Chapter XXIX: The End of It All

Mark Mallory lay hiding in the bushes at the edge of the camp. There was little for Mark to do except to wait, to wait with all possible patience. It did not seem likely that anything would happen until Texas returned.

The camp was perfectly silent and motionless; that figure which left it was the last to appear. The moonlight shone on the white tents with a ghostly pallor, which the dancing camp-fires served to increase. But there was no sign of Bull or his friends――either behind or before. Mark kept watch in both directions.

He waited perhaps five minutes thus. Then he began to think that it was time for Texas to return. He allowed him opportunity to reach the clearing and hurry back; there was no reason for his delaying. And consequently when he did not come it was a very short while indeed before his friend became suspicious. Something must have kept Powers; and if something were keeping him who could it be but Bull?

A good deal hinged upon Mark’s next action, as it happened. But he had not the least idea of that――of the danger he was to run into. The problem as it presented itself to him was that Texas didn’t return promptly, as he had said he would; and for that there must be some reason. That reason Mark must find.

“It won’t do any harm to take a run back there and see,” he mused. “Bull and that gang may have overpowered Texas in spite of his guns.”

There was no sign of trouble in camp. With this idea in his mind, the plebe arose hastily and without a moment’s hesitation, started back into the woods. He, too, was becoming suspicious and he clutched his revolver tightly.

If the reader has ever found himself in a forest at midnight he knows that it is no fun. And it makes no difference how courageous one may be, either. Mark was no coward, but he was human, and he felt quite creepy as he pushed his way ahead through the black forest shadows. He pictured to himself all sorts of unpleasant possibilities, the least of which was a conflict with those yearlings.

There was but little time, however, for such unpleasant anticipations, for the distance to the clearing was short. Mark reached the edge of it without interruption of any kind and promptly pushed his way through the surrounding thicket. A moment later he was standing upon the spot he sought.

He saw no one; the place was as deserted and silent as it had been when Texas was there. But for the shadows of the trees that waved to and fro on the ground, and for the gentle night breeze that rustled through the branches, the place was as silent as death.

Mark stood motionless where he was; he held his weapon in his hand ready for the slightest danger, but as he gazed about him and saw no sign of any foe, his vigilance relaxed and he bowed his head in thought.

“Where on earth can Texas have gone?” he muttered, half aloud. “This is the strangest――――”

He never finished the sentence. A sound had interrupted him, a sound which made his flesh creep. It was a low groan.

Mark started back in consternation. It had come from the edge of the clearing, that voice! And whose could it be but the Texan’s? Texas had been captured by the yearlings!

Mark never hesitated an instant. He made a leap for the spot, cocking his revolver as he did so. He bent down to push his way through the bushes, to rescue his gallant comrade.

The next instant, with a thud that shook the woods and almost tumbled the plebe upon his face, a heavy body landed upon his back and flung its arms about him.

But one idea occurred to Mark at that moment. It was Bull or one of the yearlings! His first impulse was to point his pistol over his shoulder and fire. He checked it as he recovered his self-possession; he did not want to shoot anybody, and he did not want to alarm the camp. He would fight this hand-to-hand battle, even though he was at a disadvantage.

Mark’s assailant evidently knew that he was armed, for the plebe felt a hand reaching out toward the weapon. With a violent effort he managed to turn to get a view of his assailant. When he succeeded he gave a gasp of horror, just as the unfortunate lieutenant had done. For he found out then who his assailant was.

Quick as a flash Mark aimed his revolver straight in the other’s face. He pulled the trigger, but he was too late.

His assailant’s finger had been slipped in between the trigger and the guard, and the weapon was useless! The next instant the man gave a violent wrench that nearly broke Mark’s wrist and that sent his revolver flying through the air.

Then came the battle. Mark Mallory found himself face to face with a horrible creature; he was struggling in the deadly grip of “the maniac of the den!”

It was a fight to the death. The creature had the strength of a tiger; Mark could see his muscles bulging beneath his naked skin, and he felt a grip of steel tightening about him. He saw, too, a ferocious face glaring into his, warning him to expect no mercy. The man’s hot and eager breath beat against the lad’s brow, and his eyes fairly flashed with fury.

He was an old man, with a great, long beard and hideous, matted hair. He was almost naked and apparently he was dumb. The silence with which he made his grim struggle was the most appalling part of it all.

The two swayed back and forth in the clearing, straining every ounce of muscle that was in them. The maniac was strong, but he had a foeman worthy of him. The grip in which he had the lad served to bind his hands to his side, but when the other came to bear him to the ground it was quite another matter. That meant a wrestling match, and a long and weary one, too.

It seemed an age to Mark in his terrible plight. He could not free himself, writhe and twist as he would; and he knew not what trick his savage opponent might try next. And so, back and forth he staggered, bending and swaying.

The climax came with the swiftness of a lightning flash. The maniac, furious at the delay, tried the same trick he had tried upon Allen. He released his grip, sprang like a wildcat upon his victim, fastened his grasping, clawlike fingers in his throat, and shut them together like a steel trap.

But there was something that the fiendish creature had not calculated on, if indeed he had calculated at all. That thing was the quickness that months of West Point discipline had given to Mark, to say nothing of numberless battles with the yearlings. The lad realized his deadly peril.

He clinched his fist and swung his mighty arm with a blow like a sledge-hammer stroke.

He caught his assailant full upon the chin, and the latter’s head shot back with a snap. He recovered himself a moment later and sprang in again. But he had lost his chance.

Mark was ready for him then, nor did he mean to be caught in a trap again. He was as quick to leap away as his assailant to leap at him. After that it was a boxing match, at which none was more skillful than Mark. Bounding, dodging here and there, his foe never once succeeded in fastening upon him, while Mark landed blow after blow with all his might.

The plebe was watching warily for a chance to end the battle. He knew that he had it all his way then. The maniac halted, breathless; the other took his cue. A moment later the savage creature was lying prone upon the ground, writhing helplessly from the effects of the crushing swing that had landed full upon his forehead.

Mark would have stopped to bind him safely in some way, but at that instant he heard the groan repeated. Texas! And instantly Mark dashed toward the spot again, wild with dread for his friend.

The figure was lying upon the ground in the bushes. The plebe snatched him up, bore him out into the moonlight. The next moment he staggered back almost blinded with horror at what he saw. It was Allen!

The lieutenant was gasping feebly; he fixed his bloodshot eyes upon Mark. Then sat up convulsively and gazed about him in terror.

“The man!” he gasped. “The man!”

Mark was too dumfounded to answer in words, but he pointed across the clearing at the figure.

“Catch him!” panted the officer. “Don’t let him get――away!”

At this moment they saw the maniac raise himself upon his elbow. Quick as a wink Mark sprang up and made a dive for his revolver. He found it lying on the ground, and whirled about. But he was too late. The man was gone.

“Anyhow, he won’t come back,” was the plebe’s reflection. “And I don’t care if he does. Great heavens! I’m gone! Allen’s seen me.”

Mark’s first impulse was to turn and make a dash for camp, in hope that the dazed lieutenant had not recognized him. But he felt that the officer needed help; so he turned and marched resolutely toward him.

“He――he nearly had me killed,” the latter gasped, as Mark helped him to a sitting posture. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” was the other’s truthful answer.

“You have saved my life,” the officer whispered, hoarsely. “It was a terrible experience. I saw you fighting.”

There was a silence after that.

“Help me back to camp,” said Allen, at last. “And take this for a warning. Don’t leave it at night again.”

“I’ll not have another chance,” groaned Mark. “This’ll mean court-martial for me.”

A moment later he almost tumbled backward with amazement and delight.

“Nonsense,” said Allen. “I do not mean to report you. I couldn’t.”

When Mark got back to his tent he found Texas almost in tears.

“It’s all up with me,” said the tall plebe. “I’ll pack up to-morrow.”

“Don’t be so sure of it,” said Mark. Then he told his own tale. “I’ll see Allen in the morning.” And he did.

To cut a long story short, Texas escaped――through Mark’s efforts. But the escape was so narrow that the tall youth was mighty sober for a long while after.

“We must square up with Bull, b’gee!” said Dewey.

“Yea, by Zeus!” came from the Parson.

“Of course, bah Jove!” lisped Chauncey.

And Sleepy nodded affirmatively.

And now let us sound taps and say, as do the guards:

“All’s well!”

THE END.

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Transcriber’s Note:

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like this_. Inconsistent hyphenation and dialect in the text were not changed. One misspelled word was corrected. Extraneous punctuation marks were removed, missing marks were added, and incomplete marks were finished. Repeated headers and footers in the advertisements at the end of the book were deleted.