--who wasn't
used to Texas' ways--the plebe dragged him over to the corner of the
tent and whispered in a trembling, excited voice.
"Don't you tell a soul, naow, not a soul. S-sh! Do you want to turn
highwayman?"
Fischer stared at the other in alarm.
"Turn highwayman!" he echoed.
"Yes," whispered Texas. "Don't you know what a highwayman is? He's a man
what robs folks at night?"
Fischer gasped and looked dumfounded. The day that Texas had gone on his
"spree" and tried to wreck West Point he had been reported by the
surgeon on the sick list for "temporary mental aberration due to the
heat."
"This is an awfully hot day," thought Fischer. "I hope to gracious he
hasn't got any guns!"
Texas waited a moment longer, and then he went on to whisper. He had
lots to say, and one would have been interested to observe its effect
upon the officer. His look of consternation faded; one of interest,
doubt, and then finally of delight replaced it. And by the time the
other was through he had forgotten the lad was a plebe. He seized his
hand and slapped him upon the back.
"By George!" he cried. "I'll do it! It's a slim chance, slim as thunder,
but if it'll clear Mark Mallory I'll try it if it costs me my chevrons!"
At which Texas gave vent to a whoop that awoke the echoes of the
Highlands.