"Get up!" he cried, digging his heels into the horse's side. "Get up!" and a moment later was dashing down the road as if he had been shot from a catapult.
"Terrible hurry that!" muttered the stableman, shaking his head, as he turned away. "Terrible hurry! Something wrong 'bout that 'ere."
There was; and Mark thought so, too, as he galloped down the road. He feared there would be much more wrong in a very short while. In half an hour or so the plebe class, his class, would be called to quarters once more for drill, and if he and Texas were not on hand then, there would be trouble, indeed. If they were, there was prospect of no less excitement. From what Mark knew of his hot-tempered and excitable comrade when sober, he could form a vague idea of what a terror he might be when he was mad with drink; and being thus he would not be apt to behave as the meek and gentle thing a plebe is supposed to be. Mark had had great trouble in keeping Texas quiet, even under ordinary circumstances.
Mark, it may be mentioned, had met this wild and uncivilized lad down at the hotel at Highland Falls, some weeks before either of them had been admitted to the academy. Texas had then with recklessness helped Mark in outwitting some hazers among the candidates. Mark had been drawn to the other by his frank and open nature, by their mutual love of fun and adventure, and by a certain respect each felt for the other's prowess. The story of the heroic efforts by which Mark had earned his cadetship was known to Texas, as indeed it was to every one on the post.
The two had come up to the Point together, and passed their examinations; and they had been fast friends ever since. Mark had backed Texas in a battle in which Texas had "licked" no less than four of the yearlings. Texas had been Mark's second in a fight with the picked champion of the same class. And since then the two had set out together on a crusade against hazing which had turned West Point customs topsy-turvy and made the yearlings fairly wild with desperation.
Through all this the two had fought side by side, and were stanch friends. And now! The Texan's wild passions had led him to an act that might mean instant expulsion. And Mark felt that West Point was losing half its charm.
All this he was rapidly revolving in his mind as the horse sped down the road. Texas might be found! He might be brought back in time, if indeed he had not already shot some one! Mark felt that the chance was worth the risk, and he leaned forward over the flying horse's neck and urged him on with every trick he could think of.
On, on they sped. Down the road past the riding hall, up the hill, past the mess hall, the hospital and then on southward toward Highland Falls. The passers-by stopped to look at the hurrying figure in astonishment; people rushed to the windows to see what the clatter of hoofs might mean; but before they got there the horse and rider had vanished down the street in a swirling cloud of dust.
As if there were not enough to perplex Mark, a new problem rose up before him just then. The village he had left behind him, and was speeding down the road—when he chanced to think of the fact that he was almost at "Cadet limits." There was a fork in the road just below; to go beyond it meant instant expulsion if discovered! And how could he hope to be undiscovered, he in a cadet uniform and on that public highway?
The risk was desperate, but Mark had almost resolved to take it, when a startling sound broke upon his ears.