THE WEST POINT RIVALS

By Lieut. Frederick Garrison, U. S. A.

Off for West Point

A Cadet’s Honor

On Guard

A West Point Treasure

The West Point Rivals

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“In his hand he held a notebook, upon which he was calmly jotting down the names of the cadets he saw.”

(See [page 228])

THE WEST POINT
RIVALS

OR

Mark Mallory’s Stratagem

BY

LIEUT. FREDERICK GARRISON, U. S. A.,

AUTHOR OF

“Off for West Point,” “A Cadet’s Honor,”
“A West Point Treasure,” “On Guard,” etc.

NEW YORK AND LONDON
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1903
By STREET & SMITH

The West Point Rivals

CONTENTS

THE WEST POINT RIVALS

CHAPTER I.

ACCEPTING A CHALLENGE.

“Say, boys, listen to this!”

The speaker was a tall, gaunt cadet, dressed in the uniform of a West Point plebe. He was resting in a tent in summer encampment, and close at hand were two other plebes.

“What is it, Texas?” asked one of the other cadets.

“Goin’ to be a circus down to Highland Falls.”

“Well, what of it? We can’t go,” came from a cadet known as Parson Stanard, a tall, thin fellow hailing from Boston.

“Yes, but listen,” went on the first speaker. “This ’ere bill says as how they got a Texas bronco that nobody kin ride. Now, I ain’t a going to stand that, nohow. I’ll ride the bronco or bust myself a-tryin’.”

And Texas, otherwise known as Jeremiah Powers, from Hurricane County, Texas, leaped to his feet in his excitement.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Do? I’m a-goin’ to go down to town after dinner, and ride that bronco—​or——”

“But it’s out of bounds, I tell you.”

“I’ll git a disguise, that’s wot I’ll do. I ain’t a-goin’ to spend a holiday afternoon sittin’ roun’ this camp while there’s a circus goin’ on. You fellers kin ef you want to. I ain’t seen a circus only once, an’ that was the same day I went to church. I rode fifty-six miles ’cross country to take in the both of ’em.”

After imparting that interesting bit of information, Texas seated himself on the platform of the tent once more and fell to reading assiduously the vivid programme of Smithers’ Circus, with its menagerie, dime museum and theatre combined, to say nothing of Circassian ladies, tattooed South Sea Islanders, fat ladies and living skeletons. The whole thing impressed Texas mightily, and when he finished he turned to the other two in the tent.

“I’ll bet you,” he growled, “ef Mark Mallory war here he’d go with me. I dunno how I’d live in this hyar place ef Mark Mallory warn’t in it. He’s got more life than any dozen o’ you fellers. The Banded Seven, that air society we plebes got up to stop the hazin’, wouldn’t ever do anything ef ’twarn’t fo’ him bein’ leader.”

“When will Mark be out of hospital?” inquired one of the others.

“I dunno,” said Texas, “but I reckon it’ll be pretty soon now. The burns air most all healed ’cept his hands, an’ durnation, they won’t keep him in fo’ that.”

“He always war lucky,” Texas continued, after a moment’s pause. “Jes’ think! He won’t have to do anything now but set roun’ an’ watch us plebes drill all day. An’ see how he’s fooled them ole cadets, too. He said he wouldn’t let ’em haze him and he’s licked every feller they sent to fight him. Then when they tried to make him fight Fischer, the one decent chap in the class an’ Mark’s friend, he said he wouldn’t. An’ after standin’ all their abuse all day he pitched in an’ rescued that girl from the fire when they warn’t a man of ’em dared it. They had to ’pologize after that.”

“He was quite a hero, wasn’t he, Texas?”

It was Mark Mallory’s voice!

Texas wheeled with an exclamation of delight, and the others rushed out of the tent and made a leap at the cadet who had thus laughingly spoken. He was a tall, handsome lad, with a frank, merry face. He had just entered camp and reached the tent as Texas concluded his discourse.

“Ef it ain’t Mark Mallory!” roared the latter, dancing about him in an ecstasy of delight. “Whoop! Say, ole man, I’m durnation glad to see ye. Gee whiz!”

These excited exclamations had brought the rest of the “Banded Seven,” Mark’s secret society, out of their tents in a hurry. There were Parson Stanard, and Sleepy, “the farmer,” and “B’gee” Dewey, the prize story teller, besides, Chauncey, “the dude,” who thought it undignified to hurry, brought up the rear, with “Indian,” the fat boy of Indianapolis. And the whole six got around Mark and fairly danced for joy at having their leader with them again.

“And, b’gee, he’s all well, too,” chuckled Dewey; “all but his hands.”

The “hands” of which this was said were for all the world like boxer’s gloves, they were so wrapped with bandages. That was the only thing that kept the six from having a fight to get hold of them and shake. It was fully ten minutes before they had managed to get enough of their congratulations expressed to satisfy themselves, and even then Mallory had to threaten to get mad if they didn’t stop telling him what a hero he was.

“I’ll run away to Texas,” he vowed, laughing.

“Where there are broncos you can ride,” put in Dewey, with a sly wink at the object of this allusion.

“Wow!” cried Texas. “That’s so! I mos’ forgot ’bout that air bronco since Mark come. Whoop!”

“What bronco?” inquired Mark, curious to know what new excitement his wild friend had found.

Texas told him, and as a clincher held the paper up before his eyes.

“Thar ’tis,” said he. “You kin read it an’ see Smasher— I’ll smash him, doggone his boots—”

“Do Texas horses wear boots?” inquired Dewey, anxiously. “B’gee, we never go better than plain shoes up our way.”

“Look a-yere, Mark,” demanded Texas, scorning to notice Dewey’s interruption. “I was jes’ a-sayin’ ef you were hyer you’d go with me to that air circus an’ bust up the old fake place. Naow will you?”

“Of course I will,” responded Mark. “So will the rest, too, I guess. I’ve been penned up in that old hospital for an age, and I’m just dying for a lark.”

“But where’ll we get disguises?” inquired the matter-of-fact Parson.

“I guess one of the drum orderlies can buy us some,” laughed the other. “We ought to have some ’cits’ clothing handy, anyway, so that we can be ready for some fun any time.”

“And we can keep it in that cave we found!” chirruped Indian, happily. “Bless my soul, that’ll be fine! I’ll go! I think it’ll be lots of fun to go to a circus in disguise.”

“Circuses are deucedly vulgah affairs,” commented the aristocratic Chauncey, with a sniff.

But even that young gentleman condescended to go when he found that all the rest were swept away by the prospect of seeing Texas ride “Smasher.” And as for Texas, he doubled up his fists and gritted his teeth and vowed he was going “to smash that ole show or git smashed doin’ it!”

Texas was destined to have all the fun he wanted that afternoon.

CHAPTER II.

THE CIRCUS AT HIGHLAND FALLS.

Drills were over for that day, and likewise dinner, and the corps had been dismissed, excepting members who had extra tours of guard duty to do by way of punishment. This included one of the Seven, the unfortunate granger from Kansas, “Sleepy,” who had forgotten to invert his washbowl at the “A. M. inspection.”

Poor Sleepy was obliged to shoulder his musket with what grace he could and sadly watch his friends vanish in the woods.

The wicked drummer boy, who was getting rich nowadays by furnishing contraband disguises for the yet more wicked Banded Seven, had designated a place where he would hide the “duds,” and for that place the six made with all possible speed. Some hour or so later there were three curious-looking couples strolling down the road to the Falls.

The drum orderly, with considerable appropriateness, had furnished a full dress evening suit for Chauncey. It being afternoon, Chauncey had indignantly refused to “dream” of wearing it, and so the meek Indian had had his fat limbs crowded into the costume. Texas had a flaming red sweater and huge farmer’s trousers with one suspender. Mark had the tattered remains of a tennis blazer and checkerboard “pants.” The Parson was muttering anathemas at the facetious lad who had gotten, from somewhere, a clerical costume with a rip up the back, and Dewey was handsome and resplendent in one of the drum orderly’s own cast-off uniforms. Poor Chauncey having refused the swallow-tails, was doomed to be commonplace in a white flannel costume last worn by a coal heaver.

Do you wonder at the phrase “curious-looking couples” used above?

It had been agreed that they would excite less suspicion two by two. All in a crowd they might be mistaken for the rear guard of the circus procession, which they could tell from the sound of the band had proceeded them down the main street of Highland Falls. The six set out swiftly in pursuit.

Texas was fairly boiling over with anxiety to catch a glimpse of Smasher. Texas had done nothing but talk about Smasher since he started.

If there had chanced to be any officers from the post down there they would probably have recognized their cadets, in spite of false mustaches and hair. For the plebes were so used to going behind a band by this time that the tune—​“The Girl I Left Behind Me”—​set them all to marching with West Point precision—​“left, left! Eyes to the front—​heads up—​chest out, little fingers on the seams of the trousers—​left, left!”

Fortunately, however, nobody noticed their rather unusual style, and down at the far end of the long and narrow town they came upon the circus grounds. No small boy enjoying his holiday from school was gazing upon the scene with more interest than our plebes.

There were three big tents in a vacant lot. The band had gone inside by that time, and a string of people were following, buying their tickets of a black and long-haired “genuine Australian bushman” who stood as a walking live hint to the wonders that were inside, and incidentally made change wrong and talked in Irish brogue to an invisible some one.

Also worthy of mention was “Tent No. 2.” We shall see a good deal of the contents of Tent No. 2. Tent No. 2 was the dime museum tent, and varied and startling were its decorations. A two-headed boy grinned merrily at a painted hyena on one side. It was a laughing hyena, but the boy got the best of him because he had two heads to laugh with. A Norwegian giantess (colored) had the next side to herself, and so tall was she that a sort of continued-in-our-next arrangement was made with the roof, where a careful artist had painted half her head. There was a seal playing a banjo on the next panel, while a charmed boa constrictor listened. The boa constrictor’s tail was traced to the other side of the tent, his body having extended all that way. So he was a pretty big snake. Texas vowed he’d never seen a bigger one. And after that the six made a stampede for the main tent.

They stopped just long enough for Chauncey, “the gent with the white clothes and black whiskers,” to invest in peanuts. He told the man to keep the change with a haughty air, and then bid his friends help themselves. They took so many there wasn’t any change, at which the man growled.

In spite of jokes and peanuts they finally got into the tent. They bought their tickets separately so that their seats might be separate, and they found to their horror that the Australian bushman had sold them six in a row, and that every one in the place was staring at their extraordinary costumes. This rather pleased them, but they tried to look as if they didn’t care and stared around the tent.

After some munching of peanuts and stamping of feet (this latter chiefly by Texas, he of the carmine sweater and no coat, who was anxious to smash Smasher) a bell rang and the show had begun. A curtain opened at one side and in galloped a white horse and rider. Texas sprang up and started for the ring. Texas thought it was Smasher, and he grumbled some when he found it was only “Madam Nicolini, the daring equestrienne!” Texas admitted that her riding wasn’t bad, but he vowed he’d make her turn pale with envy when he once set out on Smasher. Seeing that Madam Nicolini had a perpetual blush of red paint that beat her rival’s sweater, Texas finally took back his rash threat and settled down to growl once more.

Mr. Jeremiah Powers had to curb his impatience. The programme wasn’t going to be changed for him. There were “daring aërial flights” at which the old ladies gasped and the fair damsels shrieked. There were performing dogs at which every one observed, “How cute!” a safe remark which the most critical could not dispute. There were the Alberti Brothers, who bowed whether you applauded or not, and the usual trick elephant who rang for his dinner when the clown told him not to, whereat the old gentlemen who had brought their little boys to enjoy the show laughed most uproariously and asked the doubtful little boys if it wasn’t funny.

And then came Smasher!

The curtain opened once more and the little bronco, meek and gentle, was led out. He was “nothin’ much,” so Texas said; “orter see my Tiger down home.” Texas had been persuaded by Mark to wait and see what else would happen before he ventured down, and so Texas was silent though wriggling anxiously in his seat.

A “gent” in full dress, just like Indian, was leading Smasher by the bridle. Having reached the middle of the ring he released the horse, who hung his head and looked like a poor, sleepy, half-starved little pony that would run from a mouse. Then the gent, who was “Smithers” himself, began thus:

“Now, ladies and gentlemen! We are about to witness the most interesting event of the varied programme of this marvelous and startling show. Behold Smasher, the world-renowned bronco. Now there must be gents in the audience who can ride, gents with sporting blood in their veins, gents who are willing, even anxious to show their skill. Ladies and gentlemen, Smasher challenges the world! Behold him!”

This masterpiece having finished, Smithers folded his arms. Mark was sitting on Texas meanwhile.

“Somebody’ll try it, old man,” Mark protested. “Just keep quiet. He’s not going away yet. It’ll be more fun after he’s thrown somebody—​there now!”

The last exclamation of relief came as some one did come forward to try. He was a country yokel in his best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. Having brought his best girl to town, and being secure in his skill with his farm plugs, he strode forward timidly to make a name for himself in Highland Falls forever.

“Ah!” said Smithers, serenely. “One gent has nerve! I knew that America with her sons of freedom could produce one man bold enough to dare this feat.”

The country youth hesitated a moment in front of his mount, while the crowd leaned forward in expectation. Having petted Smasher in a professional way and observed that the horse still hung its sleepy head, the rider summoned all his nerve and straddled the pony. The pony was so small and the man’s legs so long that his toes still touched the sawdust.

Smasher never moved an inch; even his eyes never opened. The yokel took hold of the bridle, straightened himself up to a stiff and awkward position and gazed about him with an air of delicious triumph. The multitude began to cheer.

“That’s fine,” said Smithers, smiling blandly. “Really fine! Now make him go.”

The hayseed laid hold of the bridle and gave it a jerk.

“Git ap!” said he.

And the bronco got. He only moved one-half of his body; his heels went up in one cataclysmic plunge, and the rider went through the air like a streak. He picked himself up with a good deal of sawdust in his mouth, way over in the opposite corner. The crowd simply howled with laughter and Smithers beamed benignantly.

“The challenge still stands,” said he, laughing at the plight of the farmer, who limped to his feet with a look on his face that led the facetious cornetist in the band to play faintly:

“I’ll never go there any more.”

Which made the crowd laugh all the louder.

“Next!” roared the proprietor. “Somebody else come try it now! Next!”

At this stage of the game Mark unbottled Texas; and Texas arose slowly and made his way down to the ring.

“I reckon I’ll try that air critter,” said he.

Smithers’ smile was as expansive as his shirt front. Two such fellows as this were a rare treat; usually every one was daunted by the first failure. This fellow was evidently a regular hayseed, too.

“Most charmed,” said the proprietor. “Step right up, I pray you. Really, sir——​” There was something about his self-confident smile that “riled” our excitable Texan.

“Look a-yere!” he demanded, angrily, when he reached the ring. “You think I kain’t ride this hyar critter, don’t you? Hey?”

The whole crowd in that tent leaned forward excitedly; here was fun, a chance of a quarrel.

“Why, I’m sure I don’t know,” grinned the proprietor, suavely. “How should I know? Try it.”

“You got any money?” roared Texas.

“Why—​er—​yes. A little.”

Mr. Powers jammed his hands into one pocket and yanked out some bills.

“Go you one hundred I ride him!” he shouted.

“Bully, b’gee!” cried a voice in the crowd, and the rest roared in concert.

Smithers looked embarrassed.

“I—​that is—​I’ve hardly got so much—​I——”

“Shame! Shame!” howled the delighted spectators.

“Whar’s that air sporting blood ye were a-talkin’ ’bout?” roared Texas. “Wow! I thought nobody’d ever ridden the critter, doggone his—​er—​shoes. Thought ye were so sure? ’Fraid, hey? I knowed it.”

The crowd howled still louder.

“Tell ye what I’ll do,” cried Texas, waving his bills excitedly. “I’ll go you this yere hundred to twenty! How’s that?”

“Who’ll hold the stakes?” inquired the proprietor, weakly.

“Put ’em down thar in the ring,” said Texas. “Let everybody see ’em.”

Smithers left the tent hurriedly, while the crowd roared with impatience. He came back with the money, which Texas examined cautiously, and then dropped with his own on the sawdust. And then he turned toward the sleepy bronco.

“I’m ready now,” said he. “Bring the critter hyar.”

CHAPTER III.

NOT ON THE PROGRAMME.

You have perhaps read of Ben Hur and the famous chariot race, and remember how General Wallace describes the staring crowds about that amphitheatre. There was no one there a bit more thrilled and interested than the spectators of Smithers’ World Renowned Circus at this supreme moment. They were leaning forward, some of them having even risen to their feet; they were staring with open mouth, scarcely breathing.

The sympathies of every one were with that strange and outlandishly costumed stranger who seemed to have so much money and nerve.

Texas meanwhile was proceeding with a businesslike cautiousness. He examined the saddle girth and the stirrups and tightened both. Then after another survey he concluded that they didn’t suit him, and flung them off altogether.

“He’s going to ride bareback!” gasped the crowd.

That was the stranger’s purpose, evidently. He next examined the bridle, giving Smasher’s head a vigorous shake incidentally and making that wicked animal open one eye in surprise. And after that Texas was ready.

He stood at the horse’s head regarding him just one moment, and then seizing him by the mane, swung himself into the air and landed with a thud upon the pony’s back.

As usual, Smasher never moved. Texas did not wait for him to get ready to start, but dug his heels into his side with a crash that made the bronco leap two feet into the air, and gave a yank at the bit that made his head snap back. And then there was all the fun the most fastidious could want. The center of the ring was a perfect whirl of legs and bodies. The pony flung his hind feet into the air and then danced about on them; Texas simply dug his knees into his side and his heels into his ribs and sat up straight as an arrow, yelling in Texas dialect meanwhile.

Then Smasher reared himself upon his hind legs; he bit and plunged, and he kicked; he whirled around in a circle; he flung himself on the sawdust and rolled about the ring.

At this last move Texas had slipped off quick as lightning and stood calmly by, still holding the reins and yelling at the pony. The pony struggled to his feet again; while he was still on his knees Texas had thrown himself on his back and was once more kicking and shouting:

“Git up, thar, you vile critter, you! Git up, thar!”

Smasher got, and he started around that ring at breakneck speed, tossing his head and plunging, his body leaning at an angle of thirty degrees and the sawdust flying in clouds. Around and around he went. Smithers was staring in horror, the crowd was roaring with delight, and as for Texas, he was waving his hat and shouting triumphantly.

“Get up, thar, you ole Smasher! I’ll smash you! That the fastest you kin go? Whoop!”

Smasher tried a little faster yet, until the crowd got dizzy watching him. Then he tried one last resort more, stopped short as if he’d hit a stone wall. Texas simply clung and then gave him a whack that set him off for dear life again. Texas knew that he’d conquered then.

“Wow!” he roared. “Got any more ov ’em to break? Ain’t had so much fun in a year! Whoop! You circus folks think you kin ride, don’t you? I’ll show ye something!”

Suiting the action to the word, Texas, still lashing the horse to keep him going and still roaring to keep him straight, got upon his knees and then on his feet. Having stood on one leg for a couple of turns he dropped the reins turned over and flung his heels into the air. After that he dropped his hat and swept it up on the next turn around. Then seizing hold of the horse’s mane, he slid under his belly and a moment later appeared on the other side, and jerked himself up, Smasher meanwhile going at railroad speed. Nobody in the crowd saw how he did it, but they roared with delight all the same, and Smithers gritted his teeth with rage.

But Texas was by no means through yet. All his cowboy ingenuity had gone into the task of thinking up a suitable punishment for “that fresh circus feller” who had ventured to insult the nationality of cowboys. And Texas was getting ready to put a scheme into practice, while he still thumped merrily on the ribs of the dizzy bronco. He was fumbling about the pockets of his voluminous trousers, and suddenly the crowd, divining his intentions, let out a roar of delight.

“He’s got a lasso!”

Texas did have a lasso, a “rope,” he would have called it; if there was anything on earth he prided himself on it was his skill at “throwin’ a rope.” He had an arm half a foot thick as a result, and had half murdered several venturesome yearlings with it, as our old readers know. Texas was going to show some of the dexterity of that arm right now.

Of course the crowd was simply wild with expectation and curiosity. Even Smithers, from his position in the center of the ring, forgot about his lost twenty, and began turning around and around to see what the rider was doing. The rider was unwinding the lariat from his body. That did not take him very long, and then he flung it into the air and began to whirl it gracefully about his head.

“Whoop!” he roared, getting faster and faster, and driving Smasher at a perfect tear. “Whoop!”

“Hooray!” howled the crowd. “Hooray!”

And then suddenly, having gotten his distance and aim, Texas let drive that lasso. The result electrified and horrified every person in the place. For the noose sailed through the air, and before the amazed Smithers could even raise an arm it settled comfortably over his shoulders and the momentum of the pony jerked it tight as a vise.

The circus proprietor let out a yell that drowned even the roars of the Texan. He imagined himself hurled to the ground and dragged head first about the place. That was what the frightened crowd thought, too, as they sprang up shouting. But Texas had arranged things more wisely than that.

He had gauged the length of the lasso just so that the proprietor felt himself jerked forward and obliged to run to maintain his equilibrium. Onward rushed Smasher in a big circle, and onward also the reluctant, indignant, vociferously protesting Smithers in a little circle near the center of the ring. He could not stop; he could do nothing but run around and around with might and main, while the crowd fairly went into spasms of delight, and Texas roared whoops by the bucketful.

This delicious game continued until the proprietor stopped from sheer exhaustion. He stood still, panting, and before he could move again Texas had worked one more scheme. Around and around he swept in a fast narrowing circle of rope, while Smithers found, to his horror, that his arms were bound tight to his sides, he being swiftly reduced to the state of a mummy or an Indian totem pole. In vain he howled. Texas had the hilarious crowd with him, and he didn’t care. He finished the job neatly and then brought Smasher to a halt, and, dismounting, bowed with mock ceremony to the imprisoned proprietor. Then he pocketed his money with a flourish and marched back to his seat, the cynosure of every eye in the place. The sputtering victim he left to be unwound by one of the circus hands.

It was fully ten minutes before the show could go on. Texas was obliged to get up and bow to an encore three times, while Smithers shook his fist in impotent rage. Smasher was led off meekly. As to him, it may be said here that he never again went on the stage; the poor beast was sold to an itinerant peddler, for he was so docile that a child might ride him after that. But meanwhile, there was more excitement at the circus.

Texas having satiated the applauding multitude, turned to receive the congratulations of his delighted friends. To his surprise, he found that two of them, Mark and Dewey, were missing.

“Whar’s Mark?” he cried, anxiously.

“Mark!” echoed the other four, in just as much surprise.

They had not noticed that in the excitement Mark and his friend, the prize story-teller, had gotten up and slipped away. But gone they were, after some fun, so Texas surmised, and vowed it was mean in them to leave him. As if he hadn’t had fun enough already!

We shall follow the mischief-makers, for they were destined to meet with some interesting adventures before they returned to their companions.

Mark had a definite reason for stealing away thus unceremoniously. He had a scheme he meant to put into effect; but as it happened, all thought of it was driven from his mind by something he chanced to notice a few minutes later.

At the rear of the circus tent was Smithers’ “Magnificent Menagerie.” Persons who had tickets to the circus were allowed to visit that menagerie and gaze upon its treasures—​these included a single lean buffalo which was subsequently led out into the ring to perform; a single elephant which did likewise; the aforementioned laughing hyena, whose laugh had been somewhat embittered by bad treatment; and the world-famous “Smasher.”

Toward this part of the show Mark and Dewey were leisurely strolling, chatting merrily as usual. And then suddenly from inside the tent the band struck up a tune.

Now there was nothing startling about that. The band was accustomed to herald the entrance of each performer in that way. It was a very unmusical band; Dewey said it was cracked—​“cracked into four pieces, b’gee!” he added. The band apparently knew only three or four tunes, one of them being “The Girl I Left Behind Me”—​the song of Custer’s famous Seventh. That was where the excitement came in.

The West Point band had often played that tune and the cadets were used to marching to it. Mark had noticed four young fellows strolling just ahead of him; at the very first notes of that tune the four straightened up as one man and stepped forward—​left! left! A moment later they recollected where they were and resumed their former gait.

That little incident was not lost to Mark’s sharp eyes, however. He turned and nudged Dewey on the arm.

“Did you see that, old man?” he cried.

“Yes, b’gee, I did,” responded Dewey, “and I know what it means, too.”

The four were cadets!

Our two friends fairly gasped with delight as they realized that. The strangers had disappeared in the tent by that time and quick as a wink Mark sprang forward.

“Let’s see who they are,” he cried.

The two hurried up to the tent door and peered cautiously around the edge of the canvas. They could plainly see the backs of the others as they strolled away. An instant later Mark started back with a cry of delight. One of the four had turned around and shown his face for one instant. It was Bull Harris! And the rest were his “gang!”

Mark and Dewey stole away to a safe corner and sat down to consult. Of course there was but one thought in the minds of both of them. It was a chance for a joke, a superb one. Bull was in disguise, and would run for his life at the least suspicion of discovery. It was a golden opportunity, and such a one must not be allowed to pass, for anything in the world.

Our readers of course understand what were Mark Mallory’s feelings toward Bull Harris, the yearling. Bull was Mark’s deadliest enemy in West Point; Bull hated him with a concentrated hatred that had grown with each unsuccessful attempt to outwit Mark, to disgrace him, to get him expelled. As for Mark, he did not hate Bull, but he loved to worry that ill-natured and malignant youth with all kinds of clever schemes.

That was the reason why, the very instant Mark recognized the yearling, the thought flashed over him—​what a chance for some fun.

“We mustn’t let him see us,” Mark whispered to Dewey. “He’d recognize us in spite of our disguise. What shall we do?”

“Let’s go in and follow them,” chuckled Dewey. “See what they’re doing, b’gee!”

This suggestion was acted upon instantly. The two conspirators got up and stole over to the tent door, slid in, and dodged behind one of the wagons.

It was a very small tent, and they could almost have touched their victims with an umbrella. Yet the victims had not the least suspicion of any danger.

“They are feeding the elephant,” whispered Mark. “’Sh!”

Bull and his three friends had their Dockets stuffed with peanuts and were amusing themselves immensely. The single elephant was chained to the back of the tent; there was a small railing in front of him to keep people from going too near. That did not prevent them from throwing peanuts, however. It is a lot of fun to get a big elephant to raise his trunk in eager expectation and then to torment him by not giving him anything to eat. It is fun, at any rate, if you like to tease; Bull liked to, and the madder the elephant got the better he liked it.

An elephant is a peculiarly intelligent-looking animal. He can indicate his feeling very well with those twinkling little eyes of his. And the two conspirators chuckled as they noticed the way the animal was regarding his four tormentors. And then suddenly Dewey, chancing to put one hand in his pocket, gave a gasp of delight.

“By jingo!” he cried. “I’ve got it!”

Mark stared at him in surprise as he drew forth from his pocket a small bottle of whitish substance.

“What is it?” he inquired, whispering low.

“Something I got for the Parson,” chuckled Dewey. “It’s caustic potash! Watch!”

Dewey took the cork out of the innocent little bottle and sprang out from behind the wagon. It was all done so quickly that Mark scarcely had time to realize what was up.

There was no one else in the tent to see; the four were too intent upon their fun. Dewey crept up behind them, and with as much deftness as if he had been a pickpocket, dumped the contents of the bottle into Bull’s “peanut” pocket.

A moment more and the excitement began.

Bull did not notice the substance when he reached for another peanut. He took it out and deftly “chucked” it into the elephant’s mouth.

Concerning the action of caustic potash when moistened there is no room to write a treatise here. If Parson Stanard had been there he would doubtless have explained how the latent heat of the substance is released by decomposition, etc., a process known as “slaking,” and so on. Suffice it to say that it gets hot.

Bull noticed the elephant look funny, he didn’t know why. There was a pail of water at the infuriated animal’s side, and he thrust his trunk into it and drank a huge draught to relieve the pain.

And then he raised his trunk, full of water as it was, and to Bull’s horror and consternation, deliberately blew a heavy column of it straight into his tormentor’s face!

CHAPTER IV.

BULL HARRIS BEATS A RETREAT.

The scene that resulted is left to the reader’s imagination. Bull was simply drenched; he was sputtering and gasping with rage. As for the elephant, he set up a terrific trumpeting, which, together with the cries of the cadets, brought the circus attendants in on a run.

(It is needless to say that Mark and Dewey had fled long ago, ready to burst with hilarity.)

The circus men had expected some danger from the cries they heard. When they discovered what was really the matter they broke into roars of laughter, for they were only human. That made Bull all the madder.

“You shall pay for this!” he shouted, furiously. “Why don’t you keep that beast where he can’t hurt anything?”

“What made you tease him?” retorted one of the others, shrewdly suspecting that the meek old elephant’s act was not uncaused.

“I wasn’t teasing him!” roared Bull. “You lie if you——”

Bull was red with rage, but he turned a little pale as one of the men sprang toward him.

“Shut up!” said he, “or I’ll dump you in the rest of that water and roll you in the mud besides.”

It was at least half an hour before Mark and Dewey managed to recover. The whole affair was so utterly ludicrous! Such a tale it would make to tell the rest of the Seven!

“Gee whiz!” cried Mark, suddenly. “I forgot all about that. Let’s hustle over and tell ’em now.”

“B’gee, that’s so,” cried Dewey. “I never thought of it, either. Reminds me of a story I once heard, b’gee——”

That was a very funny story; it was one of Dewey’s very best, and I wish that I could repeat it. The only trouble was that it was never finished. For, standing where they were, near the menagerie tent again, they heard two voices in conversation. What they heard completely drove from Dewey’s mind all thoughts of jokes and stories. It suggested a prospect of sport that knocked all previous adventures into the shade.

This was the conversation:

“Mike drunk! For heaven’s sakes, man! That’s the second time this week. How on earth will we ever do without him?”

The voice was that of the proprietor, all his anger at his treatment by Texas having left him at what was evidently some bad news.

“We’ll have to miss showing the dime museum tent again!” he groaned. “And it’ll mean five dollars out of my pocket, after I’ve just lost a twenty, too! Confound it!”

“Can’t you get somebody to take his place?” inquired another voice.

“No! How can I? I couldn’t do it myself, for I can’t remember half the jokes and things Mike used to get off in his speech when he exhibited the freaks. He kept the people laughing and they never saw how rotten the confounded exhibition is. And now what on earth am I to do?”

This dialogue was not meant for Mark and Dewey, but they heard it in passing. Now they were out for fun, bold and daring, both of them. And to each at the same moment those words suggested a wildly delicious idea. They turned and stared at each other with a look of inspiration on their faces; gave one gasp of delight; and then Dewey seized Mark by the shoulders.

“B’gee, old man,” he cried, “I dare you!”

An instant later Smithers felt a light tap upon the arm. He turned and confronted a tramp in a torn yellow and red tennis blazer, with hands bound up in rags.

“What do you want?”

“I was just going to say I’d exhibit your museum freaks for you. I and my friend there.”

“You!” gasped the professor. “Who are you?”

“I’m a professional stump speaker,” said the tramp, winking knowingly. “And my friend here’s a professional joke writer. And if you’ll just show us the freaks and give us a while to think up jokes, we’ll make you famous.”

“How much do you want?” inquired Smithers, suspiciously.

“Nothing. We’ll do it for love, to get you out of a scrape.”

The man gazed at them in doubt for a moment more, and then he turned upon his heel.

“Come,” he said, briefly, and led the way out to the gayly painted tent mentioned previously.

The four members of the Banded Seven who had stayed behind to see the rest of the show wandered out disconsolately after it was over. Mr. Smithers had previously announced from the ring that the marvelous museum was now on exhibition for the “purely nominal sum of ten cents,” also that Professor Salvatori would be on hand to deliver one of his famous addresses, assisted by Mr. So-and-So. Finding that this bait had been taken by most of the crowd, and not knowing what else to do with themselves, since their leader had deserted them, the four strolled into the much painted tent.

They were but little prepared for the amazing sight which greeted them after a few minutes’ wait. In the first place there were a number of glass cases with little platforms upon which the professor was to mount, and in the second there was a crowd of people wandering about staring curiously. Then suddenly the trumpet blew a blast, and with Mr. Smithers at their head, in strode—​good heavens! Mark and Dewey!

The plebes could hardly believe their eyes; they stared and gasped, and then gasped and stared. They rubbed their eyes and pinched themselves. And meanwhile Professor Salvatori beamed down on them benignly as he stepped lightly up to the platform.

“Wow!” gasped Texas. “He’s a-goin’ to make a speech!”

“Bless my soul!” muttered Indian. “What an extraordinary proceeding!”

Meanwhile Mr. Smithers had stepped out upon the platform with his best professional style.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you that it gives me the greatest of pleasure to present to you this afternoon my distinguished friends, Professor Salvatori (a bow) and his able and witty assistant (another). Ladies and gentlemen, Professor Salvatori is so well known to you all that I am sure it would be a presumption on my part to tell you of his history. The address which he delivered before his royal highness, the Duke of Bavaria, was published in all the leading scientific reviews of the day, and I am sure was appreciated by you all. It was during his remarkable trip through the wilds of Central Africa that most of these extraordinary specimens were collected, notably that magnificent painting of a Polar bear devouring a walrus which you doubtless observed upon the outside of the tent. Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you you have a treat in store. Listen, all of you. Professor Salvatori.”

During this most original and startling introduction, Professor Salvatori had been bowing right and left, and the four had been staring their eyes out. In the midst of it the fun-loving Texas seized the others and drew them to one side.

“Fellers,” he whispered, “Mark’s a-goin’ to make a speech. He didn’t tell us. Let’s git square.”

“How?”

“Let’s guy him!”

And in half a second more those four rascals had vowed to “bust up” that speech. Truly there was fun in store when once Professor Salvatori got started, and the conspirators fairly danced about with impatience.

Professor Salvatori meanwhile had not been hesitating, but with a jaunty stride had stepped to the fore. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. Why should a man who had lectured before the Duke of Bavaria care for country bumpkins like these? He wiped his brow with a graceful flourish and cleared his throat pompously.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said he.

That was a fine starter and the professor gazed at the crowd as much to say “Could you have done any better?” The four fellows chuckled.

“After the most embarrassing eulogy which my old friend, General Smithers, has given me, I am sure I need say nothing more about myself to you. It would be presumptuous and therefore—​ahem!—​I shall proceed immediately to the business in hand. Now then!”

This graceful introduction over the professor signaled his assistant in a superior way to lift the curtain of a glass case disclosing the “huge” boa constrictor some five feet long.

“In the words of the poem, ladies and gentlemen,” said the professor.

“‘Oh here’s your anaconda boa constrictor

Oft called anaconda for brevity.

He’s noted the world throughout

For his age and great longevity.

“‘He can eat himself, crawl through himself,

And come out of himself with agility;

He can tie himself in a double bowknot

And undo himself with the greatest facility.’”

This masterpiece could not prevent a groan of disgust from the crowd who were disappointed at the size. Texas saw a chance to begin right there.

“’Tain’t so big as the picture!” he roared, and the spectators murmured approvingly.

They thought the bold fellow was out for more fun and they meant to back him up.

“That picture,” returned Mark, smiling, “is the exact size the boa constrictor would have been if he hadn’t died some fifty years ago, a misfortune for which I cannot be to blame. At present he is stuffed——”

“The whole show’s stuffed!”

It was the Parson who said that. Mark stared at the clerical and classical gentlemen until he saw that every one in the crowd was likewise taking in that lank burly form. And then he remarked dryly:

“You’d look a sight better if you were stuffed, too.”

That brought down the house and Professor Salvatori knew that he had won the crowd over. He beamed upon his chagrined friends benevolently and went on. He narrated several marvelous tales of his adventures with large snakes in Africa, the province of Farina land. And then Dewey was promptly reminded of one of his yarns, b’gee! which he told in his inimitable way and made everybody laugh.

Then they moved on to the Siamese twins.

“He’s dead, too,” observed Mark. “He died in jail, poor fellow. He’d committed a crime one-half of him, and it was quite a problem how to keep in jail without keeping the other one in too. He had committed a horrible crime——”

“What was it?” cried Indian, innocently.

“Bigamy,” said Mark, calmly. “He’d been leading a double life.”

By this time things were progressing with delightful smoothness. The crowd was in good humor, laughing at everything. When you once get people in a laughing mood they do that. Mr.—​er—​General Smithers was beaming serenely, thinking of offering a permanent job to these two quick-witted unfortunates.

And in the meantime they were still talking.

“And now we come to the India-rubber man,” said Mark. “A little of this India-rubber man goes a very long way, and therefore I shall move on to this next curious and most interesting specimen, the man with the iron jaw. He is indeed worthy of notice.”

Texas and his mischievous friends ventured yet one more effort then.

“Where’s the iron jaw?” they shouted, all in a breath.

“Where’s the jaw!” echoed Mark, indignantly. “Why don’t you use your eyes and see? It’s lying right there in his lap for you to look at.”

The crowd roared with delight at that; sure enough the man held up a bit of rusty iron in the shape of a human jaw. As for Texas he started back and stared about him in bewilderment.

And then suddenly came a most amazing development. The spectators could put but one construction upon it; the savage Texas was enraged at having been laughed at.

With a muttered exclamation he leaped forward, sprang at a bound to the platform, and rushing at Professor Salvatori dealt him a blow upon the face!

There was the wildest confusion in a moment. The crowd hissed and shouted indignantly. Smithers rushed forward. The rest of the Banded Seven gasped. As for Mark he started back white as a sheet with anger.

“Why Texas!” he cried in an amazed whisper.

“You chump!” muttered Texas under his breath. “Don’t you understand? Fly for your life! Chase me!”

Mark gazed about him in bewilderment; an instant later he caught sight of something that told him all. Just entering the door of the tent, a lady leaning upon his arm, was a blue uniformed figure, a tactical officer, Lieutenant Allen! And quick as a flash Mark saw the ruse, and with a cry of mock rage made a savage leap at Texas.

Texas sprang to the ground, Mark at his heels, and carefully looking away from the distant “tac.” Texas plunged through the crowd, Mark following at full tilt and shouting for vengeance. Texas slid under the tent wall, Mark after him, and then Dewey and the other plebes in full hue and cry. A minute more and they were flying across lots to the shelter of the woods, General Smithers, all his patrons, and in fact all Highland Falls gazing at their flying figures in amazement.

“A lunatic asylum broke loose,” was the ultimate verdict.

The Banded Seven once in the woods and alone, seated themselves on the ground and stared at each other and roared with laughter for an hour.

Then they slipped back to camp fully satisfied with the fun they had experienced that day.

CHAPTER V.

ANOTHER ESCAPADE IS PLANNED.

“Garrisons, N. Y., August 11th, 18—​.

“Miss Fuller requests the pleasure of the Banded Seven’s company at an informal party to be given any time they please to-night.”

Such was the invitation, a rather curious and unconventional one. But that gave it no less interest in the eyes of the seven lads who were all gazing at it at once.

The one who was reading the note was Mark Mallory. Next to him was Texas, and Texas was dancing about in excitement.

“Wow!” he roared. “Say, fellers, ain’t that great? Think o’ gittin’ an invitation to a party, an’ we only plebes. Whoop! An’ won’t we have fun, though!”

“Shall we go?” inquired some one.

“Go!” cried Texas. “O’ course we’ll go!”

“But it’s out of bounds,” protested “Indian,” the fat and timid Joseph Smith. “It’s ’way across the river at Garrisons, and if we’re found out we’ll be expelled. Bless my soul!”

“’Tain’t the fust time we’ve been out o’ bounds,” observed Texas, grinning. “An’ ef I thought ’twar the last, I don’t think I’d stay in this hyar stupid old place.”

“But we’ve no clothes to go in, bah Jove!” objected Master Chauncey Van Rensselaer Mount-Bonsall, of Fifth Avenue, New York. “We cawn’t wear our uniforms, y’know, for some one would recognize the deuced things, bah Jove; and we have nothing else.”

“Nothin’ else!” exclaimed Texas. “Ain’t we got the ones we wore this hyar very Saturday afternoon when we ran off to see the circus down to Highlan’ Falls? Kain’t we wear them?”

“Wear them!” gasped Chauncey, the prim and particular “dude.” “Bah Jove, I should like to see myself going to call on a girl, y’ know, in the horrible rags we wore!”

“I guess we know Grace Fuller well enough to make allowances,” put in Mark, laughing. “You know she told us she was going to ask us to steal over and pay her a visit some night. She said the cadets often do.”

“But not in such costumes as we wore,” protested Chauncey.

“I don’t imagine they had much better,” answered Mark. “They’d hardly wear their uniforms through Garrisons, and up the road we’d have to follow. And if they had cit’s clothing smuggled in, I doubt if it was much of a fit. However, we’ve got till taps to talk it over.”