“Do you know,” Mark continued, after a few minutes’ silence, “do you know Bull actually surprised me?”
Texas had something to say to that.
“Nothin’ that air ole coyote ever did would surprise me,” said Texas.
“Bull has tried many contemptible tricks,” observed Mark, thoughtfully, as if speaking to himself. “He has tried some things that would make the Old Nick himself blush for shame, I think. He has lied about me to the cadets and to the officers. He has enticed me into the woods to beat me; he has played upon my kindness to have me expelled. But he never yet has done anything to equal this.”
The silence of the Seven as they tramped on expressed to Mark a great deal more assent than any words could have done.
“It was so utterly uncalled for,” Mark went on. “It was so utterly contemptible. And the brazen effrontery of it was the most amazing thing of all. One would have thought when he put the sheriff upon our track he would have kept his own identity secret. But to come right out before our faces and betray us—his fellow cadets! I declare I don’t know what to do about it.”
Texas doubled up his fists suggestively. He knew what to do.
“No,” said Mark, noticing the unspoken suggestion. “I do not think it would do much good to whip him. Bull would not face me in a fair fight, and somehow I can’t make up my mind to tackle him otherwise, even if he does deserve it. It don’t do any good to frighten him, either, or to treat him decently. Every effort seems to deepen his vindictiveness. I don’t see, fellows, how we are ever to have any peace while Bull is in West Point.”
That just about expressed the situation, as it appeared to the Seven. No peace with Bull Harris in West Point!
“B’gee!” exclaimed Dewey, suddenly. “I don’t see any reason why he has to stay.”