A feather might have bowled over our gallant plebe; a regiment of tin soldiers put him to flight. He was simply paralyzed. And he stood and stared at the officer in open-mouthed consternation.
Lieutenant Allen was mad all the way through; any one could have seen that. He was glaring at his helpless prisoner.
“Mr. Powers!” he thundered, “what does this mean?”
Poor Texas didn’t know; and so he didn’t try to say. He merely gasped.
“This is a nice state of affairs, indeed, sir!” the officer continued. “Beyond cadet limits, sir! Roaming the woods at night! And with revolvers in your hand, too. What are you doing with those weapons, sir?”
Texas was still silent in consternation.
“Put them on the ground this instant!” commanded Allen.
“Now, then, sir,” the angry officer went on, “I suppose you understand that you have rendered yourself liable to court-martial? And Mr. Mallory, also!”
The plebe winced at that last; poor fellow, he had been consoling himself with the hope that Mark, at least, was safe.
“I know it, sir!” he moaned.