"I'm a-goin' too," he vowed.
"She says not," whispered Mark.
"I know," was the answer. "She ain't a-goin' to know it. I'm a-goin' in case it's them ole yearlin's. Ef I see it's all right, and she wrote it, I reckon I kin sneak home."
Nothing could deter the faithful and vigilant Texan from his resolution, and when Mark stole out of his tent his friend was at his heels. They passed the sentry, Baby Edwards, with the usual signal, Mark fooled for once, was chuckling at his deception, thinking Baby thought them yearlings. But Baby knew who it was, and laughed.
The two, once clear of camp, set out on a dead run. They dashed across the Cavalry Plain and down the road to Highland Falls. It was nearly a mile to where Mary Adams lived, but Mark never stopped once, not even when he came to the dreaded cadet limits, to be found beyond which meant court-martial and dismissal in disgrace. He took the risk grimly, however, and ran on. When they finally reached the girl's house the Texan was panting and exhausted.
"You stay there," whispered Mark, pointing to a clump of bushes nearby.
Texas crouched behind them, and doubled his fists in determination. Mark just as promptly stepped up to the door and softly rapped.
There was a light in one of the rooms on the ground floor. The curtain was carefully drawn, but Texas, watching closely, saw a shadow swiftly flit across. And just after that the door was flung open, and the girl stood before them.
"I knew you would come!" Texas heard her cry. "Oh, thank fortune!"
Then Mark stepped inside, and the door shut again.