THE WEST POINT RIVALS
BY LIEUT. FREDERICK GARRISON, U. S. A.
Off for West Point
A Cadet’s Honor
On Guard
A West Point Treasure
The West Point Rivals
All of these titles are listed in the
BOYS’ OWN LIBRARY
PRICE, SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS PER VOLUME
STREET & SMITH, _PUBLISHERS_
238 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK CITY
[Illustration:
“In his hand he held a notebook, upon which he was calmly
jotting down the names of the cadets he saw.”
(See page 228)]
THE WEST POINT RIVALS
OR
Mark Mallory’s Stratagem
BY
LIEUT. FREDERICK GARRISON, U. S. A.,
AUTHOR OF
“Off for West Point,” “A Cadet’s Honor,” “A West Point Treasure,” “On
Guard,” etc.
[Illustration: Printer's Logo]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1903
By STREET & SMITH
The West Point Rivals
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I――Accepting a Challenge 7
II――The Circus at Highland Falls 13
III――Not on the Programme 23
IV――Bull Harris Beats a Retreat 35
V――Another Escapade is Planned 46
VI――The Long Delayed Visit 63
VII――Excitement on the River 72
VIII――Seven Lunatics and a Reporter 78
IX――Discovering a Plot 88
X――The Jail at Highland Falls 98
XI――Bull Harris Gets into Trouble 106
XII――“Revenge is Sweet” 117
XIII――A Visit to the Cave 127
XIV――Some Fun with the Yearlings 138
XV――A Battle with the Enemy 148
XVI――Abandoning the Fort 155
XVII――Mortar Practice at West Point 164
XVIII――A Moment of Deadly Peril 176
XIX――Indian’s Fight for Life 184
XX――The Parson’s Battle 192
XXI――A Camp in the Woods 199
XXII――A Desperate Conspiracy 212
XXIII――A Midsummer Night’s Feast 220
XXIV――A Terrible Revenge 229
XXV――In Camp Lookout 237
XXVI――A Trap for Mallory 244
XXVII――A Strange Discovery 252
XXVIII――Caught in the Trap 259
XXIX――The End of it All 269
THE WEST POINT RIVALS
CHAPTER I.
ACCEPTING A CHALLENGE.
“Say, boys, listen to this!”
The speaker was a tall, gaunt cadet, dressed in the uniform of a West
Point plebe. He was resting in a tent in summer encampment, and close
at hand were two other plebes.
“What is it, Texas?” asked one of the other cadets.
“Goin’ to be a circus down to Highland Falls.”
“Well, what of it? We can’t go,” came from a cadet known as Parson
Stanard, a tall, thin fellow hailing from Boston.
“Yes, but listen,” went on the first speaker. “This ’ere bill says as
how they got a Texas bronco that nobody kin ride. Now, I ain’t a going
to stand that, nohow. I’ll ride the bronco or bust myself a-tryin’.”
And Texas, otherwise known as Jeremiah Powers, from Hurricane County,
Texas, leaped to his feet in his excitement.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Do? I’m a-goin’ to go down to town after dinner, and ride that
bronco――or――――”
“But it’s out of bounds, I tell you.”
“I’ll git a disguise, that’s wot I’ll do. I ain’t a-goin’ to spend a
holiday afternoon sittin’ roun’ this camp while there’s a circus goin’
on. You fellers kin ef you want to. I ain’t seen a circus only once,
an’ that was the same day I went to church. I rode fifty-six miles
’cross country to take in the both of ’em.”
After imparting that interesting bit of information, Texas seated
himself on the platform of the tent once more and fell to reading
assiduously the vivid programme of Smithers’ Circus, with its
menagerie, dime museum and theatre combined, to say nothing of
Circassian ladies, tattooed South Sea Islanders, fat ladies and living
skeletons. The whole thing impressed Texas mightily, and when he
finished he turned to the other two in the tent.
“I’ll bet you,” he growled, “ef Mark Mallory war here he’d go with me.
I dunno how I’d live in this hyar place ef Mark Mallory warn’t in it.
He’s got more life than any dozen o’ you fellers. The Banded Seven,
that air society we plebes got up to stop the hazin’, wouldn’t ever do
anything ef ’twarn’t fo’ him bein’ leader.”
“When will Mark be out of hospital?” inquired one of the others.
“I dunno,” said Texas, “but I reckon it’ll be pretty soon now. The
burns air most all healed ’cept his hands, an’ durnation, they won’t
keep him in fo’ that.”
“He always war lucky,” Texas continued, after a moment’s pause. “Jes’
think! He won’t have to do anything now but set roun’ an’ watch us
plebes drill all day. An’ see how he’s fooled them ole cadets, too. He
said he wouldn’t let ’em haze him and he’s licked every feller they
sent to fight him. Then when they tried to make him fight Fischer, the
one decent chap in the class an’ Mark’s friend, he said he wouldn’t.
An’ after standin’ all their abuse all day he pitched in an’ rescued
that girl from the fire when they warn’t a man of ’em dared it. They
had to ’pologize after that.”
“He was quite a hero, wasn’t he, Texas?”
It was Mark Mallory’s voice!
Texas wheeled with an exclamation of delight, and the others rushed
out of the tent and made a leap at the cadet who had thus laughingly
spoken. He was a tall, handsome lad, with a frank, merry face. He had
just entered camp and reached the tent as Texas concluded his
discourse.
“Ef it ain’t Mark Mallory!” roared the latter, dancing about him in an
ecstasy of delight. “Whoop! Say, ole man, I’m durnation glad to see
ye. Gee whiz!”
These excited exclamations had brought the rest of the “Banded Seven,”
Mark’s secret society, out of their tents in a hurry. There were
Parson Stanard, and Sleepy, “the farmer,” and “B’gee” Dewey, the prize
story teller, besides, Chauncey, “the dude,” who thought it
undignified to hurry, brought up the rear, with “Indian,” the fat boy
of Indianapolis. And the whole six got around Mark and fairly danced
for joy at having their leader with them again.
“And, b’gee, he’s all well, too,” chuckled Dewey; “all but his hands.”
The “hands” of which this was said were for all the world like boxer’s
gloves, they were so wrapped with bandages. That was the only thing
that kept the six from having a fight to get hold of them and shake.
It was fully ten minutes before they had managed to get enough of
their congratulations expressed to satisfy themselves, and even then
Mallory had to threaten to get mad if they didn’t stop telling him
what a hero he was.
“I’ll run away to Texas,” he vowed, laughing.
“Where there are broncos you can ride,” put in Dewey, with a sly wink
at the object of this allusion.
“Wow!” cried Texas. “That’s so! I mos’ forgot ’bout that air bronco
since Mark come. Whoop!”
“What bronco?” inquired Mark, curious to know what new excitement his
wild friend had found.
Texas told him, and as a clincher held the paper up before his eyes.
“Thar ’tis,” said he. “You kin read it an’ see Smasher――――I’ll smash
him, doggone his boots――――”
“Do Texas horses wear boots?” inquired Dewey, anxiously. “B’gee, we
never go better than plain shoes up our way.”
“Look a-yere, Mark,” demanded Texas, scorning to notice Dewey’s
interruption. “I was jes’ a-sayin’ ef you were hyer you’d go with me
to that air circus an’ bust up the old fake place. Naow will you?”
“Of course I will,” responded Mark. “So will the rest, too, I guess.
I’ve been penned up in that old hospital for an age, and I’m just
dying for a lark.”
“But where’ll we get disguises?” inquired the matter-of-fact Parson.
“I guess one of the drum orderlies can buy us some,” laughed the
other. “We ought to have some ’cits’ clothing handy, anyway, so that
we can be ready for some fun any time.”
“And we can keep it in that cave we found!” chirruped Indian, happily.
“Bless my soul, that’ll be fine! I’ll go! I think it’ll be lots of fun
to go to a circus in disguise.”
“Circuses are deucedly vulgah affairs,” commented the aristocratic
Chauncey, with a sniff.
But even that young gentleman condescended to go when he found that
all the rest were swept away by the prospect of seeing Texas ride
“Smasher.” And as for Texas, he doubled up his fists and gritted his
teeth and vowed he was going “to smash that ole show or git smashed
doin’ it!”
Texas was destined to have all the fun he wanted that afternoon.