CHAPTER XIV.
THE AFFAIR AT THE FORT.
The two began cautiously, like a pair of skillful generals sending out askirmish line to test the enemy's strength and resource. This was nosuch battle as Texas', a wild rush, a few mighty blows, and thenvictory. Williams was wary as a cat, sparring lightly, and taking norisks, and the other saw the plan and its wisdom.
"Playing easy," muttered the referee, noting the half minute on hiswatch. "Know their business, it seems."
"Wow!" growled Texas. "What's the good o' this yere baby business? Say,Parson, ain't they never goin' to hit? Whoop!"
This last exclamation was caused by the real beginning of the battle.Williams saw an unguarded face, and quick as thought his heavy arm shotout; the crowd gasped, and Mark saw it. A sudden motion of his head toone side was enough to send the blow past him harmlessly, and a momentlater the yearling's forward plunge was checked by an echoing crack uponhis ribs. Then for the rest of the round the excited cadets weretreated to an exhibition of sparring such as they had never seen intheir lives. Feinting, dodging and parrying, the springing pair seemedeverywhere at once, and their fists in a thousand places. The crowd wasthrilled; even the imperturbable Fischer was moved to exclamation, andTexas in half a minute had seen more skill than his whole experience hadshown him in his life.
"Look a thar! Look a thar! He's got him--no--gad! Whoop!"
Texas did as much dancing as the fighters themselves, and more talkingthan the whole crowd. Captain Fischer had to stop watching him longenough to tell him that the camp, with its sleeping "tacs," was only afew yards away. And then, as Powers subsided, the cadet glanced at hiswatch, called "Time!" and the two fighters went to their corners,panting.
"What did ye stop for?" inquired Texas, while the Parson set diligentlyto work at bathing several red spots on his friend's body. "What kind o'fightin' is this yere? Ain't give up, have you? Say, Mark, now go innex' time an' do him. What's the use o' layin' off?"
"A very superior exhibition of--lend me that court-plaster,please--pugilistic ability," commented the Parson, bustling about likean old hen.
And then a moment later the referee gave the word and they were at itagain.
This round there was no delay; both went at it savagely, though warilyand skillfully as ever. Blow after blow was planted that seemed fairlyto shake the air, driven by all the power that human muscle could give.
"Won't last long at this rate," said the referee, sagely shaking hishead. "Give 'em another round--gee!"
Fischer's "gee" was echoed by the yearlings with what would have, butfor the nearness of the camp, been a yell of triumph and joy. Williamshad seen a chance, and had been a second too quick for Mark; he hadlanded a crushing blow upon the latter's head, one which made himstagger. Quick to see his chance, the yearling had sprung in, drivinghis half-dazed opponent backward, landing blow after blow. Texas gaspedin horror. The yearlings danced--and then----
"Time!" said the imperturbable Fischer.
Texas sprang forward and led his bewildered friend to a seat; Texas wasabout ready to cry.
"Old man!" he muttered, "don't let him beat you. Oh! It'll be the deathof me. I'll go jump into the river!"
"Steady! Steady!" said the Parson; "we'll be all right in a moment."
Mark said nothing, but as his reeling brain cleared he gritted histeeth.
"Time," said the referee.
And Williams sprang forward to finish the work, encouraged by theenthusiastic approval of his half-wild classmates. He aimed another blowwith all his might; Mark dodged; the other tried again, and again theplebe leaped to one side; this repeated again and again was the story ofthe next minute, and the yearlings clinched their hands indisappointment and rage.
"He's flunking!" cried one of them--Bull Harris--"He's afraid!"
"He's fighting just as he ought," retorted Captain Fischer, "and doingit prettily, too. Good!"
And then once more the crowd settled into an anxious silence to watch.
The story of that minute was the story of ten. Mark had seen that inbrute force his adversary was his equal, and that skill, coolness andendurance were to win. He made up his mind on his course, and pursuedit, regardless of the jeers of the yearlings and their advice to Billyto "go in and finish him off." Billy went, but he could not reach Mark,and occasionally his ardor would be checked by an unexpected blow whichmade his classmates groan.
"It's a test of endurance now," observed Fischer, "and Billy ought towin. But the plebe holds well--bully shot, by Jove! Mallory's evidentlykept in training. Time!"
That was for the seventh round.
"He's getting madder now," whispered Mark to Stanard, as he sat down torest. "He wants to finish. If those fellows keep at him much more he'llsail in for a finish--and then, well, I'm pretty fresh yet."
Goaded on by his impatient classmates, Williams did "sail in," the verynext round. Mark led him a dance, from corner to corner, dodging,ducking and twisting, the yearling, thinking the victory his, pressingcloser and closer and aiming blow after blow.
"Watch out, Billy, watch out," muttered the vigilant Fischer to himself,as he caught the gleam in Mark's eye.
Just then Williams paused, actually exhausted; Mark saw his chestheaving, and, a still surer sign, his lip trembling.
"Now, then!" whispered the Parson at his back, and Mark sprang forward.
The yearling dodged, Mark followed rapidly. There was a moment ofvicious striking, and then the cadets gasped to see Williams give way.It was only an inch, but it told the story--Williams was tired. Fischergazed at his watch and saw that there was yet half a minute, and at thesame moment he heard a resounding thump. Mark had planted a heavy blowupon his opponent's chest, he followed almost instantly with another,and the yearlings groaned.
Williams rallied, and made a desperate fight for his life, but at theclose of that round he was what a professional reporter would havetermed "groggy." He came up weakly at the call.
"Don't be afraid of hitting him," the Parson had said, afraid thatMark's kind-heartedness would incline him to mercy. "There's too much atstake. Win, and win in a hurry"--the Parson forgot to be classical whenhe was excited.
Obedient to command, Mark set out, though it was evident to him that hehad the fight. While Texas muttered and pranced about for joy, Markdealt his opponent another blow which made him stagger; he caughthimself upon one knee, and Mark stepped back and waited for him to rise.And then suddenly a pair of strong arms were flung about the plebe'swaist and he felt himself shoved hurriedly along; at the same moment avoice shouted in his ear:
"Run, plebe, run for your life!"
Mark glanced about him in dimly-conscious amazement. He saw that thering had melted into a number of cadets, skurrying away in everydirection at the top of their speed. He heard the words, "a tac! a tac!"and knew the fight had been discovered by an army officer.
A figure dashed up behind Mark and caught him by the arm. It wasFischer.
"Run for your life! Get in barracks!" he cried.
And with that he vanished, and Mark, obeying, rushed across the cavalryplain and was soon lying breathless and exhausted in his room, wherethe wildly-jubilant Texas joined him a moment later, just as reveillewas sounded.
"Victory! Victory!" he shouted. "Wow!"
And by breakfast time that morning every cadet in the corps wasdiscussing the fight. And Mark was the hero of the whole plebe class.