"Drunk! Drunk! For Heaven's sake what do you mean?"

Mark had been sitting in the door of a tent in "A" company street, vigorously polishing a musket. At the moment he had dropped the gun and the cleaning kit to the ground and was gazing in amazement at Indian, who had halted, breathless, in front of him.

"Drunk!" the first speaker repeated. "Texas drunk! What on earth are you talking about?"

The other was so red in the face and out of breath from what had evidently been a long run that he could scarcely manage to answer. His eyes were staring, and his face a picture of excitement and alarm.

"Bless my soul!" he gasped. "I tell you—I saw him! He's wild!"

"What do you mean? Where is he?"

"He—he's got a horse! He's ridden off! Oh—bless my soul—he's killing everybody!"

Mark sprang to his feet in excitement. At the same moment another head appeared in the opening, preceded by a hasty "What's that?" It was Parson Stanard, and his learned classical face was a picture of amazement.

"Texas drunk!" he echoed. "Where did he get anything to drink?"

"I don't know!" gasped Indian. "Bless my soul—I only saw him one moment; he dashed down the road. Oh! And had a horse, and his guns—Lord, I was scared nearly to death."

"Which way did he go?" inquired Mark, quickly, a sudden resolution taking possession of his mind.

"Down toward Highland Falls," answered the other.

And before he could say another word, Mark had seized his hat, sprang out of the tent, and bounded away down the company street to the great amazement of the cadets who chanced to see him.

"Texas'll be expelled! Expelled!" he muttered. "And then what on earth will I do?"

The time was morning. The plebe class had just been dismissed a short while ago from an hour of drill, and most of them were over by the cavalry plain, watching the preparations of the rest of the corps for "light artillery drill," which was the programme of the morning.

Scarcely half an hour ago Mark had left Texas and now he was drunk! And he was drunk after the fashion of the cowboys, reckless of everything, shooting and yelling, ready to raid a town if need be. Where he had gotten his whiskey, or his horse, what on earth had led him to such an extraordinary proceeding, were questions that Mark could not solve; but he knew that his friend was in imminent danger, that expulsion stared him in the face. And that was all Mark needed to know.

He did not notice that the plain on his right was crowded with spectators of the drill, and that those same spectators were staring at him curiously as he dashed past. He had eyes for but one thing, and that was a building to one side, down the hill toward the shore of the Hudson. He did not stop for paths; he plunged down the bank, and finally wound up breathless in front of the cavalry stables.

Most of the men were off to one side, at that moment engaged in harnessing the horses for the drill on the plain above. But one was left, and he sat in the doorway, calmly smoking his pipe, and gazing curiously at the figure before him.

"What d'ye want?" he demanded.

"A horse!" gasped Mark.

"Plebe?" inquired the other, with exasperating slowness.

"Yes."

"Where's yer permit?"

"Haven't got any."

"Don't get no horse then!"Mark gazed at the man in consternation—he hadn't thought of that difficulty. Then a sudden idea occurred to him, and he thrust his hand into the watch pocket of his uniform. There was money there, money which as a cadet Mark had no business to have. But he thanked his stars for it all the same. There was a five-dollar bill, and he handed it to the man.

"For Heaven's sake," he panted, "give me a horse! Quick! Don't lose a moment! I'll see you don't get blamed—say I took it away from you if you want to."

The man fingered the bill for a few moments, lost in thought.

"It'd take more'n you to take a horse away from me," he said at last. "But since you're in such a hurry——"

He stepped inside the building, and a moment later reappeared, leading one of the government cavalry horses.

"Saddle?" he inquired.

By way of answer Mark sprang at the animal's head, and in one bound was on his back.

"Get up!" he cried, digging his heels into the horse's side. "Get up!" and a moment later was dashing down the road as if he had been shot from a catapult.

"Terrible hurry that!" muttered the stableman, shaking his head, as he turned away. "Terrible hurry! Something wrong 'bout that 'ere."

There was; and Mark thought so, too, as he galloped down the road. He feared there would be much more wrong in a very short while. In half an hour or so the plebe class, his class, would be called to quarters once more for drill, and if he and Texas were not on hand then, there would be trouble, indeed. If they were, there was prospect of no less excitement. From what Mark knew of his hot-tempered and excitable comrade when sober, he could form a vague idea of what a terror he might be when he was mad with drink; and being thus he would not be apt to behave as the meek and gentle thing a plebe is supposed to be. Mark had had great trouble in keeping Texas quiet, even under ordinary circumstances.

Mark, it may be mentioned, had met this wild and uncivilized lad down at the hotel at Highland Falls, some weeks before either of them had been admitted to the academy. Texas had then with recklessness helped Mark in outwitting some hazers among the candidates. Mark had been drawn to the other by his frank and open nature, by their mutual love of fun and adventure, and by a certain respect each felt for the other's prowess. The story of the heroic efforts by which Mark had earned his cadetship was known to Texas, as indeed it was to every one on the post.

The two had come up to the Point together, and passed their examinations; and they had been fast friends ever since. Mark had backed Texas in a battle in which Texas had "licked" no less than four of the yearlings. Texas had been Mark's second in a fight with the picked champion of the same class. And since then the two had set out together on a crusade against hazing which had turned West Point customs topsy-turvy and made the yearlings fairly wild with desperation.

Through all this the two had fought side by side, and were stanch friends. And now! The Texan's wild passions had led him to an act that might mean instant expulsion. And Mark felt that West Point was losing half its charm.

All this he was rapidly revolving in his mind as the horse sped down the road. Texas might be found! He might be brought back in time, if indeed he had not already shot some one! Mark felt that the chance was worth the risk, and he leaned forward over the flying horse's neck and urged him on with every trick he could think of.

On, on they sped. Down the road past the riding hall, up the hill, past the mess hall, the hospital and then on southward toward Highland Falls. The passers-by stopped to look at the hurrying figure in astonishment; people rushed to the windows to see what the clatter of hoofs might mean; but before they got there the horse and rider had vanished down the street in a swirling cloud of dust.

As if there were not enough to perplex Mark, a new problem rose up before him just then. The village he had left behind him, and was speeding down the road—when he chanced to think of the fact that he was almost at "Cadet limits." There was a fork in the road just below; to go beyond it meant instant expulsion if discovered! And how could he hope to be undiscovered, he in a cadet uniform and on that public highway?

The risk was desperate, but Mark had almost resolved to take it, when a startling sound broke upon his ears.

"Wow! Whoop!" Bang! Bang! "Wow!"

And a moment later, sweeping around a turn, a cloud of dust appeared to Mark's straining eyes. The cloud drew nearer; the shouts and yells swelled louder, accompanied now and then by a fusillade as from a dozen revolvers; and at last, in the midst of the cloud, as if racing with it, a horse and rider came into view, the rider with a huge revolver in each hand and a dozen in his belt, flinging his arms, shouting and yelling as if forty demons were on his trail.

"Heaven help him!" Mark thought to himself. "Heaven help him, for I can't!"

The rider was Texas.

Mark had scarcely had time to take in the startling situation, before the horse and rider were upon him with a rush and a whirl.

"Wow! Whoop!" roared Texas, with all the power of his mighty throat; and at the same moment Mark heard a bullet whistle past his head.

Texas had not recognized his friend at the pace he was riding; he and his flying steed were past and started up the road in the direction whence Mark had come, when the latter turned and shouted:

"Texas! Oh, Texas! come back here!"

Texas gave a mighty tug upon the reins which brought his horse to his haunches; he swung him around with a whirl that would have flung any ordinary rider from the saddle; and then he dashed back, on his face a broad grin of recognition and delight.

"Hi, Mark!" he roared. "Durnation glad to see you! Whoop!"

Mark's mind was working with desperate swiftness just then. He saw in a moment that there was yet hope. Texas was not staggering; he sat his saddle erect and graceful. His voice, too, was natural, and it was evident that he had drunk only enough to excite him, to make him wild and blind to the consequences. There was room for lots of diplomacy in managing him, Mark thought. The only obstacle was time—or lack of it.He reached over from his horse and seized the hand which the other held out to him.

"How are you, old man?" he said.

"Bully!" cried Texas. "Ain't felt so jolly, man, fo' weeks! Whoop! 'Ray! Got a horse, Mark, ain't you? Wow! that's great! Come along, thar! Git up! We'll go bust up the hull camp. Wow!"

And Texas had actually turned to gallop ahead. Mark had but a moment to think; he thought quickly, though, in that moment, and resolved on a desperate expedient.

"Texas!" he called, and then as his friend turned, he added: "Texas, get down from that horse!"

The other stared at him in amazement, and Mark returned that stare with a stern and determined look. There was fire in Powers' eye, more so than usually; but there was a quiet, unflinching purpose in Mark's that the other had learned to respect.

That had been a hard lesson. Texas had lost his temper once and struck Mark, and Mark thrashed him then as he had never been thrashed before. Texas knew his master after that, and now as he stared, a glimmering recollection of the time returned to his whirling brain.

"Texas, get down from that horse."

There was a moment more during which the two stared at each other in silence; and then the right one gave way. Texas leaned forward, flung his leg over the saddle, and sprang lightly to the ground. And after that he stood silent and watched his friend, with a worried and puzzled look upon his face.

Mark breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that he had won. He dismounted, led his horse over to the side of the road, and sat down. Texas followed him, though his unwillingness was written on his face.

"Now see here, old man," Mark began, having gotten him quiet, as he thought. "I want to talk to you some."

"Pshaw!" growled Texas. "I don't want to talk. I want to git up an' git, an' have some fun."

"Well, now, see here, Texas," Mark continued. "Don't you know if you are seen carrying on this way you'll get into trouble? How about drill in a few minutes?"

"Ain't goin' to drill!" cried the other, wriggling nervously in his seat, and twitching his fingers with excitement. "Tired o' drillin'! I'm a-goin' to have some fun!"

"But don't you know, man, that you'll be expelled?" Mark pleaded.

"Expelled! Wow!"

That was the spark that started the conflagration again. Texas leaped to his feet with fury.

"Expelled!" he roared. "Who'll expel me? Whoop! I'd like to see anybody in this place try it naow, by thunder! I'll show 'em! I'll hold up the hull place! Watch me scare 'em! Whoop!"

And almost before Mark could move or say anything, the wild lad sprang forward at a bound and landed upon his horse's back. A moment later he was off like a shot, leaving only a cloud of dust and an echo of yells behind him.

"Wow! Whoop! Who'll expel me? Come out yere, you ole officers, an' try it! Wow!"

Texas was on the warpath again. This time headed straight for West Point.

And riding behind him with desperate speed, scarcely fifty yards in the rear, was Mark, pursuing with all his might, and trembling with alarm as he thought of what that desperate cowboy might do when once he reached the post.

For West Point, and the crowded parade ground, were not a quarter of a mile away.