THE CAPTURE OF MARK.
The afternoon of that momentous day passed without incident. Mark
noticed Bull Harris glowering at him as he passed his tent, but beyond
that the “subduing” programme got no further. The Banded Seven kept
near to camp, so as to prevent it.
That is, all of them but one; Sleepy was that one. The lanky farmer
was a member of the guard that day, getting his first lessons in the
terrible dangers of sentry duty at Camp McPherson. Now it was necessary
for some one to go up and fix that cave for the night’s work, and since
Sleepy succeeded in getting excused during his four hours off duty that
afternoon, he was unanimously elected to be the one to attend to the
task.
It was to clear away the effects of that treasure hunt that Sleepy
went. He removed all traces of the Parson’s energetic digging. Also he
fixed quite a number of other things, according to Mark’s well-planned
directions.
“It’s evident to me,” said Mark, “from the fact that Bull didn’t
bother me this morning, hating me most, as he does, that he’s putting
up a plan for to-night.”
“He’s afraid to tackle you in the day,” growled Texas.
“I should say so,” chirruped Indian’s fat, round voice. “Didn’t you
lick him once, and the whole crowd besides. Bless my soul!”
“I think,” continued Mark, “that we may take it for granted that Bull
will try to kidnap me to-night. You know they did that once, took me
off into the woods and beat me. They’ll beat harder this time. If a big
crowd of them tries it you fellows’ll just have to make a noise and
wake everybody so that they’ll have to drop me and run for their tents.
But if there’s only a few you can follow and overpower them. It all
depends.”
Texas rubbed his hands gleefully at this attractive programme.
“What are we a-goin’ to do when we ketch ’em?” he demanded.
“You leave that to me,” laughed Mark, rising from his seat to end the
“conference.” “I’ve got a scheme fixed up to frighten them to death.
Just wait.”
“Just wait” seemed to represent about all there was to do, though the
Seven did not like it a bit. They watched dress parade that evening
with far less interest than usual, and sighed with relief when the
sunset gun finally sounded. It may be interesting to note that there
were some other cadets in just exactly the same impatient state of mind.
It was just as Mark had suspected--Bull Harris had a plot.
The sunset gun was welcomed with relief. They spent the evening
strolling about the grounds and discussing the effort they were going
to make that night, also occasionally chuckling over the “success” of
their attacks during the morning. And then tattoo sounded, and they
knew that the time was nearer still.
Bull Harris and his three cronies waited until the sentry had called
the hour of eleven. They thought the plebes had had time enough to get
to sleep then, so they got up and dressed and sallied forth in the
darkness. It was cloudy that night, and black, a circumstance which
Bull considered particularly fortunate.
There was no hesitation, no delay to discuss what should be done. The
four made straight for a certain A company tent; cadets sleep with
their tent walls rolled up in hot weather, and so the yearlings could
easily see what was inside. They made out three figures stretched
out upon the blankets, all sound asleep; the fourth occupant--the
farmer--was now diligently marching post.
The four crept up with stealthiness that would have done credit to
Indians. A great deal depended on their not awakening Mallory. Bull,
who was the biggest and strongest of the crowd, stole into the tent and
placed himself at Mallory’s feet; Merry Vance and Murray calculated
each upon managing one stalwart arm, while to Baby, as smallest, was
intrusted the task of preventing outcry from the victim. Having placed
themselves, the four precious rascals paused just one moment to gloat
over their hated and unsuspecting enemy. And then Bull gave the signal,
and as one man they pounced down.
Mallory, awakened out of a sound sleep, found himself as helpless as
if he had been buried alive. Bull’s sinewy arms were wrapped about his
limbs; his hands were crushed to the earth; and Baby was smothering him
in a huge towel. They lifted him an instant later and bore him swiftly
from the tent.
A whistle was the signal to the sentry, who faced about and let them
cross his beat; the four clambered up the embankment and sprang down
into Fort Clinton, chuckling to themselves for joy, having secured the
hated plebe with perfect success and secrecy. And now he was theirs,
theirs to do with as they saw fit. And how they did mean to “soak” him!
All this, of course, was Bull’s view of the matter. But there were some
things, just a few, that that cunning young gentleman did not know of.
The reader will remember that the yearlings had tried that trick on
Mark just once before; ever since then Mark’s tent was protected by a
very simple but effective burglar alarm. There was a thread tied about
his foot. That thread the yearlings had not noticed. It broke when they
carried off their victim, but it broke because it had tightened about
the wrist of Texas, who sat up in alarm an instant later, just in time
to observe the four disappearing in the darkness. By the time they
had crossed the sentry beat the rest of the Banded Seven were up and
dressing gleefully.
After that the result was never in doubt for a moment. The five all
crossed the sentry’s post without trouble, because they had heard the
signal the yearlings gave. And a moment later the triumphant kidnapers,
who were off in a lonely corner of the deserted fort binding up their
prisoner as if he were a mummy, were horrified to find themselves
confronted by five stalwart plebes.
Bull and his gang were helpless. They did not dare make any outcry,
in the first place, because they were more to blame than the plebes
in case of discovery, and in the second, because they were “scared to
death” of that wild cowboy, who had already made his name dreaded by
riding out and holding up the whole artillery squadron. But, oh, how
they did fairly grit their teeth in rage!
The imperturbable Texas stood and faced them, twirling two revolvers
carelessly while they had the unspeakable humiliation of watching the
others ungaging and unbinding the delighted Mallory, who rose to his
feet a moment later, stretched his arms and then merrily took command.
Bull Harris was selected, as leader and head conspirator, to undergo
the first torture. Mark placed himself in front of him, and with a
light smile upon his face.
“Lie down!” said he.
Bull found himself staring into the muzzle of one of the menacing
Texan’s revolvers. That took all of Bull’s nerve, and he very promptly
“lay.”
“Now then, Dewey,” said Mark, “tie him up.”
Dewey used the very ropes that had been meant for Mark. He tied Master
Harris’ unresisting feet together. Then rolled him unceremoniously over
on his back and tied his hands. After which Bull was kicked to one
side, and Dewey was ready for the next frightened yet furious victim.
Pretty soon there were four helpless bodies lying side by side within
the fort. They were bound hand and foot; there were gags tied in their
mouths and heavy towels wrapped about their eyes. And then the Banded
Seven were ready.
“Come ahead,” said Mark.
He set the example by tossing Bull’s body upon his shoulders and
setting out. The rest followed close behind him.
It was quite a job carrying the four bodies where our friends wanted to
take them, especially without being seen by any one.
They made for the Hudson. In Mark’s day cadets were allowed to hire
rowboats, that is, all except plebes. But it was easy enough for a
plebe to get one, as indeed to get anything else, tobacco or eatables.
The small drum orderly is always bribable, and that accounts for the
fact that two big rowboats lay tied in a quiet place, ready for the
expedition.
Since the den was near the shore oars furnished an easier way to carry
the prisoners to the place.
They found the boats without trouble, and deposited the yearlings in
the bottom. They weren’t very gentle about it, either. Then the rest
scrambled in, and a long row began, during which those who were not
working at the oars made it pleasant for the unfortunate yearlings by
muttering sundry prophecies about tortures to come, and in general the
disadvantages of being wicked. The Parson recited some dozen texts from
Scripture to prove that obvious fact.
We shall not here stop to picture the infuriated Bull Harris’ state
of mind under this mild torture. Enough of that later. Suffice it to
say the row came to an end an hour or so later, and the party stepped
ashore. And also that before, they started into the woods a brilliant
idea occurred to the ingeniously cruel Texas. They meant to make those
cadets shiver and shake; what was the matter with letting them start
now, where there was plenty of nice cold water handy?
A whispered consultation was held by the six; it was agreed that in
view of all the brutality of Bull and his gang, there was no call to
temper justice with mercy. As a result of that decision each one of the
yearlings was held tight by the heels, and, spluttering and gasping,
dipped well under water and then hauled up again. That did not cool
their anger, but it made them shiver, you may well believe. During this
baptismal ceremony the classic Parson was interesting, as usual. He sat
on a rock nearby and told the story, embellished with many allusions,
how the “silver-footed Thetis, daughter of the old man of the sea,” as
Homer calls her, took her son, “the swift-footed” Achilles, and dipped
him into a magic fountain to give him immortality. All got wet but the
heel she held him by, and so it was a blow in the heel that killed the
Grecian hero.
“Therefore, gentlemen,” said the Parson, “since you don’t want Bull
Harris to die from the treatment he gets to-night, I suggest with all
sincerity that you stick him in again and wet his feet.”
While this was being done, the learned Boston scholar switched off
onto the subject of Baptists and their views on total immersion; which
promptly reminded Dewey of a story of a “darky” camp meeting.
“Brudder Jones was very fat,” said he, “and b’gee, when he got religion
and wanted to be baptized there was only a little brook to put him
in. They found the deepest place they could, but b’gee, Brudder Jones
stomach was still out of water. Now the deacon said his ‘wussest’ sin
was gluttony, and that if he didn’t get all the way under water the
devil would still have his stomach and Brudder Jones would be a glutton
all his life, b’gee. So all the brothers and sisters had to wade out
into the water and sit on Brudder Jones’ stomach so that all his sins
would get washed away.”
Those who were doing the immersing in this case were so much overcome
by Dewey’s way of telling that story that they almost let Baby Edwards,
the last victim, slip out of their hands. But they pulled him in safely
in the end, and after that the merry party set out for the “Banded
Seven den.”
They knew the contour of the mountains so well by this time that even
in the darkness they had no difficulty in finding the place. They had
relapsed into a grave and solemn silence by that time, so as to get
the shivering victims into proper mood for what was next to come. Some
of the crowd climbed in, and then, like so many logs of wood, the
yearlings were poked through the opening in the rocks and laid on the
floor inside. The rest of the plebes followed. The time for Mark’s
revenge had come at last.
Mark lit one of the lamps which hung from the ceiling of the cave
and then went forward to make sure that everything was ready for the
proposed hazing. The little room in which the bones of the trapped
counterfeiters lay was up at the far end of the place. There was a
heavy wall of masonry to shut it off, with only one entrance, that
afforded by the heavy iron door, which was built like that of a safe.
Mark entered the room and after fumbling about some came out and nodded
to his companions. He did not say a word; none of them had since they
had come in; but there was still that firm, set look about his mouth
that boded ill for those four cowardly yearlings.
It is difficult for one to imagine the state of mind of these latter.
Their rage and vexation at the failure of their scheme, at the way
they had been trapped, had long since given place to one of constantly
increasing dread as they felt themselves carried further and further
away, evidently to the lonely mountain cave from which Bull had stolen
the treasure a couple of days ago. They were in the hands of their
deadliest enemies; Bull knew that they had earned no mercy from Mark,
and he knew also that the wild Texan was along, the Texan to whom,
as they thought, murder was an everyday affair. That dousing, too,
had done its work, for it had chilled them to the bone, and made them
shiver in mind as well as in body. The yearlings felt themselves
carried a short way on; they felt some one test the ropes that bound
them, tighten every knot, and then finally bind them to what seemed
to be a series of rings in a rough stone wall. They heard a low voice
whisper:
“They’re safe there. They can’t get near each other.”
And then one by one the bandages were taken from their eyes and the
gags out of their tortured mouths.
They saw nothing but the blackest of darkness. Absolutely the place
was so utterly without a trace of light that the figure which stood
in front to untie the gag was as invisible as if it were a spirit.
Bull heard a step across the floor. But even that ceased a few moments
later, and the place grew silent as the grave.
The yearlings, though their tongues were free, did not dare to whisper
a word. They were too much awed in the darkness. They knew that
something was coming, and they waited in suspense and dread.
It came. Suddenly the air was split by a sound that was perfectly
deafening in the stillness. It was the clang of a heavy iron door,
close at hand. The yearlings started in alarm, and then stood waiting
and trembling. They knew then where they were, and what door that was.
There was an instant’s silence and then a horrified shout.
“Great Heavens! The door has slammed!”
The cadets recognized that voice; it was the mighty one of Texas, but
it sounded faint and dull, as if it had passed through a heavy wall.
It was succeeded by a perfect babel of voices, all of which sounded
likewise. And the meaning of the voices, when once the cadets realized
it, chilled the very marrow of their bones.
“Open it! Open it, quick!”
“Can’t! Oh, horrors, it locks on the inside!”
“Merciful heavens! They are prisoners!”
“They’ll suffocate!”
“Quick, quick, man, get a crowbar! Anything! Here, give me that!”
And then came a series of poundings upon the same iron door,
accompanied by shouts and exclamations of horror and despair.
“I can’t budge it. It’s a regular safe. They are locked in for good!”