And Mark breathed freely again; he turned pale, however, a moment later, as he saw the doctor, catching the odor of the lad's breath, shake his head and look serious.
"He knows! He knows!" Mark muttered to himself, "and it is all up with poor Texas."
They carried the lad over to the hospital; and then West Point set to work to get over its amazement and alarm as best it could.
They cleared up the wreck for one thing. Two of the horses had broken their legs and had to be led off and shot. The rest trotted behind the corps as it marched away—marched, for no amount of excitement could interfere with West Point discipline. And then there was left down at that end of the cavalry plain only a crowd of curious people, with a scattering of army officers and plebes, all discussing excitedly the amazing happenings of scarcely five minutes ago, and wondering what on earth had taken possession of the two reckless cadets that had started all the trouble.
They looked for Mark, but Mark had disappeared while the excitement was at its height. He did not welcome the questions or the stares of the curious. Moreover, he saw the superintendent, Colonel Harvey, excitedly questioning several of the staff about the matter. Mark feared that the superintendent might turn upon him any moment, and he wanted time to think before that happened.
He dodged behind the library building, the Parson with him, and made his way around to the now deserted camp. Once beneath its protection, the two sat down and stared at each other in dismay. There was no need to say anything, for each knew how the other felt. Texas was up the spout; Mark was but little better off; and the universe was coming to an end.
That was all.
"Well," said Mark at last, "we're busted!"
And the Parson assented with a solemn "Yea, by Zeus!" and relapsed into a glum silence again.
Neither of them felt called upon to say anything after that; neither could think of the least thing to say. There wasn't a glimmering of hope—they were simply "busted," and that was all there was to it.