“What is it?” cried Bull.
But Vance was gone. He had dashed away in the darkness, through the camp. A second later he bounded up back, and wild with rage.
“It’s Mallory!” he exclaimed.
“Mallory!”
“Yes. He’s not in his tent! He’s stolen Allen’s clothes and fooled us!”
And as Bull leaped to his feet, his face was livid with passion. He shook his fist at the sky.
“By Heaven!” he cried, “he’ll pay for this if I have to kill him. Call the fellows! Quick! quick!”
* * * * *
We must go back to the scene of the feast. The incidents narrated above had taken but a very few minutes indeed, and the feast was still under way. In fact, the Parson had scarcely finished his pumpkin pie and Indian had eaten but three of them. So you may guess that the banquet had barely gotten started.
Mark got up to propose a toast. They had no wine, but fruit cake was just as good for toast, so Dewey said. Mark was as unsteady on his legs as if he had been drinking; it was all from too much laughing, however.