CHAPTER XVI.

BULL HARRIS REAPS HIS REWARD.

It was the evening of the following day, and the scene was Highland Falls. It was about twelve o’clock at night, to be more exact as to time; as to place, the scene was a low tavern on the roadside.

This hour was long after the time that cadets are supposed to be in their tents asleep, but as we have seen, cadets do not always do as they are supposed to. It is safe to say that in spite of all the talk about the severity of West Point discipline, if the commandant of cadets should take it into his head to wander through Camp McPherson every night for a week running, he would find some things to surprise him. He might not find any geological chemists hard at work, but he might find a small game of some sort going on on the sly, and he’d be sure to find a surreptitious banquet or two. He might also see occasional parties steal past an obliging sentry who was looking the other way. It is probable, however, that none of this would surprise him very much, for he did it all himself in his day.

There are always bolder and more reckless spirits who are ever ready for such a lark, enjoying it in proportion to the risk they run. There are always some among these who think it manly to drink and smoke, and frequent low places; it is upon one of these latter assemblages that we are about to look in. We must not mind a rather unpleasant odor of bad tobacco, or a still more unpleasant odor of bad liquor.

It is quite needless to say that one of the crowd was Bull Harris; it would be hard to find a crowd of cadets amusing themselves as these were without Bull among them. This tavern was the regular resort of him and his “gang” on occasions when they visited Highland Falls. It has not been mentioned before, because the less said about such places the better.

Bull liked this place for many reasons. It was quiet, and there was nobody to disturb them. Then, too, the proprietor, a fat Irishman, known as “Jake,” was a man who told no secrets and minded his own business, thus keeping an ideal place for a crowd of young “gentlemen” to come for a lark. Bull was there to-night, and what was more important, he was acting as host. Bull was “blowing off” his friends.

There was first, his Cousin Chandler, whom we know; then there was Gus Murray, who needs but little introduction. As an ally and worshiper of Bull and a malignant enemy of Mark Mallory’s, Gus Murray yielded to no one, with the possible exception of Merry Vance, the shallow and sour-faced youth on his right. The cause of Merry’s pessimistic complexion we once guessed to be indigestion; inasmuch as he was just then pouring down his third dose of bad brandy a revision of this surmise will be allowed. To complete the party, there was one more, a very small one, our young friend, Baby Edwards, a sweet-tempered little sneak who had not even manliness enough to be vicious.

When we peered in the party was in full swing. Baby Edwards had half gone to sleep, having drunk two glasses of beer. Bull had just completed for the third time a graphic description of how that Mallory had been duped, a story which was a never-failing source of interest and hilarity to the rest, who were whacking their glasses on the table and cheering merrily, in fact, so merrily that the cautious proprietor was forced to come to the door and protest.

“How much did you say it was worth?” demanded Vance, after the man had gone away again.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” chuckled Bull. “Fifty thousand if a cent. Fill ’em up, boys. Chandler and I calculated it weighed two hundred pounds. Whoop!”

Merry’s eyes glistened feverishly as he listened, whether from brandy or from what he heard it would be hard to say.

“Whereabouts is it now?” demanded he. “Are you sure Mallory can’t get it?”

“Dead sure,” laughed Bull. “Do you suppose I’d be fool enough to let Mallory sneak up behind me twice. Not much! It’s safe.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Oh, it’s buried up here in the woods a piece,” said the other, cautiously. “It’s where we can get it any time we want to. Oh, say, but it’s fine to know you’re rich--no trouble about paying any confounded bills. And that Irish villain Jake can’t kick because we drink more than we can pay for. Whoop! Help yourselves!”

The others were helping themselves for all they were worth. It seldom happened to that crowd to get a chance such as this, and cadet duties might go to blazes in the meantime. They were singing and shouting and fast getting themselves into a very delightful state, indeed, keenly enjoying themselves every minute of the time, so they thought.

Fun like that can’t last very long, however. Baby Edwards went to sleep as I said! it is to be hoped he dreamed of better things. Merry Vance got quiet and stupid also, while Gus Murray waxed cross and ugly. So pretty soon Bull concluded it was time to go home. Anybody who glanced at the bottles scattered about on the floor and table would have thought so too.

At this stage of the game Jake bowed himself in. Jake was usually a Nemesis, an undesired person altogether, for he came to collect. But Bull didn’t mind this time.

“I wants me money,” began the man, surlily, gazing about him at the scene of destruction. “An’ what’s more, I wants to say you fellows has got to make less noise here nights. I ain’t goin’ to have my license taken away for no cadet. See?”

Bull gazed at him sneeringly during this discourse.

“Anything more?” he demanded.

“Yes, there is. You fellers ain’t a-comin’ here no more till you pays yer bills. This is the third time you’ve tried to let ’em run, an’ by thunder I ain’t a-goin’ to stand it. I don’t believe you’ve got no money anyhow, an’ I’m goin’ to stop this----”

“Oh, shut up, confound ye!” broke in Bull, impatiently. “Who asked you to trust them? Don’t be a fool! Take that and shut up your mouth.”

These not over polite remarks came as Bull flung three or four of the five-dollar gold pieces with a lordly air onto the table. The fellow eyed them greedily, then gathered them up and left the room.

Bull turned to rouse his companions, chuckling to himself as he did so.

“Come on, boys,” said he. “Get up there and hustle.”

Baby Edwards, having been kicked unceremoniously to the floor, got up growling. Merry Vance likewise wanted to fight Gus, who woke him. But the five got started finally and made for the door. Beyond that, however, they did not get, for there they encountered the brawny form of Jake.

“Stop!” said he, briefly.

“What do you want now?” demanded Bull.

The other extended his hand, in which lay the coins.

“Don’t want ’em,” said he.

Bull stared at him in amazement.

“Don’t want ’em!” he echoed. “In the name of Heaven why not?”

“No good,” said the other, sententiously.

The effect of those two words upon Bull was like that of a bullet; he staggered back against the wall, gasping, his eyes fairly starting out of his head. The others understood dimly and turned pale.

It took several minutes for that idea to dawn upon Bull Harris in all its frightful horror. When he realized it he sprang forward with a shriek.

“No good!” he cried. “Great Heavens, man, what do you mean?”

The proprietor’s response was brief, but effective. He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a shining stone. He rubbed it against the gold and held it up so that Bull might see the color that resulted.

“’Tain’t gold,” said he. “It’s counterfeit.”

Bull staggered back against the wall again. Counterfeit! Counterfeit! He saw it all now! Saw why Mallory had given it up! Saw what a fool he--Bull Harris--had been! Saw that he had let them out of the trap, given them the weapon, the only proof. Let them go in safety, leaving him a chest full of brass. It made Bull sick to think of it. Oh, surely it could not be true!

Another thought flashed over him then. Why had Mallory fought so for it, why been so reluctant to give it up? No, it must be genuine! It must be a mistake! Perhaps those few were bad, but all the coins could not be. Trembling with dread, Bull sprang forward, wrenched the stone from the hand of the astonished “Jake,” burst out of the place, and sped away up the road.

The man was at his heels at this effort to dodge him without paying. Behind him rushed the other four, frightened and sobered by this terrible blow. But Bull’s anxiety lent speed to him and he easily outdistanced the crowd.

When they came upon him again they found him in the woods on his knees, digging savagely in the ground with his fingers. In response to his shouts they flung themselves down to help him, while the breathless Irishman stood by and stared in amazement.

Bull was in a frenzy. He fairly tore his way down to the chest, and seizing it by the handles, jerked it out with the strength of a Hercules. He flung back the lid, jerked the bit of rock from his pocket, and seized a handful of the coins.

A moment more and he staggered back, and sank to the ground, limp and helpless.

The chest of “gold” was worthless.

* * * * *

We must revert to the conversation of the Seven the night before, for the benefit of those who are curious. Mark and his friends, as they disappeared in the woods, were joined by the solemn Parson. You may believe that it was a merry crowd.

“Look here, Parson,” demanded Mark, the first thing. “Are you sure that money is no good?”

“Sure?” echoed the Parson. “Sure as I am that the most reliable and mathematical of all the sciences is true. Perhaps you will wish, gentlemen, that I explain to you the most extraordinary state of affairs. I shall do so, yea, by Zeus. I feel that I owe it to myself by way of explanation of a most unaccountable--ahem--blunder I have made.”

The Parson drew a long breath and continued.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “when first we set out upon that treasure hunt I took with me two bottles of acid. One was a test for the presence of argenic compounds, that is, silver, and the other for what is popularly designated gold. In the excitement of the discovery of the chest, to my everlasting humiliation, be it said, I used the wrong acid. The reaction I got proved the presence of copper. I thought it was gold.”

After this extraordinary speech of self-abnegation the Parson bowed his head in shame. It was at least a minute before he could muster the courage to go on. Truly that had been a frightful blunder for an analytical chemist to make.

“To-night,” he continued at last, “I was testing for potassium, and I reached for that bottle of gold reagent. I expected to find it half empty. I found it full, and I knew in an instant that I could not have used a drop of it. Gentlemen, that told me the story of my error. I shall do penance for it as long as I may live.”