“Bull Harris has small idea that those desperate burglars were his old plebe enemies,” laughed Mark. “I heard him talking about the burglars to the cadets this morning. He said he thought they had come up from Highland Falls and——”
The conversation was cut short just then by the rattle of a drum, which caused the plebes to spring up and hustle out of the tent in a hurry to “fall in” for the morning drill in evolutions, which ended the plotting, for that hour at least.
The treasure was still in the hotel. By way of penance for her last night’s stupidity, Grace Fuller had volunteered to see that the chest was not carried from the place that day without the plebes learning of it. Mark had been over to inquire a short while ago; his report had been as stated.
He was mistaken, however, in his idea that the yearling had no idea who the burglars were. Young Chandler had picked up a revolver dropped in the hall by Texas. Texas hadn’t missed it; he had too many for that. But this one had his initials on it, and Chandler had “caught on” to the state of affairs in no time. So Bull did know that he was watched, and he was using all his cunning to outwit his unsuspecting enemies. A chest of gold was a stake worth playing hard for.
Slowly the day passed. Chandler still held on to that revolver, with the “J. P.” on the hilt. Likewise to the box of treasure in the corner of his room. And he and Bull were busily plotting a way to remove it to safety, and if possible get its real owners into trouble besides. Bull thought they might make another effort to steal it. “It would be just like the fools,” said he, “and if they do, they won’t get away quite so easily again.”
Bull had a decided advantage in the matter, as you may easily see. He was working with his eyes open. He knew the situation. The Seven, on the other hand, were blinded by their supposition that they were unwatched and unsuspected.
Moreover, Bull had what Texas would have called the “drop” on them with that gun.
He was going to cap the climax by getting the treasure safely out of reach; then he calculated that his long-sought revenge over Mark would be obtained.
Bull watched Mark and his “gang” slyly during the day. Bull hated each and every individual member of that gang with all the concentrated hatred of which he was capable. Mark had foiled and outwitted him at every turn—the wild and woolly Texan had thrashed him once; “Indian,” the fat and timid “kid” from Indianapolis, had gotten mad one day and interrupted one of Bull’s hazing bees, attacking the yearling with a fury that had knocked him off his feet.
Then there was the Parson, who was one of the most inoffensive scholars this world has ever made, but he did object to being tied in a sack “like a member of the Turkish harem,” as he vividly described it. And when Bull tried that, the Parson had a fit and put his classical and geological muscles at work on Bull’s nose.