“Storm the place!” yelled one.
“Drag ’em out!” shouted another.
“Wipe the spots off of ’em!” cried a third.
And then as one man they made a leap for the entrance. There was no end of fun after that.
The attack had, of course, not been unexpected by the plebes. Mark had prepared for it carefully and the cadets were destined to get a very warm welcome indeed. It was a welcome of a most unexpected variety, too, for during the interim Texas had rushed back into the cave and come back with an armful of curious white weapons. The reader may guess what they were.
Billy Rogers had been the first man to reach the foot of the cliff. The hole from which the card had come was about ten feet from the ground, but a ledge made it an easy climb. The yearling leaped up and without a moment’s hesitation flung himself in at the entrance.
His head and shoulders were lost to view for just about one second. Then they reappeared, as the owner gave a cry of horror and started back. He tumbled backward to the ground and would have been badly hurt if his companions had not caught him. His face was as white as a sheet.
“What’s the matter?” cried they.
“Good heavens!” gasped the terrified Rogers. “It’s a skull!”
“A skull!”