DISCOVERING A PLOT.
The cadets were building a pontoon bridge, the second one that summer.
The cadets of the first class were the “engineering corps” and they
were giving the orders; the plebes, quite naturally, were doing the
work, carrying out the heavy logs and fastening them in place under
the watchful eyes of their superiors. Cadets when they leave West
Point after their four years of drill and study are supposed to be
fully competent officers, ready to do their share of handling Uncle
Sam’s army. This, of course, includes the building of bridges upon
which an army may cross a river or stream; it was that the corps was
practicing that day.
Mark Mallory had been helping at that task all day, along with his
chums and the other plebes. It was almost over now, and Mark was glad
of it, for he was tired. Bridge-building in army style may sound
romantic, but it is no fun during August when the sun shines. There
was only one redeeming circumstance to the whole thing that the plebes
could see, and that was that on account of it they had been excused
from no less than two inspections, two “policings” and two drills.
A little later Mark and his friends were lying on the grass in a shady
nook up by Trophy Point. We must go up there and listen to what they
are saying, in order to appreciate the adventures in the following
pages.
They were just then discussing with much interest the adventure with
the reporter; they were all anxious to know what the cadets thought of
it, and this was the first chance they had had to compare notes.
“Do you know,” laughed Mark, “there’s not a soul has the least idea it
was we? Nobody seems to have thought for a moment that cadets were the
cause of all the excitement. Just think of it! Lunatics!”
It was but little wonder that nobody connected the Banded Seven with
that band of raving madmen, so called. West Point was fairly on tiptoe
with excitement concerning the creatures, who were supposed to be
still loose in the woods.
Naturally the Seven were hilarious over the state of affairs. Their
discussion of the question was stopped, however, by the arrival of one
of their number upon the scene. It was Texas, who had been over to the
camp for a brief while; from his manner it was evident that Texas had
some news.
“Fellers,” he cried, scarcely waiting till he was close to them before
he began. “I’ve jes’ heerd somebody talkin’, an’ I’ve discovered a
plot!”
“A plot! Whose?”
There was no need of the six asking that so eagerly; one name rose up
before all their minds. There was one yearling, and only one, who got
up plots to discomfort them.
“It’s Bull Harris,” continued Texas, hurriedly. “An’ he――――”
“He hasn’t found out about last night?” cried Mark.
“No,” said Texas, “’tain’t that. He’s a-goin’ to take that air crowd
o’ his’n――Gus Murray, an’ Merry Vance, an’ Baby Edwards, an’ them, up
to our cave! An’ I want to know ef we’re a-goin’ to stand that.”
“I don’t think we will,” laughed Mark, promptly. “At least not if I
have anything to say in the matter.”
“I’ve been expecting just this for some time,” Mark continued, after a
moment’s pause. “You see, ever since we found that secret cavern in
the rock, and had the bad luck to let Bull see us go there, I knew
he’d be taking his friends up there to spoil our fun. He probably
expects to smash everything to pieces.”
“B’gee, I say we lick ’em for daring to think of it, b’gee!” cried
Dewey. “That’s what I say! Reminds me of a story I once heard,
b’gee――――”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Mark, interrupting the unfortunate
_rencontre_. “How does this suit you? Let’s follow them to-night, let
them get inside, and then take them prisoners.”
Texas sprang up with a whoop of delight at that delicious programme.
“Whoop!” he cried. “Secon’ the motion! We’ll hold ’em up, doggone
their boots, an’――――”
Texas felt for his revolvers instinctively as he danced about and
thought of this. He had no revolvers on him, however, owing to the
fact that they would have been visible in his uniform. So Texas had to
content himself with squeezing the hands of the others and vowing by
all things a Texan holds dear that he’d capture those yearlings for
them that night or die in the effort.
Now the plan for the circumvention of Bull Harris was all very well in
its way. But there were certain all-important facts that those
adventurous plebes forgot to take account of in their calculations. We
must mention these at the start, in order that the situation may be
appreciated.
According to the New York _Globe_, there were seven dangerous lunatics
wandering about West Point. That fact every one knew. The sheriff of
the county was there to investigate the matter, for it was clearly his
duty to arrest the fugitives. Also there were the constables from
Highland Falls, the reporters from the New York dailies, and numerous
private individuals out to see the fun.
They had hunted all day, finding no one but two unfortunate tramps;
they meant to hunt likewise all night.
Now, as for the Banded Seven, their situation was just this: They were
going out for a lark that night. They dared not wear their cadet
uniforms, for fear of being seen by some sentry. The only clothes they
owned besides these were the curious disguises already mentioned.
Naturally, knowing nothing of the excitement they had created, they
resolved to wear those.
And that was the way the fun began.
It was about eleven o’clock that evening, as soon as the last
inspection was over and the camp quiet, that four figures crept out of
one of the tents, dashed past the intentionally oblivious sentry and
hid themselves in the shadow of old Fort Clinton. Those who have read
these stories would have been quick enough to recognize them――the
unpleasant features of Bull Harris, and likewise the sallow Vance, the
brutal Gus Murray, and the amiable Baby Edwards. Those four were bound
for the Banded Seven’s den, and, in vulgar parlance, “they weren’t
going to do a thing to it.”
They left the fort and made for the woods, stealing along in the
shadow of the buildings so as to be observed by no one. It was a
difficult task because unfortunately there was a bright moon in the
sky. That moon gave our friends no end of trouble when they set out to
follow.
The Seven entered the fort just as the others left it. Like them they
stowed away their uniforms, and put on the “cits” clothing.
As has been noted, it was no child’s play, that task of following the
four through the woods. Full-fledged Apaches would have found it hard,
and, as you know, in our crowd, there was only one Indian, and that
one as clumsy as a herd of elephants. The woods were bright; also
there were dry leaves and sticks to be stepped on and slippery logs
for Indian to fall off of. It was therefore to be expected that Bull
would very soon discover he was being tracked, which was just exactly
what happened.
Bull Harris was no fool; he had plenty of sense, and he used it, too.
In fact, he completely outwitted the unsuspecting plebes. And this was
how he did it.
Sundry curious sounds from the rear first attracted his attention.
Bull suspected, of course, at the very start that it was Mark; he said
that to Gus Murray, and also that he’d like to “smash that confounded
plebe” for once and for all.
Just then they came to a steep incline, which hid them from their
pursuers’ view, and, quick as a flash, Bull dodged into the bushes and
hid. He lay there with the others, silent as so many mice.
Pretty soon the plebes came along, creeping with stealthiness that was
most laughable to the yearlings. You might hunt for ten years without
finding a sight more ludicrous than Parson Stanard in a ragged, black
clerical frock, lanky and solemn, stealing along on tiptoe and
glancing about him with cunning and wariness such as the villain
assumes in a deep black Bowery melodrama. Indian’s round body and
saucer-like eyes, going through the same contortions, made a close
second for humorous effect. If Bull hadn’t hated the plebes too much
he would have sneered at them as Vance was doing.
As to the costumes they wore, Bull stared at them for some time before
he realized the true state of affairs. Bull noticed their clothes, and
he had read the description in the paper. But it was at least a minute
before he could bring himself to comprehend what the similarity of the
two signified. When he did he seized Gus Murray by the arm in a grip
that cut.
“Great heavens, man!” he gasped. “Don’t you see? Don’t you see? Those
plebes are the seven lunatics!”
The Seven saw no reason for stopping because the yearlings were lost
to view for a moment. They knew where the yearlings were going, and
all they had to do was to go there, too. In a minute or two more they
were out of sight in the darkness, and Bull and his gang were left
alone once more.
Bull said not a word for some minutes. He was too busy thinking,
trying to realize what that extraordinary revelation meant. So it was
Mallory who had caused all this excitement! Mallory who had gotten up
that gigantic hoax! Mallory whom the sheriff and every one else were
hunting for! Bull took in the situation in all its amazing details,
and the more he thought of it the angrier he got.
But then suddenly Bull got an inspiration. He leaped to his feet,
whacked his knee with his fist, and with a whoop of joy seized his
companions and forced them hastily along. It was back toward West
Point he started; the rest were naturally mystified at that.
“Where are you going?” demanded Vance.
“You wait and see,” chuckled Bull. “Wait and see, if you haven’t got
sense enough to guess. By jingo, I’ve got him!”
“Got him! Who?”
“Mallory, you idiot!” roared the other. “Don’t ask so many stupid
questions; hurry up.”
After that the party pressed on in silence. The three were too much
puzzled to say anything more or to do anything but obey. Their
curiosity was destined to be set at rest very soon, however.
They had not walked a hundred yards before they caught sight of some
dark figures walking about in the woods. There was a lantern, too, and
then suddenly came a voice:
“Hello, there! Here’s somebody! Who are you?”
The yearlings shrank back in alarm, that is, all of them except Bull.
Bull pressed forward eagerly, and a moment later found himself
surrounded by a group of men, armed with sticks and all sorts of
weapons. One of them, a tall man with the lantern and a shotgun in his
other hand, walked up to Bull and peered into his face.
“What are you doing――――” he began, but Bull was in too much of a hurry
to let him finish.
“You the sheriff?” he demanded.
“Yes, I am.”
“Hunting for those lunatics, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, come on, then, quick as you can, for I know where they are.”
And then the yearlings realized what Bull Harris meant to do.
“How do you know?” demanded the officer.
“I saw them,” declared Bull. “I was hunting for them, too. They were
dressed just as the paper said. And you’d better hurry.”
Without another word he turned and started ahead through the woods;
the sheriff and his excited posse followed at his heels.
They hurried along rapidly, making for the cave. They went on for a
mile, nobody saying a word, all watching eagerly. The mile stretched
out to nearly two miles, and the sheriff began to get impatient. He
stared at Bull doubtfully, gripping his shotgun. And then suddenly in
the path ahead a wall of rock loomed up, just visible in the faint
light. It was in that rock that the cavern lay.
And backed up against the wall, staring at the party in amazement and
alarm were seven figures, the lunatics.
The sheriff swung his gun up to his shoulder.
“In the name of the law,” he shouted, “I command you to surrender!
Hold up your hands!”