“Who’s afraid?” cried Texas.
“Yes,” echoed Dewey, boldly. “Who’s afraid. I’m not.”
“Who-who-who’s af-f-f-fraid-d?” chattered Indian.
To tell the truth, they were all very much afraid and were not at all successful in hiding it. The sound had been so weird and horrible. In such surroundings, it was small wonder that they stood in the center of the floor and trembled.
Mark racked his brain to think what the strange development could mean. He hit on a solution at last which for a moment he thought to be correct.
“By George!” he cried. “Fellows, I believe it was Bull Harris!”
The effect of that remark was instantaneous. All the plebes’ fear went out of them at the sound, and anger came in. Yes, yes, it must be Bull! The hated yearling knew of the cave, he and his three cronies alone. They had dared to come up here to fool them! Quick as a wink Texas clinched his fists and leaped forward.
“Come on,” he cried. “Wow! ef I git a holt o’ that feller I’ll make him wish I hadn’t.”
The rest had been no less prompt to follow Texas’ lead. They could hardly wait to bring the candle before they plunged into the dark passageway from out of which the sound had seemed to come. The Seven were just as mad as hops. The very idea of Bull’s daring to enter their cave, and trying to scare them out of it!
The arm of the cave into which they had gone took them completely out of sight from the main room. The flickering rays of the candle were speedily lost to view and the place grew black as night. And at the same instant, treading lightly across the carpet, stealing along with the silence and swiftness of an Indian, a crouching figure swept across the room and vanished in the recesses at the other side.