“But what’s the use. It’s morning now, and that craven from Mississippi is not on hand. I’ll warrant he is hiding beneath his bed this very minute.”
“I opine you’re mistaken, professor,” said Brad dryly. “If I ain’t a heap mistaken, here he comes now.”
“Where?” gasped Zenas.
“There,” said the Texan, motioning toward three dim figures which were entering the cemetery and approaching. “I reckon it’s Major Fitts, accompanied by two friends.”
“Oh, Lordy!” groaned the professor, growing limp and leaning on Dick’s shoulder, all the bluster taken out of him in a second.
Once more Merriwell urged the old pedagogue to brace up.
“Don’t let him see you’re afraid,” he urged. “Do stiffen up, professor!”
“Richard,” groaned Zenas, “I had a premonition that my time had come. Here, Richard, take these papers. One is my last will and testament. The other is a fond adieu to my wife. Poor Nancy! how I pity her! She’ll never see me again! Tell her how I perished, Richard. Perhaps some time—when I’m gone—you may think—of me. It is a fearful thing—to perish—in a foreign land—far from—the loved ones—at home.”
The old man choked and could speak no more.
The three persons were now quite near, and by the dim light the boys could recognize the short figure of Major Fitts. Aziz Achmet had the major by the arm and seemed talking to him earnestly in low tones. The third man carried a small hand case, and seemed like a surgeon.