Texas’ temper had been rising during this brief sprint, and when he stopped he reached for his wet revolver.
“I’ll stop him,” he muttered. “Hang him, I’ll scare him till he’s blue.”
“It won’t do any good,” said Mark, holding his excitable friend back. “He’s got an idea we are cadets, and he’ll say so in the paper anyhow. Then there’ll be an investigation, and out we go.”
“Oo-oo!” wailed Indian, still gasping for breath. “I wish we hadn’t come. Bless my soul!”
“What’ll we do, then?” growled Texas, speaking to Mark, who still held him back.
“We’ve simply got to fool him,” declared Mark. “We’ve got to make him think we’re somebody else. It’s going to be hard work, too.”
The reporter had been watching them from the distance during this. He saw them talking together in consultation for some ten minutes more, and then one of their number, the one with the bandaged hands, stepped out and spoke to him.
“I suppose there’s no use trying to fool you,” said he. “Come up here and we’ll tell you who we are. You may be able to help us, anyway.”
* * * * *
Extract from the New York Globe, a special late edition on Sunday morning: