"And you don't mean," cried the six, almost in one breath, "Colonel Harvey believes it?"
"Why shouldn't he?" responded Mark, despairingly. "I cannot see any way out of it. The whole thing's a dirty lie from beginning to end, but it makes a straight story when it is told, and I can't disprove it."
"But I thought you said," cried Texas, "that you saw Benny himself cheating, or tryin' to, at the examinations right hyar."
"So I did," said the other. "But I cannot prove that. I know lots of things about him, but I can't prove one of them. They've simply got me and that's all there is of it. There are three of them, and it's almost impossible to make the superintendent think they're lying. Think of a rich old man like the squire's doing a trick like that!"
"Perhaps he ain't," suggested Texas, shrewdly.
"Perhaps not," admitted Mark. "Benny would not hesitate to lie to his own father. But all the same I have no proof. And what in Heaven's name am I to do?"
Mark sat down upon the locker in his tent and buried his face in his hands. His wretchedness is left to the imagination. The whole thing had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly, right in the midst of his triumph! And it was so horrible!
The six could think of no word of comfort; for they were as cast down, as thunderstruck, as he. Their regard for Mark was deep and true, and his ruin they felt was theirs. They sat or stood about the tent in characteristic attitudes, and with dejection written upon every line of their countenances.
First to move was the wild Texas, ever impulsive and excitable. And Texas leaped to his feet, with a muttered whoop!
"I'm a-goin' to prove them air fellers are lyin', by thunder, ef I have to resign to do it!"