CAUGHT IN THE TRAP.
“’Sh!”
“Everything’s quiet.”
“Are you sure the guns are loaded?”
“Yes! Don’t you know me better’n that? Stick that one under your
jacket and keep it ready, too.”
The two speakers were crouching in the moonlight behind one of the
tents of Camp Lookout. The reader scarcely needs to be told that they
were Mark and Texas on hand, true to their promise.
The place was as silent as a graveyard. There was nothing moving but
the flickering camp-fire which cast weird shadows on the tents. The
two plebes were motionless, listening.
“Eleven o’clock and all’s we-ell!”
It was the sentry’s call.
“We’re on time,” whispered Mark. “Do you see any signs of Bull?”
“I ain’t seen anything movin’ yet,” was the Texan’s answer. “I ain’t
expectin’ to see much, either.”
“Perhaps he’s waiting for us out in the woods,” suggested Mark.
“Likely, I must say!” growled the other.
“What’ll we do now?”
“Let’s cross the sentry line and wait at the edge of the woods,” said
Mark. “If there’s any noise we can skip in from there.”
“Come ahead,” answered Texas.
The two stole silently down the company street to the end, and there
halted. They waited until the sentry was at the other end of his beat.
“He can’t see us now,” whispered Mark. “There are too many trees.
Quick!”
The two sprang forward, and silently dashed across the line and
vanished in the woods. There they stopped and crouched to wait.
“We’re here, anyhow,” said Mark. “And now we’ll see what happens.”
“An’ keep yo’ eyes open, too,” muttered the other.
The bushes concealed the two, but they could see the camp plainly.
Every move of the enemy would be open to them, except, of course, in
case the latter were already in the woods, which didn’t seem likely.
The plebes waited anxiously; they saw nothing. The camp was motionless
and silent, while fully ten minutes sped away.
“Tole you ’twas only a bluff!” growled the Texan.
“Anyhow, the delay makes it less likely they’ll try the trick of
yelling to arouse the camp,” observed Mark, thoughtfully. “They’d have
tried it long ago, if they meant to. This delay’ll make us
suspicious.”
“It does that with me!” chuckled the other. “Doggone that air Bull
Harris!”
“Perhaps they’re up there by the place where the feast was,” said
Mark. “But I’ll admit that doesn’t seem likely. I guess it was a
bluff, after all, though still I can’t see what Bull hoped to make by
it.”
“’Sh! What’s that?”
The startled exclamation came from Texas; Mark bent forward eagerly,
half rising to peer ahead.
“It’s one of them!” he gasped.
The tents hid the person from their eyes, and they could not make out
who it was. But it was somebody! The figure of a man stealing silently
down the company street!
Mark began to tremble with eagerness. He clinched his fists; so he was
to have a chance at Bull, after all! That person could be no one but
Bull.
The two got no nearer view of him, as it happened. For he was bound in
the opposite direction; he approached the sentry line far over by the
other side of the camp, and a moment later stole across and vanished
in the woods.
Mark and Texas turned and stared at each other; both of them were
agape with astonishment.
“Whoop!” gasped the latter. “He did come, after all! Whoop!”
“Yes,” said Mark. “It must be he. It’s more than I expected. Let’s
wait here for him.”
They crouched down in the bushes once more. Bull would probably come
around the camp to hunt for them, for he must have seen them go out.
They waited, but they waited in vain; Bull did not put in an
appearance.
“Perhaps he’s gone up there to the place to wait,” suggested Mark.
“Perhaps he thinks we’re up there.”
There was another lengthy pause then. It was not very much longer
before Texas, the hot-blooded, hot-headed Texan, began to get
impatient.
“Plague take it!” he growled. “’Praps he is up there. I say, let’s go
and see!”
Texas’ recklessness soon prevailed over Mark’s caution. He vowed he’d
go alone if Mark wouldn’t go. A brief consultation was held then, and
the two decided that that was the best plan, anyway. One ought to stay
there and wait, to watch the camp; and so Texas, revolver in hand,
would go up to the scene of the feast and see what was “up.”
That just suited the ex-cowboy. He was off like a shot. Mark smiled to
himself, and then settled down again, his heart still beating with
excitement. There was something so mysterious about all this that he
still half suspected foul play.
It is necessary for us to follow Texas; Texas was having a high old
time back in that mountain forest.
A few years’ training on the plains had made quite an Indian of Texas;
he knew pretty well how to take care of himself, especially since he
had his two favorite shooting-irons in his hands. And he was not the
least bit afraid as he stole along in the darkness.
Two contingencies presented themselves to his mind, two dangers to
guard against. There might be a surprise from the yearlings or one
from the “maniac.” He didn’t mean to be caught by either of them, and
he was a picture of vigilance as he went peering behind and before,
and creeping with all possible stealthiness.
But Texas reached his destination without the slightest interruption.
He pushed his way through the bushes and stepped out into the little
clearing, gazing swiftly about him. He saw not a soul.
The place was silent and deserted. The moon strayed down through the
trees and shone on the Texan’s silent figure, but it shone on no other
living thing.
“They ain’t hyar!” muttered Texas. “That air’s sho! An’ yet where are
they? This business is gittin’ mysterious like.”
It was for a fact. The more Texas thought over it the more he became
filled with a vague sort of alarm, which he didn’t like. Those
yearlings had put up this plot for some purpose. That no one could
doubt. Perhaps they were carrying it out now, and with Mark all alone
among them.
“That fellow Mallory ain’t used to guns,” mused Powers. “He needs me
to take care of him. I reckon I’ll go back!”
A very sensible resolution that, Texas! By all means, hurry up! About
to carry it into effect, he wheeled and started to leave the clearing.
A second later he staggered back with an inarticulate gasp of horror.
The Texan’s face was a study at that particular moment. His hair
seemed fairly to rise beneath his cap. His jaw dropped, and his knees
began to fail him.
Surely never had an ex-cowboy been more unnerved before.
Those of us who know Texas know that he was no coward. One might say
with certainty that neither madman nor yearling――no, nor even
ghost――could have produced such an effect upon him. And that indeed
was the fact; this apparition was one against which a thousand
revolvers could do nothing. And Texas was ruined!
Stern and solemn, his dignified figure towering in the moonlight,
there had marched out of the woods no less a person than Lieutenant
Allen, the “tac” of Company A!
A feather might have bowled over our gallant plebe; a regiment of tin
soldiers put him to flight. He was simply paralyzed. And he stood and
stared at the officer in open-mouthed consternation.
Lieutenant Allen was mad all the way through; any one could have seen
that. He was glaring at his helpless prisoner.
“Mr. Powers!” he thundered, “what does this mean?”
Poor Texas didn’t know; and so he didn’t try to say. He merely gasped.
“This is a nice state of affairs, indeed, sir!” the officer continued.
“Beyond cadet limits, sir! Roaming the woods at night! And with
revolvers in your hand, too. What are you doing with those weapons,
sir?”
Texas was still silent in consternation.
“Put them on the ground this instant!” commanded Allen.
“Now, then, sir,” the angry officer went on, “I suppose you understand
that you have rendered yourself liable to court-martial? And Mr.
Mallory, also!”
The plebe winced at that last; poor fellow, he had been consoling
himself with the hope that Mark, at least, was safe.
“I know it, sir!” he moaned.
“I thought you had more sense, both of you. I have learned that it is
your practice to behave this way continually, and I propose to see
that you are punished. Your cadet days are numbered from this moment,
Mr. Powers.”
Big tears gathered in the Texan’s eyes, but he choked back the rising
sob and stared all the harder at his superior. Just then he remembered
that he had forgotten to salute, and so he saluted, being too dazed to
think of anything else to do. He was gone! And Mark, too! Their
offense had only one penalty, a swift one――dismissal.
“Mr. Powers,” said the lieutenant, sternly, “you will march back to
camp and return to your tent, Mr. Mallory with you――at once! Do you
hear?”
And Texas saluted once more, faced about and strode off into the deep,
black woods feeling as if his heart would break.
As for Allen, once alone, he turned and fell to pacing back and forth
in the little clearing, musing to himself. Angry though that worthy
officer had been at first, he could not hide the fact from himself
that he hated to ruin Mallory.
“He should have known better sense!” he muttered. “And such a fine
lad! Plague take it!――but I’ve got my duty to do, and the commandant
must attend to the rest. Discipline would be ruined if I let a thing
like this pass.”
With this thought in his mind the tactical officer faced about and
started toward camp. He took but two steps, however. Then he stopped!
It was not because he wanted to, either. It was because somebody
stopped him, and that somebody nearly stopped his heart from beating,
as well. The officer felt two sinewy arms flung about his body,
pinioning them as if in a vise. In all his life Allen had never felt
such a paralyzing clutch as that.
But one idea flashed over him. Texas had attacked him! Enraged at
having been detected, the wild cowboy had been driven to
desperation――perhaps even to murder!
Allen struggled with all his might. He did not wish to cry out, to
alarm the camp. He wished to bring that wild lad to his senses, to
subdue his ferocious temper. The officer felt his hot breath beating
on his neck, and heard him pant as he hugged him in his clutch of
iron.
With one mighty effort, an effort that took every bit of strength that
was in him, the officer managed to writhe his body about so as to face
his assailant. As he did so he gave vent to a hoarse cry of horror. It
was not Texas!
And the next instant Allen felt the arms about him relax, felt a
clawlike hand clutch him by the throat and drive his head back, fling
him to the ground and grasp his windpipe with a force that made him
gasp, made him writhe, made him turn blue in the face. Then everything
grew dark before him.