The seven meanwhile had been working like beavers. The instant the gun had gone off Texas, who held the string, had yanked it in and stowed it away with his other weapons, shaking with laughter in the meanwhile. The others had gone to work with a will; pitcher, basin, bucket, everything, had been hastily set in place; blankets had been relaid; and everything, in short, was put in order again, so that by the time that Lieutenant Allen got around to their tent—the officer had seized his lantern and set out on a hasty round to discover the jokers—he found four "scared" plebes, sitting up in beds, sleepily rubbing their eyes, and inquiring in anxiety:
"What's the matter?"
He didn't tell them, for he hadn't the remotest idea himself. And nobody told him; the yearlings couldn't have if they had wanted to.
Of course the lieutenant didn't care to stay awake all night, fruitlessly asking questions; so he went to bed. The sentries resumed their march, wondering meanwhile what on earth had led their classmates to make so much rumpus, and speculating as to whether it could possibly be true, what one cadet had suggested—that that wild and woolly Texan had tried to shoot some one who had hazed him. The rest of the cadets dropped off to sleep. And soon everybody was quiet again—that is, except the Seven Devils.
The Seven Devils had only just begun. They lay and waited until things were still, and then Mark gave the order, and the crowd rose as one man and stole softly out into the street. This included even the trembling Indian, who was muttering "Bless my soul!" at a great rate.
"I guess they're all asleep now," whispered Mark.
"What are you going to do?" inquired Indian.
"Yank 'em," responded Mark, briefly. "Come ahead."
Mark had seen that the yearlings came up boldly, which told him at once that the sentries were "fixed," and he calculated that just at the moment the moon being clouded, the sentries would not know yearlings from plebes. The only danger was that Lieutenant Allen might still be awake. It was risky, but then——
"Do you see Bull Harris' tent?" Mark whispered. "It is the sixth from here. He and the Baby, with Vance and Murray, are in there. Now, then."