"Bart!"
The exclamation of mingled surprise and reproach came from Frank's lips.
Hodge had made a move to conceal the cigarette, but discovered he was too late.
His face turned crimson, and he hung his head with shame.
Frank closed the door, and came to the side of his roommate, on whose shoulder he gently placed a hand, as he asked:
"How does it happen, Bart?"
Bart started to say something, choked a little, and then forced an unpleasant laugh.
"Oh, I'm a liar!" he burst out, hotly. "I have broken my pledge at the first temptation!"
"Why did you do it? You know you said you could leave off smoking cigarettes easily."
"I thought I could."
"And you found out the habit was fastened more firmly on you than you thought?"
"That's about the size of it. I have been longing for a cigarette all day, and, when I came by accident upon this one, finding myself all alone, I could not resist the desire to have a whiff."
"That shows the habit had a firmer hold on you than you thought."
"Yes. I fancied I could leave it off readily enough; but I was mistaken. It seems a fellow never knows what a hold the nasty little things have on him till he tries to stop smoking them."
"And were you going to give up the struggle without another effort?"
"Oh, no! I didn't mean to smoke only this once. That is, I didn't mean to at first, but after I got to smoking I thought it would be a good plan to taper off."
"Which meant that you were going to tamper with the stuff again, and, finally, you would smoke as much as ever, and would not leave off at all."
"Perhaps you're right," confessed Hodge, who showed his shame.
"I am sure I am right; but you will give over the plan of tapering off—you will stop at once. You are not weak-minded enough to let cigarettes get a hold on you that you cannot break."
"Well, I thought I wasn't; but I don't know about it now."
"Oh, this is bad, but it doesn't mean failure. I don't believe you are the kind of a fellow to give in thus easily to an enemy. You have more fight in you than that."
Frank spoke in a confident tone, as if he did not doubt Hodge's ability to conquer the habit, and Bart gave him a grateful look.
All at once, Bart jumped up and opened the window, out of which he fiercely flung the half-smoked cigarette.
"If I hadn't been a fool by nature, I'd never lighted the thing!" he cried, in supreme self-contempt. "Your confidence in me, old man, has given me confidence in myself. This settles it! I am done with cigarettes forever. You'll never again discover me with one in my lips!"
Bart had meant to keep his pledge in the first place, but Frank's failure to reproach him for falling, and Frank's confidence in his ability to stop smoking gave him the needed confidence in himself—filled him with a determination not to be defeated. And from that hour he never again smoked a cigarette.
"Now we're all right again," said Merriwell, heartily, as Bart came back from the window. "Sit down while I relate a very interesting tale to you."
Bart sat down, and Frank told what he had seen and heard through following Snell.
"That sneak makes me sick!" cried Hodge, fiercely. "I'd like to get another chance at him! Why, he's the biggest sneak in this school!"
"That's right."
"Gage couldn't hold a candle to Snell."
"Gage was bolder; Snell is a bigger sneak."
"That's about the size of it. What are you going to do with the fellow?"
"I think it would be well to catch him in company with the man in black when they meet to-morrow night."
Bart slapped his thigh.
"Just the scheme! But who's going to do the catching?"
"It would be a good plan to have an officer from the village on hand for that job."
"Good! You can swear out a warrant for the man for felonious assault, attempted highway robbery, or something of the sort, and have him sent where he won't trouble you again for some little time."
"That's what I thought."
"It seems the only way to get rid of him, and he is mighty dangerous."
"He is desperate."
"Yes; he means to have that ring anyway. I'll find a way to-morrow to draw those lines on paper. I don't care if that man does say the ring is of no particular value, I know better. If the lines are taken off, you will stand a show of finding out what they mean."
Frank was eager to have an enlarged copy of the lines made, for he felt that he could never be sure that he would not lose the ring, even though the mysterious man in black should be disposed of effectually.
"Snell is determined to get himself into serious trouble," said Frank.
"Oh, money will hire him to do any mean, sneaking thing!" came scornfully from Bart's lips.
"If he is caught with this scoundrel in black to-morrow night, he will be under a cloud here."
"He is under a cloud now. Twenty fellows saw me knock him down, and they'll never give him any rest till he sends me a challenge."
"Well, I don't fancy he will send you a challenge."
"Then his life will be made wretched while he remains at Fardale Academy."
"He has brought it on himself."
"Of course. A fellow can't be a sneak and have the respect of anybody who is decent. I found that out long ago."
The following forenoon Bart obtained permission to use the microscope long enough to make a drawing of the lines on the stone set in the mysterious ring.
Before going to recitation, Frank surrendered the ring to Bart, who hesitated about taking it.
"What if I should lose it?" he said.
"You can't," smiled Frank. "There is no danger of that."
"Still, I rather wish you were coming along."
"I can't do that without getting dismissed from recitation, and that isn't possible."
"Well, I will do the job quickly, and I'll have it finished by the time your class is through reciting."
So they parted, and, with the precious ring in his possession, Hodge hurried to the room where the microscope was kept, having provided himself with the necessary materials for making the drawing.
He lost no time in getting to work, and he made rapid progress. As the drawing developed, he grew excited and enthusiastic, for he plainly saw it must be a map of some wild bit of country.
"I'll bet the man who can read this correctly and knows where this country is located, can go straight to a fortune!" muttered the lad. "But I do not see how it is going to benefit anybody who does not know what section of the country this map represents."
It was a warm spring day, and Bart had opened a window near the table at which he was working. A pleasant breeze was stirring.
Although he took care to be quite accurate, it did not take the lad long to complete the drawing.
He was examining it carefully to make sure he had omitted nothing and had made no errors, when a strong wind sucked through the building, swinging open the door of the room.
He rose hastily to close the door, when another breath of wind set the paper on which he had been drawing fluttering across the table. He sprang to catch it, but it avoided his fingers and fluttered out of the window. Thrusting his head forth, he saw it sail away and settle slowly at the foot of one of the great trees amid which the academy buildings stood.
Out of the room darted Bart, and down the stairs he bounded. He was soon outside, and, recovering the paper, which he readily found, he hastened back.
"Great Scott!" he muttered. "I left that ring under the microscope!"
The thought that he had allowed the ring to escape his sight for a moment filled him with anxiety.
What if he should not find it where he had left it a few moments before?
A cold sweat started out on his face, and he literally tore up the stairs and rushed headlong into the experimenting room, the door of which he had left open.
And then, when he looked for the mysterious ring, he found it had vanished!
"Gone!"
Bart staggered as if he had been struck a heavy blow, and his face grew ghastly pale, while his eyes stared at the spot where he had last seen the ring.
It was truly gone. In some surprising manner it had disappeared from the room while he was in pursuit of the paper, astonishing though such a thing seemed.
For a few moments Hodge was quite overcome by this discovery. He sank weakly into a chair, wringing his hands and breathing hoarsely.
How had it happened?
It did not take Bart long to decide that some one must have slipped into the room and stolen the ring while he was after the drawing.
In that case, whoever committed the theft must have been watching for an opportunity, knowing that he had the ring.
Hodge quickly recovered from his stupefied condition, and dashed out into the corridor to look for the miscreant.
"It must have been Snell," was his decision. "I will look for the sneak."
Straight to Snell's room he rushed, but Snell's roommate, who was studying, declared Wat had not been there in the past hour.
This put Bart at sea for a moment. Where could he find Snell?
Looking at the recitation board, he saw that Snell should appear in the recitation room in a very few minutes.
He could not be confronted there. What plan of action could be devised?
He did not wish to give Snell time enough to conceal the ring. If the fellow could be caught with it still in his possession, it might be possible to make him disgorge.
It was time for Frank to return from recitation. The thought of facing Merriwell with the confession that the ring was gone made Bart's knees weak; but he decided that that was the proper course to pursue, and so he hurried to their room.
Frank had just got in, and, by the look on Hodge's face, he instantly saw that something of an alarming nature had happened.
"The ring!" he cried. "Where is it?"
"I think Wat Snell has it," came huskily from Bart's lips.
With one bound, Merriwell caught his companion by both shoulders, staring straight into his face.
"Have you, also, turned? No! no!" he quickly went on. "I do not think that of you, Bart! You are still true!"
"No, I didn't go back on you," said Hodge, thickly; "but I was guilty of criminal carelessness."
"How did it happen? Tell me quick!"
Bart did so, speaking swiftly, so that no more moments were wasted.
"It is probable that Snell has it," said Frank. "He must be apprehended without delay. Come."
He took the lead, and Bart followed at his heels.
But they were not to confront Wat Snell at the door of the recitation room, as Merriwell hoped, for they were not long in learning that the fellow had lately obtained a pass and left the grounds. According to Snell, his uncle was to pass through Fardale village on the noon train, and Wat's presence was desired at the station.
Of course both Frank and Bart immediately decided that this excuse had been used to enable him to reach the village and deliver the stolen ring to the man in black.
For all of their desire to pursue Snell hotly, they were unable to leave without permission, and so valuable time was lost. At length, however, they were on the highway, running side by side toward the village.
Frank had seemed cool and clear-headed, but, not knowing that Bart had fully completed the drawing of the lines on the black stone, in his heart he was feeling very desperate indeed.
Hodge had grown thoroughly angry, and Snell was likely to get hurt when Bart placed hands upon him.
The boys were good runners, and they covered the distance between the academy and Fardale village in a very short time.
Once within the village, they began inquiring for Snell, and it was not long before they discovered people who had seen him. To the post office they went, and then they were told that a boy answering Snell's description had been seen going toward the railway station.
"It would be a corker if the fellow had really come to see his uncle!" said Bart.
"I do not take any stock in that now," declared Frank.
"Nor I; but I don't understand why he is making so many twists and turns since reaching the village. If he has the ring, why didn't he take it straight to the man in black?"
"Perhaps he knows as little about where to find that individual as we do."
"Possibly."
They came in sight of the station, about which were several carriages, while a few people were seen on the platform, waiting for the midday train.
Reaching the station, they came sharply round the first corner, and found themselves face to face with Wat Snell and the man in black.
At that very instant Snell accepted some money and surrendered something to the stranger.
Frank's keen eyes saw that the something was the stolen ring.
With a cry, he leaped forward, flinging Snell aside, and grasping the man.
"Give me that ring!"
A fierce exclamation of fury broke from the stranger's lips, and he swiftly thrust the ring into his pocket.
"Hands off, boy!" he hoarsely commanded. "Hands off, or you will get hurt!"
"I'll never take my hands off you till you give up that ring, you scoundrel!"
The man having encountered Frank before, well knew that the boy possessed remarkable strength, which would not make it an easy thing to shake him off.
"Let go!" he hissed.
"I will not!"
"Then take that!"
Something bright and gleaming, like the blade of a knife, flashed in the man's hand. He struck, and with a cry, Frank, fell heavily to the platform!
Astonished and horrified though he was, Bart Hodge realized that Frank had been stabbed. At that moment, with the lack of resolution that was characteristic of him on occasions of peril, and not through fear, he stood quite still and did nothing.
Without a shout or a sound, the man in black leaped toward the end of the station, where a saddled and bridled horse was hitched to a post.
One slash of the knife set the horse free, and the desperate man leaped to the creature's back, riding rapidly away.
Frank had swiftly risen to his feet, and several persons, who had witnessed the blow, crowded anxiously around him, asking how badly he was hurt.
"It's nothing but a scratch in the shoulder, for I saw it coming, and dodged. Don't mind me. Don't let that man get away!"
"He won't get very fur on that hoss," said the owner of the animal. "She's lame in her off hind foot, an' she'll tarnal soon give out if he pushes her like that."
"Still he will get away if he is not immediately pursued. Come—who'll follow?"
"Into this carriage, boy!" cried a man. "I have a little horse here that will give him a hot chase. Come on!"
"I am the constable," said another man, with great dignity. "I'll foller as soon as I can get a boss saddled."
Realizing that the boy was not seriously hurt, half of those who had been lingering about the station made a rush to join in the pursuit of the murderous stranger. All kinds of teams were pressed into use, and the road was soon filled with a string of pursuers.
Looking back anxiously, the man in black saw them coming, and he grated his teeth fiercely, for he had already discovered that the horse he had appropriated was seriously lamed.
"Let 'em come!" he cried. "I'll not be taken easily! I have the key to a fortune in my pocket, and I will escape with it, if it is in me to do so!"
Ruthlessly and cruelly he pricked the lame mare with the keen point of the knife, which he still held in his hand, and a trail of dust rose behind him.
Out of the village and into the country the lame horse bore the fugitive. Not far from Fardale was a big stone quarry, and, by chance, the man had selected the road which skirted the jagged hole in the ground.
His pursuers were gaining on him, and he continued to use the knife mercilessly as the horse bore him along the road past the quarry.
Of a sudden a large dog bounded into the road in front of the man in black, and the horse which the man bestrode gave a snort and whirled sideways, coming with a crash against the rail which ran along by the roadside.
At that point the rail was somewhat rotten, and a shriek of horror broke from the man's lips as he saw it break. He made one desperate effort to spring from the saddle and escape going down into the quarry with the horse, but the pursuers were dismayed to see man and beast disappear into the yawning hole.
"He won't get away to-day, my boy," said the man in the foremost carriage, at whose side was Frank. "We'll find him down at the bottom of the quarry, dead as a flounder."
Finding a place to hitch the horse at the side of the road, the man did so, and they went forward together, while the other pursuers kept coming up.
Reaching the point where the man and horse had fallen into the quarry, they looked down.
Amid the jagged rocks far below were two motionless forms.
"Come," said the man; "we'll go down there by the regular road."
They passed round the quarry till they found a road that wound downward till it reached the bottom. By this road they descended, with scores of others at their heels.
When they came to the man and the horse, great was their astonishment to hear the man moaning and to see him open his eyes and look at them.
"Why, the critter an't dead yet!" exclaimed the constable. "I think it's my sollum duty to arrest him on the spot."
Frank quickly knelt by the side of the mysterious man, who faintly whispered:
"So I didn't kill you, boy. Well, I have crimes enough to answer for. The ring is here in my vest pocket. Take it. It will never do me any good now."
Frank quickly extracted the ring from the man's pocket, and slipped it upon his finger.
"I am dying," murmured the man.
"Perhaps not. We'll have you taken back to town, and see what a doctor can do for you."
"No use; I wouldn't live to get there. My time has come. The hidden mine will never reveal its riches to me."
"He is really dying," whispered some one in Frank's ear. "He will not live ten minutes. The wonder is that he is alive at all."
"Who are you? and what is the mystery connected with this ring?" hurriedly asked the boy.
"Never mind my name," came faintly from the lips of the dying man. "It would do you no good to know it. I have lived a wild life—a wicked life. This is the end! Fate brought me to Fardale—fate showed me the ring that bore the chart to the lost mine."
The man stopped and closed his eyes, while the ghastly pallor spread over his face.
A hand held a bottle of liquor to his lips, and he swallowed a few drops, which gave him a few more moments of life. Again his eyes unclosed.
"Once I committed murder for that ring," he whispered. "I killed the Mexican who possessed it. It was a crazy hermit who cut that map on the stone. He discovered one of the richest mines in Arizona, and a fantasy of his deranged brain led him to cut the chart upon the stone, for he cared nothing for the gold himself. When he died, he gave the ring to a Mexican who attended him in his last moments, telling him its secret. In Tombstone the Mexican got drunk and boasted of his riches, showing the ring. That night I killed the greaser, and obtained the ring. I had a partner, and he stole the ring from me. How he came to part with it, and how it fell into the hands of your father, boy, is something I do not know."
He was exhausted, and his voice sunk till Frank could not catch the words. Then he lay still, short breaths fluttering his lips.
Frank feared the man would not rally again, but he did, and the boy panted:
"Tell me where this mine is located. What part of Arizona does the chart represent?"
With a last great effort, the dying man whispered:
"Northwest from Tombstone—lies the—Santa—Catarina—mountains. There—there—is——"
His eyes grew glassy—the last faint breath fluttered over his lips—the man of mystery was dead.
The man in black was buried in the cemetery just outside Fardale village, and the small stone which Frank Merriwell caused to be placed at the head of his grave bears the word "Unknown."
The man had died just as his lips were about to reveal the location of the country depicted by the chart cut on the black stone of the ring that had caused so much trouble. He had mentioned the Santa Catarina mountains, but he had not told what part of the large range the chart depicted.
"If he had lived thirty seconds longer, I should have learned his secret—should have known how to reach the lost mine by aid of the chart. Now——"
"You may be able to reach the mine after all," said Bart, encouragingly. "You have the ring, and you know its value. When you leave school, you may go West and search for your mine, for it certainly belongs to you now. You may find somebody in the Santa Catarina region that will recognize this portion of the country depicted here."
"Long before that the mine may be found by some one else."
"It is possible, but hardly probable. If it were so easy to find, that man would not have made such desperate attempts to obtain possession of the ring."
"Well, I am not going to kick. I have the ring, and his knife did not end my life, as it would if I had not dodged. He slit open my sleeve from the shoulder to the elbow, and brought the blood."
"Oh, you're a lucky dog," laughed Bart. "You are sure to come out on top every time."
Wat Snell found it convenient to take a vacation, but he returned to the academy later, although he found himself regarded with scorn by all save a certain few of his own sort.
Had Frank seen fit, he could have had Wat expelled; but it seemed that, if the fellow had any sense of shame, the way he was treated by the other cadets was quite punishment enough.
Sometimes Frank and Bart would get out the drawing the latter boy had made from the lines on the ring, and they would study over it a long time, but they always found it baffling, and they finally gave up in despair.
Still Frank clung to both ring and chart, hoping they would some day prove valuable to him.
A year had passed since Frank entered Fardale Military Academy—a year crowded with events and adventures such as made its memory both pleasant and painful.
The time of the June encampment had again arrived.
Frank was no longer a plebe, and the glistening chevrons on his sleeves told that the first year in the academy had not been wasted. He was now Cadet Corporal Merriwell.
The graduates had departed, and the furlough men were away at their homes.
A new squad of plebes had been admitted to the school, and the yearlings, mad with joy at being released from plebedom themselves, were trying every scheme their fertile brains could devise for making miserable the lives of their successors.
During the first two weeks that the plebes had been in the academy the opportunities for hazing them had been few; but immediately on getting into camp the mischievous lads who had suffered the year before, not a few of whom had sworn that nothing in the wide world—nothing, nothing, nothing!—could tempt them to molest a fourth-class man, lost no time in "getting after" the "new stiffs," as the plebes were sometimes called at Fardale.
The yearlings were eager to find fags among the plebes, and they generally succeeded in inducing the new boys to bring buckets of water, sweep the tent floors, make beds, clean up, and do all sorts of work which the older cadets should have done themselves and were supposed to do.
While the penalty for exacting the performance of any menial or degrading task, as well as for hazing, was court-martial and possible dismissal, the yearling generally succeeded in getting the work done without giving orders or making demands, so the plebes could not say they had been coerced into doing those things against their will.
Each yearling sought to have a particular fag to attend to him and his wishes, and no cadet could demand service of another fellow's fag without danger of bringing about trouble.
At first, Frank had resolved to astonish his companions by attending to his own duties entirely by himself, and having no fag; but it was shortly after the new boys came to Fardale that he saw something that made him change his mind.
Among the plebes was a rather timid-looking, red-cheeked lad, who seemed even further out of his element than did his awkward companions. He was shy and retiring, blushed easily, and, at times, had trouble in finding his voice.
Such a fellow was certain to attract attention at any school, and he was soon singled out as a particular object for chaffing by the yearlings.
He blushed to the roots of his hair on being called "Baby," "Mamma's Boy," "Little Tootsy-Wootsy," and other names of the sort applied to him by the cadets.
His real name was Fred Davis, and of the nicknames given him Baby seemed to stick the best, so it was not long before he came to be known by that almost altogether, the officers and instructors being the only ones who did not use it in addressing him.
At the outset Fred was unfortunate in being singled out for guying by Hugh Bascomb, who was a bully by nature, and whose ideas of fun were likely to be of a vicious order.
Bascomb saw he could plague Davis, and he kept at the little fellow, piling it on unmercifully. In fact, he seemed to take a strong dislike to the boy with the pink cheeks, whom he derisively designated as "the dolly boy," and he lost no opportunity to humiliate Davis.
It happened that, on a certain occasion, Bascomb desired that Fred should lie for him, but, to his surprise, the timid plebe absolutely and firmly declined to lie.
"I—I can't do it, sir," stammered the little fellow. "I'd do it if I could, but I can't."
"Why not, pray?" fiercely demanded Bascomb, towering above the shrinking lad and scowling blackly. "That's what I want to know—why not?"
"Because I promised mother I would not lie, and she—she has confidence in me."
"Oh, she—she has!" mocked Bascomb. "You make me sick—you do! I never took any stock in mamma boys. Now you're going to do as I want you to, or I'll make it hot for you."
"I shall not lie, sir."
"All right; wait till you get into camp. Oh, we won't do a thing to you!"
From that time Bascomb did his best to set his companions against Davis, a fact which Frank soon noted.
Knowing that Bascomb was at heart a bully, Frank immediately saw that Davis would have a hard life during his first months in the academy.
Frank's sympathy went out to the little fellow, who had been so tenderly reared that he knew very little of the harsh ways of the world outside his own home. He resolved that the little plebe should be given a fair show.
Somehow Frank divined that Bascomb intended to secure Davis for his fag, and he resolved to balk the bully in this. So it came about that, on the day that the plebes marched into camp, with their bundles under their arms, Merriwell found an opportunity to take Davis into his tent and instruct him in cleaning shoes and setting things to order.
Fred attended to these things cheerfully, never dreaming that they were not a part of his regular duties. When he had finished, Merriwell said:
"That is very satisfactory, Mr. Davis. Immediately after tattoo you may come round and be shown how to make up beds. In the meantime, if any one else should require you to perform service of a similar nature in any tent other than your own, you may inform them that you have already received instructions from me, and that the state of your health will prevent you from doing too much labor of the kind. Do you understand?"
"I think so, sir."
"Very good. You may go."
Frank's duties kept him very busy during the most of the day. He had little time to look after Davis, and he scarcely gave his fag a thought till after supper, when the dusk of evening was settling over the cove, and the "plebe hotels" had been surrounded at various points by mischievous yearlings. Then he took a fancy to stroll around and see how Baby was getting along.
On his way down the street he passed the tent occupied by Bascomb. He might have walked on, but the low, fierce voice of the big cadet caught his ear, and he distinctly heard these words:
"What's that? You refuse to bring water for me? Have done this kind of work already for Merriwell? So Corporal Merriwell has been compelling a plebe to perform menial services? Well, that might cost him those pretty stripes on his sleeves! What do I care for him! I want you to bring that water, and you will bring it."
"But he told me not to do work of this kind for anybody else but myself," came the faltering voice of Fred Davis.
"Oh, he did? Well, that's interesting! I suppose by that he means to lay claim to you. I wonder what Lieutenant Gordan would say if he knew what one of his particular pets has been up to! We'll see who is best man in this affair. Bring that water!"
"I—I don't want to, sir."
"Well, it doesn't make any difference about that; you'll bring it, whether you want to or not. If you don't, I will——"
"What will you do in that case, Bascomb?" quietly asked Frank, as he stepped lightly and quickly into the tent, and confronted the big cadet, who was towering over Fred Davis in a threatening attitude.
Bascomb recoiled, with a muttered exclamation of dismay.
"Merriwell——!"
Bascomb's face showed he was little pleased by the appearance of Frank.
"I believe you were about to tell Mr. Davis what you would do in case he declined to bring a bucket of water for you, sir," said the yearling with chevrons. "Pray, proceed!"
"This—this is an intrusion!" grated Bascomb.
"Really so?" And Frank's eyebrows were uplifted in mock surprise. "I presumed I would be welcome to the tent of a classmate."
"Well, you are not welcome here," growled the big fellow.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing. If you haven't the instincts of a gentleman——"
Frank interrupted with a laugh.
"Really that sounds fine from your lips, Mr. Bascomb!" he exclaimed. "You were trying to intimidate one smaller and weaker than yourself a moment ago, and yet you have the nerve to talk of gentlemanly instincts. You seem to be venturing on unfamiliar grounds, sir."
Bascomb glared. He longed to punch Merriwell's head, but he felt that Frank was anxious for him to attempt a move of the sort.
"You're a nice chap to talk of intimidation when you have already forced Baby to fag for you!" he cried, hotly.
"I think Mr. Davis will attest that I neither forced him nor asked him to perform any task for me. I simply gave him a few instructions that were sure to be of material benefit to him. But I heard you demanding service, and seeking to compel it with threats. You know what the penalty is for such conduct."
"And I suppose you are just the kind of a fellow to blow. All right; go ahead."
"I scarcely like your tone or your language, Mr. Bascomb; but I am not going to pick it up here and now. However, you have accused me of making Mr. Davis a fag. I presume you know there is a rule in this school that no man has a right to demand service of another man's fag? Knowing this, you tried to make Mr. Davis perform your duties about the tent. Weren't you treading on rather dangerous ground, sir?"
Bascomb looked at the floor, and muttered something.
"You may not have realized what you were doing," Merriwell went on. "In which case, you are pardonable to a certain degree. But I warn you to let nothing of this kind occur again, or you will have the entire camp down on you."
"I know what you mean," grated Bascomb.
"I am very glad you do," came coolly from Frank's lips. "I hoped to make my meaning plain. And I have something more to say. Since the arrival of the new boys, you have seemed to single Mr. Davis out as an especial object for ridicule and torment. I don't know that you have done so because Mr. Davis is small and scarcely a match for you, but it looks that way. Now, Bascomb, if I were in your place, I would let up. If you persist, you are bound to get yourself into serious trouble. I am going to see that Davis has a fair show, and the fellow who crowds him too hard will have some difficulty with me."
Bascomb forced a mocking laugh.
"You seem to fancy you can set yourself up against the whole battalion," he sneered. "I don't believe any plebe ever got through this school without taking his medicine, and I scarcely think you will be able to pull this one through that way. The fellows are not very fond of pets."
"That's all right. The only thing I ask of you is that you let Davis alone."
"Perhaps I will, and perhaps I won't."
"You will if you know what is good for you."
Again the big fellow glared through the gathering darkness, but Frank met the gaze squarely, and Bascomb's eyes dropped.
"That's all I have to say," came quietly from Frank. "You may go now, Mr. Davis. Don't forget you are to receive instructions in making beds after you answer to your name at tattoo."
"No, sir, I will not forget," said the little plebe, and, making a salute, he hurried away, glad to escape from Bascomb's clutches.
Frank stood looking straight at his big classmate, who made a pretense of disregarding him.
"You should take warning by what has happened to several of your particular friends, Bascomb," he finally said. "Harkins resigned to escape court-martial and dismissal; Gage deserted and ran away, and Snell has become the most unpopular fellow in the academy, and all because——"
"All because they ran against you!" snarled Bascomb, madly. "You have had the greatest luck of any fellow I ever saw; but there is a turning point somewhere. You never miss an opportunity to jump on a fellow, and——"
"Now, you are making a statement that you know is absolutely false, sir!" exclaimed Merriwell. "I have never crowded any fellow, and I have never lost an opportunity to cover as far as possible and honorable any wrongdoing a fellow cadet may have been led into. You may not know that I could have caused Snell's expulsion in disgrace if I had wished, but it is true."
"Oh, you are very generous—exceedingly magnanimous! All the matter is, people don't know it."
"You are at liberty to think what you like about it. I have warned you, and you will do well to heed my warning. That is all I have to say."
Frank left the tent, and continued on his way.
Crowds of cadets gathered here and there near certain "plebe hotels" told where the yearlings were enjoying sport at the expense of the new boys.
As Frank came near to the first collection, the familiar voice of his former tentmate, Hans Dunnerwust, attracted his attention.
Forcing his way toward the center of the laughing throng, he found Hans catechising a tall, lank country boy named Ephraim Gallup, who was repeatedly forced to explain that he was "from Varmont, by gum," which expression seemed to delight the listening lads more and more with each repetition.
"Vere vos dot Varmont, sir?" demanded Hans, with a great show of dignity. "Vos it a cidy alretty yet, or vos it a village?"
"Oh, yer gol dern ignerent critter—— Er—er—excuse me, sir! I fergot whut I wuz sayin', dam my skin ef I didn't! Varmont is a State, an' one of ther smartest gol derned States in ther Union, by gum!"
"Vos dot so? I subbose you exbect dot Varmont vos peen large enough to be a cidy britty soon, ain'd id?"
"Wal, gol blame my eyes! Don't you know ther difference betwixt a State an' a city? Ef ye don't, I think you'd best go studdy yer jografry some more."
"Don'd ged so oxcited, sir," cautioned the Dutch boy, with a wave of one pudgy hand. "Id don'd peen goot your health for. Vos dot Varmont a broductive Sdate?"
"Productive! Wal, you bet yer last dollar! We kin raise more grass to ther square acre——"
"Vell, how apout hayseeds? You raise dose ub there py der quandity, I pelief me?"
"What makes ye think so?"
"Because your hair vos full of id."
"What's that? what's that?" cried Ephraim, in astonishment, quickly removing his cap and clawing through his hair with his fingers. "Hayseed in my hair? Darned if I believe it!"
The boys roared, and the face of the country lad grew crimson.
"You're havin' a gol derned pile of fun with me," he said, sheepishly. "Wal, sail right in an' have it. I kin stand it."
"Begobs! it's nivver a bit roight at all, at all," said a boy with a rich Irish brogue, and Barney Mulloy pushed his Dutch friend aside. "Av it's a soldier yure goin' to be, me b'y, it's instructions in military tictacks you nade. Now, sur, in case ye wur on guarrud at noight, an' should foind yure post invaded by the simultaneous appearance av the commandant an' corporal av th' guarrud on th' roight, the gineral-in-chafe an' staff on th' left, an' a rigimint av red-headed girrulls behindt yez, all wearin' bloomers an' arrumed to th' tathe wid corrun-brooms an' feather-dusthers, which would yez advance firrust wid th' countysoign?"
This sort of a question, put to a plebe with all sorts of twists and variations, was time-honored at Fardale, whither it had come from West Point, where plebes are puzzled with some variation of it year after year.
The country boy grinned a bit, and, still with his little fingers touching the seams of his trousers and the palms of his hands turned to the front, lifted his left foot and scratched his right shin with his heel, till a sharp rap on the ankle brought the foot down to the ground again, and caused him to brace up stiffly, drawling:
"Gol darned if I wouldn't be so scat I'd surrender on ther spot ter ther red-headed gals in bloomers."
These words do not look very humorous in print, but they sounded comical as they came from the mouth of that raw countryman, and the crowd roared with laughter again.
"Be me soul!" exclaimed Barney. "It's yersilf thot knows a hape more thin Oi thought yez did. Ye show yer good judgmint in surrunderin' to th' girruls, fer wan av thim alone wud capture yez av she set out to, an' ould Nick take th' countysoign—she wudn't nade it!"
Next the country lad was invited to sing, "to develop his vocal organs."
"Oh, say!" he awkwardly grinned. "I can't sing—I really can't, by gum!"
"Oh, you vos too modest alretty yet," declared Hans. "You peen goin' to ged ofer dot britty soon pime-by."
"But I hain't got no voice, an' I can't sing a tune no more than a mule kin."
"Me b'y," said Barney, "Oi admire yer modesty, but ye'll foind it necessary to sing fer th' intertainmint av Ould Gunn an' under professors av ye stay in th' academy, so ye moight as well begin now."
"You'll laff."
"Nivver moind that."
"It will sp'ile me so I can't sing. If I couldn't see ye laff I might do——"
"Dot vos all righdt," declared Hans. "You bet my life we been aple to feex dot britty soon right avay queek. Shust gif me your bocket handerkerchief."
"Whut you want of it?"
"Nefer you mindt dot. Shust gif me to id."
The country boy produced the handkerchief, and Hans quickly folded it in a thick strip about three inches wide.
"Now I feex id britty shlick so you don'd see us laugh oudt loudt," he said, as he quickly tied the handkerchief over the boy's eyes, while several of the others made Ephraim submit and stand with his little fingers still glued to the seams of his trousers.
In a few seconds the boy from Vermont was securely blindfolded.
"Now you sing dot song," commanded Hans.
"Whut shell I sing?"
"'Yankee Doodle,' begobs!" cried Barney. "It's patriotic songs Ould Gunn admoires."
"I can't git the tune," said Ephraim, "an' I don't know the words of only jest one varse."
"Well, sing pwhat yez know, an' kape repeating it over an' over till yez are told to stop."
"Dot vos der stuff. Let her go, Gallup!"
So the country lad opened his mouth and began to sing in a droning, drawling way:
"Yankee Dewdle came ter taown'Long with Cap'n Goodwill,An' there he saw the boys an' galsAs thick ez hasty poodin'."