“Betcher life, b’gee!” cried Dewey.
“An’ ef Mark gets hurt one o’ the rest of us gives it,” added Texas, excitedly.
Which sentiment the Parson echoed with his usual solemn “Yea, by Zeus!” That idea just caught the seven plebes in the right spot.
They shook hands on it then and there, and swore a solemn compact. The form of it was this:
“Whereas, Bull Harris is a villain.
“Resolved, That if he don’t fight Mark to-night—which he won’t—we give him a licking to-morrow. And that incidentally—b’gee—we also wallop Merry Vance and the other two!”
That interesting resolution having been unanimously adopted by a majority of fourteen—for everybody was eager to vote twice—the Seven agreed to drop the unpleasant topic from their minds and proceed to the business for which they had come up, the clearing away of the remnants of their “banquet.” Accordingly they hurried on through the woods.
Even if they had not dropped the subject voluntarily they must speedily have forgotten it. For something very exciting was destined to occur in a few minutes. It requires a brief digression from our story to mention.
The scene of last night’s feast was only about two hundred yards from the camp, and so the lads had not very far to go. Reaching it, they pushed the bushes aside and hurried out into the clearing. A moment later, with one accord, they halted and gave vent to a cry of surprise.
The reason was very evident. When they had left that spot in their terrible haste the night before they had left the ground plentifully bestrewn with victuals. And now there was not a trace of anything to be seen, not even so much as a crumb of pie crust!