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.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

"BABY."

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.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

SPORT WITH A PLEBE.

"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' gals As thick ez hasty poodin'."

"Louder!" commanded several voices.

So Ephraim repeated the stanza, singing still louder.

"Dot vos petter," complimented Hans; "bud id don'd peen loudt enough to blease Lieudenant Cordan."

"Louder! louder!" ordered the yearlings. "Open your mouth and let the sound out. You can never expect to sing if you pen the words up in such a cavern as that."

This time Ephraim shouted the words at the tops of his lungs, and he was complimented on all sides, while Barney Mulloy hastily said:

"Kape roight at it, an' kape on singing till ye're towld t' stop by me. Ye know my voice, an' don't ye moind another thot spakes to yez. Av he kapes bothering av ye, tell him to let ye alone, ur you'll kick th' back-strap av his trousers clane out through th' top av his head. Oi'll shtand by yez. Now, let her go again, an' kape at it."

The country boy began once more, and this time he bellowed the words so they could be heard for a mile.

The grinning yearlings lost no time in slipping quietly away from that locality, and taking positions at a distance, where they could watch what followed.

All alone in the street in front of his tent stood the blindfolded plebe, bellowing the words at the full capacity of his voice, and repeating them over and over.

In a very few seconds Lieutenant Gordan, the regular army officer at the academy, came marching briskly down the street in the dusk, his face so red that it almost seemed to glow like a light. Stopping short in front of the lone plebe, he called:

"Sir!"

Ephraim kept on with

"An' there he saw the boys an' gals Ez thick ez hasty poodin'."

"Sir!" came sharply from the lieutenant.

Ephraim began the stanza over again, roaring it louder than before, if possible:

"Yankee Dewdle came to taown 'Long with Cap'n Goodwin——"

"Sir!" cried Lieutenant Gordan.

"Git aout!" snorted the boy from Vermont. "I'm here ter sing, an' I'm goin' ter fill ther bill, by gum!"

Then he began at the first of the stanza, and howled straight through it, for all that the lieutenant spoke to him twice.

In the dusky shadows not far away the cadets were convulsed with laughter they could not suppress.

"Sir!" thundered Lieutenant Gordan, "you are making a fool of yourself!"

"Ef you don't shut up an' stop interruptin' me, I'll be gol darned ef I don't kick you clean inter the middle uv next week! You ain't ther feller that sot me ter singin', fer your voice is of a diffrunt color than his. Naow you keep mum, ur I'll take this handkerchief off my eyes, spit on my hands, an' sail right into you, by thunder!"

Then Ephraim began once more:

"Yankee Dewdle came to taown 'Long with——"

The exasperated lieutenant snatched the handkerchief from Ephraim's eyes, almost bursting with rage.

"If you don't quit this howling, I'll lodge you in the guardhouse!" he declared.

The boy came near smashing the lieutenant with his fist, and then, seeing who it was, he gave a gasp and nearly fainted on the spot.

"Where's them fellers?" he murmured, looking around for his tormentors. "By gum! they've slipped! I've bin fooled!"

After giving him some sharp advice, the lieutenant sent him into his tent, and departed.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

AN OPEN INSULT.

The spirit of mischief seemed to break loose in the camp that night. A dozen times were some of the plebes hauled out of bed and slid around the streets enveloped in their own blankets, ridden on a tentpole, or an old wheelbarrow, tossed in tent flies, or nearly smothered with smoke that filled their tents from the burning of some vile-smelling stuff.

Time after time was the guard turned out to capture the perpetrators of these tricks, but still alarm followed alarm, and not one of the jokers was captured.

Every inspection seemed to show the older cadets all in their beds and sleeping with amazing soundness, considering the racket that was going on.

Lieutenant Gordan was at his wits' end, for never had there been such an outbreak in camp since his coming to Fardale, and he began to believe there was something radically wrong about the system as enforced at the academy.

The professors were driven from their tents and compelled to take refuge in the academy in order to get any sleep, and they all felt like resigning their positions and seeking occupations in other walks of life.

At West Point such things were once possible, but the introduction of long rows of gas lamps put an end to it by illuminating the camp so that the pranks could not be performed without the greatest danger of detection.

At Fardale the gas lamps were missing, and a dark night during the first weeks of each yearly encampment was certain to be a wild night.

It happened that Fred Davis had been assigned to guard duty on this particular night, and, for a long time, none of the disturbances took place on his post.

At length, however, when things had been quiet for an ominous length of time, Fred saw three figures coming swiftly toward him through the darkness.

"Halt!" he commanded, promptly. "Who comes there?"

"The corporal of the guard," was the reply, given in a muffled tone of voice.

"Advance, corporal of the guard, and give the countersign."

Then followed a suspicious hesitation. Fred fancied he heard a faint sound in his rear, but, before he could make a move, a blanket was thrown over his head, and he was hurled to the ground.

He struggled with surprising strength, but he was helpless in the hands of his assailants. His musket had been torn from his hands, and he seemed to feel something slitting and tearing his clothing. Once he was struck or kicked with great violence.

After a few moments of this treatment, Davis managed to get his head clear of the enfolding blanket and shout for help. His cries produced another alarm in camp, and his assailants quickly took to flight, leaving him in a badly battered condition.

Fred got upon his feet, and was standing dazed and bewildered when the corporal of the guard actually appeared, with the guard at his back.

Lieutenant Gordan, who had been on the alert for another outbreak, showed up at the same time; but Davis was so bewildered that it was several moments before he could answer their questions.

It was finally found that he had been robbed of his gun, his belt slashed, and his uniform cut in half a dozen different places, so it was quite ruined.

By this time Lieutenant Gordan was thoroughly angry, and he declared he would give his time and attention during the next week to the discovery and punishment of the perpetrators of the outrage.

"There is going to be an end to this hazing of sentries," he asserted. "Somebody shall be made an example of, and we'll see if that will do any good."

Fred was told to go to his tent and get to bed, and he was only too glad to do so.

Somehow, in the morning, the report got around that Davis had been stabbed or cut in the attack upon him. Frank lost no time in investigating, finding his fag attending to duties about his own tent.

In answer to Merriwell's questions, Fred said he had not been cut in any way, but his clothing had been mutilated, and he had been robbed of his gun, cartridge-box and bayonet-scabbard. He showed Frank his clothing, and the latter was scarcely less indignant than Lieutenant Gordan had been.

"This is not fun," Merriwell declared. "It is malicious and wanton brutality, and I fancy I can lay my hands on the fellow who was at the bottom of it."

The search for Fred's rifle had proved unsuccessful, and so he was given another from the armory, while a new uniform was ordered for him.

Lieutenant Gordan came around, and questioned the unlucky plebe again concerning the assault upon him; but it had been too dark for him to recognize any of his assailants, and the voice of the fellow who had announced himself as corporal of the guard had been muffled and disguised.

It now began to appear that the unusual activity during the night had been for the purpose of drawing the attention to the side of the camp opposite Davis' post, so that the attack upon him might be carried out successfully.

The boys found enough to think of and talk about during such opportunities as were given them.

At dinner the conversation was almost entirely about the tumultuous events of the night, and, by keeping eyes and ears open, Frank sought to discover who knew the most concerning those things which had taken place.

Bascomb seemed in high spirits. Over and over, in a sarcastic way, he repeated Lieutenant Gordan's assertion that such actions were outrageous, and must be stopped, appearing very grave as he did so, but winking slyly to some particular friend.

And Frank noted every fellow to whom Bascomb winked.

The big fellow could not keep his bullying propensities suppressed, and the sight of Fred Davis seemed to arouse him. Singling out the little plebe, he took a station at the opposite side of the table, observing:

"It is really too bad anybody should haze a pretty boy like him. Look at the tender blue in his eyes, and the delicate pink in his cheeks. Isn't he just too sweet to live! Oh, the fellows won't do a thing to him here—not a thing!"

Fred paid no attention to Bascomb, although the hot blood rushed to his face.

The bully continued:

"Before you, gentlemen, masticating his rations, sits a section edition of the late lamented George Washington. Those who are conversant with history are aware that little George found it impossible to tell a lie. Evidently Baby has heard of George, and seeks to emulate the Father of his Country, for he also finds it extremely difficult to tell a lie. Gentlemen, you may, at this very moment, be regarding a future president of the United States. The thought should overcome you with awe."

Bascomb's friends snickered, and the big yearling proceeded to address himself directly to Davis.

"Look here, Baby," he said, "I want you to tell us just what happened to you last night. We want to know the exact facts of the case."

With a trace of spirit, Davis looked up, and asked:

"Don't you, sir?"

"Don't I what?" demanded Bascomb, harshly.

"Don't you know?"

"What do you mean by that? How should I know?"

"I thought you might remember," said Fred, in a low tone.

That was enough to give the bully his opportunity to rave and bluster.

"That is an insult!" he fiercely declared, glaring at the little plebe as if he longed to devour him. "Such an insinuation is an insult! Do you mean to say that I had anything to do with the assault upon you?"

"I don't mean to say anything more about it."

"Oh, you don't? That is actually an open defiance. But I am going to put a question to you, and see if you will refuse to answer me. What do you know about it?"

"I know enough to mind my own business."

Frank laughed softly, and it was Bascomb's turn to flush angrily.

"You are very cool about it," grated the bully, reaching out and picking up a glass of water. "Perhaps this will make you still cooler."

He flung the water full and fair into Fred Davis' face.



CHAPTER XL.

FOR THE UNDER DOG.

In an instant every lad save Davis was on his feet, for all knew what naturally followed an act of this sort.

But the natural order of events did not take place. Davis slowly and carefully wiped the water from his face with the napkin. His hand trembled a little, and his cheeks were pale, the color having fled from them in a moment.

Frank had taken a quick step forward, ready to see fair play.

Although it was generally known that Davis was a peaceful sort of a fellow, who would not get into trouble if he could avoid it, still all expected he would show resentment at this open insult.

Bascomb stood with an insolent sneer on his face, waiting. As Davis made no move, he broke into a short laugh.

"There's courage for you, gentlemen!" he said, scornfully. "Why, the fellow hasn't as much spirit as a dead mouse!"

Frank was about to speak, when Davis slowly rose to his feet.

"I suppose I am expected to fight in a case like this," he said, his voice shaking.

Some of the cadets who were always eager to see a fight of any sort, no matter how unevenly the antagonists might be matched, quickly said:

"That's right. You must fight."

"I have never done such a thing in my life," declared Davis; "but I do feel like it now. You have laughed at me because I promised my mother that I would not lie, and I will give you a chance to laugh again. I promised her I would not fight, and I shall keep my word."

"Baby boy!"

"Mamma's petsie!"

"Softie!"

These terms of derision came from several sources, and Frank was swift to note every one.

Bascomb laughed again.

"You are altogether too good to live, Baby!" he said. "You make me sick!"

Frank had kept quiet as long as was possible. He saw that Davis did not mean to fight, and he made a resolve to save the plebe if possible by taking up his quarrel.

With two swift steps Merriwell confronted Bascomb.

"Sir," he said, speaking rapidly, and in a low tone, "I have been a witness to this entire affair."

"Well?" sneered the big yearling.

"I want to say that I think Davis perfectly right in refusing to fight you. You are larger and older than he is, you have nearly, if not quite, twice as much strength as he has, and your reputation is that of a slugger. He would not stand a show with you, and you know it, for which reason you have seemed to select him as an object of your bullying attentions."

Frank looked Bascomb straight in the eye, and the big fellow's face grew black with anger.

"What do you want?" he muttered.

"I want to tell you what I think of you, and I am going to do so. Davis has been reared like a gentleman, and it is but natural that he should recoil from contact with such as you."

"Do you mean to say I am no gentleman?"

"That is exactly what I mean to say, sir. No gentleman ever plays the bully, as you have done."

Bascomb made a move, as if he would do something desperate, and, on the instant, two of his particular friends caught hold of him, saying hastily:

"Not now, old man—not here! It would spoil everything."

Now Bascomb was not longing for a fight with Merriwell, and he would gladly have done something to cause the officers to interfere; but, to his regret, he saw that he had been too slow about it. So he sullenly muttered:

"All right, fellows; I won't smash him here."

"But you'll meet him later—you'll have to," eagerly said Rupert Reynolds, a fellow who made a pretension of being "sporty," and who was a great admirer of gamecocks and prize-fighters, for which reason he had grown very friendly with the slugger of the academy. "This affair must be settled in the regular manner."

"I didn't suppose I'd have to fight the whole academy," came sulkily from the bully. "If every sneak in school had somebody to step in and fight his battles, things would soon undergo a change."

As he said this, he cast a contemptuous glance at Davis, who was looking on, in a helpless way.

"You may fight or not, as you like," said Frank, serenely. "But you know what I think of a bully who is too cowardly to tackle a fellow he fears may be his match."

And then, unmindful that Bascomb made another move and was held back by his friends, Frank turned his back and walked round the table to Davis.

"Come," he said, "we will go."

There was a murmur of applause when he turned away, with Davis at his side.

Still Frank knew very well that he had taken an unpopular stand by espousing the cause of a plebe who did not seem to have nerve enough to stand up for his own rights, and he was breaking all precedent and traditions by a show of friendliness for his own fag.

However, Frank was a lad who firmly believed in standing by the right, no matter whether the cause were popular or not, and his sympathy was invariably with "the under dog in the fight." He could not bear to see the weak oppressed by the strong.

His generous heart had gone out to the lad who had been so tenderly and delicately reared, and who declined to lie or fight because he had promised his mother he would not do such things. Somehow Davis did not seem at all like a "sissy-boy" to Merriwell, who believed the plebe had a great deal of moral courage, if he were not physically brave. And Frank had come to believe that moral courage is a higher qualification than physical courage.

In this world there are two classes of heroes, and one class is likely to be grievously misunderstood. First comes the physical hero, the fellow who defiantly faces dangers that are sufficient to turn to ice the blood of another, and yet may succumb to some simple temptation that he knows will lead him into wrongdoing.

Then comes the moral hero, who resists the strongest temptations to do wrong, who fights and conquers in many a silent battle with his passions and desires, who bravely faces ridicule and scorn because he is confident that he is doing right, yet who quails, cowers, trembles, and flees in the face of physical danger.

Who will say which is the greater hero?

As soon as they were in the open air, Davis turned to Merriwell, his voice shaking, as he said:

"You must not fight with that fellow on my account."

"Why not?" asked Frank.

"Because you must not. It would not be right. He is big and strong——"

"But I am not afraid of him."

"That may be true, and still it is not right for you to fight in my place. That will not help me any. I can see that I will not be thought any better of if you fight in my place. You must not fight him!"

Fred was very agitated and excited.

"The matter rests entirely with Bascomb now," said Frank, calmly. "I have expressed my opinion of him in public, and I shall be forced to back up my words if he challenges me."



CHAPTER XLI.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER.

Reynolds and Bascomb came from dinner arm in arm.

"Your time has come to knock out this fellow Merriwell, Hugh," declared the big fellow's sporty companion. "You'll have to do it."

"It looks that way," admitted Bascomb, but there was something ludicrously dubious in both his face and voice.

"Looks that way!" exclaimed Rupert, in a fiery manner. "Of course it looks that way. There's nothing else to be done, and I should think you'd be well satisfied with the opportunity."

"But I am not sure I can do it," confessed the bully, hesitatingly.

"Do it! Why, you ought to do it with one hand tied behind your back."

But Bascomb was not so easily reassured.

"I have boxed with him," said the big fellow, "and I know he is not easy fruit for anybody."

"You boxed in the gym?"

"Yes."

"And there it was necessary to conform to certain rules."

"Of course."

"That wasn't much like a genuine fight."

"I know it; but I found it impossible to hit him a soaker with my left. He is up to all the tricks."

"That's all right. Fight him in the evening, where you are not liable to be interrupted till you have finished him. The darkness will be an advantage to you, for he cannot see to guard or avoid all your heavy blows, and you will soon do him up. If you work it right, you can get him into a straight fight from start to finish, so it will not be a matter of rounds, which would accrue to his advantage. Once you get at him, you can follow him up till he is done for."

Reynolds' words gave Bascomb new courage.

"I don't know but you are right," he said. "The darkness would be to my advantage, and I ought to be able to get in a knockout blow sooner or later. By Jupiter! I believe I can polish him off!"

"Of course you can!" exclaimed his delighted companion. "Merriwell has put on a big front, and succeeded in making everybody believe he is a terror, but the time has come to cook his goose. Give him a good licking, and he will not be so high and mighty. His popularity will mighty soon begin to wane."

"You do not seem to love him."

"Not much! The cad has called me down on parade several times."

"Me, too."

"I'd like to get a grip on him that would disgrace him and cause his dismissal."

"You are not the first fellow who has thought that way, but, somehow, the cad has the luck to get out of every trap set for him, and he turns the tables on anybody who tries to trap him."

"He can't be that lucky always."

"I should hope not."

"Shall I act for you?"

Bascomb hesitated. Something told him that Frank could fight quite as well with his bare fists as he could box with gloves. But how could he retreat? If he did not meet Merriwell he would be regarded with scorn by every one, and, like Wat Snell, who had refused to meet Bart Hodge, be ostracised in the school.

"Davis ought to fight me first," he muttered.

"Oh, hang that plebe!" cried Reynolds, contemptuously. "He doesn't count with Merriwell. You can attend to him when you have disposed of Merriwell. If you go into this business determined to finish the fellow, you'll be sure to do it. Knock him out some way, fair or foul."

"I suppose a fellow might get at him foul in the dark, and not be detected."

"Sure. Only he wants to be slick about it. Say, I can tell you a trick."

"'Sh! Don't speak too loud; Dunnerwust and Mulloy are a little distance behind, and they're both particular friends to Merriwell."

So Reynolds lowered his voice, and talked rapidly to Bascomb in a low tone. The bully listened eagerly, finally slapping his thigh and crying:

"That's the scheme! That will do it!"

"Shall I see him, and make arrangements for tonight?"

"Yes; but wait till the last minute—take him after supper."

"All right. It's settled then?"

"All settled; and Merriwell will have a dandy pair of eyes on him to-morrow!"

Dunnerwust and Mulloy had been watching Bascomb and Reynolds.

"Vot you pelief dose shneaks vos down to, ain'd id?" asked the Dutch boy.

"Well, Handy, me b'y," replied Barney, "it's me proivate opinion, which Oi don't moind publicly ixprissing, thot they're plannin' mischief."

"Yaw, I pets me your boots you vos righd. Dey don'd haf their headts togeder near vor nottings, py shimminy!"

"Oi'd loike to take th' spalpanes by th' ears an' rap their hids togither wance," declared the Irish lad. "Oi'd make thim see stars."

At this moment Bascomb clapped his thigh and cried:

"That's the scheme! That will do it!"

"Uf dot don'd mean somedings, Parney, you vos a liar!" exclaimed Hans.

"Av course it do."

"I pelief me dot means drouble vor Frankie."

"Oi wouldn't wonder, Handy."

"You und me hat pesser dell him to keep his vedder eye vide open tight, ain'd id?"

"Thot's pwhat we will, me b'y. An' Oi propose to watch thim spalpanes a bit mesilf. Oi moight catch 'em at something crooked, Oi belave."

So it came about that Frank was warned that Bascomb and Reynolds had apparently been plotting.

Frank acted as first sergeant, and that very afternoon both Bascomb and Reynolds appeared in ranks with their belts disarranged. This was an open defiance, and, of course, was something Merriwell could not overlook.

"Fall out, Bascomb, and arrange your belt," he commanded, sharply. "You, too, Reynolds. You know very well that you have no right in ranks in that shape. Fall out!"

Bascomb and Reynolds obeyed in a sullen way, the big fellow beginning to mutter.

Merriwell had started back to his post, but he whirled sharply, saying:

"Silence, sir! This is the third time I have been compelled to warn you against muttering in ranks. You will be severely dealt with in case you repeat the offense."

Once more he turned, but he had not taken five steps before he heard some one say:

"Who's playing the bully now!"

Frank turned again, but Bascomb did not appear to have spoken, and Reynolds looked innocent. Having fixed their belts, they were again in ranks, standing at ease.

Not a word did Frank say, but his face expressed a great deal. No further murmurs were heard, and the drill was soon in progress; but Frank knew his enemies had tried to place him in a false light before the corps.



CHAPTER XLII.

THE CHALLENGE.

That night, immediately after supper, Rupert Reynolds appeared at the door of Frank's tent.

"Mr. Merriwell," said Reynolds, stiffly, "I am here in the interest of my friend, Mr. Bascomb."

"I presumed as much," came quietly from Frank's lips.

"You have openly insulted Mr. Bascomb, and he demands an immediate apology."

Frank whistled.

"Is that all?" he exclaimed, with a queer twist of his face and a twinkle in his eyes.

"You will find this a very serious matter, sir," said Reynolds, with an assumption of great dignity.

"Mr. Bascomb may also find it serious."

"Will you apologize?"

"You may tell Mr. Bascomb that I will apologize to him when he is man enough to apologize to Fred Davis, and publicly acknowledge that he treated the little plebe in an unmanly and bullying manner."

Reynolds made a scornful gesture.

"Mr. Bascomb will not do anything of the kind!"

"Very well; I shall not apologize to him."

"Then you must fight him."

"I will do so with the greatest of pleasure."

"Oh, you won't find much fun in it," sneered Reynolds. "It isn't going to be that kind of a fight. Bascomb is thirsting for your life. It was with the greatest difficulty I persuaded him not to challenge you to fight a duel with deadly weapons. He said he would take satisfaction in meeting you in an affair of honor where he could run a blade through your body or perforate you with a bullet."

Frank whistled again.

"Why, he has become very courageous since he took to bullying boys! He is really bloodthirsty."

"He is determined to square accounts with you, sir. He says you have been boning military at his expense for some time, just to show your authority."

"Which he knows is absolutely false," Frank flashed back. "I have reprimanded him when compelled to do so by his utter disregard of what is right."

"That may be your opinion; Mr. Bascomb thinks differently. He demands that this fight take place without delay."

"The sooner the better."

"What do you say to making the time immediately after dark?"

"I am agreeable."

"As Lieutenant Gordan has been watching the old boathouse of late, it will be necessary to have the fight take place elsewhere."

"All right."

"It may be stopped if it is anywhere in this vicinity."

"Yes."

"Black Bluff is but a mile away."

"That's all."

"Why not go there?"

"The place is satisfactory to me."

"Then it is settled. Be on hand with your second as soon as possible after dark."

"I will."

Reynolds walked away with his head held very high and his neck very stiff.

Of course, the boys had been expecting Frank would receive a challenge, and no small number had been watching the two lads. Immediately on Rupert's departure, Frank's friends came swarming around him, asking scores of questions.

"Pwhat did th' b'y want wid yez, Frankie?" asked Barney Mulloy, eagerly.

"Oh, not much," smiled Frank, who did not believe in letting the entire gathering know exactly what had happened and what was going to take place. "He informed me that Bascomb demands an apology. Of course, I did not apologize, which may lead Bascomb to challenge me."

"An' he didn't challenge yez alridy? Wurra! wurra! Oi thought there moight be a foight on hand, so Oi did."

"Dot's vot's der madder mit me," sighed Hans Dunnerwust, in disappointment. "It vos peen so long alretty yet since I haf seen a scrap dot I don'd know vot it vos."

"G'wan wid yez, Dutch!" cried Barney, who was in ill-humor on account of the failure—as he supposed—of Bascomb to challenge Merriwell. "Thot Yankee from Vermont called yez a balloony sausage t'-day, an' ye nivver did a thing. Av ye wur dying fer a foight, ye'd challenge him. Ye're th' biggest coward on th' face av th' earth. Ye give me distriss!"

"Vos dot so!" retorted Hans. "Don'd you pelieve me! Vos id my blace to fight mit a blebe?"

"Of course it is yer place, ye ignoramus."

"Vell, I didn't know dot. Maype I fight him some dime pime-py right avay soon alretty yet."

"Oh, no ye won't."

"Von't I?"

"No, ye won't dare, ye Dutch coward. Av ye had a bit av spunk in yer body, ye'd challenge him to wance."

"Vell, you pet me my boots I don'd vos a coward," declared Hans, emphatically. "I'll vight dot feller!"

"Thot's th' shtuff, me b'y!" cried the delighted Barney. "Let me take th' challenge."

"Nod py a plamed sight! I don'd vant a pog-drotter to done some uf dot peesness for me, ain'd id? Uf I shoose mein second, I dakes Vrankie Merrivell alretty!"

For all that he had serious work on hand, Frank was ready for a frolic, and he instantly said:

"I will carry your challenge, Hans. You may depend on me."

"All righd, Vrankie, my poy; led her go."

"You wish me to hunt up Ephraim Gallup, and demand an apology or a fight?"

"Yaw."

"And you really mean it?"

"Yaw."

"Will you fight if he agrees to meet you?"

"Yaw."

"All right. There can't be any backing out now, understand that. You are in for a fight, if Gallup doesn't apologize."

"Yaw; but you mighd influence him to abologize uf you couldt, ain'd id?"

"It would not be proper to bring any undue influence to bear on him. I shall carry your challenge to him immediately."

As Frank started to find Ephraim Gallup, Barney Mulloy slipped from the crowd and joined him. The Irish lad's eyes were full of mischief.

"I say, Frankie, me b'y," he said, quickly, "can't we put up a job on thot Dutchman, an' hiv som' fun av this, Oi dunno?"

"Leave that to me," smiled Frank. "I fancy I will find a way to get plenty of sport out of this business. You know those two old horse-pistols that are hung up for relics in the armory?"

"Yis."

"Go for them yourself, or send somebody who can get them immediately."

"Pwhat do yez want wid thim?"

"I will show you, if I can make my scheme work."

"Oi belave Oi know," chuckled the fun-loving Irish lad. "Mursha! Won't thot be fun, Oi dunno! Oi'll hiv thim roight away," and off he darted.

As Frank expected, he found Ephraim once more surrounded by a mob who were having sport at his expense. Fortunately for Merriwell's scheme, the country boy was rather angry, and felt more like fighting than doing anything else.

"Mr. Gallup," said Frank, as he forced his way through the throng and confronted the Vermonter, "I am here in behalf of a friend whom you have sorely insulted."

"Git aout with yer nonsense!" retorted Ephraim. "I wish you'd quit yer foolin' an' let a feller alone."

"You will discover this is not fooling, sir," said Frank, sternly. "My friend demands that you fight him immediately. Will you do it?"

"Wal, I be twisted if I don't!" snorted Ephraim, as he spat on his hands and prepared to remove his coat. "Where is ther consarned critter? I'll bark his nose quicker'n a brindle caow kin kick over a pail of milk, by gum!"



CHAPTER XLIII.

DOUGHTY DUELIST.

Ephraim was in earnest.

"Hold on," said Frank, quickly, "what are you going to do?"

"Fight, by gum!"

"But you can't fight here."

"Why not?"

"You would be arrested and placed in the guard tent."

"Wal, ef a feller can't fight, whut ye makin' all this taowse abaout?"

"You can fight, but not within the limits of the camp. The duel must take place outside."

"Who is this consarned critter that says I've insulted him?"

"Mr. Dunnerwust."

"Wal, ef he wants to fight me, he'll find he never dun er wust thing."

Frank staggered and clutched at his heart.

"Don't!" he gasped. "I'm not particularly weak, but I'm not strong enough to stand many of those."

Ephraim grinned all over his long face.

"Oh, them things come natteral like with me," he said. "I kin reel 'em off by ther yard when I git started. Folks up aour away say I'm ther funniest critter that ever growed in them parts."

"Well, you have agreed to meet Mr. Dunnerwust?"

"Yep."

"The meeting must take place without delay, so there may be daylight enough for its consummation."

"Is that anything good to eat?"

"What?"

"Consummation."

"Not exactly."

"Didn't know but 'twas. Sally Golander up aour way she went to Boston, an' when she kern home she told abaout havin' consummation soup, ur something of that sort. Say, you'd oughter seen that air gal arter she got back from Boston! She put on more style than a prize pig at a caounty fair, by gum! Why, you couldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole! She walked as ef she'd fell daown an' stepped on the small of her back, and she ripped open ther sleeves on ev'ry one of her dresses, an' bought caliker an' stiffenin' an' stuff ter put inter 'em to make 'em swell aout like a blowed-up bladder. I tell you she did cut an amazin' fast pace in aour taown."

"You are wandering from the issue," said Frank. "I presume you will be ready to proceed to the scene of the duel in a few moments?"

"Ready any time."

"All right. Choose your second."

"Whut do you mean by that?"

"You have to have somebody to look out for you and see that you have fair play."

"By chaowder! Ephraim Gallup kin look aout for hisself, an' don't you fergit it!"

"But it is absolutely necessary that you have a second."

"I'll act for Mr. Gallup," said Sammy Smiles. "He may depend on me to stand behind him as long as he stands in front of me."

"You'll do well ez anyboddy."

"All right, Mr. Smiles," said Frank, with a wink at Sammy. "Come aside, and we will make all arrangements."

It did not take long to make arrangements; but, as every one who knew about it was anxious to see the fun, it was not a little difficult for them all to get out of camp without attracting too much attention. There was a strip of woods close by, however, and the boys succeeded in vanishing into this cover one by one, after which they soon hastened to the spot where the encounter between Dunnerwust and Gallup was to take place.

The seconds took good care to have the two principals on hand, and Barney Mulloy was there with the old horse-pistols, which he kept carefully concealed.

Frank took Hans aside and said:

"This affair has assumed a much more serious aspect than seemed possible at first."

"Vos dot Yankee abologized alretty yet?" asked Hans, anxiously.

"Far from it."

The Dutch boy gave a groan of dismay, but stiffened up to say:

"Dot seddles his coose! I knocks uf him der sduffins oudt."

"But he refused to fight that way, and, as he is the challenged party, I was forced to allow him to select the weapons. He chose pistols."

"Bistols?" gasped Hans, turning pale.

"Yes."

"Dot vos murter in der virst degree! I don't meed dot veller mit bistols!"

"But you will have to meet him now. If you refuse, you will be drummed out of school—you will be tarred and feathered."

"Bud I don'd like dot peesness uf sdanding oop to be shod ad mit a pullet oudt uf a bistol. Somepody mighd ged hurt, ain'd id?"

"Oh, there's no danger that you'll get hurt any more than to have a bullet through your head."

"Vot vos dot?" gurgled Hans. "A pullet drough mein headt. Shimminy Gristmas! Uf dot don'd vas pad enough, vot you vant? Oxcuse me!"

"Now, don't show the white feather," urged Frank. "That Yankee has done this to scare you. I don't believe he really thinks you will dare meet him with pistols, and so he is going to make a laughing stock of you."

"Vos dot his game? Vell, I pets you your life he makes der piggest misdake vot he nefer seen."

"That's the stuff! If you brace right up and pretend you are eager to fight with pistols, the chances are ten to one he'll back down before the word is given to fire."

"Vell, uf dot veller don'd dink I vos apout grazy for dot tuel, you can kick me mit der neck in."

Frank saw that he had fixed it all right with Hans, and he wondered what success Sammy Smiles was having with his second.

Sammy was not finding it very easy to convince Ephraim it was his duty to fight a genuine duel with pistols, and he was talking swiftly, for it was past sunset, and would become dark in a very short time.

"I be hanged ef this air ain't ther biggest scrape I was ever in!" gasped the lank country boy, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. "I wish I'd stayed away frum this thunderin' skewl, an' bin contented ter keep right on hoein' 'taturs an' cuttin' grass daown on dad's old farm. Say, ain't ther no way this air matter kin be settled up 'thout shewtin'?"

"It's too late for that now. You have accepted Dutchy's challenge, and you'll have to fight this duel."

"I never was so thunderin' scat in all my life, by gum! My knees don't feel strong enough to hold me up. Haow duz a feller feel when he's goin' ter faint away?"

"Oh, you're not going to faint. That's what the Dutchman's counting on. He wants to scare you out of it. He's even made his boasts that you Yankees haven't any courage, and that you'll run."

"Oh, he has, has he?" grated Ephraim. "Bust his skin!"

"He doesn't believe you'll dare fight him," continued. Sammy, concealing a grin with his hand. "That's what he's counting on. If you put on a bold front, you'll scare him out of his shoes. I'll bet he'll run away before the word is given to fire."

"Think so?" asked the Vermonter, eagerly. "Do ye really?"

"Of course. Look how much more of him there is than there is of you. Why, you'd be sure to hit him the first shot, while he has not one chance in a hundred of hitting you. He has been chuckling over the way your long legs will look when you run away."

"That settles it, by the jumping blizzards! Give me holt of that air hoss-pistil! I'll show him whuther a Yankee'll run ur not, by chaowder!"

"That's the stuff!" complimented the delighted Sammy, reaching up to pat the tall plebe on the back. "Stick to that, and you will scare him into convulsions. You must look as fierce and desperate as you can, so he'll think you are thirsting for his gore."

The preliminaries were soon over, and the valiant duelists were placed facing each other at a distance of fifteen paces. The old pistols, loaded with heavy charges of powder, but minus bullets, were thrust into their hands.



CHAPTER XLIV.

A COMEDY DUEL.

Both Hans and Ephraim were ghastly pale. The Dutch lad's teeth were chattering, and the Yankee boy's knees shook beneath him. But both tried to put on a bold front.

"Are ye ready, jintlemin?" demanded Barney Mulloy, who had been chosen to give the word.

"Vait a moment," commanded Hans, waving his hand frantically at Barney. "I vos goin' to gif dot feller a shance to safe his life. Uf he vants to abologize now I vont shood him drough der heart mit a pullet."

"Hurry up this business!" blustered Ephraim, waving the big pistol. "If ye fool around here all night it will git so thunderin' dark I can't see ter hit ther middle button on the Dutchman's coat."

"Vos you goin' to abologize?" shouted Hans.

"Be you goin' to run away?" demanded Ephraim.

"Uf you don'd abologize, I voss a dead man," cried the Dutch lad, threateningly.

"Ef you don't run away, you're a dead man," declared the Vermonter.

Now it happened that Sammy Smiles had brought along some stale eggs which he had been keeping for some festive occasion, and he had given one of them to Frank, while they had come to a perfect understanding as to the proper manner and the right moment to use them. With the eggs concealed in their hands, they were waiting for Barney to give the word.

"Come, come, jintlemin," called the Irish lad, sharply. "Take yer positions, fer Oi'm goin' t' give th' worrud."

"This is your last chance to run away, Dutchy," faltered Ephraim, who seemed to be losing confidence.

"Dis vos your lasd obbortunity to abologize, Yankee," said Hans, rather weakly.

"Ready to foire at th' worrud," called Barney.

Hans' teeth were plainly heard to rattle together like dice.

"One!" counted Barney.

"Uf he don'd run avay, I vas reaty to hear him abologize," murmured the Dutch lad.

"Say!" Ephraim hoarsely whispered to Sammy. "Git a rope an' tie me, quick! Hang me ef I don't believe my legs is goin' to run the best I kin do."

"Two!" counted Barney.

"Shimminy Gristmas! vere vas someding I can hide pehind?"

"Great thutteration! I'm a goner!"

"Three—fire!"

Both of the bold duelists turned their heads away, pointed the pistols at something, and fired.

Bang! bang!

Frank and Sammy Smiles let the eggs fly, and the aim of both was accurate.

Sammy's egg struck Hans behind the right ear, and spattered all over the side of the Dutch lad's head, while Frank's egg landed on Ephraim's neck.

"I vos a deadt man!" squawked the Dutch lad, as he went over in a heap.

"I'm shot, by gum!" squealed the Yankee, as his knees collapsed and he measured his long length upon the ground.

"Smoke!" cried Barney Mulloy, grasping his nose with both hands. "It smells loike ye'd both been corpuses fer a long toime!"

"By Jove!" gasped Frank. "That odor is strong enough to lift a safe!"

The other witnesses of the duel roared with laughter, but Hans was bellowing and Ephraim was groaning so loudly that neither of them heard the sounds of mirth.

"I can feel mein prains runnin' all ofer der side uf mein headt!" howled Hans.

"Send for a doctor!" shrieked Ephraim. "I'm covered with blood! My jubilee vein is cut clean in two, an' ther blood is runnin' down my neck!"

"I vos dyin'!"

"I'll be dead in a minute!"

Sammy Smiles held fast to his nose, and made haste to bend over his principal, whom he pretended to examine.

"Bring bandages!" he shouted. "Help me to stop him from bleeding to death."

"It's nary a bit of use," groaned the Vermonter. "No feller ever lived with his jubilee vein cut in two!"

"Merciful goodness!" cried Frank, in pretended horror, as he hovered over Hans, also taking care to cling to his nose. "The whole top of his head is shot away!"

The Dutch boy gave a wild, despairing wail.

"Und you said dot feller vos goin' to run avay! Dunder und blitsens! I vos a fool dot I don'd run avay meinseluf pefore mein prains he shot oudt!"

"Never mind," said Frank. "You will die like a hero, and we'll bury you with all the honors of war."

"Yah!" snorted Hans. "Dot vos nice—I don'd pelieve! I don'd care apout dot honors uf var! Oh, Shimminy Gristmas! vot a fool a blamed fool vos!"

"I am surprised at you," said Frank, sternly. "You should be proud to perish in such a heroic manner."

"Oh, yaw! I peen tickled to death—mit a pullet. Id vos fun!"

"I am afraid you are not a success as a hero."

"Vell, I dudder peen a success as a coward und kept avay from dot pullet."

In the meantime Ephraim had recovered from the shock sufficiently to detect the powerful odor of the stale egg that had struck him.

"Great gum!" he gurgled. "What was that Dutchman's pistol loaded with? Something must have crawled inter ther pesky thing an' died there!"

"Do you really smell anything?" chuckled Sammy Smiles.

"Do I?" howled the Yankee boy, sitting up and gasping for breath. "I ruther think I do, by gum!"

"You must be mistaken. Being seriously wounded, you imagine it. It is the result of your injury."

"Is that so? Wal," he wildly panted, "if that's ther case, I hope I'll die soon an' git aout of my misery!"

The spectators were convulsed with merriment, and Ephraim began to smell a rat—if, indeed, it were possible to smell anything but the ancient eggs.

"Say!" he snorted, "you fellers don't act like there was anybody dyin' around here. An' by chaowder! this smell is jest ther same ez I struck when I crawled under dad's old barn to find where the speckled hen was layin', an' crunched up some aigs that hed bin there two or three months. Ef that Dutchman loaded his pistol with a ripe aig an' shot me in the neck, I'll paound the stuffin' aout of him, by gum!"

"Vot vos dot?" roared Hans, also sitting up, and glaring at the Vermonter. "You don'd peen pig enough to bound der sduffin oudt uf nottings!"

"Wal, dern my skin ef I don't show you! Ef I'm mortally shot, it'll be some satisfaction to die thumpin' you, by gum!"

"Keeb avay off!" squawked Hans, as Ephraim began to crawl toward him. "Keeb avay off, ur I vos goin' to bulverize you britty queek right avay soon!"

"You pulverize, an' be hanged! All I want is to git holt of ye."

Hans began to scramble out of the way.

"Holt on! holt on!" he cried. "Dot don'd peen no fair to sdrike a man mit haluf uf his heat plown off!"

"Your head's all right, only one side of it is plastered over with some yaller stuff. You shot me in the neck, and I'm all kivered with blood, but I kin do ye, jest ther same!"

"Dot vos der gweerest colored plood vot I nefer saw! You don'd peen shot ad all."

"Then, by gum! I'm goin' ter lick ye anyhaow!" and Ephraim scrambled to his feet.

"Vell, you don'd done dot till you catch me, py Shimminy!"

Hans also scrambled up, and immediately took to his heels, with the tall Yankee in hot pursuit, leaving the spectators of this ridiculous duel to exhaust themselves with merriment.



CHAPTER XLV.

ANOTHER KIND OF A FIGHT.

It had already grown quite dark.

The fun for the time being was over, but there was an engagement of quite a different nature to take place.

Barely had the Dutch boy disappeared, with the Vermonter at his heels, when Frank and several others of the party slipped away into the shadows and made for Black Bluff.

Bascomb and a large number of his friends were waiting when Frank arrived, and Merriwell heard the big fellow sneeringly observe:

"He has really come at last! I didn't know but he was going to take water. I was afraid I'd lose the satisfaction of giving him the licking he needs."

Frank bit his lip, and remained silent.

Bart Hodge was on hand, and he was quickly at Frank's side.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "I was beginning to fear Bascomb had put up some kind of a job to keep you away, so he could claim you were afraid to meet him."

"I have been acting as second in another affair," said Frank. "I want you to represent me in this. Will you?"

"You have no need to ask that, for you must know that it will give me pleasure. I want to see you give that big brute the drubbing he merits, so he will keep still for a while. He has been trying to injure you ever since you entered the academy, and he has said here to-night that he proposed doing me up to square an old score after he had finished you. I tried to get him to take me first, for I told him there wouldn't be anything left for me to fight when you were through with him. He said he was going to polish you off easily, and he has been whispering and laughing with that sneaking Reynolds. Somehow, I feel as if they have put up some kind of a job to get the best of you, and that is why they feel so well. You want to be on your guard for tricks, old man."

"I will," assured Frank, as he began to "peel" for the fight. "Go over and make arrangements with Reynolds. If you can get him to agree to make it a go-as-you-please till the best man whips you will suit me."

"All right; I'll stand for that."

Away went Hodge to consult with Reynolds, and Frank did not dream that he had proposed just the kind of a fight that Bascomb and his second most desired.

The wind was coming in across the bay, and the sea was moaning at the ragged base of Black Bluff, on the heights of which the fight was to take place. There were scudding clouds in the sky, but the night did not promise to be very dark.

It did not take Hodge long to complete arrangements with Reynolds, and he soon returned to inform Frank that it was to be one straight fight from start to finish, with no rests till one or the other whipped.

Frank had not supposed there would be near so many spectators present, and he well knew that the most of those assembled were fellows who were secretly envious of him because of his popularity, although nearly all had made protestations of friendship in the past.

Frank did not care for the friendship of such fellows, as there was nothing in the world he despised more than a hypocrite. He could respect a foe who was open and frank; but he had no use for anybody who wore two faces.

Fred Davis had not been told where the fight was to take place; but he had scented it in some way, and he came panting to the spot, just as Merriwell and Bascomb were about to meet. He rushed straight to Frank, exclaiming:

"You must not fight on my account! You shall not! You haven't any right to do it! This must stop!"

"Here, Bart," said Merriwell to Hodge, speaking quietly and firmly, "turn this boy over to Mulloy, and tell him to keep Davis from making any fuss."

"But you must listen to me!" cried the little plebe, on the verge of tears. "People sometimes get killed in fights. If you are badly hurt, I'll never forgive myself. Can't I do something to stop it? Why, I will apologize to Bascomb, and——"

"That would simply place you more in contempt, and would not let me out in the least, boy. Take him away, Mulloy," Frank spoke to the Irish lad, who was now at hand. "See that he doesn't get into trouble."

Seeing it was impossible to put an end to the contest, Fred gave up in despair.

Merriwell and Bascomb now faced each other. There was no demand that they should shake hands, and neither offered to do so. The boys formed a circle around them, and, at the word, they leaped at each other and the fray had begun.

Bascomb made an effort to clinch immediately, but Frank landed two blows that sent him staggering. This was an advantage which Merriwell followed up, and Bascomb was forced to keep falling back for some moments, shifting the battle-ground considerably from the point where the struggle began.

Spat! spat! spat! sounded the blows; but it was not always an easy thing to tell who was getting the worst of it.

To and fro, forward and back, moved the fighting lads, their movements being breathlessly followed by the spectators. Sometimes it would seem that one of the lads had the advantage, and then it would appear to be the other.

With his hands clasped together and his heart beating wildly, Fred Davis strained his eyes to see it all. To him every moment seemed an hour of acute agony and suspense.

Bart Hodge and Barney Mulloy were both intensely interested and excited, but neither of them entertained a doubt but what, barring accident, Frank would come forth the victor.

The breathing of the fighting boys became short and loud, and Bascomb occasionally muttered fierce words. Merriwell fought silently and fiercely.

At length the tigerish determination of Bascomb's foe began to drive the big fellow back again. Several times he clinched Frank, but his hold was quickly broken on each occasion. Three times both went down; but the strength of neither seemed sufficient to get the advantage and hold the other.

At length, as they were apparently on the point of grappling again, Bascomb was seen to make a quick move of one hand, and Frank immediately cried:

"My eyes! Oh, I am blinded! They are burning!"

Instantly there was the greatest excitement.

"Foul play, by the eternal skies!" shouted Bart Hodge, leaping forward. Instantly someone gave him a blow that sent him reeling.

"Howld on, ye imps!" roared Barney. "Ye can't play your dirty thricks here!"

"Keep them away!" grated Bascomb. "Keep them away, and I'll fix this fellow now!"

Frank heard the bully's voice, but he could not see Bascomb. With a cry of unutterable fury, Merriwell leaped for his foe, caught him, grappled with him.

Then was seen such a mad struggle as not one of the boys present had ever before witnessed. Merriwell seemed like a tiger that had been stung to ungovernable rage, and Bascomb exerted every bit of skill and strength he possessed.

Round and round they whirled, away they reeled, and then a cry of surprise and horror suddenly broke from the crowd.

The beginning of the fight had been at a long distance from the brink of the bluff, but, all at once, it was discovered that, in the darkness, they had shifted about till they were close to the verge. And, unconsciously, they were staggering swiftly to the edge.

"Stop them!" shouted Hodge. "Quick, or they will go over!"

Fred Davis leaped forward, clutched at the struggling lads, but could not hold them. In a twinkling they tore away, and reeled on.

Others would have interfered, but it was too late. Both Hodge and Mulloy did their best, but Bascomb and Merriwell escaped their outstretched hands.

Then another cry of horror went up.

The fighting lads were tottering on the brink. They realized their peril at last; but, before they could make a move to save themselves, they went over.

"Merciful Heaven!" gasped Hodge. "That is the end of them both!"



CHAPTER XLVI.

RESULT OF THE CONTEST.

For a moment the horror-stricken witnesses stood and stared through the darkness at the place where the foes had disappeared over the brink of the bluff, and no one seemed capable of making a move or saying a thing immediately after those blood-chilling words came from the lips of Bartley Hodge.

Fred Davis was the first to recover. Down upon the ground he flung himself, peering over the verge of the bluff, and calling:

"Frank—Frank Merriwell!"

Immediately there was a faint, muffled answer from near at hand.

"Thank Heaven!" Fred almost wept. "He has not fallen into the sea! He is near at hand! I can hear him! Frank, where are you?"

"Here—clinging to this vine," was the faint reply. "The thing is giving—it will tear away! Quick—grasp my wrists!"

Fred saw that the dark form was dangling immediately below, and, without delay, he reached down and found a pair of hands which were clinging madly to a stout vine.

The vine was really giving way, and Davis instantly grasped both wrists of the imperiled lad.

"I've got him, boys!" he shouted, joyously. "Pull us up—pull us up! I can hold fast if you pull us up at once! He has hold of one of my hands now; he will not let go. Pull us up, and he will be saved!"

"Lay hold here!" shouted Hodge, grasping Davis by the shoulder. "Down on your faces, two of you, and clutch Merriwell the moment he is lifted far enough for you to grasp him. Work lively, now! Are you ready?"

"All ready," came the chorus.

"Then hoist away, lads, and up he comes!"

So, with a strong pull, the imperiled youth was dragged up over the brink to safety, falling prostrate and panting at the feet of his rescuers.

"Poor Bascomb!" exclaimed one of the boys. "I am afraid he is done for!"

"Not much!" panted the boy they had just saved. "But that was a mighty close call."

"What's this?" shrieked Fred Davis, dropping to his knees and staring into the face of the fellow he had helped to rescue. "This isn't Merriwell! It's Bascomb!"

Exclamations of astonishment came from every lip, for all had thought they were rescuing Frank.

"Great Jupiter!" gasped Bart Hodge. "It must be that Merriwell went clean down the face of the bluff!"

"An' thot manes he is a dead b'y!" declared Barney Mulloy. Fred Davis quickly leaped to the brink, and wildly shouted:

"Frank Merriwell! Frank Merriwell! Where are you? Frank! Frank!"

No answer save the moaning of the wind and the gurgle of the sea which came up from the base of the bluff, like the last strangling sound from the throat of a drowning person.

"He is gone!"

A feeling of unutterable horror came over the little party on the bluff, for they all seemed to realize what a terrible thing had happened.

Fred Davis fell to sobbing and moaning. Again and again he sent his voice down the face of the bluff, shouting into the darkness that hovered over the surging sea:

"Frank Merriwell! Oh, Frank, where are you? Frank! Frank!"

A night-bird swept past, and answered his shouts with an eerie cry; but the voice of Frank Merriwell did not come up out of the darkness below.

"It's no use!" came hoarsely and hopelessly from the lips of Bart Hodge. "Merriwell is a goner! It was most remarkable that Bascomb caught hold of that vine and so escaped."

Fred Davis sprang to his feet, and rushed at Bascomb, who was cowering and shivering in the midst of the boys.

"You killed him!" screamed the little plebe. "You're responsible for his death! It was murder!"

"Thot's roight!" came from Barney Mulloy.

Bascomb cowered and retreated before Davis. All his bullying spirit was gone, and he shivered when the little fellow declared it was murder.

"You shall be hanged!" wildly cried Fred, shaking his clinched hands in Bascomb's face. "I will testify against you! You shall be arrested and hanged!"

"Take him away, somebody!" muttered Bascomb, hoarsely.

"Touch me if you dare!" defied Davis, who seemed quite beside himself. "I have been a coward long enough, and I am not afraid of you all now! If I hadn't been a coward, I should have fought here to-night, instead of Merriwell, and he would be alive now! Oh, I'll never forgive myself for letting him fight in my place! But I'll do my best to avenge—I'll swear he was murdered!"

"That's rot," said Rupert Reynolds, rather weakly. "It was a clean case of accident."

"I am not sure about that," came significantly from the lips of Bart Hodge. "We all heard Merriwell cry out that he had been blinded. That meant something. There was foul play here, and the parties who were in the dirty game must suffer for it."

"Faith, an' thot's roight, Bart, me b'y!" exclaimed Barney Mulloy. "It's as clane a lad as iver brathed thot wint over Black Bluff to his death th' noight, an' somebody will pay dear fer this pace av worruk."

Bascomb still remained silent, seeming incapable of offering any defense.

"It is useless to waste any more time here," said Hodge, sharply. "This awful business must be reported in camp. We must get boats from the boathouse, and search for Merriwell's body."

He started away, and the boys began to follow him. Bascomb stood quite still, and saw his late supporters, with the exception of Reynolds, draw away and leave him, as if he were some creature to be avoided.

"Oh, that's the way!" he grated, bitterly. "They're afraid they will be mixed in it some way, and so they sneak! I am left to face the music alone!"

"Brace up, old man," urged Reynolds. "You may not be in such a very bad box. I don't see how they can do anything but expel you from the academy, and it is likely I will have to take the same medicine, as I was your second."

"Oh, you're trying to show a bright side; but I tell you, Reynolds, there is something worse than expulsion to follow this!"

"What do you mean?"

"You heard that plebe Davis declare he would charge me with murder?"

"Sure; but he's deranged for the moment."

"He will make the charge, just the same; and I'll have to face it."

"But it cannot be proved against you."

"I am not so sure. If I hadn't flung red pepper in Merriwell's eyes I'd have a better show. Now it will look as if I did that to blind him, so I might force him over the bluff."

"I don't believe anybody can think you as bad as that. You certainly had no desire to do anything more than whip Merriwell by some means, fair or foul."

"It is easy enough to say that, but I'm afraid it will not be easy to make people believe it. I swear, Reynolds, it's a terrible thing to have anything like this hanging over a fellow! Why, it has taken all the nerve out of me! I'd give my right hand to see Frank Merriwell alive and well at this moment!"

"Don't go to pieces that way, Bascomb!" entreated Rupert. "You've got to keep a stiff backbone. Come, let's hurry after the others."

Reynolds got hold of Bascomb's arm, and fairly dragged him after the other lads, who were making their way toward camp.

Each step that brought the big fellow nearer camp made him more desperate. Finally, he declared:

"I'm going to know what Hodge and Mulloy mean to do."

Then he hastened forward till he came upon Bart and Barney, who were accompanied by Fred Davis.

"Look here, fellows," said Bascomb, "I've got some questions to ask you."

"Well, ask them," directed Hodge, shortly, as the boys halted and clustered again.

"I want to know if you actually think I am wicked enough to wish to kill a fellow cadet and classmate?"

"As fer mesilif, Oi dunno," admitted Barney. "Yure a big scoundrel, but Oi don't loike ter think any felly's villain enough to do murther."

"But it looks mighty black for you, Bascomb," said Bart. "We all heard Merriwell cry out that he was blinded, and then you seemed to drag him straight for the brink of the bluff."

"It was an accident!" declared Bascomb, hoarsely. "I did not dream we were anywhere near the edge of the bluff."

"It was not accident!" cried Fred Davis. "It was murder, and I will swear to it!"

"You hear that," came huskily from the lips of the accused. "If you fellows stand by him, I am done for."

"We'll have to be given time to think it over."

"No, that is wrong, for you'll be forced to make some explanation as soon as you get into camp."

"We'll simply tell the truth."

"That will ruin me!"

"Which cannot be helped. The truth is the only thing that will stand in a case like this."

"All right. There's no show for me."

Bascomb turned about in a blind way, and Reynolds caught him by the arm, asking:

"Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," was the hopeless reply. "It doesn't make any difference where I go or what I do now!"

The most of the boys moved toward camp again, leaving Reynolds talking earnestly with Bascomb. Before the camp was reached, Reynolds came running and panting after them.

"Bascomb has gone crazy!" he cried. "He said he was going to kill himself, and he broke away from me and ran into the woods! It is terrible!"



CHAPTER XLVII.

ALIVE!

"I don't know but suicide is his easiest way out of this scrape," said Hodge.

"It is the only way he can escape hanging!" came from Fred Davis, who seemed to be aroused to a point of relentless hatred for Bascomb.

"Merciful goodness!" came faintly from Reynolds, who seemed to be weakening. "What a dreadful affair this is! I'd give anything in my power to give if I were well out of it!"

"An' ye'd be gittin' out chape at thot, me hearty," declared Barney Mulloy.

"If I'd ever dreamed what would come of it, horses couldn't have dragged me into the affair!" almost whimpered Reynolds.

"An' now ye're in it, it won't do yez nivver a bit av good to whoine, me b'y."

"All you can do is brace up and face it out," said Hodge. "That's what the rest of us will have to do. It's likely we'll all be fired from the academy for our shares in the business."

"I wouldn't mind that if it would bring Merriwell back all right," asserted Reynolds, and there was a sincere sound in his voice.

"We'd all take our medicine without a murmur if it would restore him to life. He was the whitest boy that ever breathed!"

"I think you're right," admitted Rupert. "I don't like him, but I presume that was my fault. Perhaps I was jealous because he was so popular. He never did me a mean turn."

"Och! an' he nivver did anybody thot!" quickly put in Barney. "It wur ivver a good turn, av it wur anything at all, at all."

And so, talking of Frank's virtues, the boys approached the camp. It was decided among them that Hodge should report the affair to Lieutenant Gordan, and they should all get into camp without being challenged, if possible. For this purpose they separated, and slipped in one by one, by various ways.

Hodge himself found a little difficulty in getting past the sentinel, by whom he did not wish to be challenged and taken in custody, as there would be a certain amount of red tape business that would delay him from seeking the lieutenant immediately and making his report.

He finally succeeded in getting into camp, and hurried directly to his own tent. As he entered, he was surprised to see a lamp had been lighted, and somebody was wringing out a towel in the water-bucket, at the same time having his head and face well swathed with another towel, that was dripping wet.

"Well, who in thunder are you? and what are you up to here?" demanded Bart, indignantly.

The fellow with the towel about his head pulled enough of it away from his mouth to reply:

"Hello, Bart! I am soaking the red pepper out of my eyes, and incidentally bathing my bruises at the same time. I couldn't see to guard for all of Bascomb's blows."

Hodge reeled backward, and came near collapsing. He caught hold of the tent pole at the front, and clung to it for support.

"Frank!" he cried, faintly.

"That's my name," affirmed the other, as he unwound the towel from about his head, and looked at Bart with a pair of very red eyes. "You look as if you saw a ghost."

"Well, I couldn't be more surprised if I saw a whole regiment of ghosts. Is it really you—alive?"

"To be sure."

"But—but—didn't you go over Black Bluff?"

"Yes."

"Then how do you happen to be here? It can't be you fell all the way down into the water, and then swam out?"

"No."

"Then what did happen? For mercy sake, tell me, and relieve me of this suspense."

"Why, I didn't fall far—not more than ten feet. I struck on a shelf, and lay there stunned."

"And Bascomb clung to some vines till we pulled him back to the top of the bluff."

"Those vines fell all around the shelf I was on, and I was half-covered with them when I recovered enough to thoroughly realize my position. It is likely that, while he was clinging to them, Bascomb partly covered me with them by winding his legs about them, thus changing their position after I fell."

"And he covered you so that the vines and the darkness prevented us from seeing you."

"I suppose so."

"But why didn't you answer? Davis called to you more than twenty times."

"I was stunned, and I did not hear him at first. When I did hear, it was impossible for me to answer, although I tried to do so."

"And we went away and left you there."

"Yes."

"How did you get off the ledge?"

"My strength came to me swiftly when I realized my position. As soon as possible, realizing I was alone, I sought a way to get to the top of the bluff. I was successful, for I found some clefts in the rock for my feet, and, aided by the vines, I climbed up. Then I lost little time in getting into camp, for I didn't know what sort of a report you fellows would bring. I did not expect to reach camp ahead of you, but it seems that I did, although I had not been in the tent two minutes when you showed up."

Up to this moment Hodge had held off, as if not quite able to believe it possible Frank had escaped. Now, with a cry of joy, he sprang forward and embraced his comrade.

"This is the happiest moment of my life, Frank!" he declared, with tears of joy in his eyes. "Why, I was about to report you as dead, and start out an expedition to search for your body! I couldn't have felt so bad had you been my own brother. Davis is distracted. He has charged Bascomb with murder, and swears he will stick to it in court. Mulloy was also inclined to look on it as a case of murder, and Bascomb became so scared that he ran away while we were returning to camp. Reynolds said Bascomb swore he was going to commit suicide."

Frank straightened up quickly.

"Look here, Hodge," he said, "you must act, and you must act swiftly. I do not want to go to Lieutenant Gordan in this condition; but you must go to him, and tell him that Bascomb seems to be out of his head and has run away, threatening to kill himself. The lieutenant will be sure to send out a detachment to search for the poor fellow. If you see Mulloy, tell him I am all right, and get him to keep Davis still. The plebe mustn't blow the story all over camp. Let everybody know I am all right. As soon as I can soak this red pepper out of my eyes, I'll be ready to help in the search for Bascomb, if I am needed. Go quickly!"