CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CAPTURE OF MARK.

The afternoon of that momentous day passed without incident. Mark noticed Bull Harris glowering at him as he passed his tent, but beyond that the “subduing” programme got no further. The Banded Seven kept near to camp, so as to prevent it.

That is, all of them but one; Sleepy was that one. The lanky farmer was a member of the guard that day, getting his first lessons in the terrible dangers of sentry duty at Camp McPherson. Now it was necessary for some one to go up and fix that cave for the night’s work, and since Sleepy succeeded in getting excused during his four hours off duty that afternoon, he was unanimously elected to be the one to attend to the task.

It was to clear away the effects of that treasure hunt that Sleepy went. He removed all traces of the Parson’s energetic digging. Also he fixed quite a number of other things, according to Mark’s well-planned directions.

“It’s evident to me,” said Mark, “from the fact that Bull didn’t bother me this morning, hating me most, as he does, that he’s putting up a plan for to-night.”

“He’s afraid to tackle you in the day,” growled Texas.

“I should say so,” chirruped Indian’s fat, round voice. “Didn’t you lick him once, and the whole crowd besides. Bless my soul!”

“I think,” continued Mark, “that we may take it for granted that Bull will try to kidnap me to-night. You know they did that once, took me off into the woods and beat me. They’ll beat harder this time. If a big crowd of them tries it you fellows’ll just have to make a noise and wake everybody so that they’ll have to drop me and run for their tents. But if there’s only a few you can follow and overpower them. It all depends.”

Texas rubbed his hands gleefully at this attractive programme.

“What are we a-goin’ to do when we ketch ’em?” he demanded.

“You leave that to me,” laughed Mark, rising from his seat to end the “conference.” “I’ve got a scheme fixed up to frighten them to death. Just wait.”

“Just wait” seemed to represent about all there was to do, though the Seven did not like it a bit. They watched dress parade that evening with far less interest than usual, and sighed with relief when the sunset gun finally sounded. It may be interesting to note that there were some other cadets in just exactly the same impatient state of mind.

It was just as Mark had suspected--Bull Harris had a plot.

The sunset gun was welcomed with relief. They spent the evening strolling about the grounds and discussing the effort they were going to make that night, also occasionally chuckling over the “success” of their attacks during the morning. And then tattoo sounded, and they knew that the time was nearer still.

Bull Harris and his three cronies waited until the sentry had called the hour of eleven. They thought the plebes had had time enough to get to sleep then, so they got up and dressed and sallied forth in the darkness. It was cloudy that night, and black, a circumstance which Bull considered particularly fortunate.

There was no hesitation, no delay to discuss what should be done. The four made straight for a certain A company tent; cadets sleep with their tent walls rolled up in hot weather, and so the yearlings could easily see what was inside. They made out three figures stretched out upon the blankets, all sound asleep; the fourth occupant--the farmer--was now diligently marching post.

The four crept up with stealthiness that would have done credit to Indians. A great deal depended on their not awakening Mallory. Bull, who was the biggest and strongest of the crowd, stole into the tent and placed himself at Mallory’s feet; Merry Vance and Murray calculated each upon managing one stalwart arm, while to Baby, as smallest, was intrusted the task of preventing outcry from the victim. Having placed themselves, the four precious rascals paused just one moment to gloat over their hated and unsuspecting enemy. And then Bull gave the signal, and as one man they pounced down.

Mallory, awakened out of a sound sleep, found himself as helpless as if he had been buried alive. Bull’s sinewy arms were wrapped about his limbs; his hands were crushed to the earth; and Baby was smothering him in a huge towel. They lifted him an instant later and bore him swiftly from the tent.

A whistle was the signal to the sentry, who faced about and let them cross his beat; the four clambered up the embankment and sprang down into Fort Clinton, chuckling to themselves for joy, having secured the hated plebe with perfect success and secrecy. And now he was theirs, theirs to do with as they saw fit. And how they did mean to “soak” him!

All this, of course, was Bull’s view of the matter. But there were some things, just a few, that that cunning young gentleman did not know of. The reader will remember that the yearlings had tried that trick on Mark just once before; ever since then Mark’s tent was protected by a very simple but effective burglar alarm. There was a thread tied about his foot. That thread the yearlings had not noticed. It broke when they carried off their victim, but it broke because it had tightened about the wrist of Texas, who sat up in alarm an instant later, just in time to observe the four disappearing in the darkness. By the time they had crossed the sentry beat the rest of the Banded Seven were up and dressing gleefully.

After that the result was never in doubt for a moment. The five all crossed the sentry’s post without trouble, because they had heard the signal the yearlings gave. And a moment later the triumphant kidnapers, who were off in a lonely corner of the deserted fort binding up their prisoner as if he were a mummy, were horrified to find themselves confronted by five stalwart plebes.

Bull and his gang were helpless. They did not dare make any outcry, in the first place, because they were more to blame than the plebes in case of discovery, and in the second, because they were “scared to death” of that wild cowboy, who had already made his name dreaded by riding out and holding up the whole artillery squadron. But, oh, how they did fairly grit their teeth in rage!

The imperturbable Texas stood and faced them, twirling two revolvers carelessly while they had the unspeakable humiliation of watching the others ungaging and unbinding the delighted Mallory, who rose to his feet a moment later, stretched his arms and then merrily took command.

Bull Harris was selected, as leader and head conspirator, to undergo the first torture. Mark placed himself in front of him, and with a light smile upon his face.

“Lie down!” said he.

Bull found himself staring into the muzzle of one of the menacing Texan’s revolvers. That took all of Bull’s nerve, and he very promptly “lay.”

“Now then, Dewey,” said Mark, “tie him up.”

Dewey used the very ropes that had been meant for Mark. He tied Master Harris’ unresisting feet together. Then rolled him unceremoniously over on his back and tied his hands. After which Bull was kicked to one side, and Dewey was ready for the next frightened yet furious victim.

Pretty soon there were four helpless bodies lying side by side within the fort. They were bound hand and foot; there were gags tied in their mouths and heavy towels wrapped about their eyes. And then the Banded Seven were ready.

“Come ahead,” said Mark.

He set the example by tossing Bull’s body upon his shoulders and setting out. The rest followed close behind him.

It was quite a job carrying the four bodies where our friends wanted to take them, especially without being seen by any one.

They made for the Hudson. In Mark’s day cadets were allowed to hire rowboats, that is, all except plebes. But it was easy enough for a plebe to get one, as indeed to get anything else, tobacco or eatables. The small drum orderly is always bribable, and that accounts for the fact that two big rowboats lay tied in a quiet place, ready for the expedition.

Since the den was near the shore oars furnished an easier way to carry the prisoners to the place.

They found the boats without trouble, and deposited the yearlings in the bottom. They weren’t very gentle about it, either. Then the rest scrambled in, and a long row began, during which those who were not working at the oars made it pleasant for the unfortunate yearlings by muttering sundry prophecies about tortures to come, and in general the disadvantages of being wicked. The Parson recited some dozen texts from Scripture to prove that obvious fact.

We shall not here stop to picture the infuriated Bull Harris’ state of mind under this mild torture. Enough of that later. Suffice it to say the row came to an end an hour or so later, and the party stepped ashore. And also that before, they started into the woods a brilliant idea occurred to the ingeniously cruel Texas. They meant to make those cadets shiver and shake; what was the matter with letting them start now, where there was plenty of nice cold water handy?

A whispered consultation was held by the six; it was agreed that in view of all the brutality of Bull and his gang, there was no call to temper justice with mercy. As a result of that decision each one of the yearlings was held tight by the heels, and, spluttering and gasping, dipped well under water and then hauled up again. That did not cool their anger, but it made them shiver, you may well believe. During this baptismal ceremony the classic Parson was interesting, as usual. He sat on a rock nearby and told the story, embellished with many allusions, how the “silver-footed Thetis, daughter of the old man of the sea,” as Homer calls her, took her son, “the swift-footed” Achilles, and dipped him into a magic fountain to give him immortality. All got wet but the heel she held him by, and so it was a blow in the heel that killed the Grecian hero.

“Therefore, gentlemen,” said the Parson, “since you don’t want Bull Harris to die from the treatment he gets to-night, I suggest with all sincerity that you stick him in again and wet his feet.”

While this was being done, the learned Boston scholar switched off onto the subject of Baptists and their views on total immersion; which promptly reminded Dewey of a story of a “darky” camp meeting.

“Brudder Jones was very fat,” said he, “and b’gee, when he got religion and wanted to be baptized there was only a little brook to put him in. They found the deepest place they could, but b’gee, Brudder Jones stomach was still out of water. Now the deacon said his ‘wussest’ sin was gluttony, and that if he didn’t get all the way under water the devil would still have his stomach and Brudder Jones would be a glutton all his life, b’gee. So all the brothers and sisters had to wade out into the water and sit on Brudder Jones’ stomach so that all his sins would get washed away.”

Those who were doing the immersing in this case were so much overcome by Dewey’s way of telling that story that they almost let Baby Edwards, the last victim, slip out of their hands. But they pulled him in safely in the end, and after that the merry party set out for the “Banded Seven den.”

They knew the contour of the mountains so well by this time that even in the darkness they had no difficulty in finding the place. They had relapsed into a grave and solemn silence by that time, so as to get the shivering victims into proper mood for what was next to come. Some of the crowd climbed in, and then, like so many logs of wood, the yearlings were poked through the opening in the rocks and laid on the floor inside. The rest of the plebes followed. The time for Mark’s revenge had come at last.

Mark lit one of the lamps which hung from the ceiling of the cave and then went forward to make sure that everything was ready for the proposed hazing. The little room in which the bones of the trapped counterfeiters lay was up at the far end of the place. There was a heavy wall of masonry to shut it off, with only one entrance, that afforded by the heavy iron door, which was built like that of a safe. Mark entered the room and after fumbling about some came out and nodded to his companions. He did not say a word; none of them had since they had come in; but there was still that firm, set look about his mouth that boded ill for those four cowardly yearlings.

It is difficult for one to imagine the state of mind of these latter. Their rage and vexation at the failure of their scheme, at the way they had been trapped, had long since given place to one of constantly increasing dread as they felt themselves carried further and further away, evidently to the lonely mountain cave from which Bull had stolen the treasure a couple of days ago. They were in the hands of their deadliest enemies; Bull knew that they had earned no mercy from Mark, and he knew also that the wild Texan was along, the Texan to whom, as they thought, murder was an everyday affair. That dousing, too, had done its work, for it had chilled them to the bone, and made them shiver in mind as well as in body. The yearlings felt themselves carried a short way on; they felt some one test the ropes that bound them, tighten every knot, and then finally bind them to what seemed to be a series of rings in a rough stone wall. They heard a low voice whisper:

“They’re safe there. They can’t get near each other.”

And then one by one the bandages were taken from their eyes and the gags out of their tortured mouths.

They saw nothing but the blackest of darkness. Absolutely the place was so utterly without a trace of light that the figure which stood in front to untie the gag was as invisible as if it were a spirit. Bull heard a step across the floor. But even that ceased a few moments later, and the place grew silent as the grave.

The yearlings, though their tongues were free, did not dare to whisper a word. They were too much awed in the darkness. They knew that something was coming, and they waited in suspense and dread.

It came. Suddenly the air was split by a sound that was perfectly deafening in the stillness. It was the clang of a heavy iron door, close at hand. The yearlings started in alarm, and then stood waiting and trembling. They knew then where they were, and what door that was. There was an instant’s silence and then a horrified shout.

“Great Heavens! The door has slammed!”

The cadets recognized that voice; it was the mighty one of Texas, but it sounded faint and dull, as if it had passed through a heavy wall. It was succeeded by a perfect babel of voices, all of which sounded likewise. And the meaning of the voices, when once the cadets realized it, chilled the very marrow of their bones.

“Open it! Open it, quick!”

“Can’t! Oh, horrors, it locks on the inside!”

“Merciful heavens! They are prisoners!”

“They’ll suffocate!”

“Quick, quick, man, get a crowbar! Anything! Here, give me that!”

And then came a series of poundings upon the same iron door, accompanied by shouts and exclamations of horror and despair.

“I can’t budge it. It’s a regular safe. They are locked in for good!”