Not to continue the catalogue, which it would be found contained all the mythology from Greek and Sanskrit to Hindoostanee, suffice it to say that the agitated scholar strode straight down the road to Highland Falls with all the speed that a scholar could assume without loss of dignity and breath. Also that he turned off the road at the precise place his comrades had and vanished in the woods.
“They said they were going to bury it in the icehouse,” muttered the Parson. “It is there I shall endeavor to intercept them and inform them of this most extraordinary conditions of affairs. Yea, by the all-wise, high-thundering Olympian Zeus.”
The more excited the Parson got the more Homeric epithets it was his custom to heap upon the helpless head of his favorite divinity; he was very much excited just now.
Fortunately, the Parson did not know just where the icehouse was; he had never been to it but once, and he wandered about the woods hunting in vain for at least half an hour. Then he sat down in despair and gasped for breath, and listened. And in that way he was suddenly made aware of the whereabouts of the object of his search.
A sound came to his ears, a loud laugh in the distance.
“Ho, ho! You fools! Dig a tunnel, hey? Ho, ha! Well, suppose you dig it. I’ve a revolver here, and I’ll blow the blamed head off the first man that comes out. How do you like that. Guess again, Mark Mallory.”
The Parson sprang up as if he had sat down on the proverbial haystack with a needle in it. That voice was the voice of the “enemy,” Bull Harris! A moment later the Parson was creeping toward the sound with stealthiness that would have done credit to an Apache.
“We are in the hands of the enemy,” he gasped. “By the all-wise, high-thundering, far-ruling Olympian Zeus!”
“Ho, ho!” roared the voice, nearer now. “Think you can break the door down, hey? Well! well! Guess I’ll have to put a new log against it. How do you like that! That’s right! Whack away! Bully! Keep it up and you may get out by to-morrow night. Ho! ho!”
The unfortunate Zeus got a few more epithets then, and the Parson crept nearer still. In fact, he got so near that peering out of the bushes, he could spy the clearing with the little building and the two figures dancing gayly in front of it. Bull Harris was fairly convulsed with joy.