A NEW VENTURE.
Bull Harris was resolved to “get square or die.”
To “get square” was in his mind constantly, until he hit on another
scheme of hazing.
It was several nights later that he and his cronies crept to the tent
wherein lay Mark and three of the others.
“Don’t let him move, now,” whispered Bull Harris. “Hold him tight, for
he’ll fight like fury.”
“And take that wild hyena they call Texas along, too,” added another.
“It was he who broke up all our fun the other night.”
“He won’t get a chance to use his guns this time,” snarled the first
speaker. “And we’ve got enough of a crowd to handle any of the others
if they wake up. Ready, now!”
This conversation was held in a low tone off to one side. Then, having
agreed just what each was to do, the crowd scattered and stole silently
up to the tent.
It was important that the yearlings should not awaken the others; they
placed themselves stealthily about the two victims, waited an instant,
and then at the signal stooped and pinned them to the earth. The
yearlings were quite expert at that now, and the two never even got a
chance to gasp. They were lifted up and run quickly away, held so tight
that they couldn’t even kick. It was easy when there were three or four
to one plebe.
The plan worked perfectly, and it seemed as if no one had discovered
it. Neither of the other two sleepers had moved. Over in the next tent,
however, some one was awakened by the noise, a plebe of Company B,
another member of the immortal Seven. He sprang to his tent door, and
an instant later found himself powerless in the grip of two yearlings
who had stayed behind to watch out for just that accident. Evidently
this attack was better planned than the last one.
Master Chauncey Van Rensselaer Mount-Bonsall, of Fifth Avenue, New
York, was the unfortunate third prisoner. He felt himself rushed
over the beat of the purposely negligent sentry and hurried into the
confines of the solitary old Fort Clinton, where he was bound and
gagged with celerity and precision and unceremoniously tumbled to the
ground by the side of Mark and Texas.
Everything was ready for the hazing then.
The eight who had participated in that kidnaping, speedily resolved
themselves into two groups of four each. The members of one group we
do not know, but the other four were our old friends, Bull Harris, Gus
Murray, Merry Vance and Baby Edwards. They had stepped to one side to
talk over the fate of their unfortunate prisoners.
“By Heaven!” cried Bull, clinching his fists in anger. “Fellows, we’ve
got him at last! Do you realize it, he’s ours to do with as we please.
And if I don’t make him sorry he ever lived this night, I hope I may
die on the spot.”
Bull was striding up and down in excitement as he muttered this. And
there was no less hatred and malice in the eyes of his three whispering
companions.
“I could kill him!” cried Gus; and he said it as if he meant it.
“He’s been the torment of my life,” snarled Bull. “I hate him as I
never hated any one, and every time I try to get square on him, somehow
everything goes wrong. Just think of being penned up in a black cave
with a lot of skeletons. Confound him! But he won’t get away this time
as he did before.”
This interesting and charitable dialogue was cut short just then by one
of the other four.
“What are you fellows going to do?” he cried.
“We’ll be there in a moment!” whispered Bull. “Don’t talk so loud. Say,
fellows (this to his own crowd) I say we take Mallory off by ourselves.
Those other fellows won’t stand half we want to do to him.”
“That’s so,” assented the dyspeptic Vance. “What in thunder did we let
them come for?”
“We couldn’t have handled Mallory and Texas alone,” replied Bull,
sourly. “And we had to take Texas, else he’d have waked up and followed
us sure. But I guess it’ll be all right. Come ahead.”
The four walked over and joined the rest of the yearlings then.
“We’ve decided what we’ll do,” said Bull. “We won’t need you fellows
any more. We’re very much obliged to you for helping us.”
“Pshaw!” growled one of them. “I want to stay and see the fun.”
“But there’s more danger with so many away,” said Bull, persuasively.
“I’ll stand my share,” laughed the other. “I want to stay. I’ve a
grudge against that plebe Mallory myself.”
Bull bit his lip in vexation.
“The fact is, fellows,” he said, “we want to take these plebes to a
place we don’t know anything about.”
“Why didn’t you tell us that before you asked us?” growled the four.
“I’m going to stay, I don’t care what you say.”
The fact of the matter was that the four yearlings were just a little
chary about leaving their prisoner in Bull’s hands, though they did not
care to say so. They knew Bull Harris’ character. His hatred of Mallory
was well known. Who had not seen Bull, one night when the yearling
class took Mallory and started to beat him into submission, seize a
lash and leap at the helpless victim in a perfect frenzy of hatred. And
who had not heard him all that day wrathfully telling the story of how
Mallory and his gang, in an effort to cure him of his meanness, had
frightened him almost to tears? Truly, thought the four, Bull’s hazing
was a thing to be supervised.
So they stayed, and finally Bull had to accept the situation.
“Come on,” he growled, surlily.
The crowd lifted their helpless victims from the ground and set out to
follow Bull’s guidance. They had no idea where they were going, and in
fact Bull had none himself. He could think of no form of torture that
was quite cruel enough for that hated Mallory, and he did not have the
brains to think of one that was as ingenious and harmless as Mallory
had worked on him.
“I’d tie him up and beat the hide off him,” thought Bull, “if I could
only get rid of those confounded fellows that are with us. As it is,
I’ll have to find something else, plague take it.”
The crowd had been scrambling down the steep bank toward the river in
the meanwhile. Bull thought it would be well to douse Mallory in the
water, which was one of the tricks Mallory had tried on him. After that
he said to himself it’ll be time enough to think of something more.
They skirted the parade ground and made their way down past the riding
hall and across the railroad track near the tunnel.
“I’d like to drop him on the track,” thought Bull to himself, as he
heard the roar of a train approaching. “By Heaven, that would settle
him!”
The crowd had barely crossed before the engine appeared at the
tunnel’s mouth, after it a long freight train slowly rumbling past
them. And at that instant Gus Murray seized Bull convulsively by the
arm.
“I’ve got a scheme!” he cried. “Do you hear me, a scheme?”
“What is it?” shouted Bull, above the noise of the train.
“It’s a beauty,” gasped Murray. “By George, we’ll get ’em fired.
They’ll go nobody knows where, and be missed in the morning. And we can
swear we didn’t do it. Hooray! We’ll put ’em on the train!”
Bull staggered back and cried out with excitement.
“That’s it!” he muttered, and an instant later, before the horrified
four could comprehend his purpose he and Edwards had torn the helpless
body of Mallory from their arms and made a rush at a passing car. It
was an empty car, and the door was half open; to fling the plebe in was
the work of but an instant; then with Murray and Vance he quickly slid
the other two in also. Half a minute later the train was gone.
The four outsiders turned and stared at Bull’s gang in horror.
“What on earth have you done?” they gasped.
And Bull chuckled to himself.
“I’ve sent those infernal plebes to New York,” he said. “By Jingo, I’d
like to send them to Hades. If they aren’t fired as it is it’ll be
because you kids give us away. And now let’s go back to bed.”