"Oh!" cried Texas, springing up from his chair and wrenching a dilapidated shoulder. "He told me he did that—and I called him a liar!"

Texas walked up and down, and mused some more. Then it occurred to him there might be more paper under that bureau to explain things. He got down, painfully, and fished out another crumpled note. And he read that, too:

Mary Adams was a girl well known to many of the cadets.

The letter was roughly scrawled on a pad, and when Texas finished reading it he flung it on the floor and went and glared at himself in the mirror.

"You idiot!" he muttered, shaking his fist at himself. "Here them ole cadets went an' fooled Mark Mallory again, an' you—bah!"

Texas was repentant through and through by that time; he grabbed up his cap savagely and made for the door, with a reckless disregard for sore joints. He hobbled downstairs and out of barracks, and caught Mark by the arm just as Mark was coming in.

"Well, Texas?" inquired Mark, smiling.

"Fust place," said Texas, briefly, "want to thank you fo' lickin' me."

"Welcome," said Mark.

"Second place, do it ag'in if I ever lose my temper."

"Welcome," said Mark.

"Third place, I want to 'pologize."

"What's up? What's happened to convince you?"

"Nothin' much," said Texas, "only I been a' findin' out what a fool I am. Hones' now, Mark," and as Mark looked into the other's pleading gray eyes he saw that Texas meant it. "Hones' now, this yere's fust time I ever 'pologized in my life. I'm sorry."

And Mark took him by the hand. They were friends again from that moment.

"I jist saw that second note from Mary Adams upstairs," explained Texas, "an' then I knowed them ole cadets had fooled you that way ag'in. Say, Mark, you're mos' as big a fool as me—mos'."

"That note was genuine," answered Mark. And then as he saw Texas' amazement, he led him aside and explained. "I'll tell you about it," said he, "for I can trust you not to tell. But I can't explain to the rest of the class, and I won't, either, though they may call me a coward if they choose.

"A drummer boy came up here last night—or, rather, this morning. He woke me up and gave me that note, swore it was genuine, too, and I believed him in the end. As you see, Mary Adams wanted to see me, and she was in a desperate hurry about it. Well, I debated over it for a long time; at first I thought I wouldn't, for I was afraid of court-martial; but then as I thought of her in distress I made up my mind to risk it, and I went. As it turned out, old man, you'd have been ashamed of me if I hadn't. There are worse things than being called a coward, and one of em's being a coward.

"I found her in great trouble, as she said. She has a brother, a fellow of about twenty-two, I guess. She lives with her widowed mother, and he takes care of them. I think they are poor. Anyway, this brother had gotten two or three hundred dollars from his employer to take a trip out West. He had fallen in with a rather tough crowd down in the village, and they were busy making him spend it as fast as he could. That was the situation."

"It was tough," commented Texas.

"The problem was to get him away. The girl hadn't a friend on earth to call on, and she happened to think of me. She begged me to try to get him away. And I'll tell you one thing, too, Texas. The cadets say she's a flirt and all that. She may be. I haven't had a chance to find out, and I don't propose to; but a girl that thinks as much of her brother as she does, and does as much for him, is not beyond respect by a good sight. I was really quite taken with her last night."

"Beware the serpent," put in Texas, laughing. "She's pretty, I'm told. Go on."

"Well, I found him, after a couple of hours' search, in a tough dive, with a crowd of loafers hanging on to him. I got him out, but I had to knock down——"

"Hey!" cried Texas, springing up in excitement. "Had a fight, did ye? Why didn't you take me 'long?"

"I didn't know I was going to fight," said Mark, laughing.

"And did you lick 'em?"

"I only had to lick two, and then the rest ran."

Texas sighed resignedly, and Mark went on:

"I took him home, as I said, and left him with her. I got home just in time for reveille."

"Time to have me call you names and to lick me blue, for the same which I have jest thanked yo," added Texas, his eyes suspiciously moist. "An' look a yere, ole man"—Texas slung his hand around to his hip pocket and "pulled" a beautiful silver-mounted revolver, loaded "to the brim"—"look a yere, Mark. This yere gun, I ain't ever gone out 'thout it fo' ten year. She's a——"

"You don't mean to say you've had it on up here!"

"Sho'," said Texas, "an' I come near usin' it on you, too. Mark, you dunno how a Texas man is with a gun. Mos' of 'em 'ud ruther sell their wives. An' I'm a goin' to give you this to show that—er—that ther' ain't no hard feelin's, you know."

"And I'll take it," said Mark, getting hold of Texas' other hand at the same time—"take it, if it's only to keep you from carrying it. And there aren't any hard feelings."

CHAPTER V.
MARK IN DISGRACE.

"Licked me? Wow! He gave me, sah, the very worst lickin' I ever got in my life—which is very natural, seeing that when a feller gits licked down in Texas they bury him afterward. I reckon I'd be a gunnin' fo' him right now, if 'twarn't seein' it's Mark Mallory. Why, man, a feller can't stay mad with Mark Mallory long!"

It was just dinner time and Parson and Texas were sitting on the steps of barracks, waiting for the summons and talking over the events of the previous day.

"And how did this encounter originate?" inquired the Parson.

"All in my foolishness!" growled Texas. "You see yesterday morning when he didn't turn up to fight that 'ere yearling fellow Williams, I thought 'twas cause he was scared. An' so I got mad an' when he did turn up I went fo' him. An' then I went fo' the hospital."

"His conduct did seem unaccountable," rejoined the other. "And yet somehow I had an instinctive intuition, so to speak, that there was an adequate reason. And one is apt to find that such impressions are trustworthy, as, indeed, was most obviously demonstrated and consistently maintained by the German philosopher, Immanuel Kant. Are you acquainted with Kant's antinomies?" the Parson added, anxiously.

"No," said Powers. "I ain't. They ain't got to Texas yit. But I wish I'd had more sense'n to git mad with Mark. I tell you I felt cheap when he did explain. I kain't tell you the reason yit, but you'll know it before long. All I kin say is he went down to Cranston's."

"To Cranston's? I thought we weren't allowed off the grounds."

"We ain't. But he took the risk of expulsion."

"And another, too," put in the Parson, "the risk of being called a coward an' being ostracised by the cadets."

"I dunno 'bout the astercizin' part," said Texas, "but I know they called him a coward, an' I know they cut him dead. There won't even a plebe speak to him, 'cept me an' you an' Injun. An' it's what I call durnation tough now, by Jingo!"

"It don't worry me very much," put in a voice behind them.

The two turned and saw Mark looking at them with an amused expression.

"It don't worry me much," he repeated. "I guess I can stand it if you'll stand by me. And I think pretty soon I can get another chance at Williams, and then——"

"If ye do," cried the excitable Texan, springing up, "I'll back you to murder him in jist about half a minute."

"It won't be so easy," responded Mark, "for Williams is the best man in his class, and that's saying a great deal. But I'll try it; and in the meantime we'll face out the disgrace. I can stand it, for really there isn't much privation when you have three to keep you company."

"I reckon," put in Texas, after a moment's thought, "I reckon we'll have to put off aformin' o' thet ere new organization we were a-talkin' 'bout. Cuz we kain't git anybody to join ef they won't any of 'em speak to us."

"I guess we three are enough for the present," said Mark, "at least while all the cadets leave us alone. And if they try to haze us I think we can fight about as well as the rest of them. Then there's Indian, too, you know; I don't think he can fight much, but he's——"

"Now, see here!" cried an indignant voice from the doorway, "now see here, you fellows! I think that's real mean, now, indeed I do. Didn't I tell you fellows I was going to learn to fight?" he expostulated. "Didn't I? Bless my soul, now, what more can a man do?"

Mark winked slyly to his companions, and put on his most solemn air.

"Do?" he growled. "You ask what more can a man do? A man might, if he were a man, rise up and prove his prowess and win himself a name. He might gird up his loins and take his sword in his hand and sally forth, to vindicate his honor and the honor of his sworn friends and allies. That is what he might do. And instead what does he do? In slothfulness and cowardice he sits and suffers beneath the rod of tyranny and oppression!"

Mark finished out of breath and red in the face.

"Bless my soul!" cried Indian.

"Such a course is by no means entirely unprecedented," put in Stanard, solemnly. "It is common in the mythology of antiquity and in the legends of mediæval times. Such was the course of Hercules, and thus did Sir Galahad and the Knights of the Round Table."

Poor Joe Smith was gazing at the two speakers in perplexity. He wasn't quite sure whether they were serious or not, but he thought they were, and he was on the verge of promising to go out and kill something, whether a cadet or a grizzly, at once. The only trouble was that the tall, sedate-looking officer of the day, in his spotless uniform of gray and white and gold with a dazzling red sash thrown in, strode out of the guardhouse just then; a moment later came the cry, "New cadets turn out!" and Indian drew a breath of relief at being delivered from his uncomfortable situation.

Saturday afternoon is a holiday at West Point. The luckless plebe, having been drilled and shouted at for a week, gets a much-needed chance to do as he pleases, with the understanding, of course, that he does not happen to fall into the hands of the yearlings. If he does, he does as they please, instead.

Saturday afternoon is also a holiday time for the yearling, too, and he is accustomed to amuse himself with variety shows and concerts, recitations and exhibition drills, continuous performances that are free, given by the "beasts," the "trained animals," or plebes.

It may be well at the start to have a word to say about "hazing" at West Point. Hazing is abolished there, so people say. At any rate, there are stringent measures taken to prevent it. A cadet is forbidden in any way to lay hands upon the plebe; he is forbidden to give any degrading command or exact any menial service; and the penalty for breaking these rules is dismissal. The plebe is called up daily before the tactical officer in charge of his company, and asked if he has any complaint to make.

Such are the methods. The results are supposed to be a complete stopping of "deviling" in all its forms. The actual result has been that when a yearling wants to "lay hands upon the plebe" he does it on the sly—perhaps "yanks" him, as one peculiar form of nocturnal torture is termed. When the yearling wants some work done, instead of "commanding" he "requests," and with the utmost politeness. If he wants his gun cleaned he kindly offers to "show" the plebe how to do it—taking care to see that the showing is done on his own gun and not on the plebe's. And the plebe is not supposed to object. He may, but in that case there are other methods. If he reports anybody he is ostracised—"cut" by every one, his own class included.

This being the case, we come to the events of this particular Saturday afternoon.

Only in this case there were half a dozen instead of three.

Now, of all the persons selected for torment that year, with the possible exception of Mark and Texas, the two "B. J.'s," Indian was the most prominent. "Indian," as he was now called by the whole corps, was a rara avis among plebes, being an innocent, gullible person who believed implicitly everything that was told him, and could be scared to death by a word. It was Indian that this particular crowd of merry yearlings set out to find.

Mark and Texas, it chanced, had gone out for a walk; "Parson" Stanard had, wandered over to the library building to "ascertain the extent of their geological literature," and to get some information, if possible, about a most interesting question which was just then troubling him.

And poor Joe Smith was all alone in his room, dreading some visitation of evil.

The laughing crowd dashed up the steps and burst into the room. Indian had been told what to do. "Heels together, turn out your toes, hands by your sides, palms to the front, fingers closed, little fingers on the seams of the trousers, head up, chin in, shoulders thrown back, chest out. Here, you! Get that scared look off your face. Whacher 'fraid of. If you don't stop looking scared I'll murder you on the spot!"

And with preliminary introduction the whole crowd got at him at once.

"Can you play the piano? Go ahead, then. What! Haven't got any? Why didn't you bring one? What's the use of being able to play the piano if you haven't a piano? Can you recite? Don't know anything? You look like it. Here, take this paper—it's a song. Learn it now! Why don't you learn it? What do you mean by staring at me instead of at the paper? There, that's right. Now sing the first six verses. Don't know 'em yet? Bah, what will you do when you come to trigonometry with a hundred and fourteen formulas to learn every night? Have you learned to stand on your head yet? What! Didn't I tell you to do it? Who taught you to stand on your feet, anyhow? Why don't you answer me, eh? Let's see you get up on that mantelpiece. Won't hold you? Well, who said it would? What's that got to do with it? No! Don't take that chair. Vault up! There. Now flap your wings. What! Haven't got any? What kind of an angel are you, anyhow? Flap your ears. Let's hear you crow like a hen. Hens don't crow? What do you know about hens, anyway? Were you ever a hen? Well, why weren't you? Were you ever a goose, then? No? Well, you certainly look like it! Why don't you crow when we tell you? What kind of crowing is that—flap your arms, there. Have you got any toothpicks? What! No toothpicks? Don't suppose you have any teeth, either. Oh, so you have toothpicks, have you? Well, why did you say you didn't? Take 'em out of your pockets and row yourself along that mantelpiece with 'em. 'Fraid you'll fall off, eh? Well, we'll put you up again. Humpty Dumpty! Row fast now! Row! Get that grin off your face. How dare you smile at a higher classman! You are the most amazingly presumptuous beast that I ever heard of. Get down now, and don't break any bones about it, either!"

All these amazing orders, rattled off in a breath, and interspersed with a variety of comment and ejaculation, poor Indian obeyed in fear and trembling. He was commanded to fall down, and he fell; he was commanded to fall up, and he protested that the law of gravitation——"Bah! why don't you get the law repealed?" He wiped off a smile from his terrified face and threw it under the bed. Then, gasping, spluttering, he went under and got it. He strove his very best to go to sleep, amid a variety of suggestions, such as which eyes to shut and which lung to breathe through.

This went on till the ingenuity of the cadets was nearly exhausted. Then one individual, more learned than the rest, chanced to learn the identity of the Indian's name with that of the great Mormon leader. And instantly he elbowed his way to the front.

"Look here, sir, who told you to be a Mormon? You're not a Mormon? Got only one wife, hey? None? Then what sort of a Mormon are you? Why have you got a Mormon's name? Did you steal it? Don't you know who Joseph Smith was? No? Not you, the great Joseph Smith! Suppose you think you're the great Joseph Smith. Well, now, how on earth did you ever manage to get into this academy without knowing who Joseph Smith was? Didn't ask you that, you say? Well, they should have! Fellow-citizens and cadets, did you ever hear of such a thing? There must be some mistake here. The very idea of letting a dunce like that in? Why, I knew who Joseph Smith was about seventy-five years ago. Gentlemen, I move you that we carry this case to the academy board at once. I shall use my influence to have this man expelled. I never heard of such a preposterous outrage in my life! Not know Joseph Smith! And he's too fat to be a cadet, anyhow. What do you say?"

"Come ahead! Come ahead!" cried the rest of the mob, indignant and solemn.

And almost before the poor Indian could realize what they were doing, or going to do, the whole crowd arose gravely and marched in silence out of the room, bent upon their direful mission of having the Army Board expel Indian because he had never heard of Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. And Indian swallowed every bit of it and sat and trembled for his life.

CHAPTER VI.
INDIAN'S RE-EXAMINATION.

"Mr. Smith, sir?" inquired the personage with the mustache.

"Yes, sir," said Indian, meekly, awed by the man's splendor.

"I have been requested by certain of the cadets of the United States Military Academy to investigate the circumstance of your alleged passing at the recent examination. I have been informed by these same gentleman that when questioned by them you exhibited stupidity and ignorance so very gross as to cause them to doubt whether you have any right to call yourself a cadet at all."

Here the cadets shook their heads solemnly and looked very stern indeed.

"Bless my soul!" cried Indian.

"In order to consider these very grave allegations," continued the other, "a special meeting of the Army Board was first convened, with the following result:"

Here the speaker paused, cleared his throat pompously, and drew forth a frightfully official-looking envelope, from which he took a large printed sheet with the West Point seal upon the top.

"United States Military Academy, West Point, June 20th," he read—that is the way all "orders" begin. "Cadet Joseph Smith, of Indianapolis, Indiana, it has just been ascertained, was admitted to the duties of conditional cadet through an error of the examining board. A re-examination of Cadet Smith is hereby ordered to be conducted immediately under the charge of the lord high chief quartermaster of the academy. By order of the Academy Board. Ahem!"

The lord high chief quartermaster finished, and Cadet Smith sank down upon the bed in horror.

"Sir!" shouted the officer, "how dare you sit down in the presence of your superiors? Get up, sir, instantly!"

Indian "got," weak-kneed and trembling.

"The examination will be held," continued the cadet, "in the Observatory Building, at once. Gentlemen, you will conduct Mr. Smith there and await my arrival."

The bogus officer desired time to change his uniform, as he knew it would be risky to cross the parade in his borrowed clothing.

Now the Observatory Building is situated far away from the rest of the academy, upon the hillside near Fort Putnam. And thither the party set out, the cadets freely discussing the probable fate of the unhappy plebe. It was the almost unanimous verdict that one who was so unutterably stupid as never to have heard of the great Joseph Smith would not stand the ghost of a show. All of which was comforting to the listening victim.

The Observatory was deserted and lonely. The door was locked, and the party gained entrance by the windows, which alone was enough to excite one's suspicion. But Indian was too scared to think.

The lord high chief quartermaster presently slipped in, once more bedecked with medals and mustache.

The examining party got to work at once in a very businesslike and solemn manner. The physical examination was to come first, they said. It had been the opinion of the Army Board that Mr. Smith was far too fat to make a presentable cadet. The surgeons were busy that afternoon in trying to piece together several plebes who had been knocked all to pieces by the yearlings for being too "B. J."—this was the explanation of the lord high chief quartermaster—and so it would be necessary to examine Indian here, and at once, too. And if it were found, as, indeed, would most probably be the case, that he was too fat, why then it would be necessary for him to reduce weight immediately.

Several schemes were suggested as to how this might be done. There was the Shylock, the Shakespearian method, of a pound of flesh from near the heart. Cadet Corporal So-and-So suggested that several veal cutlets from the legs—each an inch thick—would serve. A veal cutlet an inch thick he estimated—his great grandfather on his mother's other side had been a butcher, he stated—would weigh three pounds. Then Acting Cadet Sergeant Somebody-Else suggested a Turkish bath, the jockey's method, together with very violent exercise. This plan was adopted finally as being the least likely to be fatal in its results.

But just then somebody suddenly thought of the fact that it would be best to weigh the subject first, which was considered a good idea, but for the fact that they had no scales. This trouble "feazed" the crowd at first. Then the lord high chief quartermaster said that he was a first-rate judge of weight, having slaughtered hogs in his youth, and could tell by the feel. So Mr. Joseph Smith must be immediately "boosted" up and balanced upon the cadet's outstretched hand, there to be shaken and otherwise tested, while the man below made audible calculations by means of trigonometrical formulas as to what was his actual weight.

The result of this experiment, as might have been expected, was by no means very definite. The lord high chief, etc., thought the weight was too much, but he couldn't be sure. And then Cadet "Admiral" Jones proposed another scheme. He had been a juggler "when he was young;" he was used to tossing heavy weights; in fact, he just happened to know that he could throw three hundred pounds exactly twelve feet, the height of the ceiling. It was obvious, therefore, that if Indian weighed over that he would not reach the ceiling; but if he should go through the ceiling that would mean just as clearly that he was under the limit and need not "reduce."

In vain did the frightened boy protest that he weighed only one hundred and fifty; the test must be made, and made it was. Indian's terrified form did not once get near the ceiling, and so reduce he must. The cadets formed a circle about the room.

"Now," said the commanding official, "now you must manage to reduce weight quickly this way, or we shall try the veal cutlet scheme. So you'll find it best to hurry. We want you to run around the outside of this circle. We'll give you just ten and one-quarter minutes by my watch (which runs very fast, by the way) to get around fifty times. And in the course of that you must manage to perspire fifteen pounds of weight (enough to make you go through the ceiling). This is equal to half a gallon of water. Now then! Take off your coat, sir. Ready! Set!! Go!!! Why don't you start, sir? There now! Hurry up! One second—two seconds—three—four—fi'—six—sev'n—eight—nine—ten—'leven! Faster! Faster!! Hurry up! One minute! You haven't lost a pound yet! What! Out of breath already? Faster! That's right! Keep it up now!"

The scene at this stage of the "examination" is left to the imagination; Indian, wild-eyed, panting and red, plunging wildly around in a dizzy circle of a dozen laughing cadets. And in the center the lord high with his watch slowly telling off the minutes.

"Two minutes there, two minutes! Come now, hurry up! Don't begin to lag there! Why don't you stop that panting? There goes the first drop of perspiration. Hooray, there's another! It'll soon be a gallon now. Two and a quarter!"

Poor Joseph kept it up to five, by which time he was so dizzy that he could not stand up; which was the best reason in the world why he sank down utterly breathless in the corner. And there he lay gasping, the cadets in vain trying to get him to rise.

"I think," said the presiding officer, nearly convulsed with laughter—"I think that is reduction enough for the present, and I say we proceed to the 'mental.'"

A conference was held over in one corner of the room, as to what the questions should be; and then in an evil hour (for them) an idea struck one of the cadets.

"See here, fellows," said he. "I think he's been examined enough. Let's get somebody else. Let's get—— Who's that learned chap?"

"Stanard?"

"Oh, yes, Stanard! The Parson! Let's get him."

The idea took with a rush. It would be so much more fun to fool the learned Parson! And in a minute or two half the party, including the lord high chief quartermaster, was on its way back to barracks to hunt up the new victim, while the rest stayed to resuscitate Indian and to write out a list of questions for the "mental examination."

CHAPTER VII.
THE EXAMINATION OF THE PARSON.

"United States Military Academy, West Point, June 20th. Cadet Peter Stanard, of Boston, Massachusetts, it has just been ascertained, was admitted to the duties of conditional cadet through an error of the examining board. A re-examination of Cadet Stanard is hereby ordered to be conducted immediately under the charge of the—ahem!—superintendent of ordnance, in the Observatory Building. By order of the Academy Board. Ahem!"

Now, if Cadet Peter Stanard had been a cadet just a little longer he would never have been taken in by that device, for Cadet Peter Stanard was no fool. But as it was, he did not see that the order was absurd.

He went.

Again the procession started with the same comments as before; this time, however, the door was not locked, and the party entered, sought out another room where stood several solemn cadets at attention, respectfully saluting the superintendent of ordnance, ex-lord high.

"Cadet Stanard," said the latter, "take a chair. Here is pencil and paper. What is that book there. Geology? Well, give it to me until afterward. Now, Mr. Stanard, here are ten questions which the board expects you to answer. These are general questions—that is, they are upon no particular subject. The board desires to test your general stock of information, the—ahem!—breadth, so to speak, of your intellectual horizon. Now you will be allowed an hour to answer them. And since I have other duties in the meantime, I shall leave you, trusting to your own honor to use no unfair means. Mr. Stanard, good-day."

Mr. Stanard rose, bobbed his head and coat tails and sat down. The superintendent marched out, the cadets after him. The victim heard a key turn in the door; the Parson glanced at the first question on the paper—

"I. When are cyathophylloid corals to be found in fossiliferous sandstone of Tertiary origin?"

"By the bones of a Megatherium!" cried the Parson, "The very thing I was looking for myself and couldn't find."

And forthwith he seized his pencil, and, without reading further, wrote a ten minutes' discourse upon his own researches in that same line.

"That's the best I can do," said he, wiping his brow. "Now for the next."

"II. Name any undiscovered island in the Pacific Ocean."

The Parson knitted his brows in perplexity and reread the question.

"Undiscovered," he muttered. "Undiscovered! Surely that word is undiscovered. U-m-yes! But if an island is undiscovered how can it have any name? That must be a mistake."

In perplexity, the Parson went on to the next one.

"III. If a dog jumps three feet at a jump, how many jumps will it take him to get across a wall twelve feet wide?"

"IV. In what year did George Washington stop beating his mother?"

A faint light had begun to dawn upon Stanard's mind; his face began to redden with indignation.

"V. What is strategy in warfare? Give an example. If you were out of ammunition and didn't want the enemy to know it, would it be strategy to go right on firing?"

"VI. If three cannibals eat one missionary, how many missionaries will it take to eat the three cannibals?"

"VII. If a plebe's swelled head shrinks at the rate of three inches a day, how many months will it be before it fits his brains?"

And Stanard seized the paper, tore it across the middle and flung it to the floor in disgust. Then he made for the door.

"There's going to be a fight!" he muttered. "I swear it by the Seven Hills of Rome!"

The Parson's blood was boiling with righteous indignation; he had "licked" those same cadets before, or some of them, and he meant to do it again right now. But when he reached the door he halted for a moment to listen to a voice he heard outside.

"I tell you I cannot do it! Bless my soul!"—the Parson recognized the sound. "I tell you I have lost enough weight already. I can't run again. Now, I'll go home first. Bless my soul!"

"Oho!" said the Parson. "So they got poor Indian in this thing, too. Um—this is something to think over."

With his usual meditative manner he turned and took his seat again, carefully pulling up his trousers and moving his coat tails as he did so. Clearing his throat, he began to discuss the case with himself.

"It is obvious, very obvious, that my condition will in no way be ameliorated by creating a suspicion in trying to make a forceful exit through that locked door.

"It would be a more efficacious method, I think, in some way to manage to summon aid. Perhaps it would be well to endeavor to leave in secret."

And with this thought in mind he went to the window.

"It would appear," he said, gravely, as he took in the situation, "that the 'high-thundering, Olympian Zeus' smiles propitiously upon my plan."

And with this classic remark he stuck one long shank out of the window, followed it with another just as long, and stood upon the cornice over the door of the building, which chanced to be in reach. From there he half slid, half tumbled to the ground, arose, arranged his necktie carefully, gazed about him solemnly to hear if any one had seen him, and finally set out at a brisk pace for barracks, taking great, long strides, swinging his great, long arms, and talking sagely to himself in the meanwhile.

"When the other two members of our—ahem!—alliance are made aware of the extraordinary condition of affairs," he muttered, "I think that I am justified in my hypothesis when I say there will be some excitement."

There was.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE RESCUE PARTY.

"It is best to deliberate, to think over our plan of attack," returned the Parson, calmly, and with a mild rebuke in his tone, which reminded Texas of his promise never to get excited again, made him sit down sheepishly.

"I think," put in Mark, "that we ought to think up some scheme to scare 'em off, or get away with Indian, or something. It's a harmless joke, you know, so what's the use of fighting over it?"

"Oh," growled Texas, in disgust.

"If we could only manage to turn the tables on them," continued Mark. "Shut up a while, and let's think a few minutes."

And then there was silence, deep and impressive, while everybody got his "ratiocinating apparatus," as the Parson called it, to work. Mark was the first to break it.

"Look here, Parson," said he, "what's the name of all those chemicals of yours that you hid up the chimney for fear the cadet officers 'd make you give 'em up?"

The Parson rattled off a list of unpronounceable names, at the mention of one of which Mark sprang up.

"Get it! Get it! you long-legged Boston professor, you!" he shouted. "Never mind why! But I've got something in my pocket that'll—gee whiz! Hurry up!"

The Parson did as he was commanded, and in about as much of a hurry as was possible for him. And Mark tucked the bottle under his coat and the three set off in haste to the rescue, Texas grumbling meanwhile and wanting to know why in thunderation a square stand-up fight wasn't just as good as anything.

An Indian war party could not have made a more stealthy entrance than did the three. They climbed in one of the windows on the lower floor, the basement, and then listened for any sound that might tell them what was going on above. They heard voices conversing in low tones, but no signs of hazing; the reason of that fact being that Indian was just then locked in another room hard at work on his "mental examination," the same one that had been given to Stanard. And poor Indian was striving his best to think of the name of any undiscovered island which he had ever heard of.

Mark took the big bottle from under his coat, set it on the floor and took out the cork. From his pocket he took a paper containing a thick black powder. This he poured carefully into the bottle, put in the cork, and then turned and made a dash for the window. Outside, the three made for the woods nearby and hid to watch.

"Just wait till enough of that dissolves," said Mark. "Just wait."

Meanwhile, upstairs, the hilarious cadets were chuckling merrily over the predicament of their two victims. The lord high, etc., and superintendent had carefully timed the hour that the Parson was to have for his answers; the hour was up, and the official had arisen, turned the key, and was in the very act of opening the door when suddenly—

Bang! a loud report that shook the doors and windows of the building and made the cadets spring up in alarm. They gazed in one another's frightened faces, scarcely knowing what to think. And then up the stairway slowly rolled a dense volume of heavy smoke, that seemed to fill the building in an instant.

"Fire! Fire!" yelled the whole crowd at once, and, forgetting both their victims in the mad excitement, they made a wild dash down the stairs for the door.

"Fire! Fire!" rang out their cries, and a moment later a big bell down at barracks sounded the alarm—"Fire! Fire!"

And over in the woods three conspirators sat and punched one another for joy.

CHAPTER IX.
HEROISM OF THE PARSON.

The Observatory Building was found to be in imminent peril, apparently; there were no flames in sight, but smoke was pouring from every crevice. Prompt and quick to act, some heroic young cadet leaped up the steps and burst in the door with an ax, though it was not locked and needed only a turn of the knob to open it. The moment an opening was made a cloud of smoke burst forth that drove the party back before it, and at the same instant a cry of horror swelled up from the fast-arriving crowd.

With one accord everybody glanced up to one of the windows on the floor above. There stood a figure, nothing but the head visible in the smoke, a figure of a badly-frightened lad, yelling at the top of his lungs for help! help! help! And the crowd gazed at him in terror. It was Indian, apparently in peril of his life!

Who should save him? Who? The thought was in everybody's mind at the moment, and yet every one hesitated before that barrier of blinding smoke. And then—then suddenly a roar of cheers and shouts swelled up as a hero came to the fore. When every one else trembled this hero alone was bold. He had dashed wildly from the woods, a tall, lanky, long-haired figure. He had fought his way through the craven crowd, his coat tails flying and his long elbows working. He had dashed up the steps, his light green socks twinkling with every stride. And now, while the crowd shouted encouragement, he plunged desperately into the thick of the smoke and was lost to view.

The crowd waited in breathless suspense—one minute—two—and still the imperiled lad stood at the window and the hero did not appear. Could it be that he was lost—overcome by smoke and flame? The throng below hated to think of it and yet—no, there he was! At the doorway again! Had he failed to accomplish his noble purpose? Had he been driven back from the work of rescue? No! No! He had succeeded; he had gotten what he wanted! As he dashed wildly out again the people saw that he carried under his arm a great, leather-bound volume.

"Dana's Geology" was safe!

And a moment or two later somebody put up a ladder and the unfortunate "Mormon" climbed down in haste.

Meanwhile, what of the fire? Encouraged by the example of the "hero," the cadets rushed in to the attack. But, strange to say, though they had hand engines and buckets and ladders, they could find no fire to attack. Several windows having been smashed, most of the smoke had escaped by this time—there had really been but very little of it, anyway, just enough for excitement. There is a saying that where there is smoke there must be flame, and, acting on this rather dubious statement, the gallant fire brigade hunted high and low, searching in every nook and corner of the building, and even searching the desk drawers to see if perchance the cunning fire had run away and hidden there. And still not a sign of flame.

The mystery got more and more interesting; the whole crowd came in—the smoke having all gone by this time—to see if, perchance, a little more diligent search might not aid; and the people kept coming until finally the place was so packed that there was no room for the fire anyway. And so finally every one gave it up in disgust and went home, including the gallant fire brigade. And the three conspirators in the woods went, too, scarcely able to hide their glee.

"It's jest one on them ole cadets!" vowed Texas.

Of course, the Army Board ordered a strict investigation, which was made—and told nothing. All that was found was a few bits of broken glass in one room, and an "examination paper" in another. Indian was hauled up, terrified, to explain; he described his hazing, but steadfastly refused names—which was good West Point etiquette—he vowed he knew nothing about the fire—which was the truth—also West Point etiquette. And since Indian was mum, and there was no one else to investigate, the investigation stopped, and the affair remained a West Point mystery—a mystery to all but three.

CHAPTER X.
MORE TROUBLES.

"If that fellow," continued Corporal Jasper, "had any reason on earth for getting up at midnight, dodging sentry and running out of barracks, to stay till reveille, except to avoid fighting you that morning, now, by jingo! I want to know what it is! The class sent me to ask him, and he simply said he wouldn't tell, that's all. His bluff about wanting another chance won't work."

"Well, if we don't," protested Williams, the other man, a tall, finely-built fellow, "if we don't, he'll go right on getting fresh, won't he?"

"No, sir, he won't! We'll find a way to stop him. In the first place, he's been sent to Coventry. Not a man in the academy'll speak to him; he may not mind that for a while, but I think he won't brave it out very long. Just you watch and see."

"The only trouble with that," said Williams, "is that he's not cut by all the fellows. I've seen three of the plebes with him."

"What!" cried the other, in amazement. "Who?"

"Well, there's that fellow he seconded in the fight——"

"Texas, you mean?"

"Yes, Texas. Then that long-legged scarecrow Stanard was out walking with him this very day. And I saw that goose they call the Indian talking to him at dinner, and before the whole plebe class, too."

"Well, now, by jingo! they'll find it costs something to defy the corps!" exclaimed Jasper. "It's a pretty state of affairs, indeed, if three or four beasts can come up here and run this place as they please. They'll find when an order's given here they'll obey, or else they can chase themselves home in a hurry. That fellow Mallory must be a fool! There's never been a plebe at this academy's dared to do half what he's done."

"That's why I think it would be best to lick him. I'm not sure I can do it, you know, but I think it would be best to try."

"That fellow started out to be B. J. at the very start," growled the excitable corporal, after a moment's thought. "Right at the very start! 'Baby' Edwards was telling me the other day how way last year this fellow met with an accident—fell off the express or something—and while he was staying down at the Falls Baby and a couple of other fellows thought he was a candidate, and started in to haze him. He was sassy as you please then. And after that he went out West, where he lives, and did some extraordinary thing—saved an express, I believe, and sent in an account to a paper for a lot of money. Of course that got him dead stuck on himself, and then he goes and wins a cadetship here and thinks he can run the earth. He was so deucedly B. J. he had to go and lock Edwards and Bull Harris in an icehouse down near the Falls!"

"You see what's happened now," he continued, after a moment's pause. "Your challenge brought him up with a round turn, and he saw his bluff was stopped. He was afraid to fight, and so he hid, that's all. But, by jingo, he'll pay for it if I've got anything to say in the matter!"

And the little corporal made the dishes on the table rattle.

Corporal Jasper and Cadet Williams had finished their council and their ice cream by this time, and arose to go just as the roll of drum was heard from "Camp McPherson." The two strolled off in the direction of the summons, Jasper just as positive and vehement as ever.

"You shan't fight him," he declared. "And if sending him to Coventry doesn't do any good, we'll find some other way, that's all! And we'll keep at him till he learns how to behave himself if it takes the whole summer to do it."

This was the young cadet officer's parting vow, as he turned and entered his tent.

CHAPTER XI.
DISADVANTAGES OF "COVENTRY."

It was a "mighty fine" performance, and one that made those same beasts open their eyes with amazement. Spotless and glittering in their uniforms were the cadets, and they went through all manner of difficult evolutions in perfect unison, marching with lines as straight and even as the eye could wish. It is a pretty sight, a mass of gray in a setting of deep green—the trees that encircle the spot, and it made the poor homesick "beasts" take a little interest in life once more.

Among these "beasts" were Mark and Texas. They sat under the trees a little apart from the crowd and watched the scene with interest. Mark had seen dress parades before; Texas had not, and he stared with open eyes and mouth, giving vent to an exclamation of amazement and delight at intervals.

"Look a' yere, Mark," he cried, "d'you think we'll ever be able do that a' way. Honest, now? I think I'll stay!"

"Even after you get through fightin?" laughed Mark.

"I don't think I want to fight any more," growled Texas, looking glum. "Since you an' me fit, somehow fightin' ain't so much fun."

"What's the fun o' fightin' ef you git licked?" he added, after a moment's thought.

"I never tried it," said the other, laughing. "But I suppose you'll be real meek now and let them haze you."

"Yaas!" drawled Texas, grinning. "Yes, I will! Them ole cadets git after me, now, by jingo, I'll go out there an' yank some of 'em out that parade an' lick them all t'once. But say! look at that chap on a horse."

"That chap's the commandant," said Mark, "and he's going to review the parade for a change."

"I wish I was in it," exclaimed Texas, "an' I wish I knew all that rigamarole they're doin' now"—that "rigamarole" being the manual-at-arms. "I jest believe if I had somebody to teach me 'cept that 'ere yellin' tomcat of a Cadet Spencer I'd learn in a jiffy, dog on his boots!"

"There he is now," said Mark, "in the second line there. And there on the outside with his chevrons is Corporal Jasper, 'the committee.' They look very different when they're in line."

"Nothin' 'd make that red-headed, freckle-faced coyote of a drill-master look different," growled Texas. "I jes' wish he was bigger'n me so's I could git up a scrap with him. Jest think o' that little martinet a yellin' at me an' tellin' me I didn't have any sense. To-day, for instance, d'you remember, he was tryin' to show Indian how to march an' move his legs, an' Indian got twisted up into a knot; an' durnation, jist because I laughed, why he rared round an' bucked fo' an hour! What's the harm in laughing, anyhow?"

And Texas glared so savagely at his tormentor as the line swept by just then that Mark concluded there was no harm and laughed.

"You're getting to be very stupid company, Texas," said he. "You never do anything but growl at the cadets. I wish I had some diversion."

And Mark turned away in mock disgust and glanced down the archway of trees.

"Here she comes," he said, after a moment's pause. "That's she walking up the path with a cadet and another girl."

Texas turned as Mark spoke, and looked in the direction of his nod.

"So that's Mary Adams!" he exclaimed. "Well! well! That's the girl you dodged barracks for, and risked your commission, and missed the fight, and got called a coward, and sent to Coventry, and lots else. I swear!"

"That's the one," said Mark, smiling.

"She's stunning pretty," added Texas, as the trio drew near. "Gee-whiz! I don't blame you."

"I liked her right well myself," admitted the other. "That is after I saw her with that brother of hers. She certainly is a good sister to him. But the cadets say she's something of a flirt, and Wicks Merritt advised me to leave her alone, so I guess I shall."

"Sunday school teacher!" said Texas, laughing. "We'll have to call you Parson, instead of Stanard. But I guess you're right. That's not a very beautiful looking cadet she's with."

The three were passing then, and Mark arose.

"I guess I'll have to go speak to her," said he. "She's beckoning to me. Wait a moment."

Texas watched his friend approach the group; he could not hear what was said, however, and so he turned away to watch the parade. By doing it he missed an interesting scene.

Mary Adams welcomed Mark with a look of gratitude and admiration that Mark could not fail to notice. She had not forgotten the magnitude of the service he had done for her. And then she turned to her two companions.

"Miss Webb," she said, "let me present Mr. Mallory."

The other girl bowed, and Mary Adams turned to the cadet.

"Mr. Murray, Mr. Mallory," said she.

And then came the thunderclap. Mark put out his hand; the cadet quietly put his behind his back.

"The cadets of this academy, Miss Adams," said he, "do not speak to Mr. Mallory. Mr. Mallory is a coward!"

CHAPTER XII.
THE EMBASSY OF THE PARSON.

"You be good," said Mark, "and I'll let you see. Come on."

They found the Parson as Texas had said, and they managed to separate him from the books and drag him over to barracks. Then Mark, who by this time had recovered his usual easy good-nature, told of "Mr. Murray's" insult again.

"Now, I haven't the least objection," he continued, "of being sent to Coventry. In fact, so long as it means the cadets' leaving me alone, I rather like the idea. But I don't propose to stand a thing like that which just happened for a moment. So there's got to be a fight, and if they won't let me, I'll have to make 'em, that's all."

"Um," said the Parson, looking grave. "Um."

"Now, as for that fellow Murray," added Mark, "I don't propose to fight him."

"Wow!" shouted Texas. "What in thunder do you mean? Now if you don't, by jingo! I'll go and do it myself!"

"Take it easy," said Mark, laughing. "You see, Williams is the man the class has selected to beat me; he's the best fighter. Now, if I beat anybody else it won't do me the least bit of good; they'd still say I'm afraid of Williams. So I'm going to try him first. How's that, Texas?"

"Reckon you're right," admitted Powers, rather sheepishly. "I 'spose you'll let me go and arrange it, hey?"

"I'd as soon think of sending a dynamite bomb," laughed Mark. "You'd be in a fight before he'd said three words. That's what I wanted the Parson for. I think he'd be grave and scholarly even if they ate him."

"Thank you," said the Parson, gravely. "I should try."

"Wow!" growled Texas.

And thus it happened that the Parson set out for "Camp McPherson," a short while later, his learned head full of prize fighting and the methods and practice of diplomacy.

It was rather an unusual thing for a plebe to do—this venturing into "camp;" and the cadets stared at the Parson, wondering what an amount of curiosity he must have to go prospecting within the lines of the enemy. The Parson, however, did not act as if curiosity had brought him; with a businesslike air and a solemn visage he strode down the company street, and, heedless of the cadets who had gathered at the tent doors to see him, halted in front of one before which he saw "Billy" Williams standing.

"Mr. Williams?" said the Parson.

Mr. Williams had been engaged in vigorously drying his face; he paused, and gazed up out of the towel in surprise, and one of his tent mates, Cadet Captain Fischer, ceased unwinding himself from his long red sash and stared.

"My name is Stanard," said the Parson—"Peter Stanard."

"Pleased to meet you," said Williams, stretching out a long, brawny arm.

There was a twinkle in the yearling's eye as he glanced at the skinny white fingers which Stanard put out in return. And, taking in the stranger's lank, scholarly figure, Williams seized the hand and squeezed with all his might.

He expected to hear a howl, but he was disappointed. The Parson drew up his "prehensile muscles," as he called them. The result was that Cadet Williams turned white, but he said nothing about it, and invited the stranger into his tent.

The Parson deposited himself gently in one corner and drew up his long legs under him. Then he gazed out of the tent and said—"ahem!"

"Warm day," said Williams, by way of a starter.

"It is not that the temperature is excessively altitudinous," responded the Parson, "but the presence of a larger proportion of humidity retards perspiratory exudation."

"Er—yes," said Williams. "Yes, I think that's it."

"I have come—ahem!" continued Stanard, "as a representative of Mr. Mallory."

The other bowed.

"Mr. Mallory desires to know—if you will pardon my abruptness in proceeding immediately to the matter in hand—to know if it is not possible for you to fulfill a certain—er—engagement which you had with him."

"I see," said Williams, thoughtfully, and he tapped the floor with his foot for a minute or so.

"Mr. Mallory, of course, understands," he continued at last, "that I have no grudge against him at all."

"Certainly," said the Parson.

"In fact, I rather admire Mr. Mallory, on the whole, though some of his actions have been, I think, imprudent. In this matter I am simply the deputy of the class."

"Exactly," said the Parson, bowing profusely.

"Therefore, I fight when the class says so, and when they say no, what reason have I for fighting? Now, the class thinks that Mr. Mallory has had chance enough, and——"

"But they don't know the circumstances!" protested Stanard, with more suddenness than was usual with him.

"They do not," responded the other. "But they'd like to."

"I do not know them myself," said the Parson. "But I have faith enough in Mr. Mallory to take his word that it was unavoidable."

"You must have a good deal," added Williams, his handsome face looking grave, "a good deal to risk being sent to Coventry."

"I am willing. Examples of yet higher devotion to a fides amicus, so to speak, are by no means extraordinary. Take the popular instance of Damon and Pythias, or, if you look for one yet more conspicuous, I would mention Prylocates and Tyndarus, in the well-known play of "The Captive," by Plautus, with which you are doubtless familiar."

And the Parson closed his learned discourse with his favorite occupation of wiping his brow.

"The risk is your own," responded the yearling, calmly. "You must not mind if the class resents your view of the case."

There was a few moments' silence after that, during which the Parson racked his head to think what to say next.

"You refuse, then, to fight Mr. Mallory?" he inquired at last.

"Absolutely!" responded the other. "Absolutely, until the class so directs."

Then the Parson drew a long breath, and prepared for the culminating stroke.

"What I say next, Mr. Williams," said he, "you will understand is said with all possible politeness and good feeling, but it must be said. Mr. Mallory has been insulted by some cadets as a coward. He must free himself from the suspicion. Mr. Williams, if a plebe should strike an older cadet, would that make a fight necessary?"

"Most certainly," said Williams, flushing.

"Well, now, suppose he simply threatened to do so," continued Stanard. "Would that be cause enough?"

"It might."

"Well, then, Mr. Williams, Mr. Mallory desires me with all politeness to beg permission to threaten to strike you."

"I see," said the other, smiling at the solemn air with which the lank stranger made this extraordinary request. "I see. I have no objection to his so doing."

"Thank you," said Stanard. "A fight is now necessary, I believe?"