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FRANK MERRIWELL’S ATHLETES
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   :PG.Title: Frank Merriwell’s Athletes
   :PG.Id: 41996
   :PG.Released: 2013-02-03
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Roger Frank
   :PG.Producer: the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
   :DC.Creator: Burt \L. Standish
   :DC.Title: Frank Merriwell’s Athletes
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1903
   :coverpage: images/cover.jpg

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    :xlg:`Frank Merriwell’s Athletes`

    OR

    :lg:`The Boys Who Won`

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    BY

    BURT L. STANDISH

    Author of the famous :sc:`Merriwell Stories`.

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    STREET & SMITH CORPORATION

    PUBLISHERS

    79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

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    Copyright, 1903

    By STREET & SMITH

    Frank Merriwell’s Athletes

    All rights reserved, including that of translation into |nl| foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

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    :xlg:`Frank Merriwell’s Athletes`

CHAPTER I—FRANK AND HIS FRIENDS
===============================

“Say, boys, just listen to that racket!”

It was Jack Diamond who spoke, and he addressed
Frank Merriwell and several others of his friends.

“It is certainly awful,” came from Harry Rattleton,
one of the boys.

“I can’t stand much of this,” put in Bruce Browning.
“It is enough to drive one crazy.”

The boys had just entered the outer portals of a
Chinese theatre, located in Chinatown, the Celestial
portion of San Francisco. There was a great crowd,
and it was only with difficulty that they made their
way along the narrow and gloomy passages leading
to the theatre proper.

Frank Merriwell and his chums from Yale College
had filled in their summer vacation by a trip on bicycles
from New York to San Francisco. They had
had numerous adventures, but had come out “right
side up with care,” as Frank put it.

The party was composed of Frank Merriwell, Harry
Rattleton, a former roommate at Yale; Jack Diamond,
from Virginia; Bruce Browning, fat, lazy and good-natured;
and Toots, a colored boy from the Merriwell
homestead.

On reaching California, Frank had fallen in with
Bart Hodge, a schoolmate of years gone by, when
Frank had attended Fardale Military Academy. Bart
had been in serious trouble, and it was Frank who
helped him out of it. For some time Hodge had found
it best to “keep shady,” and his troubles were not yet
a thing of the past.

As the boys walked farther into the entrance of the
Chinese theatre, a clanging medley of the most horrible
sounds came up from the passage that lay at the
foot of a steep flight of stairs.

Frank Merriwell laughed.

“That is music, old fellow!” he said.

Then came another burst of sounds, more horrible
than the first, if possible. There was a banging of
brass, a clanging of gongs, a roaring of drums, and
a wild shrieking and wailing as of ten thousand fiddles
cut of tune.

Jack jabbed his fingers into his ears and actually
turned pale.

“Music!” he gasped—“that music? That is enough
to drive any man crazy! It is the most frightful thing
I ever heard. Music! You are joking, Merriwell!”

“Not a bit of it,” declared Frank. “Aren’t we on
our way to witness a play in a Chinese theatre?”

“Well, I supposed so, but it strikes me now that this
is one of your jokes. You have put up a job on me.
You are trying to horse me.”

“Nothing of the sort, my dear boy.”

Jack still continued suspicious.

“Who ever heard of such a way of getting into a
theatre?” he exclaimed. “We entered a narrow door
in an old building, came through a long, dark passage,
climbed stairs, descended stairs, turned, twisted,
climbed more stairs, turned again, and now here we
are with another flight of stairs before us. A fine way
of getting into a theatre!”

“That is the way the Chinese do the trick. Eh,
John?”

The Chinaman who had been acting as their guide,
and who stood on the first stair, waiting for them to
follow him downward, nodded his head, saying:

“Allee samee legler way.”

“It may be the regular way,” admitted Jack; “but
I doubt if I could find my way out of here alone. This
would be a fine place to run an enemy into if one wished
to murder him secretly. There would be little danger
that the police would ever find out anything about it.”

Frank made a signal to the guide, and then the trio
slowly descended the stairs, which were dimly lighted
by paper-shaded lamps.

At the foot of the stairs the boys passed a door that
stood open, enabling them to look into a room that was
filled with bunks, upon many of which lay Chinamen
who were sleeping or smoking opium. The powerful
odor of “dope” that came from that room was sickening.

Then they came to an ordinary step-ladder that led
downward again.

Jack halted in dismay.

“Why,” he said, “we must be underground now!
Where are we going?”

“To the theatre, dear boy. Hear the music.”

“Why will you persist in calling it that? It seems
that those sounds come from the infernal regions, and
this passage must lead down to the old fellow’s reception-room.”

“Glit to theatal plitty soon,” assured the guide.

Down the ladder they went, and then, at an open
door, paid an admission fee, after which they entered
a room that was packed with human beings and was
not at all well ventilated.

The room had a low ceiling, from which Chinese
lanterns were suspended, shedding a soft light over
the scene, which was so strange that it actually seemed
weird to the American visitors.

At either side of the theatre was a space railed off
and raised somewhat above the level of the general
floor. This was reserved for women, and was well
filled. In the pit sat a closely packed throng of men,
all with hats upon their heads.

There were a great number of Caucasian visitors,
drawn to the place by curiosity.

The stage was on a level with the raised portion
reserved for women, and it was filled with actors,
many of whom were richly dressed in oriental robes.

Instead of sitting in front of the stage, like an American
orchestra, the musicians were on the stage.

As for scenery, there was none to speak of, save a
few movable screens. It was not thought necessary
to attempt to please the eye further than in the matter
of costumes.

As no female actors are ever permitted on the stage
of a Chinese theatre, the female *rôles* were played by
youths, who were carefully made up for their parts.

The Chinese guide found seats for Frank and Jack,
but retired himself to the back of the room, where he
stood and waited till they should see enough of the
show and wish to go.

The audience never applauded, although there was a
quick rippling response to what seemed to be an occasional
witty passage or clever situation.

But the musicians—the musicians wearied and tortured
Jack Diamond’s soul. They were there to accentuate
the emotional parts of the play, and they
seemed bent upon doing their duty and doing it fully.
At times they poured forth a maddening volume of
sounds, and then they seemed to get weary and rest,
with the exception of two or three stringed instruments,
which sawed, and squeaked, and squawled, and
growled, and muttered till the Virginian’s blood was
cold and his hair standing like porcupine quills.

“Frightful! frightful!” he gasped.

Frank chuckled with satisfaction. It was a new
experience for Diamond, and Merriwell was enjoying
it as one always enjoys introducing his friends to something
new and novel.

“My dear fellow,” whispered Frank, “I fear your ear
is not educated to appreciate the beauties of Chinese
music.”

“Music! music! Why, a boiler factory in full blast
makes better music than this!”

“You are prejudiced. It is a fact that their music
is based on ah established scale and a scientific theory.”

“Oh, come! that’s too much! Why, see, those players
have no leader, and every man is going it alone
for himself. It is exactly the same as if every person
in one of our orchestras should play a different tune
than anybody else and all play at the same time—only
I don’t believe these heathens are playing tunes at all.
They are just hammering, and tooting, and sawing
away, and letting it go at that.”

“It does seem so,” confessed Frank, “although at
certain points they all come together with a grand
burst, like sprinters making a dash.”

Jack’s hand dropped on Frank’s wrist.

“Look!” he excitedly whispered, pointing to a
Chinaman who had risen amid the spectators at a short
distance. “What is that fellow going to do? I saw
him conceal a knife in his sleeve.”

“And he acts as if he meant to use it on some one,”
said Frank, made suspicious by the fellow’s manner.
“That’s exactly what he is up to!”

But the Chinaman did not succeed in his purpose,
for a stout youth suddenly arose from a seat and gave
the heathen a terrific crack on the jaw, knocking him
down in a twinkling.

“Take thot, ye thafe av th’ worruld!” cried the one
who had delivered the blow. “It’s Barney Mulloy
thot wur watchin’ yez all th’ toime, ye haythen spalpane!”

“Barney Mulloy!”

Frank uttered the name in a joyous cry of recognition;
but his voice was drowned by the sudden uproar
in the theatre. Men sprang to their feet, and women
screamed.

Frank caught Jack by the arm, shouting in his ear:
“Come, we must stand by that fellow! He is an old
friend of mine!”

“I am with you,” assured Diamond, who had good
fighting blood, which was easily aroused.

They forced their way through the throng which
surrounded the boy who had struck the Chinaman.

“Barney!” cried Frank.

“Mother av Mowses!” shouted the Irish lad in
amazement. “Is it mesilf thot’s gone crazy, or am Oi
dramin’?”

“Not a dream,” assured Merry, as he grasped Barney’s
hand.

“Is it yesilf, Frankie?”

“It is!”

“Dunder und blitzens!” cried another voice at
Frank’s side. “Uf id don’t peen Vrankie Merriwell,
you vos a liar!”

Then Frank’s amazement and wonder was complete,
for he was grasped and hugged by the arms of a fat
boy who was laughing all over his fat, jolly face, and
that boy was Hans Dunnerwust, who, with Mulloy,
had known him at Fardale Academy when all were students
there.

“Hans! Why, where—how——”

But Frank was given no time for questions, as an
angry crowd was pressing about them, and they were
in danger.

Merriwell lifted his voice, crying:

“Every American in the place should stand by us!
My friend struck the Chinaman because he saw him
draw a knife, and the blow was delivered in self-defense.”

Several voices answered, and bursting through the
crowd came three men in yachting suits, who assured
the boys that they would stand by them.

The yachtmen seemed to be on a lark, and they took
great delight in knocking Chinamen right and left,
which they did in a highly entertaining manner.

“For the door!” cried Frank, commandingly. “We
must get out of here!”

For the door they rushed, sweeping everything before
them. Crack! crack! crack! sounded the blows
of the yachtsmen’s fists, and they gave a hoarse cheer
that seemed to have in it the boom of the surf on a
rocky coast.

“Hurro!” shouted Barney Mulloy, in a wild fever
of excitement. “It’s mesilf thot’s not been in a bit
av a scrap loike this fer a wake! It’s fun, it is! Git
out av th’ way, ye pig-tailed rat-’aters! Ye nivver wur
made ter live in a whoite man’s country at all, at all!”

“Say, you nefer saw such a fight as this, did I?”
cried the Dutch boy, flourishing his arms in a furious
manner and striking friends almost as often as foes.
“Uf this don’d peat der pand, you don’d toldt me so!”

With a few exceptions, the Chinamen did not seem
at all anxious to get in the way of the Americans. It
was not the first occasion when an affair of a similar
nature had occurred in a Chinese theatre.

Sometimes some of the bloods of the town would
come down into Chinatown full of wine and “good
intentions,” and it was their custom to end the racket
whenever possible by “cleaning out” a Chinese theatre.

Many of the spectators on this occasion believed it
was a pre-arranged plan to clean out the theatre, and
so they made haste to get out themselves as soon as
possible.

The boys and their sailor friends were among those
who early rushed out through the door, and they clambered
up the step-ladder with no small haste.

It was not difficult to find their way out, for it was
only necessary to follow the crowd. Now and then a
few of the Chinamen disappeared by means of side
doors, but the most of them kept straight on to the
open air.

The main streets of the quarter were lighted by paper
lanterns, which gave out a dim, mellow light, beneath
which the oriental throng looked strange and fantastic.

To Frank it seemed as if they were in Pekin instead
of the American city of San Francisco.

Barney Mulloy laughed heartily.

“Did yez ivver see th’ bate av thot?” he cried. “It’s
th’ divvil’s own ruction it wur, but nivver a Chink came
back fer a sicond dose afther gettin’ a chrack av me
fist.”

“Dot’s vot’s der madder mit Hannah!” put in Hans.
“Ven I hit somepody my fist mit they nefer lif to dell
uf him. Yah!”

“They nivver knew ye shtruck thim, ye Dutch
chase,” said Barney, contemptuously.

“Dot vos righd,” agreed Dunnerwust. “Ven I hit
nopody it alvays means sutten death.”

“G’won!” snorted the Irish boy. Then Barney
caught hold of Frank once more, and gave him a
genuine bear hug.

“Begorra! Oi thought Oi’d nivver see yez again,
Frankie!” he cried. “Oi hearrud ye wur in Yale Collige,
an’ it’s yersilf Oi thought moight get such a great
gintlemon ye’d care nivver a bit to see yer ould fri’nds
any more at all, at all.”

“You should know me better than that, Barney,”
said Frank, protestingly. “No matter what happens
to me, you may be sure I’ll always be true to my old
friends.”

“Dot vos righdt!” grinned Hans. “Vrankie Merriwell
nefer goes pack on his friendts, ur don’d you pelief
me. He vas all righdt vrom der top uf his headt
ubvard.”

Other visitors kept pouring from the small door that
had admitted them to the passage leading to the theatre,
and one of the sailors, a handsome-looking man
with a full beard, said:

“I think, we’ll get away from here, as the police
seem to have a grudge against any one in a sailor’s
suit, and this racket may bring some of them down
here.”

Immediately Frank said:

“We owe you thanks, sir, for the aid you gave us
in getting out of a bad scrape. You responded to my
appeal for help immediately, and——”

The man interrupted with a laugh.

“We were only too glad of a chance to do it, as we
were looking for a good opportunity to smash a few
Chinks in the mug. Eh, boys?”

“That’s right,” nodded his companions.

Merriwell looked at the men curiously, and he saw
they were anything but ordinary sailors. All were
fine-appearing men, and they spoke like persons of education.

“We will go along with you, if you don’t mind,” he
said. “I think we have seen quite enough of Chinatown
to suffice for to-night. What do you say, fellows?”

“I am sure I have,” said Diamond.

“And Oi,” nodded Barney.

“You vos anodder,” grinned Hans, who meant to
say he was quite willing to leave Chinatown for the
night.

So the little party moved away, and as they went
along the leader of the yachtsmen said:

“My name is Chandler and I am stopping at the
Baldwin. Have been cruising in my yacht with several
friends, but just now I am trying to sell her, as
some business has arisen which defeats my plans for
a summer’s outing.”

Frank introduced himself, and in a short time the
boys were chatting freely with the yachtsmen, who
proved to be rather jolly gentlemen.

Passing out of Chinatown they were soon on Market
Street, and a walk of a few blocks brought them to
the hotel where Merriwell and the friends who had
accompanied him on the bicycle tour across the continent
were stopping.

Chandler wished to go in and “blow off,” but Frank
insisted that none of the party drank.

“If that is the case, you are a queer set of college
lads,” said Chandler, with a laugh. “I never saw a
college boy who would not swim in beer every chance
he found.”

“There are exceptions, you see.”

“I see, and I consider it most remarkable. Will you
smoke?”

But Frank declined to drink or smoke, shook hands
with his accidentally found friends, and they parted.

“Now,” he said, addressing Barney and Hans, “you
must come in and see our rooms.”

They entered the hotel and ascended in the elevator
to the floor on which the boys had their rooms.

A few minutes later Barney and Hans were thoroughly
at home.

CHAPTER II—BARNEY’S STORY
=========================

“Well, Oi nivver saw th’ loikes av this!” exclaimed
Barney, in amazement. “It’s loike bein’ back at Fardale
ag’in.”

“You pet my poots!” grinned the Dutch boy. “Id
makes me think der time uf dot Hodge vos hazed der
oldt poathouse in. You tidn’t like dot so much as you
might, eh, Partly?”

“I can’t say that I ever took to hazing much,” confessed
Hodge, who looked moody and worried.

“Yaw, dot vos der trute. Dot vos der nighd ven
I sing dot peautiful hymn caldt ‘Bull For der Shore.’
I remember me dot song. Id vent someding dis a
vay:

    | “Bull vor der shore, sailor, bull vor der shore,
    | Ged indo dot lifepoat, undt ged der roof off,
    | Shbit on your handts, sailor, undt let her rip,
    | Uf you dond’d prace up, you ged left alretty yet.”

Dunnerwust roared forth the song as loudly as he
could, and Frank hastened to stop him, laughing as he
said:

“Good gracious, Hans! this is no menagerie! It is
a first-class hotel, and we’ll be fired out if we make
such unearthly noises in the rooms.”

“I don’d toldt you so?” exclaimed the Dutch boy in
surprise. “Don’d der beople der hodel in abbreciate
goot musicks?”

“Possibly they do when they hear it.”

“Vell, oben der toor und gif um der chance uf their
lifes. I vos goin’ to sing again alretty soon.”

“If you try it, I’ll throw you out of the window!”

Diamond gave a sigh of relief.

“Talk about a Chinese orchestra!” he muttered.
“There are other things quite as bad.”

Hans looked sad.

“I vos afraidt mein voice vos not abbreciated,” he
said. “Id vos hardt ven a veller feels so goot he vants
to varble like der pirds und der friendts uf him von’t
gif him a shance. Oxcuse me vile I shed a tear. Vill
somepody lent me an onions?”

“Oi’m glad ye’ve got somebody to hold ye down,
ye Dutch chaze,” grinned Barney. “It’s mesilf has
been unable intoirely to kape th’ Dutchmon shtill,
Frankie. It’s in danger av bein’ arristed he has put us
twinty toimes a day.”

“What I want to know,” said Frank, “is how it
happens that I find you two together here in San Francisco.”

“Vale,” said Hans, “I comes me oudt here to visit
mein cousin, Fritz, undt I runs me acrost Parney.”

“But, Barney, the last I knew of you you were in
London with your Sister Bridget. I didn’t suppose
you were in America.”

“It’s an accidint Oi’m here at all, at all,” averred
the Irish lad. “An’ it’s yesilf thot’ll be moighty interisted
whin Oi tells yez how thot accidint happened.”

“Yah,” nodded Hans; “he vos sure to trop deat ven
you toldt him der odder berson of dot vas San Vrancisco
in.”

“I am getting intensely interested already,” said
Frank. “Go ahead, Barney, and tell the story. We’ll
all sit down and listen.”

“Excuse me if I lie down,” murmured Browning,
as he stretched his massive frame on a couch. “I am
troubled of late with that tired feeling.”

“Vot you took vor him?” asked Hans, anxiously.
“I’d vos tangerous ven you let him go und don’t took
nottings.”

“The best thing I have found to take for it is a
rest.”

“Do you know why the Chinese make such good
actors?” asked Rattleton.

“You toldt me dot.”

“All right. They make good actors because they
never forget their cues.”

“Yah! yah! yah!” cackled Toots, the colored boy,
who had been keeping still and remaining in the background.
“Land ob watermillions! dat boy Rattletum
cayan’t help sayin’ dem fings. It jes’ comes nacheral
wif dat boy.”

“Meester Raddleton must haf peen eatin’ eggs,” observed
Hans, soberly. “He vos full uf yokes.”

Toots stared at Hans, and then, suddenly seeing the
point, he had a fit. He laughed till Frank threw one
of Browning’s bicycle shoes at him. The shoe struck
the colored lad and knocked him off his chair to the
floor. He picked himself up and sat down without
a word, looking sad and subdued.

“Now, Barney,” said Frank, gravely, “be good
enough to go on with your story. I think we have
quieted the menagerie.”

“Begorra! Oi nivver saw such a crowd as this in
all me loife,” declared the Irish lad. “It’s a jolly ould
party it is.”

Then he began his story:

“It’s nivver a bit av money could Oi make in London,
an’ so, whin Oi got a chance to go to Australia
wid a foine gintlemon thot gave me a job on his ranch,
Oi shnapped it up quicker thin ye could wink th’ two
oies av yes.

“But afther Oi got there Oi didn’t loike the place a
great dale. It wur too fur away from anything at all,
at all, an’ it’s lonesome Oi got; so Oi wint to th’ gintlemon
an’ told him. It’s a foine splindid mon he wur, fer
he said to me, sez he, ‘Barney, me b’y, it’s sorry Oi
am to have yez go, but Oi don’t want to kape ye av’
ye’re lonesome an’ homesick.’ Wid thot he wur afther
givin’ me a roll av money thot he said Oi could pay
back av Oi ivver got th’ chance, an’ Oi packed me
hooker an’ shtarted fer Sydney.

“It’s a roight shmart town thot same Sydney is,
as ye know yersilf, Frankie, fer it’s goin’ there ye wur
th’ last toime Oi saw yez. Oi wur moighty intheristed
in that place, an’ wan day who should Oi mate roight
on th’ strata but—— Oi’ll bet ye can’t guess in a thousan’
years, Frankie.”

“Yah,” nodded Hans; “he don’d peen aple to guess
in zwei t’ousan’ year.”

“Then I will not try,” said Frank. “Who was it
that you met, Barney?”

“It wur th’ girrul ye used ter be so shtuck on at
Fardale, me b’y.”

“What, not—not——”

“Inza Burrage!”

“Yah, Inza Porrige,” grinned Hans.

Inza Burrage was a young lady of whom Frank
had been very found in former days, and she still held
a warm corner in his heart.

“Goodness!” cried Frank. “Inza—in Australia?”

“Sure she wur, me b’y. Ye know th’ last toime ye
saw her she wur wid her fayther, an’ th’ ould gintlemon
wur thravelin’ fer his hilth on th’ continent.”

“Yes, yes.”

“They wint to Italy.”

“Yes.”

“It wur there that Misther Burrage met Lord Stanford.”

“Who is Lord Stanford?”

“An Inglish gintlemon wid more money than
brains.”

“Und he vos nod der only bebble on der peach,” put
in Hans.

“What about him? How does he come into the
Story?” asked Frank.

“He made love to Inza, me b’y.”

“Made love to her? Why, she is nothing but a little
girl.”

“It’s forgittin’ ye are that she has been gettin’
oulder, as well as yersilf. She is almost a young lady
now, me b’y.”

“But not old enough to think seriously of love.”

“Is it that oidea ye have, Frankie? An’ do yez fergit
how Rolf Raymond, her cousin in New Orleans, troied
to make her marry him?”

“That was an outrage, for she was a mere child.”

“Ye’ll see a change in her whin ye mate her. An’
it’s her fayther thot’s lookin’ out for a foine match
fer her.”

“Impossible! I am sure Mr. Burrage would
not——”

“Sure is it ye are! Ha! ha! Whoy, it’s thot th’
old gintlemon wur thravelin’ fer more than fer th’ hilth
av him.”

“Barney, I can’t believe this.”

“Belave it ur not, it’s the truth, an’ he wur afther
makin’ her marry Lord Stanford.”

“What an outrage—what an outrage!” shouted
Frank, springing to his feet and excitedly pacing the
floor. “Don’t tell me he succeeded in forcing her into
such a marriage!”

“He would have sucsaded av Oi hadn’t sane her.”

“And you, Barney—what did you do?”

There was a twinkle in the eyes of the Irish youth.

“Oh, Oi did nivver a thing!” he chuckled. “She
told me iverything about it.”

“And then—then what?”

“She wanted me to hilp her run away.”

“Did you?”

“Did Oi? Well, say! Did ivver a swate girrul
appale to Barney Mulloy thot he wurn’t ready to break
his neck fer th’ loikes av her?”

Frank’s excitement grew.

“Barney, you are a trump!” he shouted. “I could
hug you! What did you do? How did you do it?”

“She told me she had some money av her own with
which she could pay her way back to th’ Unoited
Shtates.”

“Yes, yes!”

“All she wanted wur to get away widout her fayther
ur th’ lord knowin’ a thing about it.”

“And you aided her?”

“Me b’y, she didn’t know how to do th’ thrick, an’
so I was afther securin’ passage fer her on a steamer
bound fer San Francisco.”

“And did you—were you able to get her away? Did
she get on board without being stopped?”

Barney nodded.

“She has an aunt in Sacramento, an’ she said she
would be all roight av she could rache thot lady.”

“In Sacramento? And she is there now? You
aided her in getting to her aunt? Barney, you should
have a gold medal!”

“Waid a bit, me laddibuck; you’re gettin’ ahid av
me shtory. Oi got her onto th’ stamer, an’ Oi took
passage on th’ same craft. As Oi didn’t have money
to burrun, Oi come in th’ sicond cabin, whoile she
came firrust class. All th’ same Oi found a chance
now and thin to chat wid her. She told me all about
her aunt. She said her aunt could make th’ fayther
av her give up th’ skame to marry her off to the Inglish
lord.”

“Blessings on that aunt!”

“Wait a bit! wait a bit!”

Frank showed alarm.

“Don’t tell me she could not find her aunt, or that
the woman refused to aid her!”

“Nayther thing happened. It war loike this: Another
stamer sailed fer San Francisco the day afther
us.”

“What of that?”

“It wur a fasther stamer than th’ one we wur on,
Frankie.”

Merriwell’s fears were fully aroused.

“Go on! go on!” he cried.

“Av course her fayther an’ th’ Inglish lord diskivered
she had run away, an’ they found out she had
taken a stamer.”

“They followed on the other?”

“They followed a pace.”

“Followed a piece? Why, how were they to turn
back?”

“Nivver a bit did they do thot, but th’ last parrut
av th’ trip we wur folleyin’ thim, an’ nivver a thing
did we know about thot.”

“They passed you without your knowing it, you
mean.”

“Thot is phwat Oi mane.”

“And then—then——”

“Whin we lift the stamer at this port, they wur there
to receive us.”

A cry of dismay broke from Frank, and then he
suddenly became quite cool in his manner, the change
being so pronounced that it was startling.

“I presume they took charge of her?” he said,
grimly.

“Thot’s phwat, an’ they nearly took charge av me
whin they found me wid her. An officer wur called
to arrist me, but it’s a roight loively pair av legs Oi
have, an’ th’ polaceman nivver got his fingers on me
collar, though it wur some high dodgin’ Oi did.”

“What became of Inza?”

“Thot is phwat Oi’d loike ter foind out, Frankie,
an’ it’s two days Oi’ve been thryin’ to do so.”

CHAPTER III—IN A QUANDARY
=========================

Frank took a turn twice the length of the room, and
then stopped before Barney and the others, who were
watching him in silence.

“Fellows,” he said, his voice firm and steady, “Inza
Burrage is a girl whom I admire very much. When I
attended school at Fardale we were sweethearts. I
fancy the most of you know what it is to have a sweetheart
at school. Circumstances may separate such
sweethearts in after years, but nothing ever makes
them forget each other. They are sure to think of
each other with tenderness and respect. A thousand
times have I thought and dreamed of Inza. I have felt
that I was ready to make any sacrifice for her—ready
to do anything in my power for her. I have said
that, if the time ever came when she needed a true
friend, she could depend on me. That time has come.
She is in need of a friend, and I must find her and aid
her. It may be possible that I shall need the assistance
of my friends. Who may I count on?”

In a moment every boy in that room was on his feet
and declaring his eagerness to stand by Frank through
anything and everything.

Frank did not smile; he was very grave and stern,
although something like a look of satisfaction passed
across his face.

“I thought so,” he nodded. “In fact, I knew it.
The first thing is to find out where Miss Burrage is.”

“She may not be in San Francisco at all now,” said
Browning, who showed unusual interest for him.

“That is quite true.”

“Oi think she is,” said Barney.

“What makes you think so?”

“Lord Stanford had a haythen Chinee for a servant.”

“What of that?”

“It wur thot same haythen me an Hans folleyed to
th’ thayater in Chinatown this avenin’. Thot is how
we happened to be there.”

“Yah,” nodded the Dutch boy; “dot vos der trute.”

“That is interesting,” admitted Frank. “I hope it
may prove that you are right. Were you watching the
Chinaman when you were attacked?”

“Hans was. Oi had sane th’ rat-’ater spake to another
wan, an’ Oi felt sure he said somethin’ about us.
Oi watched the other, an’ it wur a good thing fer me
that Oi did.”

“The other was the one who tried to get a knife
into your back?”

“Yis. Th’ dirruty rascal didn’t know Oi had me oie
on him all th’ toime.”

“In the excitement that followed, you lost sight of
the one you followed there.”

“Vale,” said Hans, “I don’d peen aple to keep vatch
uf him afder efrypody shumps ub all aroundt.”

“That was most unfortunate. If you could have
followed him without his knowing it, he might have
led you straight to his master.”

“Thot’s phwat Oi thought, me b’y.”

Frank thought the matter over for a few moments,
and then said:

“It seems to me that there is a probability of this
Lord Stanford being in San Francisco, although Inza’s
father may have taken her away. If his servant had
left him, it is not likely an attempt would have been
made on Barney’s life. The Chinaman’s master must
have told him to look out that he was not followed by
Barney, and the heathen was going to stop it somehow.”

“It seems rather remarkable to me,” said Jack, “that
they should care whether Barney followed them or not,
for it is likely they now have the girl under such close
watch that there is absolutely no chance for her to run
away again.”

“She may have been forced into a marriage already,”
Browning said.

“You do not know her,” declared Frank. “She is a
girl of such spirit that her father will find it extremely
difficult to compel her to marry against her will.”

“Yah,” nodded the Dutch boy, “you pet me my poots
on dot!”

“Begorra! she has th’ clane grit in her,” agreed
Barney.

“That is certain,” admitted Bruce, “else she would
not have dared run away as she did. Not one girl in
a thousand would have the nerve to do a thing like
that.”

“I am greatly interested to see this remarkable
young lady,” said Diamond. “I like girls of spirit.”

Frank paid no heed to what the others were saying.
He was walking the floor, the expression of his face
showing that he was in a brown study.

“Shust look ad him,” whispered Hans. “Uf he geds
dot Lort Sdanfort holdt uf—vale, dot feller don’t
know vere he vas at purty queek alretty.”

After a time, Frank paused to say:

“This is a case on which no time is to be lost, as
Inza may be forced into a marriage if she is not soon
given aid in some manner. Unfortunately, it seems to
me that there is no clew to begin work on immediately.
We are at sea.”

“Av you don’t foind a way out av it roight off it
will be th’ firrust toime ye ivver wur balked,” said
Barney, admiringly.

“There is always a first time, but we will hope this is
not one. I am going to give the matter some thought.
Talk it over, fellows, and see if you can’t devise some
plan.”

As Frank was passing into an adjoining room,
Hodge approached him, saying in a low tone:

“You must not forget that I am in constant danger
every day I remain in California, Merriwell. I must
get out as soon as possible.”

At first a shadow of annoyance seemed to rest on
Frank’s face, but it quickly passed, and he said:

“You are right, Bart. A steamer leaves for
Honolulu day after to-morrow. To-morrow I will secure
passage on her for you.”

Then he passed on into the room.

Two hours later Rattleton found Frank alone.

“Well, Merry,” said Harry, “what is to be done?
Have you decided yet?”

Frank shook his head.

“It is a most perplexing and puzzling situation,” he
confessed. “If I knew where to find Inza it would not
be long before I would have a plan. But to find her—that’s
the rub.”

“What would you do then?” asked Harry. “You
could not take her away from her father.”

“That is true. But her father is an invalid, and I
believe this Lord Stanford has used undue influence
in persuading him to force Inza into this marriage.
In London I was able to save Mr. Burrage and Inza
from being blown to pieces by an anarchist’s bomb. It
is not likely that he has forgotten this. It may be
that I would have some influence with him myself.”

“It is possible,” admitted Harry; “but even your
influence might fail.”

“In that case,” declared Frank, “I should try to resort
to more desperate means.”

“It is dangerous, Merry—very dangerous. Since
reaching California we have escaped from one danger
by the tin of our skeeth—I mean by the skin of our
teeth. Even now there is a possibility that Hodge
may be arrested.”

Frank scowled a little, but nodded slowly.

“I know it,” he acknowledged, “but in two days
Hodge will be on the sea bound for Honolulu. He
is to take passage on a steamer that leaves day after
to-morrow. It is this girl I am thinking about, now,
Rattle.”

“Girls have caused you any amount of trouble,
Merry.”

“I know that, and I am willing that this girl should
cause me any amount more.”

“Then it must be that you are still in love with her.
This is the girl you care about more than any other.”

“I don’t know,” said Frank, slowly. “It may be.
I have not seen her in a long time, and I have seen
many other girls, for some of whom I have had more
than a passing fancy.”

“It is certain that some of them have had more
than a passing fancy for you, Frank,” laughed Harry.

Merriwell did not smile.

“Harry,” he said, gravely, “my thoughts are now of
Inza alone. All other girls are forgotten. She always
had the utmost confidence in me. She trusted me,
and she believed I could do anything. If she knew I
were in San Francisco she would find a way to appeal
to me for aid. I can fancy her alone with her invalid
father, whose one ambition is to make a good match
for his child before he dies. I can fancy her appealing
to him, begging him not to force her into this odious
marriage. She is not the girl to cringe or cry. She is
impulsive, hot-blooded, passionate, and, as a last resort,
to escape this English lord, she might do something
desperate. Nay, she might commit suicide.”

Harry was inclined to laugh at this, but he saw
that Merriwell was very grave and earnest, and he refrained.
He shook his head, however, saying:

“You cannot be in earnest, old fellow. Girls do not
commit suicide nowadays.”

“I assure you there is no telling what a girl like
Inza Burrage might do. That is what worries me. I
feel that it is my duty to aid her, but how—how can
I reach her?”

“Pive it gup—I mean give it up, old man. Let us
sleep over it to-night.”

“Sleep—sleep after hearing this? Impossible!”

“But you can do nothing until daylight comes.”

“That is true, and I am wondering what I shall be
able to do then. That is why I cannot sleep.”

In vain Rattleton urged Frank to lie down and rest.
At last he gave it up and went into the other room to
tell the boys how hard hit Frank was by the news concerning
his old sweetheart.

“I don’t doubt me,” nodded Hans. “Thot am shust
like Vrankie. He vos alvays thinking a great deal
more of somepody else apout, than he vas himself of.”

“Begorra,” put in Barney, “it is no more than
nacheral he should think a great dale av thot girrul.
They wur the bist av swatehearts at Fardale. Although
they sometimes jist quarreled a bit it’s true love
thot nivver did run smooth at all, at all, and there’s no
telling what may happen betwane thim. For sure there
is very little smoothness in their love affairs.”

“Ah, Merriwell is always falling in love,” said Diamond.
“I do not believe it goes very deep with him.”

“An’ if it is yersilf thot thinks so!” cried Barney,
contemptuously, “it’s little ye know about him, thin!”

Jack flushed, and seemed on the point of resenting
this plain speech, but bit his lip and remained silent,
although he gave Barney a black look.

The Irish lad did not mind looks, however, and as
for words, he had a proverbial Irish tongue that could
send back a witty and cutting reply for any sort of
speech.

After meeting Hans in San Francisco, Barney had
been stopping with Hans at a boarding house to which
they now decided to return for the night.

Before leaving, however, they had a few words with
Frank, who made them promise to come around early
in the morning.

“I may have thought of some plan of action by that
time,” he said. “Think the matter over yourselves,
boys, perhaps you may be able to aid me. You know
Inza, and—well, you know me. You must know I
would give anything I possess to locate her now.”

“You pet mine poots we know dot,” nodded Hans.

“Begorra, you’re th’ roight stuff, Frankie, an’ Oi’m
riddy to foight wid yer bist frind if he maloigns ye,”
said Barney, thinking of Diamond.

Frank pressed their hands and bade them good-night.
Then they departed.

CHAPTER IV—INZA’S LETTER
========================

Barney and Hans did not turn up on the following
morning as soon as Frank expected they would, and
as he had forgotten to ask where they boarded, he
could not go to find them.

Merriwell had spent a restless, almost a sleepless
night. But, although his face was pale, he seemed as
full of energy as ever.

He had conceived a plan by which, with Barney’s
aid, he fancied he might find Inza. But Barney—where
was he?

It was past nine o’clock when the Irish lad came
tearing up to the hotel, followed by Hans, who was
puffing and blowing like a porpoise, his eyes bulging
from his head, his face expressing the wildest excitement.

“Frankie!” gasped Barney.

“Vrankie!” panted Hans.

“What is it?” asked Frank, seeing something unusual
had happened.

“It’s news, we hiv’, me b’y!”

“Yah! id vas news we haf!”

“News!” exclaimed Frank, “what sort of news?
Have you found Inza?”

“It’s not found her yit we hiv’, me b’y, but we’ll
foind her soon, or Oi’ll ate me boots!”

“Yah! and I shall make a square meal mit mine
coat off!”

Frank grasped Barney by the shoulder.

“You have found a clew—is that it? Why didn’t
you come to me sooner?”

“Begorra, it’s a bit loait we stayed up last night,
Frankie, an’ Oi overslipt this morning. As for this
Dutch chase, he nivver would, wake up at all, at all, av
it wur not fer me. He would slape roight on fer a
wake.”

“Oxscuce me,” said Hans. “No wake in mine.
Vhat you took me for—an Irishmans, aind’t id?”

“Tell me what it is you have found out,” cried
Frank, sharply.

With frantic haste Barney tore something from his
pocket and waved it wildly in the air.

“Here it is, me b’y!” he shouted.

“Yah, thar it vas!” squealed Hans.

“What is it? Give it to me!” commanded Frank.

Then he snatched the object from Barney’s hands.

It was a letter.

“Inza’s writing!” said Frank, hoarsely, as he glanced
at it. “I would know it anywhere! A letter to you,
Barney! When did you receive this?”

“In th’ mornin’ mail, me b’y, afther Oi got up. So
ye say it is well Oi overslipt mysilf, or Oi would not
have bin there to recave th’ mail whin it was delivered.”

The envelope had been torn open in a ragged manner,
showing Barney had opened it with great haste.

Frank lost no time in drawing forth the letter. In
a moment he was reading it. It ran as follows:

    “:sc:`Dear Barney`: I am writing this on the sly, hoping
    to find an opportunity to mail it to you. I am
    to be taken from the city in the morning by my father
    and this horrid Lord Stanford. How I despise him!
    But he seems to have plenty of money, and father is all
    taken up with him. Somehow, I fancy he has not as
    much money as he pretends to have. I am sure he
    thinks me an heiress, although I have told him a hundred
    times I am not. Father, however, has caused
    him to think we are very well to do, financially, and
    that is enough to lead the scheming scoundrel on. It
    seems to make no difference to him when I tell him
    how much I dislike him. He simply laughs and says
    I will get over that by and by when we are married.
    That will never be. I would not marry him if he were
    the last man in the world—so there!

    “But I am forgetting to tell you what I started to
    say. Lord Stanford has bought a yacht, and he is
    going to take us away on it to-morrow morning. I
    have refused to go. Father says I must. Oh, dear!
    I wish I had some one who could help me escape from
    this horrid Englishman. If Frank Merriwell were here—dear
    old Frank! I could call on him. Oh, what
    would I give to see him now? But he is far away—so
    far away.

    “If I could get another good chance, I would run
    away. I may get a chance. I am afraid you cannot
    help me again, for you have been watched. To-night
    I heard Lord Stanford tell father where you were,
    and that is how I know your address.

    “Stanford’s yacht is somewhere out toward North
    Beach or Black Point. I know this from overhearing
    his talk with father. In the morning, unless I am fortunate
    enough to give them the slip, he will take me
    on board for the cruise. Where they are going I do
    not know. Oh, if you could aid me to get away from
    them once more; but I know it is too much to ask you
    to try this again. If I had been able to reach my
    aunt in Sacramento, I think she would have persuaded
    father to drop his scheme of marrying me to Lord
    Stanford.

    “Good-by, Barney. You were always Frank’s
    stanchest friend and admirer, and that is why I have
    thought so much of you and trusted you so fully.
    Dear Frank, where can he be? Oh, wouldn’t he give
    it to this horrid Englishman if he were here and knew
    the truth? He would not be afraid of a hundred Lord
    Stanfords. He never was afraid of anything in his
    life! I dreamed of him last night, and I thought he
    had come to aid me. When I awakened and found it
    was only a dream, I cried myself to sleep again.

    “Oh, Barney! father came so near catching me writing
    this letter just now! I was barely able to conceal
    it from him in time. He asked me what I was doing,
    and I fibbed by saying, ‘nothing at all, father.’ He was
    so suspicious, and I am taking desperate chances in
    adding these few lines. I shall try to bribe the bell
    boy to post this letter for me, and I hope it will reach
    you all right. Farewell, :sc:`Inza`.”

To the astonishment of both Barney and Hans the
reading of this letter did not seem to excite Frank at
all. There was a slight movement of the muscles of
his face when Inza mentioned him, but that was all.

When he had finished, he folded the letter quickly
and put it into his pocket.

“Barney,” he said, sharply, “order a cab without
delay. Have it at the door in five minutes.”

“All right, me b’y!” cried Barney, and he made a
rush to obey,

Frank disappeared in the other direction, and Hans
was left alone.

“Well, I vender vere I vas at,” said the Dutch boy,
as he stared around him in a bewildered manner. “Vat
vas it Vrankie’s going to done alretty yet? It don’t
took him more than vive hours to make oop his mind
he vas going to do someding. I pet me your life he
yas going to git after dot Lord Stanford like a
kioodle dog after a pone.”

Before five minutes had passed Frank came rushing
from the hotel and found Barney waiting at the door,
while the cab was standing near the curb.

“Here yes are, me b’y,” cried the Irish lad.

“Good!” exclaimed Frank, with satisfaction.

Then he addressed the driver.

“How far is it to North Beach?” he asked.

“Two miles, sir,” was the answer.

“Can you make it in twenty minutes?”

“I doubt it, sir.”

“Here is five dollars,” said Frank, handing the driver
the money. “Get me to North Beach in twenty minutes
and you shall have five more.”

The man seized the money eagerly, and then asked:

“What part of North Beach do you want to go to,
Sir?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Merry.

The driver looked surprised.

“Don’t know!” he exclaimed in a puzzled way.
“Well, that is strange.”

“Is Black Point anywhere near North Beach?” asked
Frank, hurriedly.

“Sure,” nodded the driver.

“Then take us out that way,” ordered Frank, as he
bundled Barney into the cab, followed himself and
slammed the door.

The driver whipped up his horses, and away they
went with a rattlety-bump just as Hans came waddling
out of the hotel, crying for them to hold on.

Frank looked at his watch.

“Five minutes of ten,” he said. “We shall get there
at a quarter after ten. Even that may be too late.”

“Howly Mowses!” exclaimed Barney. “It’s the
divvil’s own rush ye do be in, an’ ye don’t same to be
in a hurry, ayther. But how are we going to foind
Lord Stanford’s yacht, afther we get there, Frankie?
Oi’d loike to have yez explain.”

“That’s something—I can’t tell—yet,” acknowledged
Frank, as the cab dashed around a corner and
pitched them into a heap against one side. “We’ll have
to—hunt for—it.”

“Musha! musha!” gasped the Irish lad. “It’s a sure
thing thot droiver manes to earn the other foive dollars.”

For Barney it was a somewhat exciting ride at first,
as the street was filled with cars, carriages and trucks,
each one of which seemed trying to get to some destination
regardless of all the others. In and out, here
and there, dodging in front of a car, narrowly missing
the wheel of a truck, slinking through a narrow space
between two heavy teams, turning to the right, turning
to the left, on rattled the cab. The boys were thrown
about as if they had been seated in a small boat that
was at the mercy of an angry sea.

At length the streets were less obstructed, and the
driver made greater speed. He wielded the whip
mercilessly.

“This is fun aloive,” gasped Barney. “Oi’ll not hiv’
a whole bone in me body whin Oi git there.”

Frank said nothing, but looked at his watch, after
which he nodded in a satisfied manner.

“Is it fast enough fer yez—we are going—Frankie?”
asked Barney, with a bit of sarcasm in his
voice.

“If it is only two miles to North Beach we will get
there in less than fifteen minutes,” said Frank.

“But it’s did we may be whin we arroive, me b’y.”

Crack! crack! crack! sounded the driver’s whip,
each snap being like the report of a pistol. Clatter!
clatter! co-lat-ter! sounded the hoofs of the galloping
horses.

“Oi’ve played football a little in me loife,” said
Barney, as he picked himself up from the bottom of
the cab, only to be thrown down again with greater
violence, “but Oi’ll admit this takes th’ cake. Football
is not in it, at all, at all.”

Still Frank was silent. Now he held his watch in
his hand his eyes fastened upon it. Montgomery
Avenue was reached, and they turned into it.

At the corner of the next street they nearly ran
down another carriage. By a sharp turn to the right,
the driver whirled alongside of the cab into which he
had nearly crashed.

Looking from the window, Frank gazed directly
into the window of the other cab.

A cry escaped his lips:

“Inza—there she is!”

There was an answering cry, and the face of a beautiful
girl appeared at the window of the other cab.

“Frank!” she almost screamed. “Frank, is it you?”

Then a pair of hands grasped her, and pulled her
back from view.

But Frank had seen enough, and now his very heart
was on fire with excitement. Inza—he had found her.

CHAPTER V—TO THE RESCUE
=======================

Both Frank and Barney saw that a struggle was
going on in the other cab. They could hear Inza crying
for some one to let her go, and the sound of her
voice made Frank more desperate than ever.

“The scoundrel!” he panted, trying to tear open
the door and spring out. “I’d like to choke the breath
of life out of him! If he harms her, I will.”

“Thot’s roight, me b’y!” shouted Barney. “We’ll
give it to th’ spalpeen!”

Then the driver of the other cab whipped up his
horses, and away they dashed getting in ahead of the
one carrying Frank and Barney.

“They are making for the harbor!” grated Frank.
“That is how it happens we came upon them.”

“Roight again, as ye always are,” agreed Barney.

Frank thrust his head out of the window and shouted
to the driver.

“After them! after them! Don’t let them get away,
on your life!”

“After who?” asked the driver.

“That cab!” flashed back Frank. “Are you dazed
or drunk? Whip up, man—whip up!”

“They didn’t do nothing,” declared the driver. “It
was me who came near running into them.”

“Hang it!” burst from Merriwell. “I don’t care
about that! I want you to follow them!”

“What for?” asked the driver.

“Because I tell you to, you stupid blockhead!” Frank
almost roared. “It will be worth ten dollars to you if
you keep them in sight.”

“I will do it or kill my horses!” declared the man.

The other cab had obtained quite a start while
Frank was urging the driver to start in pursuit.

“It’s a hot toime we’re in fer, me b’y,” said Barney.

“It’s a hot chase I propose to give them,” came determinedly
from Merriwell’s lips. “Fortune has favored
us, and now we must not let them get away.”

“Pwhat do yez mane to do afther ye catch thim?”

“Don’t know now. I’ll be able to tell better when we
catch them.”

“It’s Inza’s father thot’s in th’ cab.”

“It was not her father that pulled her back from
view.”

“Whoy?”

“Because he has not the strength to handle her with
such ease. The last time I saw him he was a weak
and broken old man.”

“It’s betther he is now, Frankie. Thravel sames to
hiv’ done th’ ould duck good, so it does.”

“It is probable that both her father and Lord Stanford
are in that cab.”

“An’ it’s not yesilf thot will think av throying to
take th’ girrul away from her fayther, is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Frank, his face hard and stern.
“In this free country fathers who try to force their
daughters into odious marriages are not popular, and,
should I be arrested for interfering, it is almost certain
I would have the sympathy of the public.”

He looked out of the window and urged the driver
not to lose sight of the other cab if he had to kill his
horses in pursuing.

“Kill both your horses if necessary!” he cried. “I
can pay for them! Remember it is ten dollars anyway
if you keep them in sight.”

“They’ll not lose me,” declared the driver, shouting
to make his voice heard above the rattling rumble of
wheels.

At the very next corner the cab in advance swung
sharply around into Beach Street, and now they were
in sight of the bay that was but a few blocks away.

The driver of the pursuing cab attempted to make
a sharp turn at the corner, but he did not do it skillfully,
and a catastrophe occurred.

Over went the cab!

Crash—smash!

The driver was flung to the ground, and Frank was
shot out through a window.

By the rarest kind of luck Frank was not injured
severely, and he quickly leaped to his feet.

The frightened horses were plunging and rearing,
but the driver had clung to the reins, and was holding
them from running away.

Frank wondered if Barney had been hurt, but there
was no time for him to stop there, if he meant to keep
the other cab in sight.

Frank was a sprinter, and he started after the cab at
a run.

Two men tried to stop him, thinking he must have
caused the smash and was running away to escape
arrest.

“Hold on!” they shouted, grabbing at him.

“Hands off!” he flung back, dodging them.

A policeman appeared at the opposite corner and
yelled across the street for the running lad to stop.

Frank did not heed the command.

Seeing the driver struggling with his frantic horses
the officer hastened to his aid, letting Frank go.

Round to the left the cab turned at the next corner.

Frank saw a head thrust out of a window, and he
knew one of the occupants was looking back.

Round the corner darted Frank.

Out upon a long pier the cab was being driven.

Setting his teeth the pursuer made a last great burst
of speed, and went racing out upon the pier.

The cab stopped, and a young, red-faced man flung
open the door and sprang out. Then he reached back
and pulled the girl out after him.

A short distance from the pier a handsome white
yacht lay at anchor. At the foot of the stone steps that
ran down to a small floating landing lay a rowboat. In
the boat was a sailor in yachting costume, while another
sailor stood on the pier, as if he had been waiting
for the appearance of some one.

“Here, Bush!” cried the man who had pulled the girl
from the cab; “take her—hold her! I must have it out
with this blooming young idiot who is coming.”

“Drop that girl!” cried Merriwell, with one hand
outflung, as he came straight on.

Inza’s father was slowly getting from the cab, shaking
with excitement, his face being very pale.

Lord Stanford tried to hand the girl over to the
sailor, but at this juncture Inza showed her spirit:

“Don’t touch me—don’t you dare!” she cried to the
sailor, her eyes flashing at him in a manner that made
him hesitate.

Then she broke from all detaining hands and ran
toward Frank, who met her and placed an arm about
her shoulders.

“Oh, Frank!” she panted; “is it you—can it be?”

“Yes, Inza,” he answered, as he held her close and
kept his eyes on the Englishman, whose flushed face
had grown white with rage. “It is I.”

“And you have come to—to save me from that horrid
wretch?”

“Well, you should know I am ready to do anything
in my power for you, Inza. Have I ever failed to
respond when you have appealed to me for aid?”

“Never—never, Frank! Don’t let him come near
me again! I am afraid of him!”

“Release that young lady!” cried Lord Stanford,
his voice hoarse and husky. “Who are you that you
dare interfere here?”

He took a step toward Merriwell, but was halted
by a look from the Yale lad’s flashing eyes.

“I am the friend of Miss Burrage,” answered Frank;
“and I shall protect her from you, sir.”

The Englishman forced a husky laugh.

“That’s a blooming good joke!” he sneered. “Miss
Burrage is in her father’s charge, and I scarcely think
you will have the impudence to interfere.”

Bernard Burrage looked on in a helpless manner,
leaning heavily on his cane.

“Her father has no right to force her into an odious
marriage against her will,” declared Frank. “It is
possible that she needs protection from him.”

“What insolence!” fumed Lord Stanford. “I never
heard anything like it! There’s not an English boy
living who would dare think of attempting such a
thing.”

“Possibly not; but you are not dealing with an English
boy, sir. I am American to the bone.”

“And what you need is a good sound drubbing.”

“Possibly you think of giving it to me? If so, I
advise you to take off your coat, as you will find it
warm work, I assure you.”

Inza clung to Frank, looking up at his handsome
face with an expression of admiration in her dark eyes.

“You young scoundrel! Perhaps you do not know
whom you are addressing?”

“It makes no difference to me, sir.”

“I am Lord Stanford, of——”

“I don’t care if you are the lord of all Europe! You
are on American soil now, and dealing with a full-blooded
American.”

“Bah!” cried the Englishman. “You are nothing
but a young braggart! You are trying to pose as a
hero before the young lady, but it will do you no
good.”

“Do you think so? That makes not a bit of difference
to me.”

Frank regretted very much that he had not been
able to follow them to the pier with a cab, for then he
would have made an attempt to hurry Inza into it and
carry her away.

Now he fully realized that, should he attempt to
walk away with her, if Lord Stanford found no other
manner of stopping him, he could follow and order
the first policeman he met to arrest Frank.

Merriwell saw that Bernard Burrage was shaking
with excitement, showing the old man’s nerves were
quite unstrung.

Stanford appealed to Inza’s father.

“Mr. Burrage,” he said, “why don’t you order that
young man to unhand your daughter? Is it possible
you mean to let him carry on this outrage in such a
high-handed manner?”

“Let her go! Let her go!” cried the invalid, weakly,
lifting his heavy cane and shaking it in a feeble manner
at the youth.

“I will do so when she commands me, not before,”
declared Frank, calmly. “I am astonished at you, Mr.
Burrage! I never dreamed you would attempt to force
your daughter into a marriage against her will.”

“Have you forgotten?” whispered Inza. “This is
not the first time. He tried to make me marry my
cousin in New Orleans.”

“It’s nothing to you—nothing, sir, nothing!” excitedly
shouted Bernard Burrage.

“Take her away from him, why don’t you?” fretted
Lord Stanford.

Frank laughed with a cutting sound.

“That is very fine, noble sir!” he sneered. “It seems
quite appropriate that you should stand still and order
this feeble old man to take her from me.”

“He has the right to do it, don’t you know.”

“You do it, Lord Stanford—I give you the right
to do it,” said the old man.

“Yes, come and do it!” urged Frank.

“Oh, can’t we get away!” whispered Inza. “We
must!”

“If Barney would appear with the cab!” thought
Frank. “I am afraid he was badly injured.”

Once more he looked around, but the one he wished
to see was not in view.

Frank longed to have several of the boys on hand,
for then he could have looked after the Englishman
and the girl’s father while they carried Inza away.

As Frank turned his head, Lord Stanford stepped
swiftly forward and grasped Inza’s wrist, attempting
to draw her away.

She gave a scream.

Merriwell turned like a flash, saw what was occurring,
and swung his fist at the Englishman.

Crack!—the blow caught Lord Stanford fairly on
the left ear.

Down he went, measuring his length on the planking
in a moment.

The sailor who had been standing on the pier was
near at hand, and he hurried to assist the fallen nobleman.

But Stanford was not hurt, and he got up quickly.

The blow was sufficient to arouse his anger fully,
and he made a blind rush for Frank.

Merriwell saw he was in for a struggle with the
enraged nobleman, and he quickly placed Inza behind
him, keeping his eyes on Stanford all the while.

The furious fellow struck at Frank, huskily crying:

“Take that, you young ruffian! It’s a bobby I’ll
call and have you arrested for what you have done!”

But Frank avoided the blow with ease.

He did not strike Stanford again.

“You are a mark,” he laughed. “I’m ashamed to
give you what you deserve. Why, I could break your
nose in a moment if I wished.”

“Bragging again! You Americans are always bragging!
That is all you know how to do!”

“Really! History shows we have done up Johnny
Bull twice, and done him good. If necessary, we can
do him up again.”

Again Stanford rushed, and again Frank ducked and
dodged aside, thrusting out his foot and tripping the
Englishman.

Down upon the planking plunged the angry nobleman,
striking his nose hard enough to scrape it quite
severely.

When he got up he was blind with rage—almost
frothing.

He made such a swift rush at Frank that Merry was
not able to dodge again, and he received a slight blow
on the cheek.

Frank’s eyes flashed, and he grappled with Stanford.

Whirling the fellow about, he grasped him by the
collar and a convenient portion of the trousers he
wore.

“You are excited, my dear sir,” said Merriwell,
gently. “What you need is a nice chance to cool off.
I think I will give you an opportunity to do so.”

Then he ran the frightened and frantic nobleman to
the edge of the pier and kicked him off into the water.

“There,” said Frank, as he stood looking down, having
thrust his hands into his pockets, “that will be a
fine thing for you.”

Lord Stanford came up, spouting like a whale.

“Murder!” he cried. “He means to drown me!”

“Oh, no; only give you a bath,” said Frank, soberly.

Then he heard a shrill cry of fear behind him, and
whirled to see that the sailor had seized Inza.

Like a leaping panther the young athlete went for
the man.

“Help!” appealed Inza.

The sailor saw Frank coming, and prepared to meet
the attack. He was a thick, muscular-appearing fellow,
and he did not seem in the least afraid of Merriwell,
for all that the latter had handled Lord Stanford
with such ease.

“You won’t find a snap with me,” said the man,
showing eagerness for the struggle. “I can handle
two or three of you.”

He looked as if he fully believed it. Indeed, he had
the appearance of a prize fighter, and ninety-nine boys
out of a hundred would have hesitated about tackling
him.

Not so with Frank. He was ready to tackle an army
of giants in defense of Inza, and he grappled with the
sailor.

But he was given no time to see what he could do.

It seemed that a thunderbolt from the clear sky descended
and smote him on the head. There was a flash
of light as if something had exploded in his head.

Darkness followed.

CHAPTER VI—FRANK BUYS A YACHT
=============================

Frank sat up and looked around. Deep-toned bells
seemed to be ringing in his head, which throbbed with
a pain that made him weak and faint.

He was on the pier, and a man in yachting dress was
approaching him. There seemed to be something
familiar in the appearance of the man.

Frank wondered what had happened, for his wits
were so scattered that he could not pull them together
readily.

“That was a decidedly rough deal you received, Mr.
Merriwell,” said the man in the yachting suit. “I saw
it all, and you did not have a fair show.”

Frank looked at him stupidly.

“You know me,” he said, speaking with an effort;
“but you have the advantage of me. Somehow,
though, your face does seem familiar. I believe I have
seen you before.”

“Sure you have! Why, have you forgotten last
night in Chinatown?”

“No. I have not forgotten. You are Mr. Chandler.”

“Yes. Permit me to assist you to rise. I hope you
are not badly hurt. It was a wicked blow, delivered
with all the strength the old man could muster.”

“Blow?” muttered Frank, as he was aided to his
feet, but found that at first he was unable to stand
without aid. “Was I struck? It seems that somebody
hit me on the head.”

“You’re dazed. Somebody did hit you. I saw you
toss one chap into the water and grapple with the other.
Then the old man knocked you down with his cane.”

Frank grew excited.

“I was fighting for Inza!” he exclaimed. “I remember
it now! So her father knocked me out?
Where have they taken her?”

“They took her away in a boat, although she struggled
to break away and reach you,” answered Chandler.
“They are on board that yacht out there now.”

He pointed toward Lord Stanford’s yacht, where it
was seen that sailors were making hasty preparations
to get under weigh, but no sign of the Englishman,
Inza, or Mr. Burrage could be seen.

Frank Merriwell straightened up with a sudden return
of strength that was, to say the least, astonishing.

“So they have carried her on board?” he said,
quickly. “And it is plain they will be away directly.
Mr. Chandler, I believe you have a boat?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is it?”

“There it lays.”

The man pointed to a small but handsome single-sticker
that lay within a short distance of Lord Stanford’s
boat.

“It seems to me that you said last night that you
wished to sell her.”

“I do.”

“How much will you take for her as she lays?”

“She cost me fifteen hundred dollars, but I am
anxious to sell, and I will take a thousand.”

“I’ll take her.”

John Chandler gasped for breath, and then smiled
doubtingly.

“That is easily said, but I must have ready cash for
her, and——”

“You shall have ready cash. I will give you a check
on the Nevada Bank, where I have an account. My
guardian fully expected I would need plenty of money
by the time I reached San Francisco, and he arranged
it for me, so I am able to secure almost any reasonable
sum. There will be no trouble or delay in getting your
money.”

Chandler still looked doubtful, as it seemed rather
improbable that this lad could draw so much money
on short notice.

“How many men have you on your yacht?” asked
Frank, as if the matter were settled.

“None now. The two friends who were with me
last night were the last of my party, save the cook, and
even the cook left this morning.”

“Is she fitted up for a cruise?”

“I should say so! I expected to spend four more
weeks on board, but business changes have knocked me
out on that.”

“Remember, I have bought her just as she lays.”

“Certainly.”

“That includes everything on board, save your personal
property, Mr. Chandler.”

“Exactly.”

“I shall take possession, with a full crew, before
noon.”

“Great Scott! You do things in a hurry, young
man.”

“This occasion makes it necessary. I am going to
follow that other yacht.”

“I am afraid she will get off ahead of you, and you
may have some trouble in following her.”

“Well, I shall attempt it. Come; we’ll get a cab,
and go to the bank at once. The transfer must be made
in a hurry, and I must get my party together without
the loss of a moment.”

They hastened off the pier.

Coming toward them they saw a cab that looked
somewhat bruised and battered, one of its lamps having
been smashed and one side damaged.

“I believe it is the very cab in which I pursued Lord
Stanford!” cried Frank. “Yes, I know it is! And
there is Barney coming, too!”

The Irish boy was on foot, limping along painfully,
but he waved his hand in a cheerful manner when he
saw Frank, shouting:

“Hurro, me b’y! It’s nivver a bit can yez kill Barney
Mulloy at all, at all!”

Then the Irish boy hurried forward, still limping,
and excitedly asked:

“Pwhere be they, Frankie? Is it th’ shlip they gave
yez, me lad? Musha! musha! it’s bad luck we had!”

“They got away for the time,” said Frank, swiftly;
“but I am going to follow them in a yacht I have just
bought.”

“A yacht? Ye’ve bought a yacht? It’s jist loike
yez! Ye’d be afther buying a stameboat av it wur
necessary!”

Then Barney recognized Chandler as one of the
men who had hastened to their aid in the Chinese theatre.

“An’ is it your yacht he’s bought?” asked the Irish
lad. “It’s nivver Oi saw th’ bate av this! An’ th’
droiver says ye’ll have ter pay fer his smash, though
it’s litthle his cab wur damaged.”

The driver stopped at the curb and began to bemoan
the fate that had befallen him.

Frank cut him short.

“Give us a rest!” he exclaimed. “You were paid to
take chances, and it is not my fault if you upset by
turning a corner too sharply. It’s a wonder you escaped
arrest for reckless driving.”

“I should have been pulled, sir,” said the driver,
“but it happened I knew the officer who saw the affair.
But I’ll have to pay for the damage done to the hack,
sir, and I’m a poor man with a wife and five children
to support.”

“Here is the ten dollars I promised you if you would
get me to the water front inside of twenty minutes,”
said Frank, as he handed over a bill, which the driver
eagerly grasped. “Do you want to earn ten more?
That will make twenty-five, and will pay you well for
everything, damage and all.”

“Tell me how I can make ten more.”

“By taking us to the Nevada Bank in a hurry.”

“Get in.”

The door of the cab was jerked open, and Frank
urged Chandler and Barney in. He paused to say to
the driver:

“Every minute is precious. You know I pay right
off the reel if you give satisfaction. Do your best.”

The door slammed, and away went the cab.

“Barney,” said Frank, when they were started, “this
cab will land us at the corner of Montgomery and Pine
streets, where I shall leave it to complete my business
with Mr. Chandler. I want you to stay in the cab,
which will take you to my hotel. You are to tell the
boys I have bought a yacht, and every man must be
on board ready to sail before noon. Get them together,
have Rattleton settle the hotel bill, and see that they are
all ready to get out of the place, for I shall want them
to start the instant I appear.”

“Did yez ivver hear th’ loikes av it?” gurgled the
Irish lad. “Oi nivver knew anybody to do anything in
such a rush in all my loife.”

“A rush is required in this case, or Lord Stanford
will get too much the start of me.”

Frank finished giving Barney instructions during the
ride, and before the bank was reached, the Irish lad
knew exactly what was expected of him.

When the bank was reached, Frank and Chandler
got out. Frank gave the driver the promised money,
and added something to pay him for taking Barney to
the hotel.

This was done without waste of time, and then Merriwell
led the way into the bank.

Business in the bank was soon concluded, and when
Frank again reached the pier at the foot of Taylor
Street, having in his pocket a paper that showed he
had paid one thousand dollars for the yacht *Greyhound*,
seven boys were there to greet him.

Jack Diamond started in to grumble, but Frank cut
him short.

“Not a word!” he said, sharply. “All who wish to
go with me without question are welcome; any who
do not wish to do so are at liberty to remain behind.”

As he spoke he was eagerly looking for Lord Stanford’s
yacht, which was gone from its place of anchorage.
An expression of great satisfaction, of positive
joy, escaped his lips when he saw far out toward the
Golden Gate a sloop-rigged craft that he believed was
the Englishman’s boat.

“Thank goodness the breeze has fallen!” he muttered.
“She has not been able to get out of the harbor.”

Three minutes later Frank had bargained with a
boatman to set the whole party on board the *Greyhound*.

This was not necessary, however, for he discovered
the small boat beside the pier, Chandler having come
off in it.

However, as the bargain was made, the man took
off all but three of the boys. Frank, Bart and Barney
used the small boat.

Frank was wondering at the non-appearance of the
former owner of the yacht, as Chandler had stated he
would be on hand to see if there was any of his personal
property on the *Greyhound* that he wished to take
away.

“I can’t wait for him,” Merry decided. “It was odd
he did not keep with me. As I had a little business to
look after, and was in a rush, I presume he did not
care to chase me around, and he thought I would not
be able to get here as soon as this.”

Immediately they were on board, Frank set each one
at some task, and put them on the jump.

“Do you see that small white yacht that is trying
to beat out past the point?” he asked.

“Yah,” nodded Hans, “we seen dot.”

“Yah!” exclaimed Frank, whose spirits were rising
now they were on board the *Greyhound* and Lord
Stanford had not been able to get out of sight and give
them the slip. “What do you mean by addressing the
captain in that manner, sir? Yah! Who ever heard
of a sailor saying ‘yah’ to his superior officer! You
should say, ‘Ay, ay, sir.’”

“Vale, I dinks me I said dot der next times,
Vrankie.”

“‘Vrankie,’” shouted Merriwell. “Who ever heard
anything like that? Think of a common sailor addressing
the captain of a vessel by his front name!
Have a little more respect, young man!” he suddenly
thundered, as if greatly enraged. “If you are not
careful, you shall be placed in irons and thrown into the
hold!”

Hans gasped for breath and began to tremble.

“Dunder und blitzens!” he murmured. “Vat vos
der madder mit dot poy! Uf dis been der vay he done
as soon as we get der vater on, der next time I took
a sail mit him I vas goin’ to sday ad home. Yah!”

Frank pointed out Lord Stanford’s yacht to the
boys, and told them that he did not wish to lose sight
of it.

He set Toots and Hans to hoisting the anchor, while
Harry, Bart and Jack shook out the sails.

The jib was run up first, and then the mainsail was
hoisted, Barney, who was a skillful sailor, having taken
the helm.

Strange to say, it seemed as if the wind had been
waiting for them to make sail, for it arose promptly
and filled the sails so that the *Greyhound* soon bore
away on the starboard tack.

Out beyond the point the *Fox*, Lord Stanford’s
yacht, had felt the wind first, and was already tacking
close under the northern shore.

Frank went aft and stood near Barney, while he
watched the actions of the *Greyhound* with no little
anxiety.

He had no idea what sort of a boat he had purchased,
and he could see that the Englishman’s yacht
had a rakish, saucy look, as if it might be able to
show him a clean pair of heels in a fair breeze.

Under Frank’s directions, the sails were trimmed
and the *Greyhound* close hauled, as he wished to see
how near he could run to the wind without falling off.

Although the wind was unfavorable, as it was not
steady, coming in gusts now and then, Frank waited
till fair headway had been obtained, and then had
Barney luff till the course was close into the wind,
which was held long enough to convince him that the
*Greyhound* did not jibe easily.

“Good!” he exclaimed, with satisfaction. “I was
afraid she might prove cranky. Hold her as close as
you can, Barney, and not let her yaw. I believe she is
a dandy against the wind. If she proves all right before
the wind, we’ll give Lord Stanford a hot little
run of it.”

CHAPTER VII—THE STORM
=====================

After a while Frank went below to examine the interior
of the yacht. He found it very comfortable and
well furnished with all necessities and not a few
luxuries.

“She’s a little boat,” he said; “but she’s a peach!
There won’t be any room to spare on board, but we’ll
manage to get along somehow. It is plain she was
built for not more than five or six, and there are eight
of us.”

Bart Hodge came down.

“By Jove!” he said, dropping on a cushioned seat,
“I am feeling better, don’t you know. I hated to sail
for Honolulu, and now we’ll soon be so far from San
Francisco that there’ll not be much danger of arrest.
I want to stick by you, Merry.”

“And I hope we’ll be able to hang together, old fellow,”
assured Frank. “You have been beating about
for yourself far too long.”

“I know it—I can see it now. It’s lucky you turned
up just as you did, for I was going to the dogs.”

Frank examined the wardrobe, and a cry of satisfaction
came from him.

“Look here!” he exclaimed. “Here are a number of
yachting suits. Perhaps we can dig out suits for all
of us.”

They overhauled the clothing, and Frank and Bart
soon found suits which fitted them very well. In fact,
Merriwell was so well built that he obtained a splendid
fit, and remarkably handsome he appeared in the cap,
short jacket and light trousers of a yachtsman.

“We are strictly in it,” he smiled, surveying Bart.
“I’ll go on deck and send the others down for suits,
while you remain here and assist them in the selections.
I want to keep my eye on Lord Stanford, anyway.”

So Frank ascended the companion way, and soon
took Barney’s place at the helm, sending him and Bruce
below.

The boys were much surprised to see Merriwell appear
in a yachting suit, and he explained that he had
purchased everything on board the *Greyhound*, which
included the suits in the wardrobe, as they plainly were
not all Chandler’s personal property, having been designed
for men of different build.

“Vale, uf dot don’d peat der pand!” muttered the
Dutch boy. “Uf dere peen a suit der lot in dot vill
fit me, I vill show der poys vat a dandy sailors der
Dutch makes. Yaw!”

Barney soon returned to the deck, having found a
very good fit, but he said Bruce was having more difficulty.

“Begorra! there wur a fat mon on borrud, an’ he’s
lift a suit thot will fit this Dutch chase,” grinned the
Irish lad.

“Why you don’d drop id callin’ me dot names, Barney!”
cried Hans. “I don’t like dot, you pet!”

The other lads went below to see what they could
find in the way of clothes as Frank sent them, Toots
being the last.

Every boy found a suit, although in some cases the
clothes were too loose. Hans came swelling on deck,
wearing a suit with the legs of the trousers turned
up several inches and the wrists of the coat sleeves
rolled back.

“Say!” he grinned; “I vos a pird! Did you efer
seen der peat me of now, I don’t know?”

Toots had discovered an ordinary sailor’s suit, with
white anchors worked upon it, and he was proud as
a peacock.

The very first leg across had carried them out past
Black Point, upon which Fort Mason frowned down
upon them when they swung close under the shore and
went about on the other tack.

At first the *Greyhound* gained on the *Fox*, as Merry
could see; but as Lord Stanford’s yacht approached
the open ocean she found a stronger breeze and danced
along in a lively manner.

Other vessels were in the narrows, but there was
plenty of room for them all.

Frank had brought a marine glass from below, and
he used it to watch the *Fox*, having permitted Barney
to take the helm again.

Merry could see Lord Stanford standing on the deck
near the companion way, talking to one of his men.
From the manner of the Englishman, it was apparent
that he did not suspect he was being pursued.

“So much the better,” muttered the new owner of
the *Greyhound*. “If he does not catch on right away
we may be able to overhaul him and lay alongside
without being suspected.”

He watched the *Fox* till it shot out past Fort Point
and disappeared beyond the point of land on which the
fort was located.

“So they are bound southward,” muttered Merry.
“Ten to one they are going down the coast to Santa
Cruz—possibly to Santa Barbara, although that is
quite a cruise.”

Half an hour later the *Greyhound* ran out past Fort
Point, and the *Fox* was discovered far away along
the coast, steadily bearing to the south.

“We’re after you, my boy,” muttered Frank. “I
don’t believe you’ll be able to run away from us in
a hurry.”

There was a heavy swell on—an “old say,” Barney
called it. It was seen that the *Fox* was rolling a great
deal.

“They are sure to hug the coast pretty close,” Merriwell
decided. “I don’t believe Lord Stanford cares
about getting far from land in that boat. The *Greyhound*
will sail anywhere he can go.”

It became a steady sail to the south, and Frank
cracked on every stitch of canvas, hoping to come up
with the *Fox* hand-over-hand. In this he was disappointed,
although it was plain that they gained somewhat.

The afternoon sun sank lower and lower. Toots
was appointed steward, and prepared a meal from the
supply of provisions on board.

At sunset the *Fox* was seen rounding a distant point
of land and making into a bay.

“I rather think she means to stop there to-night,”
said Frank.

He examined the chart and decided that it was Half-moon
Bay.

“If the wind holds,” he declared, “we will come upon
them there to-night.”

But as the sun sank in a reddish haze that seemed
like a conflagration far out on the open ocean, the wind
died entirely and the *Greyhound* lay becalmed, rolling
helplessly on the “old sea.”

“But it’s a good bit av a brase we’ll be afther havin’
before mawnin’,” Barney declared. “Oi nivver saw
th’ sun go down thot way when it didn’t poipe up
lather on.”

The Irish lad was right. Frank believed this, and
he ordered everything made tight, while both mainsail
and jib was double-reefed, and the topsails taken
in.

“I don’t see the good of all this work,” grumbled
Diamond. “Here we are rolling around without a
breath of wind, and yet we’re taking in sail as if it were
blowing a hurricane.”

Frank paid no attention to Jack, who, in a most astonishing
manner, had developed into a grumbler since
starting out on the bicycle tour across the continent.

Barney, however, was not pleased with the Virginian’s
remarks, and he snorted:

“Pwhat’s th’ matther wid yez? It’s a roight shmart
bit av a sailor ye’d make—Oi don’t think! Ye’d wait
till th’ wind blew, an’ thin ye’d be afther rafing.”

Jack did not fancy being talked to in this manner
by the Irish lad. He flushed hotly, and seemed on the
point of assaulting Barney, but Mulloy gave indications
that he was ready and anxious for a “scrap,” and Diamond
thought better of it.

The rolling swell proved decidedly trying for some
of the boys, and Diamond was the first to get sick.
In fact, he had begun to feel ill when he grumbled
about shortening sail.

“Dot poy vas opeyin’ der Pible,” grinned Hans,
pointing to Jack, who was leaning over the rail. “Der
Pible says, ‘Cast your pread der vater on,’ und py
shimminy! he vas doin’ dot, ain’d id!”

Then the Dutch boy opened wide his mouth and
laughed heartily. Suddenly he pressed his hands to
his stomach and stopped laughing, a queer, troubled
look coming to his fat face.

“Shimminy!” he muttered. “I vonder vot der madder
mit me vas, don’d id? I nefer felt so queer all
mein life in.”

Then, as the *Greyhound* fell away into the trough
of the sea, with a peculiar sinking motion, he gasped:

“Dot subber vot I ate don’d seem mit me to agree.
I pet you your life dot canned chickens vas sboilt. I
peliefed all der time dot chickens vas a hen, but id vas
der first hen I efer seen as didn’t vant to set.”

“Begorra! it’s saysack ye are alriddy,” chuckled
Barney. “You’ll be kapin’ company wid Diamond dirictly.”

“Yaw,” gasped Hans. “I pelief you, Parney.”

Then he made a rush for the rail, and followed Jack’s
example.

Darkness came on, creeping in a blue haze across
the water. Shortly after nightfall there was a faint,
weird moaning away on the surface of the sea, which
glowed like liquid fire under the rail of the yacht.

“It’s the auld nick av a blow we’ll have,” declared
Barney to Frank. “Oi don’t loike it at all, at all.”

“You like it quite as well as I do,” admitted Merriwell.
“I am not familiar with these waters, and I
do not fancy the idea of piling up on lea shore.”

The moaning arose to a shrill cry, and then the
wind came with a sudden rush, catching the *Greyhound*
and knocking her on beam ends in a twinkling.

Frank assisted Barney at the helm, shouting:

“Hold fast, everybody!”

The little vessel righted, and then away she leaped,
laying hard over to port, with the rail awash.

Like a frightened race horse the *Greyhound* sped
away, with the wild wind beating upon her and shrieking
through her rigging. The mast bent with a snapping
sound.

“Ease off the sheet!” shouted Frank. “We’re in
danger of losing that stick, and we’ll be finished if we
do!”

So the boat was allowed to run free, which eased
the strain somewhat.

Now the wind was shrieking as if all the demons
of the deep had been set loose in a moment and were
making an assault on the little yacht that had been
caught in the midst of the tempest.

At nightfall Frank had taken precaution to see that
the proper lights were set, green to starboard and red
to port.

The sky was covered with flying masses of clouds,
between which the cold stars blinked and vanished, like
the flashes of guns seen through masses of rolling
smoke.

After a little the moon rose and leaped up into the
mass of clouds, as if eager to be in the midst of the
wild delirium of the reeling sky.

The *Greyhound* leaped along the crests of the waves,
plunged into the depths of the watery valleys, and tore
her way through the seething, boiling sea.

Frank was watching her with the greatest anxiety,
wondering what sort of storm boat she would prove
to be.

Diamond, Browning, Hans and Toots got below.
Rattleton and Hodge remained on deck with Frank and
Barney.

When the moon shot out through the clouds the boys
could see a great waste of water heaving and plunging
all around them, like a sea of snow.

But the moon appeared and disappeared in such an
erratic manner that it was extremely irritating, making
the whole world seem a place of troubled shadows
and awesome shapes.

“It’s dead lucky we reefed down for this, Barney,”
cried Frank, placing his lips close to the Irish lad’s
ear.

“Roight ye are, me b’y,” Mulloy called back, cheerfully.
“It’s a good bit av a braze she’s blowing now,
an’ Oi think there’s more comin’.”

“Will she stand, it?”

“Av it ain’t too sthiff. It’s a roight tight litthle
boat she is, an’ all we nade is to kape off shore an’ let
her go.”

Beginning to feel satisfied with the behavior of the
yacht, Frank felt a wild thrill of delight in the fury
of the tempest. He knew something about managing
a large boat himself, and he felt confidence in Barney’s
qualifications as a sailor.

The moon leaped from the edge of one cloud to the
edge of another, as if it, too, were running a race
across the sky and taking all sorts of desperate chances.

There was the sound of sullen thunder in the tumbling
sea, which swished and swirled about the little
vessel like hissing serpents.

Now and then Frank strained his eyes to port, for he
knew the coast lay there to leeward, and he had no
fancy for suddenly coming upon some rocky point that
might project far out into the sea.

He fully understood that, in case the *Greyhound*
should become disabled, it would not take the wind
long to pile them upon the shore, where the seas
would beat out their lives on the rocks.

There was danger in the tempest, and it was just
enough to keep Merriwell’s blood rushing warm in his
veins.

“If Stanford’s yacht has found shelter in Half-moon
Bay, we’ll be a hundred miles below them in the
morning,” he cried to Barney.

“Sure,” agreed the Irish lad. “But nivver a bit can
we hilp thot, Frankie.”

The first half of the night was wild and boisterous.
Near midnight the wind fell somewhat, but it still
blew so strong that the *Greyhound* held on its course.

Toward morning the tempest died out, and sunrise
found them rolling helplessly on the long swells, without
enough breeze to steady the boat.

Diamond had been sick all through the night, and
he was in a pitiable condition, looking pale and weak.

“If I ever get ashore, I won’t take another cruise
for ten years,” he faintly declared. “It didn’t make
much difference to me last night whether we went to
the bottom or not. In fact, there was a spell when I
rather hoped the old boat would go bottom up, and I’d
been glad to take a chance by having her run ashore.”

“Vale,” said Hans, “I feld someding like dot meinself:
but I peen petter now. All der same, I pelief I
strained me der roots my toenails of, und I vas lame all
ofer.”

When the breeze rose, after breakfast, Frank set
their course due east. At noon they ran into Monterey
Bay and anchored off Santa Cruz.

By that time Diamond had recovered from his sickness
and was beginning to take some satisfaction in
the life on board the yacht.

Frank felt sure the *Fox* would run into Santa Cruz,
and so he kept watch for her appearance.

It was mid-afternoon when a bark came in from the
south and reported seeing at sun rise a small yacht that
was in a battered condition, evidently having been in
the blow of the previous night. She had lost her mainsail,
but seemed to have been prepared for such a
misfortune by having an old sail on board, and this
her men were setting.

The bark had spoken the yacht and asked if she
needed aid, but she declined assistance. The name of
the yacht was the *Fox*.

Barney, who had gone ashore, heard this statement,
and he made all haste to get on board the *Greyhound*
and report to Frank.

Merriwell was astonished.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “Lord Stanford did
not lay to in Half-moon Bay, and the *Fox* was out in
the storm last night. She was used worse than the
*Greyhound*, but, instead of being ahead of her, we are
still behind! That is an interesting discovery, I must
confess! All the same, the loss of her sail has delayed
her so she will not have such a great start on us.
It’s lucky she did not lose all her canvas, or she might
be high and dry on shore now.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Hodge.

“Do? I am going to get up the anchor and get
after the *Fox* instanter. I’ll catch her if I have to
chase her around Cape Horn!”

“That’s the *Fox* sure enough, Frank,” declared Bart
Hodge, who had been watching the distant sail for
some time.

It was three days after the night of the storm, and
the *Greyhound* had entered the Santa Barbara Channel.

In all that time they had not sighted the yacht they
were pursuing, although they heard of her several
times from vessels they had spoken.

With bulldog tenacity Frank had continued in pursuit
of Lord Stanford’s boat, and now, at last, he was
rewarded by sighting her in the distance.

A steady breeze was blowing from the northwest,
and the *Greyhound* was carrying every stitch of canvas
with which she was provided.

“She does not seem to be heading for Santa Barbara,
if I am right in my reckoning,” said Merriwell,
in a puzzled way. “She should be setting her course
southeast and she is bearing directly south. I wonder
where Stanford is taking Inza and her father? I
really do not understand it.”

The others were unable to offer a solution for the
Englishman’s peculiar behavior.

Both boats were running almost dead before the
wind, and the *Greyhound* was able to spread the most
canvas, so she gained steadily on the other yacht.

Within an hour she was quite near the *Fox*, which
seemed to be heading for a wooded island that lay
straight ahead.

The boys could see that the steady manner in which
the *Greyhound* held in pursuit of the boat in advance
had created some stir aboard.

Looking through a glass, Frank saw Lord Stanford
come up from below and take a survey of his
pursuer. Then one of his men brought him a glass,
and he took a look through that.

Immediately the Englishman grew excited. He
turned to the man who had brought the glass and said
something, waving his hand in a manner that betrayed
agitation.

“At last he has discovered who is following him,”
smiled Merriwell. “But it is too late to get away.
We are walking up on him in great style.”

“An’ it’s a bit av a shcrap we’re loikely to be in directly,”
grinned Barney. “Oi don’t moind thot at all,
at all!”

“You like the prospect, you rascal!” laughed Frank.
“Well, I must confess that I do not mind it myself.”

Nearer and nearer the *Greyhound* drew to the *Fox*.

Lord Stanford came aft and shouted to his pursuers.

“Keep off, you blooming duffers! If you come near
us you will get into trouble!”

“Ahoy, the *Fox*!” Frank shouted back. “Lay to.
I wish to come on board.”

“I’ll brain you if you try to come over the rail of
this yacht!” frothed the excited nobleman.

“You will be sorry if you try that trick,” asserted
Merriwell. At this moment Inza appeared, hurrying
up the companion way and reaching the deck of the
*Fox*. She saw Frank on the pursuing boat, and waved
her hand to him.

With an exclamation of anger, Lord Stanford hastened
to her side, and seemed to be urging her to go
below again. It was plain that she refused to do so,
and the Englishman grew still more angry.

“Begobs! th’ spalpane acts loike he wur goin’ to
shtrike her!” exclaimed Barney.

“If he does, I’ll make him regret the day he was
born!” grated Frank.

“Dot vos der stuffs!” nodded Hans; “und you vos
der huckleberry to done dot, Vrankie.”

The *Fox* was now on the port quarter of the pursuing
yacht, and it was plain the *Greyhound* would
soon weather the other boat. The two yachts were
quite near together.

Lord Stanford was seen to suddenly grasp Inza’s
wrist, as if he thought of forcing her to go below.

Then it was that, without warning, the *Fox* changed
her course to starboard, and the *Greyhound* crashed
into her.

There was a severe shock, a sound of splintering
wood and rending sails, and the *Fox* careened violently,
as if she was going over.

“That must be a clumsy lubber at her helm!” cried
Frank. “Make fast to her, boys!”

With those words he rushed forward, sprang out
on the jib-boom and leaped to the deck of the *Fox*.

A moment later he confronted Lord Stanford, who
was still clinging to Inza.

“Break away, you villain!” were the words that
shot from Merriwell’s lips.

Then he caught the Englishman by the collar, broke
his hold on Inza, and sent him sprawling his full length
on the deck.

“Oh, Frank!”

“Inza!”

He held her close in his arms.

“I knew you would come! Something told me you
would find a way to follow!” she declared.

“I would follow you to the end of the world!” he
whispered.

With the aid of boat hooks the boys had made the
*Greyhound* fast to the *Fox*, and they lost no time in
boarding the yacht they had run down.

There were but three sailors on board the *Fox*.
Stanford urged them to attack the boys, but one of
them, the fellow who had been at the helm when the
collision occurred, coolly drawled, his voice having the
nasal twang of a genuine down East Yankee:

“Wal, not by a gol darn sight! I know some of
them fellers, by gum! an’ ef there’s goin’ to be enny
fightin’, I’ll hev ter fight with them an’ ag’in yeou,
Mister Lord Stanford.”

“Great goodness!” cried Bart Hodge, staggering
with surprise. “Is it possible—can it be Ephraim Gallup?”

“Kainder guess it be, b’gosh!” grinned the tall
Yankee youth. “I ain’t seen some of yeou fellers since
I left Fardale skewl, an’ I’m slappin’ glad ter clap
peepers onter ye, by chaowder!”

“Be me saoul! it’s th’ Yankee bane-’ater!” shouted
Barney.

“Shore’s yer born, Mister Mulloy. I’m ’tarnal
tickled by this air chance ter meet ye all.”

“Ephraim Gallup!” squealed Hans. “Dot vos der
poy *I* von times fought a deadly tuel mit at Vardales!
Shimminy Gristmas! Uf dees don’d peen a recular
surbrise barty!”

CHAPTER VIII—A CHANGE OF SCENE
==============================

Ephraim Gallup possessed a roving disposition,
although when away he often longed to be “back
hum on ther farm,” and, after returning from his
travels abroad with Frank, he did not remain long at
his Vermont home.

Drifting to California in search of fortune, a peculiar
combination of circumstances had caused him to
become a sailor, and he had finally shipped on Lord
Stanford’s yacht. He was on board when Frank and
the Englishman had the encounter on the pier in San
Francisco, but was unable to render Merriwell any assistance.

Inza had seen and recognized Ephraim, but he had
signaled for her to keep still, and so she had pretended
that she did not know him.

However, they found opportunities to speak together,
and the Yankee youth assured her that she
could depend on him. When the opportunity came he
would do his level best to help her escape from Lord
Stanford.

The tossing about of the *Fox* in the storm had made
Bernard Burrage very ill and repentant. He began to
think he was sure to die before they reached land
again, and he begged Inza’s forgiveness for trying to
force her into a marriage against her will.

“I thought I was doing it for your good,” he said.
“I see now that I was selfish and cruel, but I have
pledged you to him, and it is too late for any backing
down.”

To this the girl had said nothing, but she felt that
she would prove it was not too late when they went
ashore.

Lord Stanford had seen things were going against
him, and he had threatened to take the girl to one of
the islands off Santa Barbara and keep her till a minister
could be brought there to marry them.

But the appearance of Frank upset the desperate
nobleman’s plans.

Lord Stanford was thoroughly disgusted.

“Deuce take the blooming girl!” he said. “She has
caused me more trouble than she is worth, and I
wouldn’t marry her now if she’d have me!”

He thought of having Merriwell arrested for running
him down, but thought better of it, as he realized
the accident had happened because his own helmsman
had swung directly into the course of the *Greyhound*,
which Merriwell would not have trouble in proving.

He suspected that Ephraim Gallup had done the
trick intentionally, but that was something he could
not prove.

In less than an hour Inza and her parent were ready
to leave the yacht, and with them went Frank and his
friends, including Ephraim.

“Won’t stay another minit, b’gosh!” said the Yankee
lad.

It was not long after this that the two boats separated,
and Frank’s yacht was headed for Santa Barbara.

As they parted Lord Stanford shook his fist at
Frank, at which the boy from Yale simply laughed.

The run to Santa Barbara was made without special
incident, and here Frank and Inza separated for the
time being.

The weather proved delightful, and the boys concluded
to take it easy at this ideal spot in the land of
sunshine and flowers.

“We need a rest after such a chase,” said Frank, to
the crowd, as they rested under some trees, two days
after landing.

Just then came a cry of pain from Hans.

“A rest!” howled the Dutch boy. “Dis don’t peen
no rest. I bet me your life dot vos annudder flea der
small uf mein pack on! Und I vos pitten all ofer in
more as zwei tozen places alretty yet! Murter!”

Hans’ companions laughed heartily as the fat Dutch
lad made a frantic effort to reach over his shoulder and
scratch the itching spot on his back.

They were reclining beneath the shade of a large
tree that stood near the flat, sandy beach, watching the
surf roll in and shoot up in snowy spouts around a
distant rocky point.

“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Ephraim Gallup. “Gol
darned ef yeou don’t make me lawf! What’s a little
squint of a flea amaount to?”

“Oh, vot vos der madder mit you?” snorted Hans.
“Suppose you mind mine business, aindt it.”

Then the fat fellow got his back against the tree
and scratched it in that manner, making up a face that
was expressive of mingled feelings of intense agony
and acute satisfaction.

“You chaps make me tired!” grumbled Diamond,
in a rather surly manner. “You are all the time quarreling.
I’d wish you’d drop it and give us a rest.”

“Is that so!” came sarcastically from the Yankee
lad, as he stiffened up. “Wal, I want tew know!
Who be yeou, anyhow?”

“I’ll mighty soon show you, if you want to know!”
grated Jack, giving the boy from Vermont a savage
glare.

Ephraim spat on his hands.

“Sail right in!” he cried, as he got on his feet. “I’m
all reddy. Whar be yeou frum, anyhaow?”

“I am from Virginia, one of the finest States in the
Union,” answered Diamond.

“An’ I’m from Vermont, ther finest State in ther
Union,” flung back Gallup, “Vermont kin lick Virginny
four times aout of four, an’ don’t yer fergit it!”

This was too much for Jack to stand. He got up
quickly, his dark face having grown pale with anger.

“We’ll see about that, you Yankee clown!” he hissed.
“We’ll settle it right here!”

The affair had suddenly assumed a very serious
aspect, and Frank sprang to his feet, quickly stepping between
them, saying as he did so:

“Here, you fellows! I am ashamed of you both!
Stop it!”

“Git out of the way, Frank!” cried the Yankee boy.
“If he wants ter fight, I’m all reddy, b’gosh!”

“Don’t interfere, Merriwell!” exclaimed the Southern
lad. “I must teach this insolent chap a lesson.”

“There will be no fighting here,” said Frank, his
face stern and his air commanding. “I forbid it!”

“He called me a clown!” burst from Ephraim.

“He insulted me!” grated Diamond.

“Let him take it back, darn him!”

“Let him apologize, confound him!”

“I tell you to drop it!” said Frank, firmly. “What
sort of chaps are you that you can’t get along together
and overlook trifles? I am ashamed of you fellows!”

The manner in which Frank said this brought a
flush of resentment to Diamond’s cheeks. He drew
himself up to his fullest height, and coldly said:

“Very well, sir; you will have no further cause to
be ashamed of me. I will not give you the opportunity.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I see you are beginning to get down on me
lately, since you have met your old friends from Fardale,
and I will not trouble you any more. I will
withdraw from the party and take the next train for
the East.”

Frank looked astonished.

“It can’t be that you are in earnest, Jack?” he said.

“I am.”

“I can’t believe it! You know I am not down on
you. I do not get down on any one in such a way. I
have proved to you in the past that I am your friend.
I have not changed in the least. It was no more than
natural that I should be overjoyed to see my old chums,
but their appearance has not caused me to change
toward you in the least.”

Jack looked sulky.

“That’s easy enough to say,” he muttered.

Those words brought the color to Merriwell’s face.

“Jack Diamond!” he cried, and his voice rang out
clear and cutting, “did you ever know me to lie?”

“No, but this is a case where——”

“Do you wish to insult me? It can’t be that you
do, Jack! Your words were thoughtlessly spoken. I
know it. You have not been well of late, and that is
why you are unlike your old self.”

“If I have changed so much, it is best that I should
get out, and I will do it. I didn’t mean to insult you,
Merriwell, and I take back anything that seemed like
an insult. I never knew you to lie, and I do not believe
you could be forced to tell an untruth.”

Instantly Frank seized Jack’s hand.

“I knew you didn’t mean it, old fellow!” he cried,
his face lighting up with a sunny smile, as he gave the
hand of the Virginian a warm pressure. “We have
come to know each other too well for you to think
such a thing of me.”

“It’s natural that you should think a great deal of
your old friends,” said Jack, unsteadily; “and I was a
fool to notice anything. I think there is something
the matter with me, and I believe it will be better for all
concerned if I get out of the party right away.”

“Nonsense, old fellow!”

“But I can’t get along with Gallup.”

“You can if you’ll try.”

“It’s no use. I’m going home.”

“All right,” said Frank, slowly; “that spoils the
scheme I had in my mind. It ruins my plans, and
will mean the breaking up of the whole party.”

“I don’t see how that comes about.”

“Never mind; it’s no use to talk about it, if your
mind is made up. It’s too bad, that’s all!”

Jack wavered.

“Won’t you tell me what your plan was?” he asked.

“It was a scheme for a trip back East, in which we
could have any amount of sport. But what’s the use?
You are going, and that spoils everything.”

Diamond looked conscience-stricken, but he was
proud, and he disliked to yield. However, his curiosity
was aroused, and he urged Frank to divulge his
scheme.

“I’ll do it if you’ll shake hands with Gallup and
promise to stick by the party. I am sure Ephraim
will shake hands.”

“Why, ’course I will!” cried the Vermonter, cheerfully.
“I ain’t no darn fool ter git my back humped
up inter ther air an’ keep it there till it gits crooked
like a camel’s jest ’cause I think I’m spitin’ somebody.
Shake? Why, sartin’!”

Then, before Jack could realize it, the quaint down
Easter had him by the hand and was working his arm
up and down as if it were a pump handle.

CHAPTER IX—A DISCUSSION ABOUT GIRLS
===================================

Diamond could not resist Ephraim’s heartiness, and
his face cleared despite himself. The Yankee boy was
so good-natured and ready to meet him more than half-way
that he was conscience-stricken.

“I am a fool!” he muttered; “and I’m the only one
to blame. It is in my nature, and I don’t seem to be
able to help it.”

“It’s all right now, old fellow!” laughed Frank, as
he passed an arm around Jack’s shoulders in a most
friendly way. “I hardly thought you would go back
on me and spoil my scheme.”

Having watched all this, Rattleton edged a bit nearer
Bruce Browning, who was stretched flat on his back,
and had seemed to take no more than a slight interest
in what was going on.

“Isn’t it strange how much Merry will stand from
Jack?” said Harry, cautiously. “Diamond has been
growling and kicking and making things as unpleasant
as possible for some time, and yet I swear Frank
seems to think more of him than ever before. The
more I know Frank Merriwell the less I know him!”

Browning grunted.

“You’re not the only one; there are others,” he said.

“Say, fellows,” called Hodge, “there goes a party of
pretty girls into the surf.”

“Begorra!” exclaimed Barney. “It’s nivver a bit
ye’ll miss seein’ them at all, at all.”

“Dot peen so,” nodded Hans. “Partly alvays seen
all der britty girls dere vas, you pet my poots!”

Four girl bathers had come down to the beach, without
seeing the little party of lads lolling beneath the
wide-spreading tree. There were four of them, and
they all were dressed in tasty and modest bathing suits.

“One of them is Inza Burrage,” said Frank, whose
eyes never failed to recognize the girl he admired so
much.

“And the one standing with her near the edge of the
water is the young lady to whom she introduced us last
night, Frank.”

“Miss Random.”

“Yes.”

“She is a charming girl.”

“That’s right,” agreed Hodge, his admiration showing
in his eyes; “but I don’t suppose you think her quite
as charming as Inza?”

“Oh, I don’t know! There is a great difference between
them. Miss Random is more quiet and less
bubbling and full of spirits. She has blue eyes that
are soft as the California skies, and she is very gentle
and ladylike. Although Inza has developed into a
young lady, she still has many of her girlish ways.
She is quick and impulsive, easy to take offense and
ready to forgive. It is hard to compare two girls who
are so dissimilar.”

“Of course I know which one you admire most,” said
Bart, with something like the ghost of a smile on his
dark face; “and I am quite willing that you should.
There is something about Effie Random’s blue eyes and
subdued manner that captivates me.”

“Here! here! here!” cried Frank, laughingly. “Is
it possible you are falling in love again, Hodge? Be
careful! You know what sort of scrapes your love affairs
get you into.”

Bart flushed.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, sharply. “I don’t
propose to make a fool of myself again. I have done
that enough. I’ll not get so much stuck on any girl
that she’ll be able to make me do anything dishonorable.”

“I don’t believe you will again, old man. I think
you have learned your lesson, and learned it well.”

Browning had slowly rolled over on his side, so he
could watch the girl bathers without lifting his head to
do so.

“I don’t know,” he said, slowly, in his peculiar lazy
manner. “I was not introduced to Miss Random, but
I have seen her in her street dress, and now I see her
in bathing costume. I don’t know; I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” asked Rattleton.

“Don’t know but she could tempt me to do almost
anything. She is out of sight!”

“There is one thing she could not induce you to do.”

“Name it.”

“Hurry.”

“Well, she could induce me to try, and that’s a great
deal.”

“Begorra! it’s nayther av you chaps nade worry
about her,” put in Barney. “It’s nivver a bit she’ll
throuble her purty head over yez. She’s lookin’ fer
bigger fish, me b’ys.”

“I suppose you know all about it?” grunted Bruce,
sarcastically.

“Ah, Oi know a thing ur two,” returned the Irish
lad, serenely, quite unruffled by Browning’s manner.
“Santa Barbara has a distinguished visitor, av ye’ll
plaze remimber, an’ all th’ girruls are afther castin’
shape’s-oies at him.”

“Do you mean Lord Stanford?”

“Av course.”

“It is not possible Miss Random has been attracted
by that whiskey-drinking wreck of the English peerage!”

“Whoy not?”

“Miss Burrage is friendly with Miss Random, and
she would tell her all about Lord Stanford.”

“She has thot, but it’s quare fools some av th’ American
girruls do be whin they see a furriner wid some
sort av a toitle. It’s crazy they git intirely, an’ divvil
a bit do they look at th’ man at all, at all. It’s th’
toitle they’re thinkin’ av. They’re riddy to take any
koind av an old thing, av it has a toitle hung to it.”

“I don’t believe Effie Random is that sort of a girl,”
warmly declared Hodge. “She seems to have more
sense than that.”

“It’s not always their since ye can measure by th’
looks av their face, me b’y.”

“I think you are insinuating things about Miss Random
without having the least reason for doing so, and
I don’t like it,” came warmly from Bart’s lips.

“Oll roight, me laddybuck,” nodded Barney. “It’s
nivver another worrud will Oi say at all, at all.”

“I am sure Barney did not mean any harm,” smiled
Frank. “It’s a mistake to take too seriously anything
he says.”

The Irish boy opened his lips, as if to say something,
but quickly closed them again.

“Why is Stanford hanging around here so long, anyway?”
asked Jack, who had grown interested in the
conversation. “After we took Inza away from him,
the fellow seemed to throw up the sponge, and I
thought he would get out in a hurry.”

“That’s right, but he seems very much fascinated
with Santa Barbara and the young ladies here.”

“Dot shows he haf a leedle sense,” cut in Hans.
“Sandy Parpery peen a tandy blace, und der girls here—um-um-er-um!—dey
vos pirds!”

“California is full of pretty girls, anyway,” declared
Rattleton.

“By gum! that’s jest so!” Ephraim cried. “There’s
only one place I know of where there’s more pritty
gals.”

“Where is that?”

“Up in Varmont, b’gosh! Never see no gals as
could hold a candle tew the Varmont gals, b’ginger!”

“That’s right,” laughed Frank; “stand by the girls
of your own State. I don’t blame you. I never was
in Vermont in my life, but I’ll wager there are as pretty
girls in that State as can be found anywhere.”

“There are different types of beauty in different
parts of the country,” said Diamond. “To a Virginian,
Virginia girls are the handsomest on the face of
the earth; but I presume it is because there is something
distinctive in the type they represent, and, by familiarity
with it, we have come to consider it superior to
anything else.”

“Begorra!” broke forth Barney; “it’s no tuype Oi
care fer, but Oi’ve thraveled th’ whole worruld over,
an’ Oi swear it’s nivver a bit av use to look fer purtier
girruls thin can be found in ould Oireland.”

“It’s not girls we were to discuss,” said Diamond.
“Merriwell spoke of some kind of a scheme.”

“And came near forgetting it. Never mind the
girls now, fellows. Gather around me, and I will lay
before you my plan for a trip that is bound to be full
of sport and adventure. I know you will be stuck on
the scheme.”

He sat down on the ground, and the boys settled
themselves in positions to listen.

“My scheme,” said Frank, smiling at the interest
he saw expressed on the eager faces about him, “is to
form an athletic combine and take in everything in the
way of sports that we can strike on our way back
East.”

There was a stir among the listening lads, all of
whom were greatly interested in athletics and outdoor
sports.

“We can begin right here in Santa Barbara day after
to-morrow,” Merriwell continued, “for you know we
have decided to wait over and attend the athletic
tournament which is to take place here on that day.”

“Yes,” said Harry, hastily; “but we would not be
allowed to pate tark—I mean take part in it.”

“Why not?”

“Why, isn’t it for Californians exclusively?”

“Not at all. California seldom does anything for
Californians exclusively. They are the most liberal,
broad-minded people in the world, and they like to interest
outsiders in their doings. This tournament is
open to all non-professional athletes who may wish to
enter it.”

The interest of the listening boys grew deeper.

“And you think it would be a good plan for some
of us to take a hand in it, eh?” said Diamond, his
face brightening.

“Yes.”

“Is that your scheme?”

“Part of it.”

“I fail to understand how it would be affected by
my departure.”

“Wait; you have not heard all I have to say.”

“I beg your pardon. Go on.”

“In this crowd right here are fellows who can take
part in almost any kind of an athletic contest.”

“That’s right.”

“We could form a club, and be prepared for anything
we ran up against. Do you tumble?”

“You are right; but what would we run up against?”

“Plenty of hot times, if we looked for them. We
could make a trip back East, taking time for it, as
there is time to spare before college begins in September.”

“That’s so,” grunted Browning. “We’d want to
take lots of time. I don’t see the good of hustling
back East, anyway.”

“Nor I,” said Harry. “I agreed to spend some time
in Bar Harbor this season, but I don’t suppose it will
kill any one if I fail to get there.”

“Bar Harbor is a long distance from Santa Barbara,”
laughed Frank. “Forget it. If my scheme
pans out, you’ll have more fun than you could get out
of Bar Harbor, with its dances and its tennis parties.
Dancing and tennis are well enough, but here are other
things more interesting.”

“Golf, for instance,” grinned Rattleton. “They say
tennis won’t be in it at Bar Harbor this summer. Golf
is bound to be all the rage.”

“Let it rage. It’s better than tennis in some respects,
but there is not quite enough excitement about it for
the average American lad. Baseball and football are
the things to make the blood tingle.”

“You bet!” cried several of the boys in chorus.

“If my plan is adopted,” said Frank, “we can travel
back East by easy stages, stopping wherever we hear
there is anything going on in which we are interested,
and getting into all sorts of sports and games. How
does it strike you, fellows?”

“Pully,” shouted Hans. “Uf I peen aple to get me
some footraces indo, I pet you your life I vos goin’ to
make der natifs hustle.”

The Dutch boy’s one pet hallucination was that he
was a great sprinter. He cherished the delusion with
tender fondness, and nothing could convince him it
was a delusion.

“Begorra it’s a great skame, Frankie,” cried Barney.
“It’s a roight jolly ould toime we’ll hiv.”

“Gol darned ef we won’t,” nodded Ephraim, bobbing
his head up and down with his long supple neck.

The others, with the exception of Jack and Bruce,
expressed themselves as greatly pleased with the idea.
Browning grunted and groaned:

“Merry, you’re always getting up something to make
a fellow work. Now our trip across the continent is
over, I have been contemplating the joys of a lazy trip
back home in a parlor car. Here you come with a
scheme that knocks the wind out of my sails.”

Diamond was silent.

Frank knew that Bruce did not mean more than half
he said, and so he simply smiled on the big fellow. To
Jack he said:

“You haven’t said what you think about it.”

“I was wondering.”

“What about?”

“About your statement that it would spoil your
plan if I left the party.”

“It would.”

“I don’t see how. There would still be eight of
you.”

“But eight is not nine, and it takes nine men to
play a game of baseball.”

“Baseball! That’s right! Why, we have enough
here for a ball team.”

“That is it, exactly,” smiled Frank. “This is the
season when baseball flourishes, and we will be sure to
strike some games on our way back East. If there are
nine of us, we’ll have a ball team of our own.”

“Mah gracious,” broke in Toots. “Dat am de stuff.
If dar am anyfing I leks teh do it am teh play baseball—yes,
sar.”

Diamond was satisfied, and he immediately proposed
that they organize an athletic club without delay.

CHAPTER X—THE YALE COMBINE
==========================

“This is as good a place as we can find to do the
business,” declared Diamond. “And the first business
is to appoint a temporary chairman, who will call
the meeting to order.”

“I nominate Mr. Diamond,” smiled Frank.

Without loss of time, Jack was appointed temporary
chairman, and he brought the meeting to order, compelling
Bruce to sit up and pay attention to the business
in hand, which caused the lazy fellow to grumble somewhat.

“Gentlemen,” said Jack, “the first business before
this meeting is to appoint a president and permanent
chairman. How shall he be appointed, by hand-vote
or written ballot?”

“I brobose he vos abbointed by acclimatation,” put
in Hans, which caused the boys to laugh.

It was decided to nominate a candidate and elect
him by show of hands. Rattleton nominated Frank
Merriwell for the office of president and permanent
chairman, and the question was quickly put.

With the exception of Frank, every boy present held
up both hands.

“Mr. Merriwell is elected,” said Jack, soberly, “and
I now surrender the chair to him.”

Frank made a little speech, expressing his thanks,
and then asked the views of the boys as to the proper
name for the club. Several names were suggested, in
all of which Frank’s name was included. He was not
satisfied with any of them.

“What do you think would be a good name?” asked
Hodge.

“Well, we have come across the continent representing
Yale, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t go back
carrying the Yale banner to victory wherever we can.
Four of us are from Yale, and Hodge contemplates
entering the college, while Toots has worn a Yale
sweater during our tour. That leaves Ephraim, Barney
and Hans. I wonder if they object to the use of
the word Yale in the name of our club?”

“Gosh, no.”

“Nivver a bit av it.”

“Vot you took us for?”

“Then that point is settled. Of course we have no
authority from Yale to use the name, but if we give a
good account of ourselves in the contests in which we
may participate, I hardly think that need trouble us.
I propose the name, ‘The Yale Combine.’ How does
that strike you?”

“Good!” cried Rattleton, with enthusiasm.

“Good! good!” echoed the others.

“Is it your pleasure that our club be called the Yale
Combine?”

“Yes! yes! yes!”

“Then I declare that name formally adopted. Now
I wish some assistant officers—a vice, a secretary and
a treasurer. How shall they be elected?”

“I motion they be elected by written ballot,” proposed
Hodge.

“Sicond th’ motion,” said Barney, promptly.

“The motion is made and seconded that the assistant
officers be elected by written ballot. If that be your
minds make it manifest by a show of hands.”

Up went the hands of all.

“It is a vote. Please prepare your ballots for vice.”

“Hold on a jiffy, Mr. President,” said Ephraim,
awkwardly, grinning a little. “I want to wag my jaw
a bit before we begin tew vote.”

“Mr. Gallup may speak.”

“I ain’t got much tew say; but it kinder seems tew
me that as long as this is ter be called the Yale Combine
it’s jest abaout the right thing that the officers
should all be fellers who b’long ter Yale Collige. That
would make the thing seem a site more reg’ler, an’ I
don’t s’pose anybuddy will object to it.”

Hodge frowned a bit and looked disappointed, for he
had desired a position of some importance, but he
raised no objection to Ephraim’s proposal.

“If you think that is best,” said Frank, “it is very
easy to elect my assistants from the three Yale men
of the party.”

Then they balloted for vice. Diamond had five
votes, Browning two, and Dunnerwust one.

“Holdt on!” cried the Dutch boy. “Vot somepody
done dot for, aindt id? Some feller peen goin’ to had
a coot time mit me—I don’d think! I know a choke
ven I seen him, but dees vas peesness. Id was a
plamed fool dot chokes apoudt peesness! Yaw! You
vos velcome mein obinion to.”

Hans was red in the face and greatly excited, causing
no small amount of merriment.

Merriwell declared Diamond elected vice.

When the vote for secretary was counted, Rattleton
had seven and Gallup one. If possible, Ephraim was
more excited than Hans had been.

“I know I’m gol darn green,” he said; “an’ I don’t
seem to git over it, though I have traviled araound
some; but I tumble when folks go to pokin’ fun at me,
b’gosh!”

Hans chuckled:

“Dot peen a coot von on you, Efy! Haw! haw!”

“Oh, haw! haw!” mocked the Vermonter. “I don’t
see where the fun comes in!”

Rattleton was pronounced secretary.

For treasurer Browning had seven votes and Toots
one.

The colored boy laughed as if he considered it a
good joke.

When the officers were elected, Frank said:

“To raise funds to carry this club through I propose
to sell my yacht, for which I have no further use.
Yesterday I received an offer of nine hundred dollars
for her, and I hope the gentleman who wants her will
add another hundred to-day. That is what I paid for
her, and I got a bargain. She is easily worth fourteen
hundred, and I could get something near that out of
her if I had time to look for a customer.”

“And you propose to put that money into the running
of this club?”

“Why not? Prof. Scotch knew I would need
money, and he provided a sum for my use. He will
expect me to use it as I see fit.”

“I don’t suppose anybody here will raise an objection,”
laughed Rattleton.

“That point is settled. Now for the matter of getting
into the tournament here. I have been invited to
take part.”

“So soon?”

“Yes. Miss Random introduced me to her brother,
Wallace, who is a prominent member of the Santa Barbara
Athletic Club. He is a great sprinter, and expects
to carry off the honors in the hurdle race. He
had heard that I am interested in athletics, and he
urged me to enter for some of the contests. As he is
a member of the committee on arrangements, his invitation
goes.”

“It would give him a black eye if you should go into
the races in which he will take part and beat him out,”
said Browning.

“Merry can do it, too,” nodded Diamond.

“That is not a sure thing, by any means,” smiled
Frank. “I never knew a fellow who was so good at
anything that he would not run up against some other
fellow that was a little better. They say Random is a
dandy.”

“He will have to be to get away from you, old man,”
said Hodge.

“Boys,” cried Harry, enthusiastically, “we won’t do
a thing but have a glorious time on our way back
East!”

Browning groaned.

“I did think you would be satisfied to drag me into
a bicycle tour across the continent,” he said; “but this
is something a great deal worse. The next thing I
know, you’ll be getting me into a six-days’ running
match, or something of the sort.”

“Now we have you worked down so you are in good
condition, we mean to keep you so,” declared Merriwell.
“It will be——”

At this moment a shrill scream startled the boys and
drew their attention toward the water, where the girls
had been bathing in the surf.

They had been so absorbed in the business at hand
that Inza Burrage and her companions were quite forgotten
till that cry of fear and distress brought them to
their feet.

“What’s the matter?” gasped Browning, struggling
up.

“The surf! There must be an undertow! One of
the girls is drowning!” cried Diamond.

Both Hodge and Merriwell were already racing
toward the beach.

As they ran, Frank and Bart saw two of the girls
struggling in the water.

“It’s Inza!” panted Frank.

“And Effie Random!” added Bart.

“Inza can swim.”

“She is trying to save Miss Random.”

“That’s right! Miss Random is frantic with fear—she
is dragging Inza down!”

“There they go under!”

“They’ll both be drowned!”

“Run, Frank—run!”

Run both lads did as if their own lives depended on
their efforts. The others came stringing along behind
them.

As they ran the two boys threw off the light blazers
which they had been wearing. Neither had on a
vest, and both were lightly dressed for warm weather.

“Oh, if I had time to get rid of my shoes!” thought
Frank.

But he knew seconds were precious, and he would
not stop to get rid of his shoes.

He reached the water slightly in advance of Hodge.

Two of the girls had waded out and were standing
on the beach, wringing their hands and sobbing.

Several times the girls who were struggling in the
water disappeared beneath the surface, but they came
up each time, and it was seen that one of them was
doing her best to support the other, who seemed frantic
with fear.

“Save them! save them!” cried the girls on the shore,
as Merriwell and Hodge plunged into the water.

It is not likely that either Frank or Bart heard this
appeal.

The knowledge that Inza Burrage was in danger
nerved Frank Merriwell to do his very utmost.

“I will save her or drown with her!” he thought.

Straight through the surf he dashed, hurled himself
headlong through the crest of a big roller, and began
to swim.

Hodge did the same trick with equal skill.

It seemed that the struggles of the two girls were
growing weaker, and once they were beneath the surface
so long that Frank feared they would not come up
again.

They did come up, however, and Inza’s white face
was turned for a moment toward the two lads who were
swimming to their rescue.

There was something in that look of appeal that
smote Merriwell to the heart and made him frantic to
reach her. He tore at the water with his powerful
arms, and even the strongest roller did not bear him
back or seem to check him in the least.

To him it did not seem that he was making any
progress at all, and he was furious at the slowness with
which he got along. He felt as if weights of lead
were attached to his feet.

“Oh, this infernal water!” he panted. “It drags at
me! I never swam so slowly in all my life! If they
go down again—— Where are they?”

The girls had disappeared.

In a moment, however, they arose into view on the
crest of a swell, still struggling.

“Hold on, Inza!” cried Frank. “Bear up a little
longer!”

She answered with an inarticulate cry that seemed
full of despair and turned Frank’s blood cold.

“Have I saved her from that English puppy for
this!” he gasped. “Is it possible that she is to die
now? Oh, no, no!”

Then Frank Merriwell prayed as he swam. He
asked God to give him power to reach her and give
her strength to bear up till he could get to her.

He remembered how he had first met her at a picnic
at Fardale, and how pretty she had looked in her short
pink dress. He remembered how on that very day, by
a wonderful display of nerve and strength, he had
saved her from being bitten by a mad dog. And after
that—oh, she had thought him such a hero! She had
worshiped him as her ideal of all that was brave and
noble. All that seemed years and years ago.

And now—could he save her again? or was she to
perish before he could reach her?

Nearer and nearer he swam.

Close behind Frank, Hodge was exerting every
muscle.

“We’ll get to them, Merry!” he called, encouragingly.
“We’ll pull them out all right. We are sure
to—— They’ve gone down again!”

It was true!

“Merciful heavens!” came huskily from Frank’s lips.
“I fear this is the last time!”

He swam on—he reached the spot where the girls
had last been seen.

Where were they?

He looked around for them, but could see nothing
of them.

“Gone!” he groaned, his lips turning a blue-white.
“My Heaven, they are both drowned!”

Hodge was at hand, swimming about and looking
around. Now his face was ashen white. He tried to
speak, but his voice died away in a husky whisper.

The agony of soul that Frank experienced at that
moment was such as he had never before known. It
seemed as if he turned to be a very old man in a fraction
of time.

“Poor Inza!” he gasped.

A cry came from Hodge!

“Look there!”

Something floated on the surface of the water for
a moment, and then it disappeared.

Frank dived.

Down beneath the surface he went, where the water
was green and shot through with streaks of sunshine.
He kept his eyes open and looked about him.

Just ahead of him something was slowly sinking
toward the bottom, making faint struggling movements.

The sunlight that came down through the green
waves showed the white face of a girl upturned for a
moment, the eyes wide open and staring.

Frank plunged at the object with remarkable speed,
and he felt a wild thrill of hope as his arm closed
around the waist of a girl.

That clutch seemed to arouse her, and, in a moment,
she had fastened her hands about his neck.

It was the clutch of a drowning person, and the girl
seemed to possess the strength of Samson.

Frank tried to break away, but she held fast to him.

Down they went toward the bottom.

“I must break her hold!” thought the youth. “If I
do not, she will drown us both! It is the only chance!”

He understood how desperate the situation was, and
prepared to make a last mad effort.

Then the girl folded him in her arms and drew him
close to her with a frantic clutch that caused him to
gasp, and the salt sea water poured down his throat.

He found he could not well exert his strength, as the
girl held him in a position so that he could not get
hold of her hands.

“It means death!” was his thought, as they sank
still more swiftly. “Poor Inza! We will die together!”

CHAPTER XI—THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE
================================

It was growing dark down there beneath the waves.
The golden sunlight had turned to a bluish gloom that
lay dense beneath the boy and girl, who were slowly
sinking into that mysterious region.

Those dark depths were suggestive of rest and peace.
They seemed most inviting and alluring to the lad who
was wearied and exhausted by his struggles to save
the girl who was so dear to him.

Frank felt like ceasing to struggle—like giving over
all effort and floating gently down into those cool
depths, where he could rest.

Inza was with him, and they would rest down there
together, still locked in each other’s arms.

To his mind came a picture of them as they would
look in the cool blue shadows, undisturbed by anything
that was occurring in all the wide, wide world. He
saw their pale faces and their closed eyes, and he fancied
Inza’s dark hair floating gently at the soft throb of the
ocean. Oh, it was sweet as a dream!

Then he seemed to see the fishes that would come to
look at them with wonder. He saw the fishes swimming
about, darting over them and playing around
the spot where they rested.

Then came another and a horrible thought.

The fishes would nibble at their flesh—would feast
off their bodies. Inza’s beautiful face would be disfigured.

It was that thought that brought him to himself.

With a last mad burst of strength he broke the girl’s
hold, and then they went mounting toward the surface.

Up, up, up from the dark blue shadows, which now
seemed filled with horrible shapes, they mounted.
Out from those shadows reached long, crooked arms
with hands that tried to clutch them and drag them
down again.

For the first time in his life Frank felt like shrieking
with fear. A great horror was on him, and it made
him frantic.

He saw bubble eyes that peered and glared at him
from all sides, and shapeless forms hovered all around.

With all his strength he strove to reach the surface.

Up from the blue depths into the yellow sunlight he
mounted, still clinging to the girl. Up from the yellow
sunlight till their heads arose above the waves
with a sudden splurge.

Frank coughed and strangled, ejecting salt water
from his mouth.

He held the helpless, unstruggling girl in his arms,
but he gave her little attention till he had raised not a
little of the salt water that seemed to have gone down
his throat.

Then Frank turned on his back, with the head of the
girl resting on his breast and shoulder, and floated
thus.

Frank had always been a marvelous swimmer, and
he could float like a cork. Now he sought to rest on
the surface of the swells till he could recover enough
strength to swim.

The surface of the ocean was rolling gently in huge
billows, which lifted and lowered them with a soothing
motion and seemed to be sweeping them farther and
farther from the shore.

But Frank felt a thrill of joy. He had reached Inza
at last by a mighty struggle, and he was certain he
would be able to save her, now he had broken her hold
and escaped from the fascination of the blue depths beneath.

The sun shone down on the heaving sea as it always
seems to shine along the coast of Southern California.
The sky was blue and clear. A white-winged gull
soared above them, having shot upward from the water
as they reached the surface.

Frank watched that gull, and it seemed to fascinate
him. It looked so white and pure and gentle as it
hung there with outspread wings, wheeling slowly, and
mounting higher and higher.

Somehow it seemed to Frank that the white bird
had arisen from the head of the girl as it appeared
above the water.

It was as if her pure white soul had been released and
was soaring above them, pausing to look back lingeringly
and pityingly before taking its flight to heaven.

Frank could see several figures running along the
beach toward the cove where boats were to be found,
and he knew some of the fellows were hastening to
come to his assistance.

He looked at the face of the girl he had saved. It
was quite pale, but a tinge of color began to show in her
cheeks. All her curls were gone, and her light, fluffy
hair was watersoaked; but still she was exceedingly
pretty in a cool, icy way. To Frank at that moment,
she seemed far prettier than when he had first met her.

And Merry’s heart was so overflowing with joy at
the knowledge of having saved her that he kissed her
repeatedly.

Suddenly Inza’s blue eyes opened and she looked at
him in a dazed and bewildered manner.

Something like a faint smile fluttered across her face,
and more color came to her cheeks.

“Where—where—what——” she vaguely began.

“Don’t be excited, dearest,” urged Frank. “If you
get excited and struggle, I may not be able to save you.
If you keep still, I may be able to keep our heads
above the surface till a boat reaches us.”

He was treading water as he spoke.

The girl seemed too weak to make much of a struggle,
and he was relieved to see that she lay quite still.

“Oh, I thought I was drowning—I was sure!” she
said, presently. “I was frantic, and then all my senses
left me.”

“It was a good thing they did, for you did not
swallow much water while you were beneath the surface.”

“Then I did go under?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it—I knew I would.”

He felt her trembling in his grasp, and he quickly
said:

“You are all right now.”

“Oh, but I must get up—up out of this water! I
am so far down in it! Lift me up farther!”

“No!” he said, sternly; “you must remain as far
down in the water as possible, for I shall not be able to
save you if you don’t. Try to lie on your back, and
tip your head far back. In that way you might float
alone, and you would be all right as long as your nose
remained above the surface so you could breathe. The
trouble always is with those who drown in water like
this that they try to climb up out of the water, instead
of sinking as far down in it as possible, and keeping
perfectly still, and their efforts send them under
the surface.”

She understood him, and she murmured:

“Hold fast to me, and I will trust everything to
you. You are such a brave and noble fellow!”

Inza suddenly remembered that Effie Random had
been in the water, too, and she excitedly asked:

“Where is Effie now? Did I—did I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Drown her. She said I would drown both of us if
I did not keep still, but every time I kept still a moment
the water went over us, and that made me frantic.
Oh, I do hope she did not drown! She is such
a splendid girl, and I think so much of her!”

“She is all right,” assured Frank. “Mr. Hodge
aided her in swimming to the shore.”

The calmness with which he talked to the girl seemed
to give her confidence in his power to save her, and she
trusted him completely.

Farther and farther from the shore they were carried.

Soon Frank saw a boat put out and pull toward
them.

He felt that the boat was coming none too soon, for
he had been weakened by his immersion beneath the
surface, and he found that the effort of keeping upon
the surface and holding the girl up was telling on him,
despite his wonderful power of endurance.

Already he had begun to fear that he would give out,
but the girl suspected nothing of the sort, for he
seemed calm and confident.

“I shall owe you my life, Frank,” she said.

“We will talk of that later,” said Frank, by way of
saying something in an unconcerned manner, although
it seemed that the effort to speak deprived him of
strength.

He looked longingly toward the boat. Two pairs
of oars were being used, and the rowers were making
the small craft jump with each stroke. The oars
flashed in the sunshine when the wet blades came up
dripping, and the bodies of the rowers swayed and bent.
In the stern somebody waved a cap at Frank and uttered
a shout of encouragement.

“Hurry! hurry! hurry!”

It was with the greatest difficulty that Merriwell
kept from uttering the words in a wild cry that would
have betrayed his failing strength. He choked it back,
however, and smiled encouragingly at Inza.

“They are coming,” he said. “In a few minutes
we’ll be in a boat and quite safe.”

“I don’t care,” she returned, in a significant manner.
“They need not hurry.”

“If she only knew!” thought Frank.

Once he went down, and the water filled his nostrils
so that he strangled a little. Inza gave a cry of alarm,
and, fearing she would get excited and struggle, he
forced a short laugh.

Nearer and nearer came the boat. He could hear
the rump-thump, rump-thump of the oars in the rowlocks.

“Howld on, Frankie, me b’y!” came the cheery call
of Barney Mulloy. “We’ll be wid yez in a minute.”

Rump-thump, rump-thump—would the boat never
reach them?

How heavy Inza was! And it seemed that a great
weight was dragging at Frank’s feet—a weight he
could not cast off.

“Hurry, Barney—hurry!” he tried to cry; but the
words died in a hoarse gasp in his throat, causing the
girl to turn her head to look at him.

“What is the matter?” she asked, in sudden alarm.

“Nothing,” he declared, faintly—“nothing at all.”

“Oh, I know there is! You are giving out!”

Then he saw she was liable to grasp him about the
neck, which would be sure to sink them both, in which
case he was certain they would never rise again.

“Don’t do it—if you wish to live, Inza,” he pleaded.
“I can hold you a little longer if you do not touch me;
but we shall go down if you grasp me.”

She was filled with fear, but something in his words
and manner caused her to obey him fully.

Suddenly there was a wild shout of alarm from the
boat, and Frank saw Barney making frantic gestures,
while he urged the rowers to greater exertions.

Merriwell wondered what it meant. He saw Barney
swing his arm and point away toward the channel.

As they arose to the crest of a swell, Frank saw
something that sent his heart into his throat.

At a distance the sharp back fin of a shark cut the
crest of the water for a single instant and then disappeared.

A shark was coming!

“What—what is it?” asked Inza, who had been
startled by Barney’s cries. “Why are they shouting
thus?”

“They are doing it to encourage us,” said Frank,
believing he was fully justified in the falsehood.

“You are sure?”

“Why, of course!”

Rump-thump, rump-thump went the oars! jump,
jump plunged the boat as it sped to the rescue.

The rowers were straining every nerve. They were
Bruce Browning and Ephraim Gallup, and for once in
his life, at least, the big collegian was doing his very
utmost. Nothing but an effort to save his own life or
that of Frank could have made him work thus.

It seemed that the shark was approaching with the
speed of an express train. Fortunately the boat was
far nearer, and so it came up first.

Even as the boat shot alongside the youth and
maiden, with Bruce and Ephraim backing water to
check its headway, there was a flash of a dark body in
the water, a flashlike turn, the showing of a white belly,
and Barney had dragged Inza into the boat just in
time.

Yes, he had dragged Inza in; but Frank—where
was he?

He had disappeared!

CHAPTER XII—FRANK IS TROUBLED
=============================

Shuddering with horror as he held the dripping girl
in his arms, Barney Mulloy looked over the side of
the boat, expecting to see the water dyed with a crimson
stain.

Browning gave a shout:

“Here he is!”

Frank’s head appeared on the other side of the boat.

He had dived just in time to avoid the shark when
it turned.

The moment he came up on the other side of the
boat Browning and Gallup dropped the oars and
grasped him.

They had him in the boat a second later.

The shark had lost its prey.

Frank sank down in the bottom of the boat, utterly
helpless and without strength.

Barney placed Inza on the rear seat.

“Begorra!” he gasped, wiping great drops of perspiration
from his face; “thot wur a close shave, but we
did it, me b’ys!”

Ephraim Gallup, despite the exertion of rowing,
was pale as a ghost, and Browning was seen to shiver.

“Darn my pertaturs!” muttered the Vermonter.
“It’s a wonder we did do it, b’gosh!”

“A wonder!” came from Browning! “It is a
miracle!”

“Be me soul, we did it, though! Cheer, b’ys—cheer!”

Then, standing upright in the boat, they waved their
caps and gave a wild cheer of joy.

Away on the beach the cheer was answered by another
and another and yet another.

Merriwell opened his eyes, and something like a
faint smile came to his drawn face.

“It’s all right, boys!” he said. “You did a good
job!”

“An’ it’s yersilf that did another, Frankie,” declared
Barney. “But fer yez th’ young lady would be at th’
botthom of the say now.”

They rowed back, carrying the rescued youth and
maiden.

Inza remained in an exhausted condition, but Frank
began to recover soon after being drawn into the boat.

A large crowd had gathered on the beach, for the
four girls were not the only bathers, and nearly a hundred
people had come to the beach for pleasure that
afternoon.

When Frank and Inza came ashore the crowd
cheered again, and the boys who belonged to Merriwell’s
party rushed to embrace him.

Toots was so overjoyed that he fell on his knees and
hugged Frank’s legs, laughing and crying in a hysterical
manner.

“Oh, Marser Frank!” he said; “I done fought yo’
was a goner one time fo’ suah! I nebber suspected to
see yo’ no moah, Marser Frank! Bress de good Lawd—bress
His name!”

Frank was hugged and his hand was shaken till he
began to push them off, laughing and remonstrating.

And the strangers who were looking on turned and
said to one another:

“Who is he? See how much they think of him!”

Wallace Random, a handsome young fellow of nineteen,
who had been on hand to receive his sister, as he
was near the beach when she went into the water, hastened
to Frank.

“Mr. Merriwell,” he said, earnestly, as he grasped
Frank’s hand, “I am proud to know you. Your friend
has saved my sister’s life in the same noble manner.
You are both heroes.”

The girls had come to the beach in carriages, and
Inza was soon placed in one, bundled about with a
wrap and whirled away.

Frank looked for Inza as soon as he could escape
from the ones who were offering their praise and congratulations,
but he was told she had gone with Miss
Random.

“I shall see her to-night,” he said. “There is a
dance at the hotel, and she has promised to give me the
first waltz.”

He made haste to escape to his room at the hotel,
whither he was followed by the boys, where Toots
rubbed him down and they all talked over the adventure
and rescue.

Frank confessed that he was on the verge of giving
out when the boat reached them, and he had just
strength enough to dive and escape the shark, that had
seemed to snap at Inza’s feet as she was pulled out of
the water.

“I don’t think I could have held out a minute more,”
he said; “and I should have gone down again immediately
if Bruce and Ephraim had not grabbed me
when I came up after diving under the boat. I used
my last bit of strength to get to the surface that time.”

“When you dived,” said Hodge, “Effie arose close
to me. I saw in an instant that she was ready to give
out, and I helped her to get ashore. I could not have
done that, but she was able to swim a little after a few
minutes. She was almost frantic, and kept saying
over and over that she had been forced to break Inza’s
hold to save herself. She laughed and cried and then
swooned for a moment when the boat reached you and
you were pulled in.”

Later in the afternoon Frank called on Inza, having
been sent for by Mr. Burrage.

Inza’s father, who was weak and ill, wrung the lad’s
hand.

“My dear boy!” he cried; “how noble you are! I
wished to see you, for I have heard all about your brave
deed.”

After a few further words, Frank left his card for
Inza, who was confined to her room, and returned to
the hotel.

The boys found time to talk over their combination,
when they had grown tired of discussing the rescue of
the two girls. All were elated by the prospect of great
sport on their trip back East.

While they were sitting on the veranda of the hotel
chatting about athletic sports, Wallace Random appeared.
Once more he shook Frank’s hand, expressing
his appreciation of Merriwell’s brave act, and then
he was introduced all around to the boys.

“Mr. Random,” said Frank, “we have organized an
athletic club, and I shall be pleased to accept your invitation
to take part in the contests day after to-morrow.”

“I am glad to know that,” smiled Random. “We
hope to make the affair a big success. Entrances for
the various contests may be made now or to-morrow, if
that serves you better.”

“Perhaps it would be better to wait till to-morrow,
as we can have time to decide who will take part and
what sports they will choose. As yet we have not arranged
matters fully, as the first meeting of our club
was interrupted when we hastened to save your sister
and Miss Burrage. That meeting broke up without
adjournment.”

“Suit yourselves,” laughed Wallace, “but you must
remember that we have some hot lads down here, and
we do not propose to let anybody from the East carry
off honors if we can prevent it.”

“I rather fancy you will find some hot stuff among
the members of our club,” said Frank, quietly. “We
will represent Yale College, and it is seldom ‘Old Eli’
gets left at anything.”

“I understand you are something of a runner and
hurdle-racer,” Random said.

“There are others,” was the answer. “I am not the
only one.”

“But I have heard that you are pretty good.”

“He is a dim jandy—I mean a jim dandy,” spluttered
Harry, getting somewhat excited. “I don’t believe
you have any one out here who can keep in sight of
him.”

Random elevated his eyebrows.

“Now you do interest me!” he exclaimed. “I am
something of a runner myself, and I shall take part in
the hurdle race and the hundred yards dash. Perhaps
Mr. Merriwell may like to enter those contests. Out
here they say I am bound to win in a canter. Mr.
Merriwell might make it interesting, at least.”

“Inderesting!” cried Hans. “I pets you your life
he peats der packin’ oudt uf you! I haf seen dot poy
sbrint!”

“Begorra! he’s a birrud!” nodded Barney. “He
was th’ shwiftest runner in Farrdale whin we wur
there.”

“Mr. Merriwell,” said Random, pleasantly, “I trust
you will take part in the races. I do not think you will
be able to win over me, but I am sure it will be a pleasant
and fair rivalry between us, and there will be no
hard feelings in any case.”

“Well,” said Frank, “I do not pretend to be a champion,
but I will come in and do the best I can.”

“Good!” nodded Wallace. “I hope to see you at
the hop to-night. Good-evening, gentlemen.”

Then he departed.

CHAPTER XIII—A GAME FOR TWO
===========================

Frank and Bart were the only ones of the party who
attended the dance, that evening, which was an informal
affair.

Fine music was furnished, and the young ladies and
girls of Santa Barbara looked their best as they mingled
with the guests at the hotel.

As Frank stood looking on he decided that the girls
of the Golden State were charming indeed, and there
was no reason why California should not be proud of
them.

They were refined and cultured, too, as they showed
by their manners and conversation. In this respect
Frank felt that they might well be compared with the
finest bred girls of the East.

“It is a great country,” he thought; “and the East
is altogether conceited when it fancies it has all the
brains and culture. There are other places besides
Boston and New York, and I can understand why some
of the other places seem superior to many people.”

He was watching for Inza. She had promised him
the first waltz, and he hoped to find time to chat a moment
with her before the dance. He wished to compliment
her on her brave attempt to rescue Effie Random.

While he was looking for her Miss Random entered
the room, accompanied by her brother.

Lord Stanford, the Englishman, was present, and
he started for Effie the moment she appeared.

But the girl saw Frank, and, leaving Wallace, she
hastened toward him before the nobleman could reach
her.

“Oh, Mr. Merriwell!” she exclaimed, with an ardor
that surprised him, as she had seemed so cool and reserved,
“I must thank you again and again for your
heroic rescue of Inza.”

“Don’t,” entreated Merry. “I have been thanked
enough already. Permit me to congratulate you on
your fine appearance this evening. It is wonderful!
I feared you would be prostrated, and here you are at
this dance, looking as fair and fresh as a flower. I do
not understand it.”

Her eyes fell.

“I—I came to see—you,” she almost whispered the
words, and an added color tinged her fair cheeks.

Frank began to feel awkward. He could see Lord
Stanford glowering at him from a short distance, and
he wondered if this was the same girl he had fancied
was so eager to capture the nobleman. It seemed that
Effie had quite forgotten Stanford.

“To see me?” said Frank, slowly. “I am sure that
is a compliment—a great compliment.”

“Yes, to see you,” she again declared, placing her
hand upon his arm, and lifting her blue eyes to his. “I
knew you would be here.”

At this moment Frank discovered that Inza had
entered and was looking toward them. He longed to
hurry to her side, but he could not leave Effie Random
without positive rudeness.

“What is the matter, Mr. Merriwell?” said Effie,
rather sharply. “You do not seem to be listening? I
am talking to you!”

“I beg your pardon!” hastily replied Frank, blushing,
when he realized how rude his manners must have
seemed. “It’s one of my spells—that’s all.”

“Do you have them often?” she asked, with a light
laugh.

“Oh, no; only occasionally. I am afraid they make
me appear very rude. Physicians whom I have consulted
say I may outgrow them by the time I am eighty
or ninety, and that I shall not be troubled by them all
the rest of my life after that.”

Lord Stanford came up.

“Pawdon,” he said; “but I think this is our dawnce,
Miss Random.”

She looked at him, and then, as Frank was on the
point of excusing himself, she said:

“Not this one, Lord Stanford. I said I would
give you a waltz, but I am engaged to Mr. Merriwell
for this one.”

Frank glanced at her in surprise. He had not asked
her for that dance. What could she mean? Effie
noted the glance and cast her eyes downward.

Like a flash the truth came over Frank. During
their brief stay in Santa Barbara he had met Effie
quite often with Inza. He had simply regarded her
as a rather pretty and winning girl, and had paid her
no more attention than was demanded by courtesy.
Now it seemed——

He was compelled to smile. Was it possible the
foolish girl imagined he was in love with her?

She must know of his sincere admiration for Inza.

Still, such is the weakness of human kind, he did not
feel greatly offended at the discovery. Effie was attractive
and——

Then it happened that, almost before Frank realized
it, they were on the floor, gliding gracefully along to
the swing and throb of the music.

Effie was a delightful waltzer, light as a feather and
graceful as a swan. Ordinarily it would have cost
Frank no effort at all with such a partner.

But this was not an ordinary occasion, and Merriwell
felt no satisfaction in dancing, even though Effie
was a perfect waltzer. He realized that he was doing
wrong and he was decidedly wretched.

On the second round Frank and Effie came close to
Inza. She was dancing with Bart Hodge. For a
single moment Inza’s dark eyes looked at Merry, but
they turned away, and she laughed at something Hodge
was whispering in her ear.

Merriwell felt a flush of heat pass over his body, and
his cheeks burned. He saw Hodge’s arm about Inza’s
waist, and an intense feeling of jealousy seized upon
him. He forgot that he was to blame and he railed
at his friend.

Then he began to chat and laugh with Effie, seeming
to forget Inza entirely. He entered into the dance
with a sudden change of spirit, so that many eyes were
turned toward himself and Miss Random, who were
generally pronounced the finest waltzers on the floor.

Effie noted the sudden change in Frank, but she did
not know what had brought it about. She was
charmed by his witty sayings, his complimentary
speeches, and his beautiful dancing.

“He is just splendid!” she told herself. “I don’t
wonder Inza Burrage says he is the finest fellow in the
whole world.”

She saw Lord Stanford, surrounded by a group of
girls, all of whom seemed regarding the red-faced
nobleman with great admiration.

“Yesterday I was like those silly fools!” thought
Effie. “To-day I have found a real man. What a
difference there is!”

She felt a positive disgust for the Englishman.

“Miss Burrage said I’d be sickened of him when I
came to know him well. He is looking for an American
heiress, and he tried to force her to marry him till
he found out she is not rich. Then his ardor cooled
swiftly. What a contemptible man he is.”

When the dance was over Frank and Effie strolled
out on the balcony, where the soft breath of a perfect
summer night brought them the sweet perfume of
flowers.

The moon had arisen above the Santa Yenz Mountains,
and its brilliant light was shimmering with silver
the sea that lay away to the westward. The sound of
the surf came like subdued and distant organ peals.
The scene was entrancing, but it did not appeal to
Frank.

He was ill at ease. He felt his guilt, and a great
wave of shame and self-contempt swept over him.

With characteristic impulsiveness he suddenly resolved
to put an end to it. To seek out Inza and apologize.

As he made the resolution a low, musical laugh came
from the other side of a bank of flowers.

Then a deep voice followed. It was Inza and Bart.

“Miss Random,” he said, hurriedly, “will you kindly
pardon me if I escort you back to the room? I—I—have
an engagement and——”

Effie started and glanced at him with mingled surprise
and pique. She, too, had heard the laugh. Her
eyes flashed, and her lips compressed ominously.

“Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Merriwell,” she replied,
coldly. “But may I ask if your extremely sudden
engagement is connected with Inza?”

The impertinence of the question passed unheeded
by Frank. His mind was engrossed by his new resolution.

“I confess it is,” he replied, frankly. “Pray excuse
me.”

With that he was gone. Effie watched him disappear
with eyes filled with tears of rage and humiliation.
Gripping the railing of the balcony until her hands
ached, she muttered:

“You will regret this, Frank Merriwell. You will
regret this insult to me. I will find means to make
you suffer for it.”

Bart Hodge strolled past the bank of flowers, and
started on seeing her.

“You here,” he stammered, impulsively. “I thought
you were dancing with Frank?”

Effie greeted him so cordially that the youth flushed
with pleasure. He gladly stepped to her side in obedience
to her invitation.

“Yes, I was dancing with Mr. Merriwell,” she replied,
“but he had a pressing engagement and was
compelled to leave. Where is Inza?”

“She returned inside,” said Bart, indifferently.

“And you permitted her to go alone?”

“Yes. I wanted to look for you,” was the blunt
reply, given with a glance of admiration.

“A weapon ready for use,” murmured Effie, softly.
“I will strike Frank Merriwell through him.”

In the meantime Frank had eagerly searched for
Inza. To his extreme disappointment, he found that
she had left for home. Five minutes later he, too, was
missed.

CHAPTER XIV—A GOOD START
========================

The day of the tournament at Santa Barbara arrived
and brought with it large crowds of visitors from various
parts of the State. There was a great swarm of
strangers in the beautiful little town that lies between
the blue Santa Yenz Mountains and the dreaming sea.

The field for the sports and contests lay outside the
town, and there the crowd gathered at an early hour.

It had been arranged that such contests as putting
the shot, throwing the hammer, jumping, vaulting,
wrestling, and so forth, should come before the races.

Browning had been induced to enter the hammer-throwing
and shot-putting contests, while Barney was
anxious to show what he could do at the high jump and
the long jump. Diamond had decided to take part in
the pole vaulting.

The boys’ bicycles had arrived by express the day before,
having been forwarded from San Francisco, and
Rattleton entered for the two-mile bicycle race, after
vainly trying to induce Frank to go into it.

“I’ll have quite all I want to do in the hundred yards’
dash and the two-hundred-and-twenty yards’ hurdle,”
smiled Frank. “I am not going to break myself all up
at the very beginning of our new tour.”

“That’s right,” said Hodge, significantly; “and you
will find Wallace Random a sharp rival in both of
those contests. It won’t surprise me, Frank, if you
are unable to defeat him.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Merry, lifting his eyebrows
and regarding Bart coolly. “There was a time when
you thought no person could defeat me.”

Bart flushed and moved uneasily.

“You’re a dandy, old fellow,” he said; “but Random
has a record. He is the amateur champion of this
State.”

“And still you are going to be in the hurdle race!
That is remarkable. What do you expect to win?”

“Well, I can’t do worse than get last position,” returned
Bart, somewhat sulkily. “I do not expect to
beat Wallace Random.”

Frank turned away.

Inza Burrage was present to witness the contests, but
Frank could not get a chance to speak to her. Effie
Random held several conversations with her brother.

Ephraim Gallup, who happened to pass near them
as they were talking, heard a few words from each.

“Beat him if you can,” said Effie, “beat him in both
races.”

“I will,” confidently declared Random. “You may
be sure of that.”

“You don’t know him, or you would not speak thus
confidently. He always wins at everything he tries. I
wish to see him defeated.”

“Don’t worry: your wish shall be granted.”

Then Ephraim heard no more.

“Wal, darn my punkins!” he muttered. “I’d like ter
know who they be talkin’ abaout. You don’t s’pose it’s
Frank!”

He was startled by the possibility, but quickly decided
that such a thing could not be.

Early on the morning of the previous day, after
the Yale Combine had been organized, Frank had
hastened to order some suits for the club, which they
were to wear while taking part in certain contests.
These suits were short, light trousers, scarcely coming
to the knees of the wearers, and close fitting dark-blue
shirts, each having a large white Y on the breast.

By paying well for it, Merry was able to get several
suits rushed through, so the boys who were to take
part in the sports requiring great exertion each could
have a suit.

The first contest was putting the shot.

There were six contestants, and Browning came
fourth on the list.

The big fellow looked fine, and said he felt well,
although he growled a bit, as usual, because he had
to do something besides be a spectator.

The Santa Barbara athletic club also had a big
lad who was an expert shot-putter and hammer
thrower. His name was Benson.

Benson was the sixth man on the list, that position
having come to him by lot.

A slender chap by the name of Cummings, from
Salinas, started the ball rolling by making a distance
of thirty-three feet and four inches.

This was not beaten till Browning came up.

“Do your best, old man,” urged Frank. “You
can do a good job if you try. You know big Hickok
has a record of forty-two and nine.”

Bruce grunted.

“I don’t suppose you expect me to beat Hickok, do
you?” he growled.

“Not exactly,” smiled Frank; “but you can come
near him.”

Browning limbered up, and then took his position.
He was regarded with great curiosity, as it had become
known that he was from Yale, and something good
was expected of him.

His first put, however, was a disappointment to
everybody, as he fell under Cummings by five inches.

“Oh, he’s too lazy for anything!” muttered Diamond.
“He can do better than that.”

“He will do better,” declared Frank.

But, to the astonishment of all, Browning made
scarcely thirty-one feet on his second trial.

There were cries of amusement and derision from
the crowd, and a voice shouted:

“Is that one of the wonderful men from Yale? He
does not seem to be such hot stuff. Wait till you see
Benson toss the shot.”

Browning stiffened up, and his face became set. He
glanced at Frank, expecting Merriwell would be angry,
but was met with a smile and a nod of encouragement.

“I’ll do something this time if it’s in me!” Bruce
mentally vowed.

He did.

On the third trial he sent the shot whizzing through
the air to fall far beyond the mark made by Cummings.

When the tape was run it was found he had made
thirty-eight feet and eleven inches.

Then Browning was given a round of applause, and
Frank congratulated him when he stepped back into
the crowd.

The man who followed Browning made thirty-two
feet, and then Benson came up. Wallace Random said
a few words to Santa Barbara’s champion shot putter,
and Benson nodded, although there was a worried look
on his face.

The crowd of spectators were silent and expectant.

What would Benson do? Could he beat the man
from the East?

At Benson’s first trial he made thirty-seven feet and
nine inches.

This brought some applause, and a man cried:

“Wait a minute! He will show you something better
than that.”

But to the dismay of Benson’s admirers, he fell
back to thirty-six on the second trial.

He prepared for the third and last effort, and it
was seen by the expression of his face that he meant
to beat the record if it was in him. With the shot in
his hand, he poised himself for the throw, falling back
on his right foot. The muscles of his right arm and
shoulder stood out in hard bunches, while his left arm
was extended, his hand being clinched.

A moment he remained thus, and then, with a mighty
heave, he sent the shot flying through the air.

With a thud, it dropped to the sandy ground and
lay still.

“He has won! He has won!”

The cry went up from Benson’s friends.

“Wait a moment till the measurement is made,” said
Frank Merriwell, quietly, as the tape was laid.

There was a great hush of expectancy, and then the
voice of the judge was heard to declare:

“Thirty-eight feet and nine inches. Bruce Browning,
of Yale College, has won over all by a margin of
two inches.”

A moment of silence, and then the familiar Yale yell
of victory pealed like a war cry from the lips of the
college lads.

The Yale Combine had started out with flying
colors.

CHAPTER XV—A HOT DASH
=====================

Wallace Random came around and congratulated
Browning.

“You did a good job,” he said, “and we’ll have to
take revenge off some of your friends. Don’t think
for a moment that we mean to let you Yale fellows
carry off all the honors.”

Benson came up and asked to be introduced. He
proved to be a very pleasant fellow, and took his
defeat gracefully.

“I did my best,” he declared. “I couldn’t beat it if
I were to try a week. You won fairly.”

This frank and generous spirit greatly impressed
Merriwell and his friends.

Browning exerted himself again in the hammer-throwing
contest, and won by a good margin.

“Keep it up, fellows,” laughed Frank. “It strikes
me that the Combine is bound to make a path of glory
on its way East.”

But they were not to win at everything, as they
soon discovered.

Barney Mulloy was a great jumper, but there was
a youth from Mariposa who could jump. His name
was Lundy, and he beat the Irish boy with such ease
that Barney was quite crestfallen.

“Begorra! it’s wings he has somewhere about him!”
declared Barney.

Then came the pole vaulting, and Preston, of Santa
Barbara won, although Jack Diamond was a close
second.

“I told you!” laughed Wallace Random, speaking to
Frank. “You chaps are doing great work, but we have
some good men right here.”

“That’s right,” agreed Merriwell, cheerfully. “You
are right in it, and that’s a fact.”

Then came the bicycle race.

Rattleton did his best, but again a Santa Barbara
man won.

Then there was wrestling and other contests in
which the Yale Combine was not concerned.

At last the hundred yards’ dash was called.

The competitors appeared from the dressing tent
and were greeted with cheers. Wallace Random was
given a hearty reception.

There were five starters. They were Merriwell, of
Yale; Random, of Santa Barbara; Black, of San Francisco;
Cheston, of Yuma, and Harper, of San Bernardino.

The word came, and the starter’s pistol cracked.

Away leaped the runners like greyhounds.

A cheer went up from the spectators.

Wallace Random was a great starter, and he leaped
to the front at the first bound.

Merriwell and Black were paired, while Creston got
off next, and Harper was last.

Frank knew how much there was in the start of a
short dash, and he felt that Random had obtained
an advantage; but that made no difference with him,
for he was there to do his best.

For a third of the distance no one obtained much of
a lead. Then Random began to pull away.

But he could not get away from Merriwell, who
clung to him like a leech, not more than two yards
separating them.

It was soon seen that the race lay between Random
and Merriwell, with Random apparently having the
best of it.

Two-thirds the distance was covered, and still Random
held his advantage.

Then a genuine Yale yell came from Frank’s friends,
who had gathered in a group near the finishing point.

That cheer seemed to act like an electric spur on
Merriwell. Half the distance between him and Random
was closed quickly, and then with a leap he was
at the side of the Santa Barbara man.

A single moment they hung thus, and then, as the
tape was approached, Frank shot to the front, and
was a winner by about two feet.

“’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! Yale!”

Wallace Random was greatly chagrined, for he had
felt certain of that race when it was almost finished.
Then, in an astonishing manner, Frank Merriwell had
reached his side, passed him, and won the dash.

Effie Random said nothing, but she thrust her
parasol into the ground with a wrench that broke it.

Frank was cheered and congratulated.

As soon as he could recover from his surprise and
disappointment, Random shook Frank’s hand.

“You did the trick,” he said; “but I’ll beat you at the
hurdle race. I see you are strong on the finish, and I’ll
be looking out for you.”

“All right,” smiled Frank. “If you win that race,
we’ll break even, but I shall do my best.”

Frank noticed that Hodge was not with those who
crowded about to congratulate him. He looked for
Bart, whom he discovered talking with Effie, and he
saw Effie was speaking in an excited manner, a flush
on her face.

Frank smiled.

“It looks as if she really wished to see me defeated.
I wonder what she is saying to Hodge.”

He could see Bart shaking his head, while Effie
seemed to be urging him to do something. The more
Bart shook his head the more determined the girl became.

Frank was able to watch them but a moment, as
his friends demanded his attention.

“Hang me if I didn’t know ye’d do it all ther time!”
said Ephraim Gallup, proudly. “You’re ther same
old hustler yeou useter be when yeou was at Fardale.”

“Thot’s roight, me b’y!” said Barney Mulloy. “It’s
a pache ye alwus wur, Frankie.”

“Yaw,” agreed Hans; “you vos a chim dandy,
Vrankie!”

The hurdle race was the concluding event of the
tournament.

There were other contests and amusements to occupy
the time between the dash and the hurdle race.

At last the hurdle race was called.

Then Frank was surprised to find Bart Hodge had
entered for the race and was ready to run.

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t this a new idea of
yours?”

“No,” answered Bart. “I entered for this race yesterday.”

“You did? That’s queer! I knew nothing of it.”

“I intended it for a surprise,” said Hodge, with a
forced laugh.

Frank was not at all pleased. As he was the president
of the Combine, he felt that Hodge had not done
right in entering for the contest without his knowledge.

At first he thought of refusing to let Bart race, but
he quickly banished such an inclination, knowing it
might seem that he feared he would be beaten by one
of his own club.

“But we’ll have a little understanding about this
later on,” he mentally vowed.

Besides Bart, Frank and Wallace Random, there
were three others who had entered for the hurdle race.
They were Perkins, of the Southern Union Athletic
Club, of Los Angeles; Keeler, of Ventaur, and a Mexican,
Pablo Salero, from some unknown place.

The Mexican was a little fellow, while the others
were supple and well-built lads.

“Ready, gentlemen!”

It was the voice of the starter.

The six contestants leaned forward, ready to dash
away in a moment.

“One!”

Breathless silence.

“Two!”

In a moment they would be off.

“Three!”

Crack! sounded the pistol, and away they darted.

Again Random showed his qualities as a quick
starter, but he did not get away from Merriwell, who
was equally as quick.

Straight at the first hurdle the six lads dashed. Side
by side Merriwell and Random sailed over it, with
Hodge scarcely any in the rear.

The spectators cheered and waved hats, handkerchiefs
and parasols.

As the third hurdle was cleared Hodge was neck-and-neck
with Random and Merriwell. At that moment
it seemed as if the three were evenly matched.

Perkins was close behind them, and the Mexican
had already fallen to the rear.

Hodge was straining every nerve, and Merriwell
was astonished to see him make such a spurt.

“Can he keep it up?” thought Frank. “If so, he is
the man I’ll have to work hard to beat.”

Over the fourth hurdle they sailed, and then it was
that Merriwell and Hodge, still keeping side by side,
took the lead, Random being passed, although he was
doing his level best.

But the strain was telling on Bart already. His
face was drawn into an expression of agony, and he
knew he could not keep up that speed to the finish.

As they cleared the fifth hurdle something happened.
Hodge seemed to strike the ground awkwardly, and he
plunged against Merriwell.

Down both went.

When they scrambled up, Random was in the lead,
and he had secured a decided advantage—an advantage
that it was not going to be easy to overcome.

Frank was angry and excited. Like a deer he dashed
after Wallace.

Still Hodge kept at his side, doing his utmost.

Six, seven, eight hurdles they cleared, and they
were close at Random’s heels. Frank felt confident
he would be able to win for all of his unfortunate
downfall.

“I can do it!” he told himself. “There is a wide
space between the ninth and tenth hurdles, and there
is where I’ll get ahead of Random.”

Never in all his life had he felt more confident of
winning any kind of a contest.

When the ninth hurdle was reached Bart had fallen
a trifle to the rear, but he leaped nearly at the same
moment with Merriwell.

Then a cry came from Bart as his foot struck and
he was thrown forward heavily upon his head.

He struck the ground with a sickening thud, and
lay still.

In a moment Frank Merriwell stopped, all thought
of winning the race being banished from his mind.
He was quickly kneeling beside the fallen lad trying
to discover how badly Bart was injured.

Hodge was unconscious, so Frank lifted him and
bore him from the track, while Wallace Random raced
on and won over Perkins by a wide margin.

Bart was carried into the shade of a large tree, where
a physician began to work over him. The physician
could not discover that any bones were broken, and
he believed Hodge had been stunned by the fall.

This proved true, for Bart was restored to consciousness
after a short time, and the first person he
saw was Frank close at his side, watching him with
the greatest anxiety.

Bart reached out and grasped Merry’s hand, saying
feebly:

“It was an accident, old fellow—I swear it was!
Don’t think I tried to make you lose the race! No
one could induce me to do that, no matter how much
they begged me to, Frank! You do not think I did it
purposely, do you?”

“No,” said Frank, “I do not think so, Bart.”

“I am glad!” whispered Hodge, thankfully.

Soon the tournament was over, and Santa Barbara
was well satisfied, having carried off her share of the
honors.

That night there was another hop at the most fashionable
hotel of the town.

Frank appeared rather late, and from a place where
he could not be seen himself, he watched the dancers.

He was surprised to discover that Inza was not
dancing, although she was present. As he watched
he saw her refuse several who asked her to dance.

Lord Stanford was given the cold shoulder in a very
decisive manner, but there were numberless other girls
who were more than glad to dance with him.

He entered the room intending to grasp an opportunity
to speak with her.

The moment he appeared Inza retreated toward the
other end of the room. He followed hastily, and,
catching up with her, said:

“Inza, please do not act in this manner. I have an
apology to make.”

He passed his hand through her arm, and they went
out on the veranda. The moon was over the mountains
again, and its silver light glinted the waves of
the sea.

Frank and Inza paused in the shadow of the vines.
For some moments he did not speak, and then, his voice
quivering, he talked long and earnestly. What he
said is neither here nor there. He had an apology to
make, and he made it in a manly way. He acknowledged
his mistake and freely expressed his contrition.

Inza heard him in silence to the end, then she burst
into tears. In a moment both of Frank’s arms were
about her, and she was sobbing with her head against
his breast.

The following morning Bart Hodge, who had appeared
greatly troubled since the race, sought out
Frank.

“I want to ask you a question,” he said, earnestly.
“Do you think I tried to keep you from winning that
race, Frank?”

“Not much, Bart,” replied Merry, cordially. “I
know you better than that. But——”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps you were asked to.”

Hodge flushed.

“We won’t say any more,” continued Frank, grasping
his companion’s hand. “Let it be buried in the
past. I have been a fool, and I deserve all I got. Here
comes the rest of the fellows. We’ll talk over our next
move with the Combination.”

CHAPTER XVI—THE ARRIVAL AT EMBUDO
=================================

“Embudo! Embudo!”

A brakeman shouted the name at the open door of
a passenger car northward bound on the Denver and
Rio Grande. The train was stopping at a small station
in Northern New Mexico, some fifty miles north
of Santa Fe.

“Embudo! Embudo!”

Another brakeman shouted the name at the open
door at the other end of the car.

“Embudo! Hurrah!”

Several healthy young voices uttered the cry, and
there was a general bustling within that car.

“Here’s where we leave the railroad and civilization
behind, Inza,” laughed Frank, who had been chatting
with Inza Burrage, who occupied a seat with a stern,
hard-faced woman.

“Hurrah!” cried the girl, enthusiastically. “We’re
off to the land of the Aborigines! What a jolly adventure
it’s bound to be!”

“Goodness!” said the hard-faced woman, reprovingly.
“Any one would think you a boy to hear you
cheer like that, Inza. Don’t do it again! It isn’t
proper.”

“Oh, what’s the use to be so awfully proper all the
time, Aunt Abby!” laughed the girl, with a little pout.
“How can a person help being enthusiastic with the
prospect of such adventures ahead! You’ll see things
you never saw before, aunt.”

“And goodness knows we shall all be scalped! I
suppose I’m foolish to accompany you on such a
foolish expedition.”

“Oh, Frank says there is not the least danger of
anything like scalping, and St. Geronimo Day is the
great holiday with the Pueblo Indians. I wouldn’t
miss it for anything.”

“I assure you, Miss Gale, there is no danger of
being scalped or troubled at all by the Indians,” said
Frank, who with his friends were bound for the Pueblo
of Taos, where they were going to witness the Indian
celebration which takes place there each year on St.
Geronimo Day.

Inza had communicated with her maiden aunt, who
lived in Sacramento, after arriving in Santa Barbara,
and Miss Gale had been so wrought up by the girl’s
letter, which told how her father had tried to force her
into a marriage with a “horrid English reprobate,”
that she had packed a trunk and hastened to Santa
Barbara.

She found Inza had already “shaken” the Englishman,
but Bernard Burrage was such a physical wreck
that the good-hearted spinster determined to accompany
Inza on the trip East and look out for her.

Mr. Burrage had stopped at Santa Fe, hoping the
climate might agree with him.

Frank had heard much about the affair at the Pueblo
of Taos on St. Geronimo Day, and he took a vote of
the Yale Combine about attending.

The club was unanimously in favor of it, and thus
we find them leaving the train at Embudo, the nearest
railway station to the Pueblo.

Frank had worked hard to make a favorable impression
on Miss Abigail Gale, and had succeeded very
well, so he had induced her to take Inza to witness the
Indian celebration.

No one but Frank could have succeeded in this, for
the spinster detested and feared redskins, but Merry
seemed to have some hypnotic influence over her.

Hodge assisted Inza from the train, while Frank
aided Miss Abigail to alight, doing so with as much
gallantry and grace as if she were a girl of sixteen.

Indeed, her hard face seldom relaxed at all save
when she looked at Frank, and then, at times, an expression
of positive gentleness would soften her features
somewhat.

Frank had not won her good will by aid of a flattering
tongue. He believed actions spoke louder than
words, and he had taken pains to study her peculiarities
that he might know what to do to please her. In
this manner he had been remarkably successful with
her, although it was Miss Abagail’s firm belief that
the entire male sex “didn’t amount to nothing nohow.”

“Look at Frankie, b’ys!” chuckled Barney, giving
Ephraim and Hans each a nudge. “It’s a shlick lad
he is. If it wasn’t fer him, Inza’d nivver git anywhere
at all, at all; but he makes th’ ould hen think she’s a
p’ach, an’ she’ll be afther doin’ onnything he loikes fer
her to do.”

“By gum! he’s slick,” grinned the boy from Vermont.
“I ain’t never seen no female gal ur woman
that he wasn’t able to chop ice with when he sot out.”

“Yaw,” nodded Hans, gravely; “he peen aple to
chop ices mit der girls ven I lets ’em alone. Uf course
he don’d stood no show mit me against.”

“Nivver a bit!” agreed Barney. “It’s yersilf thot’s
a great masher. Ye’re a perfict Apollo.”

“You pet my poots!” said the Dutch boy proudly.
“I don’d bother Vrankie mit pecause he vos a coot
feller, und his feelings I don’d vant to hurt.”

“Go on!” snorted Ephraim, in disgust. “Ye make
me sick! Whut sort of a fool noshun hev yeou got
inter your fat head? Do you think yeou could cut
Frank Merriwell aout with any girl?”

“Say, you peen careful how you talks to me!” said
Hans, menacingly. “Uf you don’d, I may be sorry for
it! I know vot I can do mit der girls.”

“Thot’s roight, Ephraim,” put in Barney, with a sly
wink at the Yankee boy; “he knows phwat he can do.
Av he says he can cut Frankie out it’s himsilf thot
can do th’ same.”

“Yaw; sometimes I done id shust to shown you.”

Ephraim took his cue, having tumbled when Barney
winked.

“Wal, darn my punkins!” he growled. “Yeou make
me sick! Mebbe yeou really do think yeou could cut
Frank aout?”

“Uf I vant to tried him.”

“Wall, I’ll bet a ’hole barril of yaller-eye beans that
yeou can’t do northin’ of the kind, b’gosh! Yeou take
me up, if you darst!”

“Betther be careful, Ephraim,” said Barney, in a
manner of mock warning. “Ye won’t have inny
b’anes to ate nixt winther. Ye see Frankie is payin’
all his attintion to Miss Abigail noo, an’ it’s ounly
himself as could do innything wid th’ loikes av her—onliss
it is Hans.”

“I’ll stan’ to my bet,” said Gallup. “Hans never
could do a dinged thing with Miss Abigail.”

“Vos dot vot I thought, eh?” excitedly exclaimed
the Dutch lad. “Veil, I proff him to you! I shown
you britty queek alretty vot I done dot directions in.
I vos a hustler ven I started out, und don’d you forget
him!”

“All right,” grinned Ephraim. “If yeou can cut
Frank aout with Miss Abigail darned if I don’t deliver
them beans!”

Then the Vermonter and the Irish lad chuckled and
nudged each other, anticipating no end of sport, for
they knew Hans was in earnest and would make an
attempt to win the attention of the spinster.

Embudo is down on the railroad time tables, and
that is about as near as it comes to being on earth.

When the party reached the station platform they looked
around for the town. To their astonishment
all they could see was the little red station house and a
lonely water tank. On both sides were towering cliffs
of lava, that looked as if they had been scorched and
melted by the fiercest of heats, and the boys found it
difficult to believe that the sickly creek in sight was
the Rio Grande River. The little stream made a great
fuss as it dashed over a bed that was paved with
blocks of black basalt, as if seeking to call attention to
itself and its importance.

“Well!” exclaimed Harry, astonished; “jay I be miggered—I
mean may I be jiggered!”

“Golly sakes to goodness!” gasped Toots. “Where
am we, chilluns?”

Bruce Browning groaned.

“Sold again!” he muttered, in despair. “Why, this
is the next stop to the infernal regions!”

“Where’s the town?” asked Diamond.

A man who wore a silk hat on the back of his head
and carried his hands in the pockets of his striped trousers,
which—marvel of marvels!—bore traces of a
crease, came forward and said:

“The town, gents, is right across the river there.
It is not quite as large as Santa Fe, but it serves as a
stopping place all right, if you are on your way to
Taos, which I reckon you are.”

He eyed them closely, as if sizing them up. His
eyes were piercing, and his mustache was coal-black.
There was that in his appearance that pronounced him
a gambler.

The boys thanked him and looked for the town.

They discovered a long, low adobe building, and
that constituted the entire town. It was the post office,
hotel and general store, and was kept by a Mexican,
who was on hand at the station to get the mail.

A number of passengers beside Frank and his friends
left the train.

Frank went ahead toward the baggage car to look
out for the luggage.

The station agent was a beardless youth, to whom
the arrival of a train was a most welcome break of the
lonely monotony of the place. He was hurrying
about and showing his importance.

About the station were several loungers, Mexicans
and Indians.

Barely had Frank gone forward when he was
startled to hear a loud scream, which he recognized as
the voice of Inza.

That scream told him something of a startling nature
had happened, and like a flash he whirled about.

He was astonished to see Inza struggling in the
the arms of a blanketed Indian, who seemed attempting
to lift her and carry her off bodily.

With a pantherlike bound, Merry sprang to the
rescue.

Quick as he was, another person was on hand ahead
of him.

A tall, swarthy young man, dressed in plain clothes,
which seemed to fit his magnificent form very well,
leaped at the Indian and the girl, tore them apart, and
knocked the redskin down with a single straight-from-the-shoulder
blow.

It was all over in a second, and the rescuer was saying
something to reassure the frightened girl.

All over?

Not quite!

As the Indian who had been knocked down started
up in a dazed way, lifting himself with one hand, the
man who wore the silk hat whipped out a long-barreled
revolver, coolly observing:

“Here is where I assist Uncle Sam in settling the
Indian question.”

In another moment he would have shot the Indian,
but Frank was in time to grasp his wrist and turn the
revolver skyward.

The weapon spoke, and the bullet flattened against
the face of the lava cliff above.

The man turned his dark eyes on Frank, and the
boy saw a blazing devil in their depths. His face
turned crimson, but his voice was still quite cool, as
he addressed Merriwell:

“My dear young man, do you know it is very dangerous
to chip into a game like that?”

“I saved you from committing murder, sir,” said
Frank, equally as cool.

The man’s teeth seemed to gleam through that
black mustache.

“Murder!” he said, scornfully. “You kept me from
shooting a dog, that’s all. If you will take your hand
off my wrist, I’ll do the job now.”

“No, you must not!”

Never had Frank seen a more dangerous look on the
face of a living man. He felt that wrist tremble beneath
his fingers.

“You are a tenderfoot,” said the owner of the silk
hat. “If you were anything else——Well, this
would mean your funeral! I am ashamed to shoot you,
but I may forget myself if you do not withdraw from
the game.”

“If you will promise to put up that gun and let this
drunken Indian go, I will withdraw.”

“Did you ever hear of Dan Carver?”

“Yes.”

“I am Carver.”

CHAPTER XVII—OFF FOR PUEBLO
===========================

Frank was astonished, but his face showed not the
least sign of surprise. Carver was a Western sport
and “bad man.” It was said that, when aroused, he
was more dangerous than a hundred rattlesnakes.

“Well, Mr. Carver,” said Frank, “I have heard that
it is your custom to do your shooting first and your
palavering afterward; but I trust you will break the
rule in this case. I have heard that you claim to be a
gentleman, and, as a gentleman, I ask you not to do
any shooting here in the presence of these ladies, who
are already badly frightened, and would be horrified
at the sight of blood.”

“Oh, if you put it that way,” said the man, slowly,
“I presume I shall have to throw up my hand, although
I feel it a duty to shoot some holes in that drunken
redskin.”

“As a favor to the ladies you will not shoot him?”

“As a favor to the ladies, I will not shoot him—here.”

Merry instantly let go of Dan Carver’s wrist, saying:

“I thank you, sir.”

The Indian who had been knocked down had regained
his feet by this time. He paused, swaying a bit
unsteadily, and glared in a drunken way at Inza and
her rescuer, then he turned and staggered away, disappearing
around the station.

“The horrid beast!” exclaimed Miss Abigail, who
had lifted her parasol, as if to strike him, while she
stiffly stood her ground. “Indians are not good for
anything anyway. You never can make anything decent
out of them, no matter how hard you try.”

“I believe that is what all white folks think,” said
the young man who had knocked the drunken savage
down. “They may be right.”

There was a trace of bitterness in the words and the
tone in which they were spoken.

Frank stared hard at the rescuer, and then, stepping
forward, cried:

“I believe I know you! I am sure I do! Why, you
are John Swiftwing, and I have played football against
you!”

The youth with the swarthy face looked at Frank,
and then bowed gravely.

“I am John Swiftwing,” he acknowledged; “and I
remember you. You are a Yale man, and your name
is Merriwell.”

Frank held out his hand.

“Shake, Swiftwing!” he cried. “I am delighted to
see you, although you nearly killed me once on a
tackle. Without question, you are the fiercest tackler
and the best football player Carlisle has on her team.
If she had ten more men like you, she’d wipe up the
earth with every Eastern college.”

A gleam shot from the eyes of the other, and he accepted
Frank’s hand.

“You speak as if you mean it,” he said, “and I
thank you.”

“I do mean it,” declared Frank. “Why, all the
Eastern papers said so! You showed yourself a wonder.
You play football as if your life depended on it.”

“Yes. It is the only white man’s game worth playing.”

“I can’t agree with you there. I consider baseball
superior.”

Swiftwing shook his head.

“No,” he said; “it is too tame. Football is like a
battle, and it makes one’s blood tingle.”

“Well, I wish to thank you for your ready intervention
in behalf of this young lady, who is a friend of
mine. Permit me to introduce you. Miss Burrage,
this is Mr. Swiftwing, a Carlisle student.”

The young man bowed with a grace that was natural
and pleasing, lifting his hat as he did so.

Impulsively Inza held out her gloved hand.

“Mr. Swiftwing,” she said, “I am awfully glad to
know you, and, oh! I want to thank you so much
for what you just did! That—that drunken—man
nearly scared me to death.”

“Why didn’t you say that drunken Indian, as you
started to, Miss Burrage?” asked Swiftwing, with
something like a bitter smile. “White men never get
drunk, I believe!”

“Goodness, yes they do!” exclaimed Miss Abigail;
“but not all of them get drunk. All Indians get
drunk.”

“Not all of them, madam—I beg your pardon. I
have never tasted a drop of liquor in my life.”

“You—you? Why—why—you are—are not——”

“Miss Gale,” said Frank, “allow me to introduce Mr.
Swiftwing, who is a full-blooded Indian and a student
at the school in Carlisle, Pennsylvania.”

The spinster looked astonished, nearly dropping her
parasol.

“Gracious me!” she fluttered. “Him an Indian?
Why, he’s dressed decent, and I’d never suspected it if
you hadn’t said so. My, my! what a surprise!”

She did not offer to shake hands, but Swiftwing
bowed to her quite as courteously as he had to Inza.

The other boys crowded around, and Frank introduced
them all to the Carlisle student, to whom he explained
that they were on their way to the Pueblo of
Taos.

“But how do you happen to be away out here, Swiftwing?”
asked Frank. “Is your home near here?”

“My home is at the Pueblo of Taos, and I am on
my way thither.”

“That is remarkable! You are not done at Carlisle?”

“No, I have another year there. I became hungry
for a sight of home, and that is how I happen to be
here.”

“How do you travel from here?”

“By horse. I suppose you will go by stage. Ramon
Griego will carry you.”

“Yes, we go that way; but we’ll see you again at
the Pueblo. I wish to have a talk with you.”

“And so do I,” declared Inza, sincerely, regarding
the Indian with admiration. “I want to thank you
again for what you did. It was splendid of you.”

She held out her hand once more. John took it,
bowed low, and, to her surprise, lifted it to his lips.
It was an act that astonished Frank more than any
one else, for, despite what he knew of Swiftwing, he
had felt that the Indian was incapable of such a thing.

With a wave of his hand to Frank and the others,
Swiftwing turned and walked away.

“He is a splendid fellow!” said Inza, a flush on her
cheeks. “I did not suppose there could be such a difference
between two Indians.”

“Look out, Frankie, me b’y!” chuckled Barney. “It’s
a rid roival ye’ll have th’ firrust thing ye know.”

Miss Abigail gave a contemptuous sniff.

“He appeared all right,” she said “but even he is an
Indian, and no Indian can ever be like a white man.”

It seemed that John Swiftwing’s ears were remarkably
keen, for he seemed to hear those words, and he
paused suddenly, turning about with a proud gesture.
He was at the corner of the station, and not one of that
group ever forgot how he looked as he stood there,
looking back at them with all the haughtiness of his
nature aroused. With something like a gesture of
anger and disdain, he turned again and vanished around
the corner.

A moment later he was seen galloping away on the
back of a tough little pony, going like the wind and
riding like a Centaur.

“How could you have said that so he could hear
you, aunt!” pouted Inza, her eyes following the retreating
figure of Swiftwing. “It was too bad, after all
he did for—for me!”

Barney nudged Frank in the ribs, whispering:

“Didn’t Oi tell yez! It’s shtuck she is alriddy.”

Frank laughed carelessly.

“I didn’t think he could hear me,” said the spinster;
“but it was true, anyhow. He’s got on a white man’s
clothes, but that don’t make him like a white man.”

“Yaw!” put in Hans Dunnerwust, getting nearer
Miss Abigail; “dot peen so, you pet.”

The old maid gave him a scornful look.

“What do you know about it!” she exclaimed.

“Oxcuse me,” said the Dutch boy. “You took mein
vord for dot.”

“I wouldn’t take your word for anything,” sniffed
Miss Abigail, as she turned away.

Barney and Ephraim chuckled, and Hans looked
rather crestfallen, shaking his head and muttering:

“Vale, she vos a pird!”

The train pulled out of the station, and the party
crossed the footbridge to the adobe building.

In front of the building stood two light platform
wagons, to each of which were attached two of those
diminutive broncho ponies whose endurance has so
many surprises.

These were the stages of Ramon Griego & Co.

Curiously enough, the firm with this imposing name
was composed of two Mexican boys, who were brothers,
and who carried a long star route into the mountains,
gathering and delivering mail pouches at a number
of little settlements on the way.

Ramon proved to be a bright, well-dressed young
man, and could speak English fluently, a fact worthy
of note in a land where the inhabitants of the isolated
hamlets are three hundred years behind the times.

He had been expecting a large number of passengers,
and was prepared for them.

Frank’s party took up one entire wagon, and it was
a big load for the little bronchos. If Frank had not
known what sort of stuff there was in the little animals,
he might have hesitated about starting out with
a wagon load of twelve persons, to say nothing of several
mail pouches.

The driver, a Mexican lad, occupied a seat with
Toots. He cracked his long whip and uttered a yell.
The little bronchos started slowly, broke into a run,
and away they went, with the boys waving their hats
and cheering, while Inza fluttered her handkerchief
to the Mexican postmaster, who was standing in the
open doorway.

The first turn of the road around a jutting rock hid
the railroad from view, and it seemed that the party
immediately plunged one hundred years into antiquity.

Each seat was wide enough for three ordinary persons,
but Hans had been determined to secure a position
beside Miss Abigail, and had succeeded, much to
the old maid’s discomfort. The Dutch boy looked
supremely satisfied with himself, and it was plain he
thought he was making progress.

The boys sang, Frank starting it. There were some
musical voices in the party, and they formed a decidedly
jolly “glee club.” The songs of Yale were popular
with them, and they awoke the echoes with “Here
to Good Old Yale,” “Bingo,” “Solomon Levi,” and so
forth.

At two or three points the canyon widened enough to
permit a few acres of river bottom, and there several
Mexican families lived, managing to keep soul and
body together in some mysterious manner that defies a
Northern understanding.

About the driver’s waist was a cartridge belt that
bore two Colt revolvers of .44 caliber, and the boy
had a significant way of fingering those guns occasionally
that made Miss Abigail very nervous.

“If he tries to murder the whole of us——Well,
let him try it!” she said, with a significant hardening
of the jaws. “He’ll get all he’s bargained for.”

“Dot vos right,” nodded Hans. “He don’d done
dot murderin’ mitout troubles.”

Miss Abigail was silent. Encouraged by this, the
Dutch boy added:

“Shust you trust myself to you und you vos all
right. I vill peen your brotector all der times.”

“You!” sniffed Miss Abigail. “Why, if you saw
your own shadow you’d think an elephant was after
you and run away.”

Ephraim snickered, and Hans looked disgusted.

The scenery proved very monotonous, and the party
subsided into silence after a time.

The only event to arouse them from the lethargy
into which they had fallen was a sudden movement on
the part of Miss Abigail that unceremoniously dumped
Hans off the seat to the ground, where he was fortunate
enough to bounce like a rubber ball out of the
way of the rear wheel.

“There!” the spinster was heard to mutter; “perhaps
he’ll stop squeezing up to me now. He’s the most uncomfortable
person I ever sat beside.”

“Shimminy Gristmas!” Hans gurgled, as he sat up
beside the trail and stared at the stage, which had
stopped almost immediately. “Vot dot vomans got
mit her elpow in, ain’d id? Id vas a recular pattering
rams!”

Ephraim Gallup laughed in his hearty manner.

“Darn my punkins! but yeou do look funny, Hans!”
he cried. “Whut happened to ye, anyhaow?”

“You toldt me.”

“Begobs! it’s yersilf thot’s a moighty foine ground
tumbler,” said Barney, with a chuckle.

“I dond’t toldt you so!” returned the Dutch boy,
with attempted sarcasm. “Don’t you pelief mineself!”

“Come, Hans,” laughed Frank, who with Inza, had
been watching the Dutch lad’s efforts to make an impression
on Miss Abigail. “Pick yourself up and get
aboard. We can’t wait all day for you.”

Hans got up with an effort and started to return to
his seat; but he stopped, regarding the spinster
doubtingly. She gave him a look, and he dodged, as if she
had thrown something at him.

“Oxcuse me!” he exclaimed. “Uf id don’t make
some difference to nobody, I vill valk der rest uf der
vays.”

This was said in such a doleful manner that every
one of the boys laughed.

“Here,” said Frank, “I think there is more room
on this seat, and I will take your seat. Hurry up,
now.”

Frank took the seat beside Miss Abigail, while, with
a sigh of relief, the Dutch boy climbed up beside Inza.
He looked very doleful and crestfallen during the rest
of the journey to the Pueblo, where they arrived at
nine o’clock that evening.

CHAPTER XVIII—CARVER’S OPINION
==============================

Pom! pom! pom!

“Pwhat’s that?” grunted Barney Mulloy, sleepily
rubbing his eyes.

Pom! pom! pom!

“Come in, und stop dot knockin’ der door on!” gurgled
Hans Dunnerwust from beneath an Indian
blanket.

“That ain’t nobody knockin’,” declared Ephraim
Gallup, with a yawn. “It saounds like——”

Pom-per-pom! pom-per-pom! pom-per-pom!

“Thunder!” snorted the Vermonter, sitting up and
giving his blanket a fling. “Where be we, anyhaow?”

“I don’d told you!” exclaimed Hans, in sudden
alarm. “You explain dot to mineself!”

“Here!” came from beneath another blanket that
was spread on the floor; “what are you chaps raking
such a mow about—I mean making such a row about?”

Then Harry lifted his head and peered around in
the semi-darkness.

In all directions heads were lifted, and the voice of
Bruce Browning growled:

“Talk about your hard beds! I have stopped in all
sorts of hotels, but I never struck a bed like this before!
What sort of a ranch is this, anyhow?”

Pom-pom! pom-pom! pom-pom!

“Heavens!” gurgled Diamond, popping bolt upright
and holding his hands over his ears. “What infernal
noise is that?”

Then all the boys sat up, staring at each other questioningly.

“Where is Frank?”

“He’s not here!”

Merriwell was gone, but his blanket was rolled in
the corner where he had been sleeping.

By this time the boys began to realize where they
were.

“We are at the Pueblo,” said Hodge. “We arrived
here last night, and it must be morning. That
sound is the beating of a drum, which means the exercises
of the day have begun.”

Then there was a hustling, and every one, with the
exception of Browning, moved in a hurry. Browning
would not have hurried if the adobe hut had been
falling down about his ears.

The blanket which served as a door was flung back,
and it was seen that the sun was just peeping over
the eastern mountains, shooting lances of golden light
toward the zenith.

Already the world at the Pueblo of Taos was astir
and mass was being said in the little whitewashed
chapel, at the door of which stood an idiot boy, who,
now and then, pounded spasmodically on a drum. This
drumming was answered in a similar manner by another
drummer, who stood on the highest terrace of the
higher of the two community buildings.

These buildings were made of sundried mud, from
a distance looking like two great pyramids. On a
nearer approach, it could be seen they were built in
terraces, like steps for a mountain-tall giant, each terrace
being a story. One was six stories in height, and
the other was four.

There were no doors, and the entrances were through
the tops of the terraces, which were reached by ladders.

In those two buildings three hundred Pueblo Indians
lived.

On the plain near the buildings spectators were already
gathering, and the boys were surprised to see
they were nearly all white men.

“Merry has stolen a march on us!” cried Hodge.
“There he is with Inza now! He got up without
awakening us, the rascal!”

“I’m glad he did,” yawned Browning. “I could
sleep ten hours longer.”

“Well, you’d better do it!” came from Diamond.
“Pretty soon you’ll want to sleep all the time.”

Indeed, Frank had arisen at the first hint of coming
day and gone forth from the hut.

A little later, as day was breaking, Inza arose and
saw him, whereupon she lost little time in preparing
to come out and join him.

Frank and Inza had walked out toward a distant
encampment, the picturesque tepees being of great interest
to them. On their way they met a man who
was strolling about with his hands in his pockets,
seemingly enjoying the morning air. A silk hat was set
upon the back of his head.

It was Dan Carver.

“Good-morning,” said Carver, lifting his hat. “We
meet again.”

Inza was impulsive.

“Oh, Mr. Carver!” she exclaimed; “I want to thank
you.”

The man looked surprised.

“What for?” he asked.

“Frank—er—Mr. Merriwell says you would have
protected me from that horrid Indian at the station
yesterday, and he says you were determined to shoot
the Indian afterward, but refrained because you did
not care to shock ladies.”

“Mr. Merriwell is very kind to put it that way,” said
Dan Carver.

“I was so agitated that I could not tell what was
taking place. I am sure you were very kind.”

“In not shooting the Injun? Yes, I reckon I was.
Ordinarily I’d filled him full of lead. That’s the only
way to let the devilment out of them dogs.”

“Oh, but it is awful!” exclaimed the girl. “I suppose
there are some real bad Indians.”

“Some! Well, I should warble! Excuse me, miss.
They are all bad—every one of them!”

Inza shook her head.

“No! no!” she cried. “I know you are mistaken!
There are some good Indians.”

“They’re all dead ones.”

“I can’t think so, sir.”

“That’s because you don’t know ’em, miss. If you
had seen the things I have—— Well, you wouldn’t
think there could be such a thing as a good Injun
alive.”

Still the girl could not be convinced.

“Why,” she exclaimed, “you saw the one who saved
me from the drunken fellow. He was an Indian.”

“Yes.”

“Surely he is a good Indian.”

“You may think so.”

“I know it!” she cried, her cheeks beginning to glow,
as she warmed to the defense of her red champion.
“He showed it in his face. Mr. Merriwell knows him.
He has been East to the Indian school at Carlisle, and
he is educated. He had the manners of a gentleman,
and I believe he has a true and good heart.”

“That shows how little you Eastern people know of
Indians. All the education they may have will not
make them anything but what they are—and that is
bad all the way through.”

“I will not believe that, sir!”

Carver smiled.

“I do not expect you to believe it. Eastern people
seldom do.”

“John Swiftwing has the making of a splendid man
in him. He plays on the Carlisle football team, and
Frank says he is one of their best players. He is like
a tiger in a game.”

“I don’t doubt it. Football is a savage’s game at
best, and it allows him to work off some of his savage
traits. He goes into the struggle as he would go into
a battle, and he rejoices in beating down and trampling
on all who oppose him. His heart at such a time
is a perfect inferno of fury, and, give him a deadly
weapon, he would not hesitate to murder. With his
bare hands he has little chance to kill. Oh, yes, football
is a splendid game for savages!”

It was Merriwell’s turn to smile.

“Mr. Carver,” he said, quite calmly, “you are showing
how very ignorant you are about football. It’s a
man’s game, and only men of nerve, as well as skill and
strength, can play it.”

Carver’s brow darkened for a moment and then
cleared.

“It is natural you should think so,” he nodded.
“You are a college football player. Never mind that;
we’ll not discuss it. But it is certain that all the education
John Swiftwing may receive will not change
him from a savage. It may seem to make a change
in his exterior, but inwardly he will remain the same.
All efforts to educate and change him are wasted, as
such efforts are wasted on all Indians.”

By this time Inza was so aroused that she was growing
angry, and she could not hold herself in check.

“You couldn’t make me believe that if you were to
talk forever!” she cried. “I am sure there is as much
difference between Indians as there is between white
men. John Swiftwing is a noble fellow, and I know
it—so there!”

Carver bowed, again lifting his silk hat.

“‘A woman convinced against her will is of the
same opinion still’,” he said.

“But I’m not convinced.”

“Then I shall not try to convince you, miss; but I
do wish to warn you to keep away from that gang out
there.”

He motioned toward the distant tepees, where figures
could be seen moving about and blue smoke was
rising.

“Those are Apaches,” he said; “the worst Indians on
the face of God’s footstool. They are utterly without
conscience or anything else that is not vile, and it
might not be safe for you to approach too near them,
even though they are supposed to be quite peaceable
just now.”

“How do they happen to be here?” asked Frank.

“They have come to trade baskets, buckskin shirts,
moccasins, almost anything, for liquor. It is probable
there will be two thousand visitors there to-day,
and the Apaches will get all the rum they want. To-morrow
they may start out murdering and torturing.”

Inza shuddered.

“It seems to me that the white men are to blame for
letting them have liquor,” she said.

“Perhaps so, but you know there are fools and rascals
among the white men. Remember my warning;
keep away from the Apache camp. Good-morning.”

Again lifting his hat, he walked onward.

CHAPTER XIX—ON DANGEROUS GROUND
===============================

Behind a clump of mesquite stood John Swiftwing,
and he had heard the entire conversation. He was
there when Frank and Inza met Carver, and he did not
stir. He had not sought to listen, and he did not
think it his duty to reveal himself.

Swiftwing’s eyes flashed fire and his brow grew
dark as he listened to the words of the gambler, but a
softer light came to his face when he heard Inza defending
him so bravely.

He folded his arms upon his breast and stood there
in a proud pose, his nostrils dilated.

At that moment he would have made a perfect
model for an artist or sculptor.

Swiftwing’s face was far from expressionless, for
various emotions were depicted upon it as he heard
the words of the three beyond the mesquite. He betrayed
rage, pride and gratitude, and his broad chest
arose and fell tumultuously.

When Carver strolled on, Frank and Inza turned
about and retraced their steps toward the Pueblo. As
they departed, the unseen Indian heard Inza say:

“I will not believe John Swiftwing is a bad Indian!
He has a noble face, and you told me, Frank, that you
thought him a fine fellow.”

“I did,” said Merry, “but I know very little of
him. Physically, he is a marvel, which is rather
strange, as he is a Pueblo Indian, and they are not remarkable
for their physical development. But I must
confess that Carver’s opinion of all Indians seems to
be the general belief of those who associate with them,
and know them best.”

“I don’t want to believe it, and I am not going to
believe it!”

Swiftwing could hear no more. He had heard quite
enough.

“She is a fair white dove!” came from his lips in a
murmur that was like liquid music. “She believes
there may be some good in an Indian.”

Then he bowed his head, and for a long time he
stood there motionless as an image of stone. The beating
of the drums at the Pueblo aroused him.

His face was heavy with something that seemed a
sullen look of despair.

“The white men say all Indians are bad. Carver
says all the education I may receive will not change
my nature—I shall be an Indian still. I believe he is
right! It is useless for the red man to try to be like
the white man. God made them in different molds.
He spoke truly when he said the heart remained the
same for all of any outward change. Once more I
am back here with my people, and I feel that I am like
them. What is all my education? What does it
amount to? The white man looks on me with scorn.
But for the White Dove there would be no more courage
left in my heart. I would give it all up, and go
back to live with my people. After all, when I have
finished at school, that is what I will do.”

He turned his face toward the Pueblo, on the topmost
terrace of which the lone drummer could be seen.

“I have seen the great stone cities of the white
men,” he said. “The home of my people is but a
shadow beside the monster buildings that tower into
the air. The white men do many wonderful things.
They have the railroad, the telegraph, the telephone,
and soon all the secrets of electricity will be theirs.
What can my people do? Nothing! It is fate! God
willed it so, and we cannot change it.”

His heart was heavy as he moved toward the Pueblo.

In the meantime Frank had left Inza at the tent of
the rancher, while he had gone to see what arrangement
could be made about getting a chance to take part in the
Indian sports and games that day. He hoped he and
his friends would be permitted to compete in some of
the contests.

Frank was gone more than half an hour.

When he returned he found Inza standing near the
tent, chatting to Swiftwing, who was listening with
quiet dignity.

Merry scowled a bit.

“I must caution her,” he said. “She should be careful.”

He came up and offered his hand to the young Indian.

“Good-morning, Swiftwing,” he said, heartily in
his pleasant manner. “I am glad to see you.”

The Carlisle student took the proffered hand and
shook it warmly.

“Thank you, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, simply.

“Oh, Frank!” cried Inza; “what do you think?”

“I think a number of things,” laughed Merry.
“What do you mean?”

“Why, that Indian who grasped me in his arms at
the station is here—I saw him!”

“What!”

“It is true! I saw him watching me, but he put off
quickly enough when Mr. Swiftwing came up.”

“It is Whirling Bear, the great wrestler of our people,”
said Swiftwing. “He was drunk when he molested
you yesterday, else he would not have done it.
He was drunk on rum, which he obtained from some
conscienceless white man.”

“White men should be ashamed to sell such stuff to
the poor Indians!” cried Inza.

“They make money by selling it,” Swiftwing observed,
with a touch of scorn in his voice.

“And some white men will do anything for money,”
said Inza.

“That is true,” confessed Frank. “There are plenty
of scoundrels among the white men, and not a few of
them are Indian agents. But I have something of
which I wish to speak to you, Swiftwing.”

“I am listening, Mr. Merriwell.”

“If possible, I wish to find an opportunity for my
friends and myself to take part in some of the sports
and games to-day. Can it be arranged?”

The Indian looked doubtful.

“I do not know, but I will see. It is certain you
will not be permitted to take part in the religious ceremonies.”

“We do not care for that, but I have heard you
have a kind of queer ball game.”

“Yes.”

“We’d like to try you at your own game.”

A faint smile came to the Indian’s face.

“You have never seen one of our ball games?”

“No.”

“Then you know very little about it?”

“Only what I have heard of it.”

“How many in your party?”

“Nine.”

“It can be played with nine on a side, but it is better
with fifty on a side.”

“Whew! Fifty? Why, that’s a small army!”

“The game does not resemble a game of ball in the
least.”

“I have heard so.”

“You will be defeated.”

“Never mind. We shall have some sport, and we
are here for that.”

“Is there anything else you wish to do?”

“You said something about wrestling.”

“Yes.”

“Some of the fellows are good wrestlers.”

“It will take a good wrestler to match Whirling
Bear.”

“I will find a match for him.”

“Very well. There is to be another race beside the
religious race. Will you care to take part in that?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t mind trying to see what I can do
at that myself.”

“I am not sure you will be allowed to take part in
these things, but I will find out about it.”

Then, lifting his hat to Inza and nodding to Frank,
he strode away. The girl watched his retreating figure,
and Frank watched her face.

“I don’t care, I won’t believe it of him!” she exclaimed.
“No matter what Dan Carver says, I feel
sure Swiftwing is a noble fellow.”

“I am afraid, Inza, you are getting altogether too
interested in him,” said Frank, reproof in his voice.

She turned on him swiftly, indignation and surprise
showing on her face and in her eyes.

“What do you mean to insinuate?” she flashed.

“Now, don’t flare up like that, Inza!” urged Merry.
“It is for your good that I wish to caution you.”

“Oh, indeed!”

“Yes, indeed. I fear your admiration for John
Swiftwing may lead you to treat him with such friendliness
that he may mistake your motives.”

“Frank Merriwell!” she cried; “I did not think this
of you!”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hastened to say.
“You cannot treat John Swiftwing as you might an
ordinary savage. He has been educated in the East,
and he is accustomed to Eastern ways. Already I am
sure he admires you greatly, and——”

“And you don’t like it!”

“It is not that, Inza, but——”

“It is that!” she flung back, in her impulsive manner.
“I am astonished at you, Mr. Merriwell!”

“Inza, listen——”

“I don’t care to listen, sir!”

“You must listen!”

“Must! You cannot force me to listen!”

“No, I will not try; but you must listen for your own
sake. I am saying this for your good.”

“Oh, thank you!”

How cutting her words and manner were! He felt
the sting, and his face went from red to white, but he
continued, firmly:

“If you were to continue to be so friendly with John
Swiftwing he might think you in love with him.”

“What of it!”

“It would be an easy thing for you to arouse a responsive
passion in his heart.”

Inza clapped her hands.

“How jolly that would be! Think of having an Indian
lover! Why, it is just awfully romantic!”

“It may seem very romantic, and all that, but it
would be dangerous.”

“Dangerous! Pooh!”

“Yes, dangerous. For all of his education, Swiftwing
is an Indian, and he would not fancy being fooled
and toyed with. If he fancied you had deceived him,
there is no telling what he might take it into his head
to do.”

“Now you are trying to make out, like Dan Carver,
that he is a common bad Indian. I thought better of
you than that, Mr. Merriwell!”

Frank made a gesture of despair.

“You are very unreasonable this morning.”

“And you are jealous—jealous of an Indian!”
taunted the girl. “I did not think that of you!”

Frank straightened up proudly.

“You are at liberty to think what you like,” he said.
“I am not jealous, for I think you have more sense
than to fall in love with John Swiftwing or any other
redskin.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Inza tossed back, tauntingly.
“You can’t always tell.”

Frank turned away.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I must find him and learn
what he has been able to do about making arrangements
for us.”

He lifted his cap and walked away.

The look on Inza’s face as she watched him depart
told that she was not entirely pleased with herself.

“To think he should be jealous of John Swiftwing!”
she murmured, “that’s enough to stir any one up! And
he is jealous! He needn’t deny it! I’ll make him still
more so before I quit. I’ll make him think I am really
in love with John.”

Little did she know how dangerous was the ground
upon which she was so fearlessly treading.

CHAPTER XX—THE SUN DANCE
========================

By this time the boys had arisen, hastily made their
toilets, eaten a “snatched” breakfast, and were coming
forth to witness the ceremonies.

It was interesting to watch the crowd gathering from
all directions. Some who had come to witness the ceremonies
had traveled many hundred miles. There were
many Mexicans, not a few cowboys, Indians from various
tribes, ranchers and sports, travelers and women.

While mass was going on in the little white chapel,
the Pueblos, for whose benefit it was said, were busy
elsewhere with preparations for the religious ceremony,
in which they have the fullest belief.

The men were in the subterranean *estufas*, dressing
their bodies and performing those secret rites which
no white man is ever permitted to witness.

The women were in the labyrinths of the great pyramids,
decking themselves out in their finest apparel for
the celebration, for the Pueblos had Sunday clothes,
and not a few of the garments were rich and handsome.

Mass was over at last, and then came the procession
of the saints.

In the chapel were several images. These were
taken up in mysterious awe by the women present and
carried to the door.

Outside the chapel a piece of sheeting was raised
aloft on poles by four Indians to form a canopy to
protect the images from the heat of the sun. The procession
moved off toward a little bower of green limbs
near the bigger pyramid.

At the head of the company marched the idiot drummer,
beating away with might and main on his snareless
drum.

Close behind him followed two Pueblos, who fired
guns as rapidly as they could load them, presumably
to frighten away evil spirits.

Then came the women with the images.

The figures were placed in the little bower, so they
might overlook the field where the races and sports
were to take place.

Not far away on a pole at least forty feet high were
suspended a sheep, pieces of bread known as tortillas,
and little sacks that were filled with various kinds of
grain.

These were the fruits of the field, and were thus
hung as a thank offering to the Sun Father, by whose
grace it was possible to raise enough to supply the
community.

At length the male Pueblos were seen emerging from
holes in the ground, entrances to their subterranean
council chambers.

Women and children, bedecked in their handsomest
garments, appeared on the terraces. They wore bright
robes and sheepskin leggins, the latter being white as
paper.

Ordinarily these Indians wore clothes in which they
could have passed muster in any civilized community,
but now all who were to take part in the ceremonies
appeared stripped to the breechclout, some of which
were fancifully decorated and adorned.

Some of the men had worked red ribbons and
skeins of yellow yarn into their long black hair, and
all were painted, although, unlike Northern Indians,
the Pueblos try to please in their appearance, instead
of making themselves as horrible as possible.

Some were half white and some half blue, while
others were marked with geometrical figures. Some
were of one solid color from crown to toe.

Not a few of them were adorned with handsome
white eagle feathers, and some had their heads almost
entirely covered with downy feathers.

Among the Pueblos the feather is a symbol of
prayer. They say the eagle soars toward the sun at
will, and his soft white feathers float upward on the
breeze, like thoughts.

When the eagles are breeding the Pueblos go into
the mountains and capture the young, which are kept
in captivity for Saint Geronimo Day.

And so it is that when the Indian decorates himself
on this great occasion with fluttering feathers each
feather is equivalent to a prayer that is constantly ascending
to the Sun Father.

To say the least, the idea is poetical.

By the time the sun dance was ready to begin more
than fifteen hundred witnesses had assembled, and
more were coming.

Inza and Miss Abigail intrusted themselves to the
care of the boys, who found for them a fine position to
witness the celebration.

“Where is Merriwell?” asked the spinster, looking
around. “I heard him talking to you in front of the
tent, Inza, but I have not seen him this morning.”

“I believe he is trying to make some arrangements
so that the boys may take part in the sports of the day,”
answered the girl, quietly.

“Gracious!” exclaimed Miss Abigail. “What a
crazy notion! I don’t understand how he can want to
have anything at all to do with them horrid Indians!
If the Indians were beaten at any of their games, they
might get angry and kill us all.”

“Nefer you been afrait mit dot,” said Hans, who had
been egged on by Barney and Ephraim to make one
more attempt to win the good will of Miss Abigail.
“Uf they tried dot mit you they vos sure to get left
alretty queek. I vos here, und I don’d let yourself be
scalped. Yaw!”

The spinster gave him a look that nearly froze him
on the spot.

“You!” she exclaimed. “You would fall all over
yourself trying to get out of the way if you thought
there was any danger.”

“You don’d pelief me!” cried Hans. “I vos a corker
to fight. Somedime ven dere vos some dangers meppy
I peen aple to shown you der sort uf a heroes vot you
don’d know I peen.”

This was very amusing to Barney and Ephraim, who
were chuckling with satisfaction.

Frank appeared.

“It’s all right, fellows!” he exclaimed, his face glowing
with satisfaction. “I have arranged it.”

“Good stuff!” exclaimed Harry. “But what are
we going to do?”

“Take part in everything but the religious performances.”

“What else occurs?”

“A ball game, races, wrestling match, and so forth!”

“Hurro!” cried Barney Mulloy, in delight. “It’s
shport we’ll be afther havin’ wid th’ spalpanes!”

“By gum!” grinned Ephraim Gallup. “It’s goin’
to be a sight better’n a circus!”

“I shouldn’t have been able to fix it if it hadn’t been
for John Swiftwing,” confessed Frank. “He did all
the business for me.”

“Is he going to take part in any of the sports?”
asked Diamond.

“Yes.”

“Well, he is a dandy. He can run like a deer, and
he has the strength of a grizzly bear.”

“Don’t I know it?” laughed Frank. “Didn’t I
find it out when Yale played Carlisle. He was a perfect
wonder among the Indians, and their entire eleven
were bulldog fighters. They were not at all scientific
in their play, but they gave Yale the hottest kind of a
fight, and came near battering a road to victory several
times.”

Inza did not seem to hear Merriwell’s words, and
she was giving him no attention. She had called
Hodge to her side, and was speaking to Bart.

As Frank turned toward the girl he heard her say:

“It’s a disgrace to civilization that the American
Indian is treated in such a shameful manner! The Indians
have been robbed, and deceived, and butchered,
and lied to, till they have no confidence in white men;
and now, because once in a while an Indian imitates a
white man and gets drunk, it is said all Indians are
bad! It makes my blood boil to think of it. John
Swiftwing is a specimen of the educated Indian, and
he shows what the government might do with these
unfortunates if it tried. I think the United States
ought to be ashamed of itself! I am ashamed of it, so
there!”

Hodge laughed.

“You have grown very enthusiastic over this subject
of late,” he said. “It seems to me that all your enthusiasm
has been aroused since you first saw John
Swiftwing.”

Inza echoed his laugh, but added color came to her
cheeks.

“Perhaps you are right,” she admitted. “I confess
I did not know there were any Indians like Mr. Swiftwing.
He was a revelation to me.”

“There are a few like him, but he is not just what he
seems, you may be sure of that, Inza.”

“Now stop right there, Bart Hodge! Don’t tell
me that he is still a savage at heart. I know better!
You can’t make me believe that after seeing all the fine
things there are in the East and learning how much
superior the method of living among white men is to
the way the Indians live that a highly intelligent
fellow like John Swiftwing could desire to come back here
and live as his people live.”

“I shall not try to make you believe it, Inza,” smiled
Bart, “for I have learned that it is not an easy thing
to change your mind once you have it set on anything.”

“That’s so! When I am sure of a thing I’ll stick
to it.”

Frank bit his lip.

“That’s right,” he thought. “She is the most obstinate
girl in the world. She is jealous, quick-tempered,
obstinate and intractable, but still there is an irresistible
charm about her. I should dislike any other
girl of her temperament and disposition, but it is most
marvelous that the more hateful she is the greater is
her attraction for me. Who can explain that? I am
sure I can’t.”

He spoke to Inza, but she did not deign to give him
much attention, continuing her conversation with
Hodge, whose eyes twinkled as he saw there was some
sort of a misunderstanding between her and Frank.

“They seem to be quarreling or making up all the
time,” Bart mentally observed.

Boomp-boomp! boomp-er-boomp! boomp-er-boomp!

The sun dance had begun, and the drummer was
beating out the time with a curious and ponderous
drumstick.

The drum was a big rawhide affair, as large as a
barrel, and was carried by two men.

The men of the two large community buildings had
formed in separate groups, shoulder to shoulder, and,
on an open space before the bower occupied by the
images, they began the dance.

This dance was a curious lifting of the feet with a
sharp, jerky motion, and they sang a Pueblo anthem,
which sounded like this:

    | “Hi yo to hoo he yo yah hay yo,
    | He yah hi yo ye har ye he ho.”

This was a song of praise and thanksgiving to the
Sun Father, and a supplication for the continuance
of his favor. It was not the hoarse and discordant
yelping of the Northern Indian, but arose and fell in
rhythmical cadences and with an exactness of time
that was surprising.

The spectators watched the dance with a curious
feeling of interest and fascination.

CHAPTER XXI—THE RELIGIOUS RACE
==============================

Soon the sun dance was over and then came the religious
race.

The track was a smooth strip of ground, stretching
about four hundred yards from the bower in which
the images had been placed.

The track was kept clear by old men, who were stationed
at short distances up and down, armed with
green branches to keep intruders out of the way.

At each end the contestants stood in a row, watching
the track.

Each of the big community buildings was represented
by sixteen runners, who were to take turns in
the race.

The governor of the Pueblo made a short speech,
and then, with startling suddenness two lithe figures
darted out from the end nearer the bower, there was
a wild shout of “hay-wah-oh,” and the race had begun.

The two runners stopped when they reached the
other end of the course, but already two other runners
had taken their places, darting off like foxes the
moment the original two crossed a certain line that
was marked by a bush that lay across the track.

This change was made at each end of the course, so
all the sixteen contestants took turns.

But it was permissible to put the same runner in as
many times as necessary, and it so happened that,
whenever one side would get a lead over the other, the
best runners were called on to go in repeatedly.

Behind each of the runners chosen to take up the
race next stood two old men, who were each holding
a long eagle feather. With these feathers they repeatedly
touched the calves of the runners’ legs, at
the same time muttering a prayer to the Sun Father,
imploring him to give the runners the speed of the
eagle.

The spectators showed much excitement as the race
continued.

“Um-o-pah! um-o-pah!” they shouted, wildly waving
their hands to the winners.

They were urging them to “hurry up.”

In vain the boys looked for John Swiftwing.

“It’s strange he has not been chosen to take part in
this race,” said Frank. “I have been told by one of
the old chiefs that he was swifter than all their other
runners before he went away to school.”

“Are there no other races?” asked Hodge.

“Yes; but this being the religious race, is of the
most consequence, and usually the best runners are
put into this.”

“Perhaps Swiftwing is saving himself for some
other race.”

“Perhaps so.”

Inza watched the runners with great interest, but
Miss Abigail soon tired of the affair.

“I can’t say that I see anything entertaining or intellectual
in all this,” she sniffed.

“Yaw,” nodded Hans, who still kept near her; “I
peen feexed dot vay yourself. Der race vas on der
pum. You agree mit yourself about dot exactly.”

“Don’t bother to agree with me about anything!”
came stiffly from the spinster. “I don’t care to have
you agree with me.”

“Oh, you don’d! Vell, you reminds me uf a feller
vot I knowed vonce on a time. He vas alvays disagreeing
mit eferydings. He wouldn’t eat anyding
vot he thought might agree mit him, und so he died
der disbepsia of. You vant to look out for dot.”

With this shot Hans edged away, not liking the
glare Miss Abigail gave him.

“You pet me my life she don’d got der pest uf me
all der times!” he chuckled.

While the religious race was taking place, Swiftwing
suddenly appeared at Frank’s side.

“If you wish to play ball,” he said, “you may have
a chance. Bring your friends. Come.”

Frank spoke to the boys, all of whom, with the exception
of Browning, were eager for the sport.

Bruce grumbled a little, but followed Frank.

Swiftwing led them away, but he had found time to
speak a word in Inza Burrage’s ear, and Frank had
noted this.

Merry saw Inza start a little and then shake her head,
while her face grew pale and she pressed nearer to her
aunt.

“I wonder what the fellow said to her,” thought
Frank, who was far from pleased. “She would not
tell me if I asked her, so I’ll have to continue to wonder.”

The young Indian led the boys to a place not far
from the bower, but beyond the crowd of spectators.

“The ball game will be for sport,” he said, “and, as
you do not know just how Indians play ball, I have
decided that you shall be divided. Four of you will
play on one side, and five on the other. The rest of
the players will be Indians, and there will be twenty
on a side. They are preparing now. Get ready, for
the game will begin right after the race.”

So, with much joking among themselves, the boys
pulled off their sweaters and prepared for the race.

Swiftwing gave their superfluous clothes into the
care of an old man, who was told to watch carefully
that no Mexicans or Apaches stole anything from
him.

Then Swiftwing showed the boys the balls and the
bats, which were like old-fashioned “shinny” sticks,
and explained to them how the game was to be played.

This done, the Indian youth left Frank to divide his
party, and hurried away.

Within three minutes a great shouting announced
that the religious race was over, and one of the buildings
had won over the other.

Barely had this shouting ceased when, with yells
like wild animals, thirty-one young bucks, stripped to
the breechcloth, came from somewhere and rushed
upon the white boys.

Hans gave a gurgle of fear and rolled over in a sudden
attempt to take flight.

“Here vas where you lose mein scalp!” he gurgled.

Toots was scared, and his teeth chattered.

“Oh, Lordy!” he gasped. “Mah wool am gone
dis time fo’ suah! I done knowed I’d nebber keep dis
wool on mah haid till I got back home!”

Barney Mulloy squared off, his hands clinched and
his eyes flashing.

“Come on, ye spalpanes!” he grated. “It’s a roight
tough bit av a shcrap we’ll be afther havin’, me laddy-bucks!”

“Gug-gug-good gosh!” stammered Ephraim Gallup,
his face turning pale and his knees knocking together.
“We’re ketched in a trap, by gum! I wish I was to
hum on the farm!”

“What’s the meaning of this, Merriwell?” cried
Jack Diamond, clutching Frank’s arm with a strong
grip. “Are we in for scalping—or what?”

“It’s all right,” assured Merriwell. “That’s their
way of attracting the attention of the crowd and informing
them that the ball game is about to begin.”

“Is that all?” gurgled Ephraim, in great relief, seeing
the young Indians gather about but observing they
did not offer hostilities. “Wal, darned if I ain’t
afraid I’ll never be able to comb my hair ag’in! It feels
as if it was stickin’ up stiffer than quills on the back
of a hedgehoag.”

The shout from the young bucks had attracted the
attention of the spectators and they were rushing
toward the spot.

A hand touched Frank’s arm.

“Come,” said the voice of John Swiftwing. “A
place for us to play will be prepared.”

John was one of the young bucks. He had cast
aside the clothes of civilization, and, like the others, he
was stripped to the breechcloth.

His physique was magnificent, and Frank regarded
him with admiration. Such broad shoulders, such a
deep chest, such hard and muscular limbs were not
common among the Pueblos.

In Swiftwing’s hair eagle feathers had been fastened,
and it seemed that, with his clothes, he had cast aside
all the refining changes of civilization.

He was a savage again!

His eyes were flashing, and his head was poised
proudly on his strong neck. The players looked to
him as a leader, and they followed him to the cleared
space where the ball game was to take place.

Frank had divided his party. Rattleton, Diamond,
Mulloy and Gallup were on one side, while Merriwell,
Browning, Hodge, Dunnerwust and Toots were on
the other.

It took but a few moments for all arrangements to
be completed.

The sides of twenty men each were drawn up facing
each other, with an open space between them. The
forty players were scattered over considerable territory.
Each man stood in an expectant attitude, one
of the rude bats in his hands, ready for the ball to be
put into play.

The ball was small and hard, and the players could
not touch it with their hands after play began, but
they must keep it constantly in the air. The moment
it touched the ground the game was won and the
side upon whose territory it had fallen were defeated.

This was the usual rule, but, on this occasion it was
modified somewhat, as there were white players in the
game, and it was not expected they could do as well as
the Indians who were familiar with the sport. It was
decided that the ball must be driven to the ground
twice on one side or the other in order to insure a defeat.
It was to be the “best two out of three.”

Suddenly there was a shrill yell, a sharp crack, and
the ball had been batted into play.

CHAPTER XXII—THE BALL GAME
==========================

Up, up into the air sailed the little ball.

With a shout the players rushed to get beneath it.

Frank found himself on the side opposite Swiftwing.

John was the first to strike the ball after it had been
batted into play.

Down came the little black sphere, and, poising himself
on one foot, the Carlisle “buck” swung his bat and
sent the ball straight toward Frank.

The trick was done with marvelous skill, and it
seemed to be a challenge.

Frank squared himself in a fraction of a second, and
then——

Crack!

Back sped the ball.

A whoop of delight went up from Frank’s side.

“Shimminy Gristmas!” cried Hans. “Don’d dot
peen a pird! Gif id to him, Vrankie!”

Crack!

Swiftwing hit the ball, and, with equal skill, he
shot it back at Merriwell.

Frank was expecting this, and he returned it with
all the skill of a professional tennis player.

The spectators roared their applause.

For some moments this “volleying” was kept up,
and then the ball glanced from Swiftwing’s bat and
went high in the air.

Frank had come out best in this first struggle, much
to his surprise, as, not being familiar with the game,
he had not anticipated such success.

The white men in the crowd gave a yell of delight.

Frank caught a glimpse of Inza’s face, and he fancied
there was an expression of disappointment on it.

“I believe she would have been pleased if he had
vanquished me!” thought Frank, a trifle bitterly. “I
do not understand her at all of late.”

He could discern the look of admiration on the girl’s
face as she regarded the magnificent Indian who commanded
the players on the side that opposed Merriwell.

Frank was somewhat dismayed when he discovered
that Whirling Bear was the commander of his side.

The young Indian who had been drunk at Embudo
the day before was straight enough now, and he seemed
to be somewhat of a favorite among the Pueblo athletes.

Not a few of the Indians showed a strong dislike
for John Swiftwing, and Frank understood this was
because he had been away to the white man’s school.
They wished to see him beaten at everything that he
might know how weak he had become while he was
learning the white man’s knowledge.

When the ball glanced from Swiftwing’s bat it was
not allowed to fall to the ground. A lithe savage ran
under it and sent it spinning into the air.

Far over Whirling Bear’s side sped the little black
sphere.

Whirling Bear shouted a command.

Like a flash three of the rearmost bucks darted after
the ball, and one of them, who had the speed of the
wind, ran under it as it was falling to the ground.
Without stopping or pausing, he swung his bat and hit
the ball.

Oh, what a shout of delight pealed from white men
and Indians alike! Surely the ball had been kept from
the ground in a most amazing manner, for the batter
was not able to stop and turn till he had passed at
least forty feet beyond the point where he hit the ball.

There was a rush on Swiftwing’s side, and the ball
was returned.

The one who struck it sent it straight at Hodge.

Bart met it with a good crack and sent it back.

Barney Mulloy poised his bat.

“Begobs! Oi’ll knock the paling off it wid me
shtick!” he cried.

With all his might he struck.

And missed it!

But one of the young Indians was on hand, and he
seemed prepared for such an emergency, as he struck
the ball before it could reach the ground, lifting it into
the air again, and saving the first defeat for Swiftwing’s
side.

Hans Dunnerwust saw the ball coming in his direction,
and he resolved to get some glory out of the
game.

He ran to meet it, tripped himself, fell down, rolled
over, sat up, and swung his bat. In some manner he
succeeded in hitting the ball as he sat on the ground,
and he sent it into the air again.

“You don’d done dot mit me!” he cried, and the
spectators roared and cheered, the white men laughing
loudly, and not a few of the Indians betraying mirth.

“Gol darn my punkins!” exclaimed Ephraim Gallup,
joyously. “This is more fun than a darg-fight!
Never see nothing like it before! Let me git a rap
at that ball!”

But when he made a run for it, his long legs got
tangled with his bat, and he was tripped with such suddenness
that he flipped into the air as if sent with a
spring, turned over and dropped on the back of his
neck.

An Indian struck the ball, however, and it did not
touch the ground.

“Say!” snorted the Vermonter, as he sat up and
glared around, “p’int me aout the critter what done
that!”

No one paid any attention to him, so he got up, secured
his bat, and waited for a chance to get at the
ball without running after it.

Crack! crack! crack!—the bats were rapping the
little ball in quick succession, and the players and
spectators were feverish with excitement.

The Indians were betting madly on the outcome of
the game, and the white witnesses were taking
“chances” on it.

Dan Carver, cool and serene, was covering everything
that came his way, backing Swiftwing’s side.

Frank was watching an opportunity to get in a good
“drive.” He observed that the most of the Indian
players knocked the ball into the air, and he fancied
that a drive that would place it might be successful.

His opportunity came at last.

He gave the ball a fierce crack, sending it shooting
over the heads of the other side, just out of the reach
of their bats.

It dropped in a clear space, before a player could
reach it, and a great shout of victory went up.

Whirling Bear, although the commander of the side
that Frank was on, had said nothing to Merriwell,
and he seemed to show signs of disgust, as if he were
not pleased that it should have been a white lad who
had knocked the ball.

Dan Carver did not seem at all disturbed by what
had happened, but continued to take bets, offering to
place any sum on Swiftwing at one or two.

In a moment the game was resumed, and it went forward
with more intensity than before. The players
seemed warmed up to the work, and their skill in keeping
the ball in the air was astonishing, to say the least.

Several of the white players won some glory.

Both Diamond and Rattleton got in good strokes,
and Bruce Browning struck once with all the power in
his muscular arms, sending the ball so high into the air
that it was a mere speck and almost went out of sight.

“Begorra! it’s not such fun as this Oi’ve had since
Oi attinded me larst Oirish fair!” cried Barney, who
was in his element. “This b’ates a wake!”

“It’s a darn sight more fun than shuckin’ corn at a
huskin’-bee!” grinned Ephraim Gallup. “Take that,
gol darn ye!”

He managed to hit the ball at last, after missing it
three times, and nearly turning himself wrong side
out with the violence of his efforts.

“Whee!” he squealed, as the little sphere carromed
off his bat and whizzed into the air. “I bet a squash
that started the bark on her!”

Toots got a crack on the shins that upset him and
made him howl with pain.

“Land ob wartermillions!” he wailed. “Nebber see
no such mess as dis am! Dutchmans an’ Irish all
mixed up in a stew! An’ ebry one ob um seems tryin’
teh git a crack at de nigger’s shins wif dem sticks!
I’s gwan teh retellyate on some pussen bimer-by—yes,
sar!”

Once Harry Rattleton was able to save Swiftwing’s
side from a second and final defeat. An Indian struck
and missed the ball, but Harry caught it with his bat,
having struck almost at the same instant.

“Gear she hoes—I mean here she goes!” he yelled.
“Can’t do it again over there! We’re going to do you
up, after all!”

Finally three players on Whirling Bear’s side ran
for a ball. Dunnerwust and Toots were two of them,
and they both fell down, while an Indian fell on top
of them.

Over the three sailed Bart Hodge, his bat poised and
his teeth set. He reached the ball and kept it from
striking the ground, but it glanced from his bat and
went off sideways.

It went in a bad direction.

Whirling Bear tried to reach it, but failed, and it
fell to the ground.

And now the sides were tied with the chances even
for the final struggle.

CHAPTER XXIII—THE WRESTLING MATCH
=================================

Less than half a minute elapsed before the game
was resumed.

The players went at it with unabated energy and
enthusiasm, and the excitement was more intense than
ever.

This round would settle it.

Whirling Bear was in a bad humor. Although one
of the white lads had won the first set with a drive, it
seemed to Whirling Bear that the second one had been
lost because Hodge had not hit the ball as skillfully as
he might.

In fact, Hodge had done well to reach it at all.

Frank and Whirling Bear both rushed at the ball
and came face to face. As Frank struck, he saw the
Indian swing his bat.

Whirling Bear did not strike at the ball, although
he pretended to do so.

He struck straight at Frank Merriwell’s head.

Merry saw this and dodged.

He succeeded in hitting the ball, and he escaped
Whirling Bear’s bat at the same time. The bat
whizzed through the air.

In another moment Frank was ready to meet the
Indian’s assault, but, seeing he had failed in the first
attempt, the Pueblo darted away.

“That fellow is treacherous,” Merriwell decided.
“He has a grudge against me for some reason, and
I’ll have to keep my eye on him. If he had hit me, my
skull would have been cracked.”

Inza witnessed Merriwell’s peril, and she caught her
breath, uttering a little cry of terror. When Frank
dodged, she breathed again, and she panted:

“Go for him, Frank—don’t let him get away!”

Whirling Bear, however, got away like a leaping cat,
and continued giving orders to his men as if nothing
unusual had happened.

Faster and more furious waxed the game. Spurred
on by the shouts and yells of the spectators, each side
was exerting itself to the very utmost.

It was really very exciting, and the skill of the
players aroused the admiration of all. The Indians
handled themselves in a remarkable manner, and, with
one or two exceptions, the white boys were doing almost
as well.

On Whirling Bear’s side Merriwell and Hodge were
the most conspicuous among the white players, while
Mulloy and Diamond showed great skill and judgment
on the other side.

“Hurro!” the Irish lad was heard to shout. “It’s
hot shtuff we are, an’ don’t yez fergit thot! Erin go
braugh! Th’ United States an’ Ould Oireland feriver!”

For some moments there was a furious volleying,
so fierce at moments that the eye followed the
movements of the players and the flying ball with no little
difficulty.

Inza Burrage was greatly excited. She clapped her
hands and waved her handkerchief.

“Oh, aunt!” she cried; “it’s almost as good as a
football game! Isn’t it just perfectly splendid!”

“It is confusing—very confusing,” said Miss Abigail,
severely. “It seems to be a genuine savage game.”

At last Hodge saw his opportunity, and he drove the
ball toward an opening in the ranks of the opposing
players. It was skillfully done, and, almost before
any one could realize it the game was over, Whirling
Bear’s side having conquered.

Then the Indians danced and sang songs of victory.

Swiftwing seemed to take his defeat gracefully, and
he insisted that the white boys, Merriwell and Hodge,
and not members of his own race had brought it
about.

Frank told Swiftwing that he was astonished to
find the Indians played the game with so much skill.

“It is great sport,” he said. “I feel well satisfied
for my trouble in visiting Taos.”

“You feel satisfied now,” said Swiftwing, in a peculiar
manner. “You may not be so well satisfied when
you depart.”

Frank was puzzled by this remark.

“I wonder what he means by that,” he muttered,
as the Indian walked away.

“Begobs! Oi think he m’anes we’ll be beaten at
iverything ilse we thry,” nodded Barney.

But Frank fancied that was not just what the Indian
had meant.

The boys found the Indian who had charge of their
clothes, and soon they were in sweaters.

Whirling Bear sought the party, and, standing with
his hands on his hips, eying them insolently, he said:

“What white boy think he want to wrastle?”

“Gol darn his eyes!” muttered Ephraim, who did not
like the appearance of the Indian. “I’d like ter thump
him betwixt ther eyes!”

“What white boy dare to wrastle with Whirling
Bear?” asked the Indian.

With a spring the impulsive Irish lad landed before
the insolent redskin.

“It’s mesilf that’ll thry yez a whirrul!” he cried.

“You?” said Whirling Bear, contemptuously.
“You no wrastle! Go ’way!”

That, as he afterward confessed, made the Irish boy
“hot.” He told Whirling Bear he could stand him on
his head in a minute.

“All right,” said the Indian, with a wicked gleam in
his black eyes. “You strip off and try. Come.”

Immediately Barney began to “peel.”

“Look out for him,” warned Frank, assisting the
Irish lad to get out of his sweater. “He is treacherous,
and he dislikes all whites. I can see that. He
may try to injure you seriously.”

“Oi’ll kape me oie on th’ spalpane, Frankie. Av he
gits th’ bist av me it’s a smart chap he is.”

In a short time the Irish lad was ready.

The challenge had been heard, and there was a rush
of the spectators to witness the wrestling match.

A ring was formed, and the crowd was kept back
by some of the spectators who appointed themselves
for that purpose.

Soon all were ready, and, at opposite sides of the
ring, the white boy and the Indian crouched, their
hands on their knees, watching each other like hawks.

Suddenly, as if moved by the same impulse, they
rushed at each other and grappled.

Both obtained good holds, and a terrific struggle
began.

Barney knew considerable about the science of
wrestling, and he immediately discovered that the Indian
was not a novice.

As soon as holds were secured Whirling Bear leaned
heavily to the left and pinned Barney’s right arm close
to the elbow, at once causing the Irish lad trouble.

Barney tried to straighten the Indian, but saw that
Whirling Bear fancied he had an advantage and was
determined to hold it.

Now the Irish lad knew that, for all that the redskin
was bothering him by this trick, Whirling Bear could
not be firm in such a position, and it would not be difficult
to throw him if the trick came right.

Barney knew that a wrestler who leans to the left
always lays himself open to the cross-buttock, and he
immediately began to work to use that trip on his opponent.

In order to work the cross-buttock successfully it is
necessary to have a hold that is loose at first and yet
firm and then to move with the utmost rapidity. The
least hitch or false move may prove fatal to the aggressor.

As the Indian and the Irish lad strained and squirmed
and sought to trip each other, Barney worked his hold
looser and looser, all the while watching for the opportunity
he sought, although pretending to be working
for something else.

The crowd watched the movements of the contestants
with the greatest interest.

Dan Carver was on hand, and, after a moment, he
offered to bet even money that the Irish boy would
take the first fall. He was able to get up a small
amount, and then, hands in pockets, he calmly regarded
the contest.

Barney was tempted once or twice to try the trip,
but was not quite satisfied with his opportunity. If
he tried and failed, the Indian might throw him heavily
by sharply jerking him backward.

Twice Whirling Bear jerked Barney forward to get
him off his guard and then tried the inside click, but
failed to throw the sturdy Irish youth.

This seemed to anger the redskin, for it was plain
he had looked on the white boys with no small contempt,
and had anticipated securing an easy victory.

Furiously he went at Barney, and this gave the
white boy the very opportunity he sought.

Quick as thought Barney turned his left side toward
his opponent, got his hip partly beneath him, and
then, with a rapid movement, crossed both his legs and
lifted him from the ground.

Down went Whirling Bear, with Barney uppermost!

It was a pretty fall, and it awoke the admiration of
the spectators so that they cheered the Irish lad heartily.

Barney sprang up, but the Indian arose almost as
swiftly, and, before any one realized it, the struggle
was on again.

This time Whirling Bear was fiercer than before.
The muscles stood out on his bare limbs and back,
while the cords of his neck were drawn taut and there
were knots in his forehead. The look on his face was
not pleasant to see. He looked as if he longed to murder
the Irish lad.

Frank was watching every movement closely. He
was well pleased with Barney’s success, but it seemed
that the Indian had been taken by surprise, and it was
doubtful if the Irish boy could repeat the trick.

Barney tried the backheel trip, and his failure to
throw Whirling Bear nearly resulted in his own downfall.

Next Barney attempted the hip stroke, but that was
another failure, and Whirling Bear now seemed like a
cat on his feet.

All the while Barney was forced to look out for various
trips and heaves which the Indian attempted in
rapid succession.

Some one offered to bet Carver even that the Indian
took the second fall, and the sport shook his
head.

“I knew the Irishman was going to surprise him at
the start,” he said. “Now he is out for blood. I’ll
go something he takes this fall.”

All at once, in some astonishing manner, the Indian
got under Barney and raised him into the air directly
across his back.

Then Whirling Bear lifted Barney above his head
to hurl him to the ground!

CHAPTER XXIV—THE FOOT RACE
==========================

Frank saw a gleaming spirit of evil in the eyes of
the savage.

Whirling Bear meant to injure, perhaps to kill, Barney.

He intended to cast the Irish youth down upon his
head, and the prospect was that Barney’s neck would
be broken instantly.

Immediately Frank leaped forward.

As the Indian dashed Barney to the ground, Frank
caught him and kept him from falling on his head.

The Irish lad went down heavily, but he was not
severely injured.

Whirling Bear gave a cry of anger when he saw
what Merriwell had done, and then rushed at Frank.

Frank dodged and tripped the Indian with the greatest
skill, so that the redskin was pitched forward on his
face and stunned for the moment.

“If you will try the copper-skin a whirl, I’ll back
you for any amount,” said Dan Carver, quietly.

Whirling Bear sat up, savagely glaring at the white
boys.

“No can wrastle with two!” he growled. “One at
time is ’nough. Why other white boy do something?”

“I simply kept you from murdering my friend,” said
Frank. “You were trying to break his neck, and I
saw it.”

Whirling Bear got up, looking disgusted.

“Sometime may get ’nother chance,” he said, and
then walked away, paying no heed to the spectators
who were calling for him to remain and settle the
match by seeing who could get the third fall.

“Begorra! it’s a roight nate thrick he did whin he
lifted me inther th’ air,” confessed Barney. “Sorry a
bit do Oi know how he did it at all, at all!”

“I do not think I ever saw a throw made in that
manner,” confessed Frank. “He went under you like
an eel, and brought you up across his back and over
his shoulder.”

“He is the champion wrestler of the Pueblos,” declared
a spectator. “I did not fancy you would be able
to throw him at all.”

“You should be proud to say you broke even with
him,” declared another.

Frank felt a hand on his arm, and a voice said in
his ear:

“The sun priests are resting. While they rest there
will be a footrace, the same as white men run. Will
you enter. Swiftwing says you are a great runner.”

The speaker was a young Indian of evident intelligence.

Frank was willing and ready to take part in the
footrace, and he immediately accepted the invitation.

“I know I shall be pitted against Swiftwing,” he
thought, “and it is liable to be the race of my life, for
he can run like the wind. I will beat him—or die!”

A straight course of nearly a quarter of a mile was
prepared, and the spectators ranged up on either side
near the finish.

There were five starters, four of whom were Indians.
Merriwell was the only white persons who had been invited
to take part.

The Indians were stripped for the race, as they had
been in taking part in other sports.

Frank brought out a pair of running shoes, and these
he put on. He removed his sweater and stripped down
to a light, sleeveless undershirt.

As they stood side by side, Swiftwing spoke to
Frank.

“Much depends on this race,” he said—“much more
than you can know. Beat me, Merriwell, if you can.
You will be sorry if you fail.”

All this was very mysterious, but Frank returned:

“You may be sure I shall do my best to beat you.”

A moment later a great shout went up from the
spectators.

The runners had started, darting off from the scratch
like so many deer.

Swiftwing started in a most astonishing manner,
seeming to leap off at full speed in a second.

Frank was not slow in starting, but he found the
Indian had gained a slight advantage at the outset.

It was a beautiful sight to see the five runners come
speeding along the track, heads up, breasts thrown
forward, nostrils dilated and eyes flashing.

Of them all, two persons seemed to fly over the
ground with very little exertion.

They were John Swiftwing and Frank Merriwell.

At Frank’s side ran a tall Indian who was making
great speed, but did not seem as graceful as the white
boy or the Indian in advance.

Although Swiftwing had gained an advantage at
the start, he was not able to widen the distance between
himself and the white boy. Close behind him
he could hear the feet of Frank Merriwell.

And Frank? He was preparing for one mighty
spurt at the last of the race, feeling that he would surprise
Swiftwind then.

The spectators cheered wildly, and some enthusiastic
cowboys fired shots into the air, yelling for the white
boy to run faster and not let a “copper-skin” beat him.

Far ahead at the end of the course Frank saw Inza
Burrage watching their approach. Near her stood an
Indian who had just dismounted from the back of a
magnificent horse, which he was holding.

Inza waved her handkerchief.

Was it a signal to Frank? or was it meant for John
Swiftwing?

“In either case,” thought the white boy, “it is
enough. I will win!”

He set his teeth and gave a great spurt that must
have carried him into the lead; but, at that moment
something happened.

The tall Indian who had been racing at Frank’s side
thrust out a foot and neatly tripped Merriwell up. This
happened at the very moment when the white boy
started to spurt, and Frank was flung into the air and
hurled forward upon his head. His hands were thrust
out to break his fall, and he saved himself in a measure,
but he was stunned and lay motionless for some
seconds.

With a gasp he sat up.

“Beaten!” he hoarsely grated—“beaten by a foul
trick! I did not think John Swiftwing would have
anything to do with a plot of this sort!”

Then he saw something that caused his heart to give
one mad leap and stand still.

Swiftwing reached the end of the course. As he
rushed over the line, without pausing, he caught Inza
Burrage about the waist, swung her into the air, tossed
her over his shoulder, and——

How was it done? An instant later the Indian was
astride the horse which the other Indian had been holding
ready for him. He still held fast to Inza. Frank
heard her scream with sudden terror, and the cry was
drowned by a hoarse sound from Swiftwing. Like an
arrow leaving the bow, the horse, bearing its double
burden, shot away.

CHAPTER XXV—JOHN SWIFTWING’S FAREWELL
=====================================

“White Dove, we are alone in the mountains, where
neither friend nor foe can reach us. Here we will
stay. Soon the sun will seek his bed to rest, and the
night will smile down upon us from its starry eyes,
while it breathes a soft breath to smooth the ruffled
feathers of the White Dove. You must have no fear
of day or night, for I am with you, and I will guard
you as the she-bear guards its cubs.”

Inza Burrage, her face tear-wet, her hair tumbled
and tangled, her clothing torn in two or three places,
turned her gaze reproachingly upon John Swiftwing.

“It is not the day or the night that I fear,” she said,
slowly, with a dignity that was womanly. “I do not
fear the dangers of the mountains. Wild beasts have
no terrors for me now. And still my heart is frozen
within me, and all my body is like ice.”

They were standing on a small plateau, where they
could look away across a plain that lay below them.
The sun was in the western sky. Behind them the
sweat-stained horse that had brought them thither was
feeding.

“Why should your heart be frozen and your body
like ice?” asked the Indian, gently, his voice soft and
musical, and a light of tenderness gleaming in his eyes.

“Because, John Swiftwing—because I fear you!”

“The White Dove should not fear me, for I will
guard and protect her with my life. I will face any
peril in defense of her.”

He took a step toward her, but she drew back, flinging
out her hand.

“Stop!” she gasped. “Please—please don’t touch
me! I want to talk to you—I wish to beg you to be
merciful and take me back to those from whom you
carried me away!”

He folded his arms and looked at her in silence. It
was an unconscious pose, and never had he looked
handsomer than at that moment. After a little silence
he spoke:

“Why should I take you back?” he asked. “I love
you, and I want you for my mate. You shall be my
mate. You shall be my wife, White Dove. We will
live together in some beautiful valley, far away from
all the world—live in a little nest that I will find for
you. The sunny days will glide by like a soft-floating
stream, and every starry night shall be a dream of
happiness.”

“No! no! no!” she cried, with her hands outflung.
“That could not be!”

“Why not?”

“Because—oh, because!”

“White Dove, don’t you love me?”

“No! no! no!”

“Then your eyes have deceived me, for I fancied I
saw love deep down in them. It must have been the
reflection of the love that was in my heart. But still
I know there was encouragement in them. They
spoke like words.”

“And this is my punishment!” sobbed the poor girl.
“Oh, Mr. Swiftwing, it was not love—it was admiration!
I thought you so brave and so noble! I did
not dream you could do such a wicked thing as you
have done! No one could have made me believe it was
in your heart. I would have defended you against the
tongues of all accusers. But now—how my idol is
shattered!”

He shrank beneath her words, as if they were blows
from a whip. For a moment he cowered, and then he
lifted his head with an angry, defiant toss.

“They told you,” he said—“they told you the red
streak was in me! They were right! I heard them
say it! They told you that my heart was the heart of
an Indian, even though I wore white man’s clothes
and read white man’s books. They were right! They
told you all the education I might receive would not
change my nature. They were right! God made the
white man, and He made the Indian. He did not make
them alike, and what God has made man cannot change.
The white man took me to give me an education. Bah!
What is an education to me? What would it mean if
I had the finest education that the white man could
give me? I would still remain an Indian, and, with
all my education, I would turn back to my people, live
as they live and die as they die—no better. I have
thought it all out. I have thought it is no use to try
to be anything but an Indian. The fight is ended! I
am an Indian again!”

Inza’s heart was full of despair.

“I will not believe you are as bad as you think!”
she cried. “I saw something noble in your face, and
I think it came from your heart. See, Swiftwing—on
my knees I beg you to take me back to my friends!
I know you will not refuse me! Take me back to
them, and always will I remember you with gratitude.
Always will I think of you as noble and true when the
great test came!”

Thus she entreated him, and the pleading of her face
and eyes was more than her words. He stirred uneasily.

“You do not love me?”

“No! no!”

“You love Frank Merriwell?”

“Yes! I think more of him than any one else.”

“I would be a fool to give you up to him now. I
would be a fool to take you back to him when I have
you safe. If I did that, I would not be an Indian. I
love you.”

She continued to entreat him to take her back, and
her words were wonderfully eloquent. He stood like
an image of stone, his brow dark, his arms folded, looking
down at her. She grew weak with fear, for she
could see nothing of relenting in his face. Tears
rained down her cheeks and she wrung her hands. He
turned away.

“Give me time to think,” he said.

For a long time he stood there, looking down upon
the plain, moveless as a thing inanimate. She prayed
that his heart might be softened.

At last he turned and held out one hand.

“White Dove,” he said, and his voice was as sweet
and gentle as the murmur of a brook, “come to me.”

Somehow she did not fear him then. She arose and
went, to him, permitting him to take her hand.

“Look,” he said, pointing toward a black speck upon
the plain, “there is Frank Merriwell! He is coming
for you! He is on my trail, but I could take you where
he could never find us. Instead of that, White Dove,
I am going to take you down there to meet him!”

She gave a scream of joy.

“Oh, you dear, good fellow!” she cried, once more
like a girl. “I could hug you for that!”

“Don’t do it!” warned John Swiftwing, hoarsely.
“I might change my mind!”

She waved her handkerchief, and the black speck on
the plain fluttered something white. The black speck
was moving, and dust arose in a tiny cloud behind it.

“He has seen us,” said the Indian. “Come on; we
will go down.”

He led her to the horse and lifted her upon the animal’s
back. Then he led the horse down the mountain
to meet the trailer.

The sun was low when they met. Frank Merriwell
had a rifle in his hands, and it was aimed straight
at the Indian’s heart.

“Up with your hands, Swiftwing!” he ordered,
sternly. “Don’t try anything crooked, for a hundred
armed men are coming behind me, and they have sworn
to hunt you down like a dog.”

The redskin smiled scornfully.

“If they were a thousand it would make no difference,”
he said. “They could not find me. I will not
put up my hands, Merriwell, so shoot if you wish!”

“Don’t shoot, Frank!” screamed Inza. “He saw
you coming, and he brought me to meet you!”

“Brought you to meet me?” repeated Frank, doubtingly.
“Why should he do that?”

“He is going to give me up—going to let me go back
with you.”

“Is that right, Swiftwing?”

The Indian bowed.

“The White Dove speaks straight,” he said, quietly.

“But—but I do not understand! They said the only
way to save her was to kill you—that you were like all
Indians, and——”

Swiftwing seemed to cringe a bit, and the black look
on his face deepened.

“They were wrong,” he said. “To-day I am not an
Indian—I am a fool! Tell them I was a fool, and I
brought the White Dove to meet you! Do you know
what I have done, Merriwell? I will tell you. By
giving the White Dove up after taking her away as I
did, I shall win the contempt of my people. They will
look on me as a coward! They will spit on me with
scorn! They will say I have the heart of a chicken!
With them I shall be an outcast and a thing of contempt.
Is it nothing? I have done this for you—and
for the White Dove. I thought she loved me; she says
she does not. Take her—take her away. Never shall
I look on her again! Farewell, Merriwell!”

“Your hand, John Swiftwing!” cried Frank.
“Your heart is all right, after all! Old fellow, I’ll see
you this fall, when we play Carlisle again!”

With a sad smile, the Indian youth shook his head.

“I shall not be there,” he said.

“No? Why, how is that? I do not understand!”

“I shall not go back to the white man’s school.”

“You won’t? What is the meaning of that? Why
won’t you go back?”

“Because it is useless. They are right when they
say the Indian can never become like the white man.
I shall try no more.”

“But—but you are different! Think what you have
done this day! By Jove! you have shown yourself
all right! Think what a hero you would be at school
if they knew the story! You are the lion of the football
team anyhow. They can’t get along without you.”

“They must, for they will have me no more. You
say I am different from the Indians. Perhaps I am
to-day; but to-morrow and ever after that I shall be
an Indian in everything! I shall forget that I was at
the white man’s school. I shall forget that I can read
and write and make the white man’s figures. I shall
go back to be the same as I was before I learned such
things, and my people will despise me, for they will say
I am neither a white man nor an Indian.”

Frank used all his eloquence to influence the Indian
to change his mind, but it was useless. Then Inza
tried, but with no better success.

“Farewell,” said John again. “Take the horse to
the Pueblo. It is owned there. Farewell forever!”

Inza’s eyes were full of tears.

“It’s too bad!” she sobbed. “I am so sorry!”

John Swiftwing said not another word, but, turning
his face toward the mountains, walked swiftly
away. Not once did he turn about and look back.

Frank and Inza rode to meet the white men, who
were seen in the distance, coming madly along the
trail. When they had traveled for a time they turned
to look for John Swiftwing.

He was near the foot of the mountains, and, as
they looked, he was swallowed from view by the deep
shadows at the base of the Taos Range.

“Oh, Frank, it was noble of him, after all,” said
Inza, half tearfully. “But—but I hope we don’t meet
again.”

“It is not likely,” returned Frank.

“And, Frank——”

“Well?”

“Can you forgive me?”

“Willingly,” he cried, and gave her a gentle hug that
meant a great deal.

When they reached the other horsemen Frank sprang
a surprise on them.

“It was only a bit of fun,” he said. “But Swiftwing
thought best not to come back for fear there
would be trouble.”

But in secret he told his companions the truth, and
it was decided to leave the Pueblo of Taos early the
next morning.

“Sure, an’ it was great sport, that contist,” said Barney.

“We’ll never see anything galf as hood—no, half as
good,” came from Harry.

“Don’t be too sure of that,” put in Diamond. “We
are not home yet by a jugful. Lots may happen before
we get there.”

CHAPTER XXVI—MORNING AT RODNEY’S RANCH
======================================

Boo-oo-oo-ng!

“Horn ob Gabrul! what am dat?”

Toots gasped the words, as he sat up and stared
about him in the semi-darkness.

Boo-oo-oo-ng! boo-oo-oo-ng!

“Wek up, chilluns!” gurgled the colored boy. “De
crack ob doom hab come, an’ ole Gabrul am tootin’ ob
his horn fo’ suah!”

“Shimminy Gristmas!” grunted Hans, as he sat up.
“Vos dot a Dexas cyclones vot you hear?”

“Gol darned if it don’t saound like a kaow bellein’!”
said Ephraim Gallup; “only a heap laouder.”

“Is it a stameboat we’re on, Oi dunno!” murmured
Barney, sleepily. “It’s th’ foghorn Oi hear.”

Rap! rap! rap! Rapp-er-ty-bang!

Some one was hammering on the door, and a voice
called:

“Turn out—turn out for breakfast!”

“That was the breakfast horn, boys!” laughed Frank.
“We must get a hustle on, for this is the day of the
great tournament on Rodney’s Ranch, and we are here
for sport. Ye have been promised dead loads of fun.
Up, fellows—up!”

The boys scrambled to their feet. None of them
had fully undressed, and they had been sleeping in
blankets spread on the floor of a large room in the
ranch house.

Through the open window, which was on the eastern
side of the house, a pink glow could be seen in the
sky. In a moment, as it seemed, the rim of the sun
came into view, and morning had dawned with startling
suddenness.

“Oh, thunder!” grumbled Bruce. “The night was
not half long enough. I’d like to sleep about five hours
longer.”

“That’s natural with you,” chuckled Harry, as he
drew on his shoes. “You are always tired.”

“Can’t help it,” admitted the big fellow. “I was
born that way. This sporting tour is killing me.
How’d we happen to know anything about this cowboy
racket, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m onto all that’s going,” smiled Frank.

“That’s right enough,” agreed Bruce; “but you
didn’t know a thing about it at noon yesterday, and
we were on our way eastward over the Texas and Pacific.
None of us expected to stop short of Fort
Worth, but, of a sudden, you yank us off the train at
Stanton and run us out here to this ranch, without a
word of explanation. When we arrive here we are
received with open arms and made to feel as if we had
been expected. I’ll acknowledge that I don’t understand
it.”

“Your eyes were not sharp, old fellow,” said Frank.
“Had they been, you would have seen that we were invited
here.”

“By whom?”

“The daughter of the man who owns this ranch.”

“Not the girl Miss Burrage met on the train?”

“Yes.”

“How did Miss Burrage happen to know her?”

“The rancher’s daughter went abroad last winter,
and they became acquainted in Italy.”

“And so she invited Inza here when they met by accident
on the train. Is that the way of it?”

“Sure. Inza told her she and Miss Gale were traveling
with us, and Miss Rodney made the invitation include
the whole of us. I was glad enough to accept it
when I learned there was to be a regular cowboy tournament
here to-day, to end to-night with a dance.”

“That’s all right,” said Bruce, “if you’ll let us be
spectators. I don’t see any sense in getting out and
trying to beat the punchers at their own tricks.”

“Don’t let that worry you. I am not chump enough
to try to do any trick we’ll not have an even show at.
We’ll see a bit of cowboy sport here, and our tour eastward
would not have been complete without it.”

“That’s so! That’s so!”

The others of the party were very enthusiastic over
the prospect of a day of sport on a Texas cattle ranch.

“All right,” grunted Bruce. “You fellows may hoe
in and have all the sport you like. I’ll keep still and
look on.”

It did not take the boys long to dress and prepare
for breakfast.

Bill Rodney, the rancher, greeted the boys heartily,
his free and easy manner making them feel that they
were quite welcome.

“Sorry I had to stow you chaps the way I did, but
every room in the old ranch was filled,” he said. “If
I’d known in advance that you were comin’, I’d had
better accommerdations for yer.”

“We couldn’t have asked for anything better,” declared
Frank, pleasantly. “I didn’t know but you
might think it an imposition for us to come the way
we did, as——”

“My little gal asked ye, didn’t she? Well, that settled
it. What Sadie does goes on this ranch, you bet!
If she invited the whole of Texas here, I’d do my best
to entertain ’em. There’ll be a few people here before
night, and I want you chaps to sail right in and have
the best time you can. Come on to breakfast.”

They entered the big, low dining-room, trooping in
after their host.

There were seats at the long table for twelve persons,
and Toots had asked the privilege of showing
them how a real “cullud ge’man” could wait on the
party. This privilege had been granted, and he had
disappeared to the kitchen.

Inza and Miss Abigail Gale were on hand to greet
the boys, and then, one by one, the lads were introduced
to a very pretty girl in a morning gown.

This was Sadie Rodney, the rancher’s daughter,
with whom Inza had become acquainted in Italy.

“Goodness!” exclaimed Miss Abigail; “what a crowd
of men! It really makes me feel timid!”

She did not look at all timid, for she had a face that
was almost masculine in its sternness, and she never
seemed flustered.

The rancher sat at the head of the table, with Miss
Rodney at the foot, having Miss Abigail and Inza on
either hand.

Frank had a seat near Inza, while Hans was placed
beside the spinster.

Then Toots appeared in a white apron, and breakfast
began, with the morning sunshine streaming into
the windows and lighting a pleasant scene.

“Now I want you to make yourselves right at home,”
said the rancher, sincerely. “We ain’t able to put on
so much style here as my gal has been accustomed to
away at boarding school and travelin’ abroad, but we
have fodder that’s fit to eat. Now, don’t blush and
shake your head at me, Sadie. It’s all right. The
boys don’t expect me to put on frills, and I’d make a
mess of it if I did.”

He laughed heartily, and the girl blushed all the
more.

“Oh, father!” she exclaimed, reprovingly.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Rodney, in his rough, hearty
manner. “I know it’s rude of me, but it’s hard to
learn an old dog new tricks.”

Then he leaned over to Diamond, who sat near him,
and whispered loud enough for every one present to
hear him:

“Don’t you think I’ve a mighty fine gal? She’s cost
me a heap of money, but I don’t care. I’d spend all
I’ve got on her. Look at her! Have you got any
handsomer gals than that in the East?”

“If so I have not had the pleasure of seeing them,”
said Jack, gallantly.

Quite naturally, this confused the girl still more,
and Frank hastened to crack a joke and tell a bit of a
story to turn attention from her.

Merry saw that she was really ladylike and refined,
for all of her honest father’s good-natured coarseness,
and her position had distressed her not a little.

Hans tried to be very attentive to Miss Abigail, but
she repulsed him, so that he was very crestfallen after
that, not a little to the amusement of the others.

The breakfast progressed merrily.

While it was going on a horseman came dashing up
to the house, walked up to the dining-room window,
leaned on the sill, and looked in.

“Howdy, Rodney,” he said, in a familiar manner.

Then he lifted the broad-brimmed hat from his dark
curls and bowed to Sadie. After that he held the hat
under his arm while he stood by the window.

He was a handsome fellow in his way, having a
drooping black mustache and an imperial, while his
dark eyes were keen and piercing. There was about his
face a devil-may-care look, as if he feared nothing that
walked on the face of the earth.

He was puffing carelessly at a Spanish cigarette,
held by his full red lips, which showed beneath the
mustache.

“Morning Charlie,” said the rancher. “Glad to see
you on hand so early. Are the boys from the Lone
Star comin’ up?”

“The whole of Concho Valley will be here to-day,”
returned the man at the window. “It is bound to be a
big time, Rodney.”

“That’s whatever. Bill Rodney don’t do anything
by halves. When did ye start?”

“Midnight.”

“Wal, it’s a right smart ride. Give yer horse to
Kemble and come in to breakfast. You can have my
chance here.”

“Thank you; but I’ll wait till you are through.”

Then he strolled away, his handsome horse following
him like a well-trained dog.

“Who is he?” asked Frank.

“That’s Indian Charlie, foreman of the Lone Star
Ranch,” answered Rodney. “He’s the best shot and
roper in Texas, and the most reckless rider I ever saw.
He was born in the East, and went to college, but
skipped after shootin’ another chap in a duel over a
girl. Lucky for Charlie, t’other chap didn’t die; but
Charlie never went back, and now he has the most remarkable
aversion for all tenderfeet of any man I
ever saw. You all want to be right careful not to git
him r’iled, for he is worse than a wild steer on the rampage
when he’s mad. He has a way of shootin’ first
and talkin’ it over afterward.”

“Such a fellow as that needs to be taught a lesson,”
said Frank. “Some one should take the trouble to
teach him, too.”

“No one who knows him dares take the trouble to
try.”

“That’s strange. I had an idea cowboys were not
afraid of anything.”

“It is plain you do not understand what a dangerous
man Indian Charlie is, Mr. Merriwell,” said the
rancher’s daughter. “You must be sure to keep away
from him, as you cannot be sure he will not take offense
at some trivial thing and force you to apologize.”

“Indeed!” smiled Merriwell, lifting his eyebrows.
“This man grows more and more interesting to me.”

“Yaw, he peen very inderestin mit me,” broke in
Hans. “I vos goin’ to kept meinself a goot vays
near off from him.”

“Miss Rodney,” said Harry, “you have said just
enough to arouse Frank Merriwell’s curiosity, and now
he will not be able to keep away from this Indian
Charlie. He is certain to do something to stir Charlie
up at the first opportunity.”

The girl turned pale.

“Don’t do it, Mr. Merriwell, I beg of you!” she cried.
“You will simply humiliate yourself, for you will be
forced to apologize to save yourself from being shot.”

Frank laughed.

“Don’t let that worry you, Miss Rodney,” he said.
“I assure you there is no cause of alarm. I am not
going to chase him with a chip on my shoulder.”

But those who knew Frank best were certain he
would not seek to avoid trouble with the foreman of
the Lone Star, and they felt a foreboding of coming
trouble.

CHAPTER XXVII—COWBOY PECULIARITIES
==================================

After breakfast the little party went out upon the
broad veranda.

The sun was still red, but it was growing smaller
and hotter as it mounted into the sky.

Its slanting rays lighted up a rolling prairie, illimitable
in expanse and stretching away till its irregular,
wavy outline was marked against the sky.

Now and then, miles away, small clumps of stunted
jack-oaks or mesquite made dark green polka dot spots
on the lighter color of the grass, while far away lay a
genuine chaparral thicket.

Between the ranch and the chaparral a herd of several
hundred cattle were feeding.

Near the ranch house were outbuildings and corrals.

In the vicinity of these a number of cowboys could
be seen moving about.

Still urging the boys to make themselves at home,
Rodney left them. Before he departed, he sighted a
body of horsemen riding down rapidly from the northeast.

“Here come the boys from Tilford’s ranch,” he said.
“I knew they’d be the first ones to show up.”

The boys watched the approaching riders with interest.
Before long they could be plainly seen, and,
as they came near the ranch, they broke into a mad
gallop and came tearing across the prairie.

Anything wilder in appearance than those leather-clad
“punchers” the imagination could not conceive.
They yelled and cracked their quirts, spreading out
into a long line, mounted on tough little ponies, which
tore over the ground with a twinkling movement of the
legs which was bewildering to one accustomed to the
movements of an ordinary galloping horse.

Upon the heads of the riders were broad-brimmed
hats, some of them being of stiff rawhide and some
being the well-known Stetson sombrero, which cost
anywhere from eighteen to eighty dollars.

Every man had a handkerchief knotted about his
neck, and a cartridge belt, bearing heavy revolvers in
open holsters, about his waist.

Their hair was long and unkempt, and their faces
were weather-tanned.

Some had on long-legged, high-heeled boots, and
some wore leather leggins, while at the heels of every
man were heavy, murderous-looking spurs.

With their jangling spurs, flapping ropes and buckskin
strings, broad-brimmed hats, bright-colored handkerchiefs,
they certainly were a most impressive cavalcade
of prairie scamperers.

As they swept toward the corrals near the ranch,
Rodney’s men ran out and greeted them with a yell.

In return the Tilford men suddenly jerked out their
“guns,” and sent twenty shots into the air. Then they
flung the little ponies on their haunches, stopping in an
instant with such suddenness that almost any fairly
expert rider must have been sent flying headlong over
the animal’s ears to the ground.

“There, fellows,” smiled Frank, with a wave of his
hand toward the arrivals, “there is a band of genuine
wild and woolly cow-punchers. Take a good look at
them, for the real cowboy is disappearing, and, in a
very few years you will not be able to see a sight like
that anywhere on this continent.”

“I suppose they are all right,” said Diamond, “but
it is plain enough that they are great bluffers.”

“In what way?” asked Frank, quickly.

“In their get up. There is no reason why they
should look so extremely tough beyond their own personal
desire to appear like bad men.”

“I think you are wrong, old fellow. Name something
about them that they might discard.”

“Their long hair, to begin with. That is pure affectation.”

“Not at all. Long hair is a necessity with them.”

“Get out! How?”

“Well, you know they are exposed to all kinds of
weather. Their business is out of doors, rain or shine,
and in many changes of climate. They have found
by experience that long hair protects their eyes and
ears. If they were to keep their hair cut short, many
of them would be troubled with sore eyes, pains in the
head and loud ringing in the ears.”

“That may be true,” acknowledged Jack; “but just
look at those outrageous hats.”

“That is the only sort of hat suitable for cowboys
to wear, as it protects from from the sun and from the
rain. The very fact that it has been used for generation
after generation without changing fashion is
enough to indicate that necessity, not vanity, dictated
its origin.”

“But see those wretched rawhide affairs.”

“I see them. Those are the cheap hats, and they are
made by the cowboys themselves. Years ago every
cowboy made his own hat, as manufacturers had not
discovered that there was money in making hats for the
punchers. An old cattleman once told me how they
made their hats.”

“How it peen done, Vrankie? You toldt us dot,”
urged Hans.

“When a cowboy wanted to make a hat for himself,
he went out and dug in the ground a hole as near
the size and shape of his head as he could make it.
Then a large, circular piece of rawhide, soft, wet and
pliable, was spread over the hole. Next, with a bunch
of grass or buckskin, the center of the rawhide was
pressed down into the hole till it assumed its size and
shape. The surrounding circle of hide, which was
to be the brim, was kept flat on the ground by constant
patting and pressing with the hands. When the hat
was molded, it was left till it was well dried by the
sun. Then it was taken to a place where smoke and
heat scorched it till it was perfectly waterproof. When
it was trimmed with strings and straps, it was ready
for use.”

“How about those bright handkerchiefs the men use
about their necks? Surely those are worn to attract
attention. They might be carried in the pocket quite
as well.”

“Wrong again, Jack. Very often when riding at
full speed the eyes of the cowboy are filled with mud
or sand, and then the handkerchief is ready for use.
The man can catch up a corner and wipe out his eyes
without pulling in his horse. In sand storms the handkerchief
is sometimes called into use as a veil. Having
it tied about his neck, the owner of the handkerchief
knows it is secure. If he had to take it out and
restore it to his pocket every time he used it, he would
lose it frequently. Sometimes he uses the handkerchief
when his horse is racing along, and the animal
stumbles. The handkerchief must be dropped instantly.
He could not fail to lose it if it were not tied
about his neck.”

“Well, look at those outrageous leather leggins.
What are they for?”

“To protect their clothes from the wear and tear of
the saddles, from being torn by thorns, mesquite or cactus,
and sometimes to protect them from rattlesnakes.”

“Hush! Well, how about the high heels on their
boots? I have you there! That is a pure case of vanity,
and you must acknowledge it.”

Frank smiled.

“Not at all, my boy. Those boots cost from eighteen
to forty dollars a pair, and are made to order. The
heels are long and sloping toward the sole of the foot
not to make the foot look small, but to keep it from
slipping out of the stirrup in a time of danger, when the
cowboy’s horse may be tearing along at breakneck
speed. Those boots are made to ride in, not to walk
in.”

“But the spurs—the spurs!” cried Diamond, triumphantly.
“They are outrageous and cruel. Surely
those huge implements of torture are made thus to look
savage and attract attention.”

“Not a bit of it. Singular as it may seem, the
smaller spurs used in the East are much more cruel.
They cut the horse; these big spurs do not. They are
made big and strong that they may not wear out.
Sometimes the only way a cowboy can save his horse
from being run down by a mad steer is by using the
spur sharply. At such a time it is far better for a
horse to be prodded with a steel spur than to have a
foot or more of horns run into him, which might result
in the throwing of the rider to be trampled to death,
and the loss of several hundred cattle. See?”

Diamond looked discomfited.

“At least, on one point I have you,” he cried. “You
can’t get around it.”

“Name the point.”

“The fringe—the fringe on their suits. There is
pure vanity, you will admit.”

“Quite the contrary. The fringe comes along the
outside seam of their trousers and sleeves. There is
no sewing there, but the buckskin is slashed in narrow
strip and knotted together. That is the purpose the
fringe plays. The ends are left to hide the knots and
any holes that might be seen gaping between them.”

“Begobs!” cried Barney, in admiration, “it’s yersilf,
Frankie, thot knows all about it, but pwhere yez got
yer infermation is pwhat Oi dunno.”

“This is not the first time I have been among the
cowboys, and I always keep eyes and ears open wherever
I am. I have managed to pick up such knowledge
as I possess concerning them by watching and
listening. They have ever been very interesting to
me.”

“Mr. Merriwell, I congratulate you!” cried Sadie
Rodney. “I am surprised to find a ‘tenderfoot’ knows
so much about cow-punchers.”

“I’d never faound aout half that if I’d lived right
with them a year,” declared Ephraim Gallup. “They’re
darned pecooler critters, an’ I guess this one comin’
this way is one of the most pecooler ’mongst ’em.”

Indian Charlie had left the others, and was sauntering
toward the little party on the veranda.

Sadie Rodney looked serious, and shrank close to
Inza, in whose ear she murmured:

“I am afraid of that man. He has asked me to
marry him. I have refused him a dozen times, but
he persists, and he says he will have me in spite of myself.
I do not dare anger him, for there is no telling
what he might do.”

Frank heard her words.

“The fellow deserves a good thumping!” he mentally
exclaimed.

CHAPTER XXVIII—INDIAN CHARLIE IS SURPRISED
==========================================

Indian Charlie came swaggering up. He regarded
the boys with a glance of supreme contempt.

“Permit me to compliment you on your thoughtfulness,
Miss Rodney,” he said, in a most insinuating
manner.

The rancher’s daughter looked puzzled and perturbed.

“I do not think I understand you,” she said, slowly.

“Surely you have done your best to make sport for
us to-day. You have brought us some rare curiosities.”

Now Bart Hodge had a temper of his own, and he
did not fancy being insulted, even though the person
who offered the insult was a fire-eating cow-puncher.
So Bart murmured:

“Oh, I don’t know! There are others!”

The foreman of the Lone Star looked astonished,
and then scowled blackly.

“Were you referring to me, sir?”

Although the words came from his lips like the cut
of a whip through the air, Hodge began to whistle in
the most unconcerned manner possible, without even
looking toward Indian Charlie.

Frank, who was keeping watch of everything, saw
the red tide of anger surge into the face of the cowboy,
and he knew Charlie was in a most dangerous
mood.

Sadie Rodney, rancher’s daughter though she was,
showed signs of alarm. She shrank close to Inza, murmuring:

“How did he dare say anything like that? Charlie
has been known to shoot a man for less provocation.”

To her astonishment, Inza did not seem at all
alarmed, but confidently returned:

“It will be a good thing for him if he tries to shoot
any one in this crowd. Those boys can take care of
themselves.”

Miss Abigail nodded.

“I am sure that Mr. Merriwell can take care of himself,”
she said.

“Und I peen retty to brotect you mit your life!” declared
Hans, who was clinging close to the spinster.

With two bounds Indian Charlie was upon the veranda.

“Did you refer to me, sir?” he said, facing Hodge.

Bart surveyed him from head to feet.

“Excuse me,” he said, cuttingly. “I do not think I
have the honor of your acquaintance.”

Then he started to turn away.

A snarl came from Indian Charlie’s lips, and his
hand fell on the butt of a revolver resting in the open
holster at his hip.

He did not draw the weapon.

Frank Merriwell’s fingers closed on the man’s wrist,
and Frank’s cool voice sounded in his ear:

“Slow and easy, sir! Don’t do anything rash, for
you might regret it. That is, you might if you
thought quick enough during the brief time you would
be given to regret anything after that.”

The foreman of the Lone Star turned his head and
his eyes met those of Frank Merriwell. For some moments
their glances fought a silent duel.

“Take your hand from my wrist!”

Charlie hissed the words.

“First take your hand from the butt of that revolver,”
said Frank, with perfect calmness.

The cowboy seemed to doubt the evidence of his
senses. Was it possible this tenderfoot dared face
him—dared touch him? With a sudden wrench he
attempted to break from Frank, but, to his surprise,
the young Yale athlete gave his wrist a twist, snapping
the revolver from his fingers, and, almost at the same
instant, snatched the other weapon from its holster.

“These are not suitable for a careless man to handle,”
said Merry, as he flung them far out upon the grass.

For a single instant Indian Charlie was dazed. How
the trick had been accomplished by this smooth-faced
youth he could not conceive, and it filled him with wonder.

That passed in a moment, and he was like a furious
tiger, his white teeth gleaming beneath his black mustache.

“That settles you!” he snarled.

He attempted to clutch Frank by the throat, but his
hands were brushed aside, and again Merry warned
him to go slow and easy.

“There are ladies present,” Frank said. “Have
some regard for them, sir. If you wish to settle——”

But the man had quite lost his self-possession, and
he struck at Frank in a wicked manner.

The blow was parried with ease.

An instant later Indian Charlie was stretched upon
the veranda.

“I beg your pardon for doing such a thing in your
presence, ladies,” came quietly from Merriwell’s lips;
“but I was forced into it. As he may make further
trouble I beg you to retire.”

“No!” palpitated Inza. “I shall stay here.”

“Me, too,” said Miss Abigail. “Goodness sakes!
what dreadful things men are!”

“Shall I sit on him and hold him down, Frank?”
yawned Browning, who did not seem in the least disturbed.

“No, let him alone. He——”

With a leap like a wild creature the man came to his
feet. There was a demon in his eyes.

“Look out!” screamed Diamond, suddenly.

A knife flashed in Indian Charlie’s hand, and he
darted at Frank.

Browning reached out to grasp the furious fellow,
but was too slow.

The knife was driven at Frank by the man, who at
that moment was crazed with rage.

Merriwell dodged, caught the fellow’s wrist, gave
it another wrench, and the blade fell clanging to the
floor.

Both Inza and Sadie had screamed, but the danger
was over before they could draw a second breath.

Then Frank laughed. It was the same old dangerous
laugh that those who knew him best understood.

Smack!—with all the force he could command he
struck the man.

Indian Charlie went down again, but came up like
a ball on the rebound.

Frank followed him up, and was on hand to meet
him when he arose.

A second blow landed, and the foreman of the Lone
Star was sent spinning over the end rail of the veranda
to the ground.

He struck on his head and shoulders and lay still.

Some cowboys who had seen the encounter came
running up and bent over the fallen man.

One of them, a little bow-legged fellow, after taking
a good look at Indian Charlie, arose, and, placing his
hands on his hips, stared in profound amazement at
Frank Merriwell.

“Wa-al, may I be durned!” he said. “Ef I ever
saw anything like that yar, my name ain’t Pecos Pete!
He’s knocked Charlie clean out, an’ he ain’t nothin’
but a tenderfoot kid!”

“That’s whatever,” agreed one of the others. “An’
I will allow it wur ther slickest job Hank Kildare ever
seen done. Say, young feller, I wants ter shake yer
paw!”

Then Kildare, who had a face that was like tanned
leather, came up on the veranda and grasped Frank by
the hand, wringing the boy’s arm up and down as if it
were the handle of a pump.

“Thar ain’t many tenderfeet like you,” he said; “an’
you kin boast o’ bin’ ther fust critter to lay out Injun
Charlie.”

“But I wants ter warn yer, youngster,” said Pecos
Pete, as he also came up and shook Frank by the hand.
“Injun Charlie is bad medicine, an’ he ain’t goin’ ter
fergit ye none whatever. When he gits round from
this he’ll lay fer yer, an’, ef you know what’s healthy,
yer won’t linger round these yar parts.”

“That’s so,” agreed Kildare. “You’ll mosey right
lively, an’ take yer friends with yer, fer he may start
in ter clean out ther hull bunch, an’ nothin’ but chain
lightnin’ will stop him next time. You hear me!”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” smiled Frank, calmly. “I
came here with my friends, being invited to attend the
tournament here to-day, and we do not propose to be
frightened away. If I have further trouble with that
man I shall not be so gentle with him.”

“Gentle!” snorted Kildare. “Wa-al, did yer hear
that? Gentle! Is that w’at yer calls ther way yer
knocked him out, tenderfoot?”

“Gentle!” echoed Pecos Pete. “Why, that last blow
o’ your’n would hev knocked down a steer!”

“So yer think you’ll stay?” asked Kildare.

“Sure.”

“Do you carry guns?”

“No.”

“Be yer armed anyway?”

“No.”

“Hyar, take one o’ my shooters.”

“What for?”

“You’ll need it.”

“Oh, I scarcely think so.”

“That’s right,” nodded Pecos Pete—“that’s right,
Hank. He won’t need it ef Charlie draws on him.
What show’d he have? Charlie is old lightnin’, an’
he’d fill the boy full o’ bullets afore the kid could think
o’ reachin’ fer a gun.”

One of the men bending over the foreman of the
Lone Star spoke:

“It may be as how Charlie won’t be in condition to
do any shootin’ fer some time. He’s stiff as a spike.”

“I hope I did not hurt him seriously,” said Frank,
at once. “He forced me to do what I did in self-defense.”

“Don’t let it worry yer, youngster. You’re all
right.”

Then they lifted the unconscious man and carried
him away toward one of the outbuildings.

CHAPTER XXIX—HANS AND THE BRONCHO
=================================

Sadie Rodney drew a deep breath.

“I am sorry, Mr. Merriwell,” she said, “that this unfortunate
affair occurred, and I must express my admiration
for the manner in which you disposed of that
fellow. I can scarcely believe it now. But I fear it
will mean more and serious trouble. I shall speak to
father about it, and Indian Charlie shall be watched.”

“Don’t let it trouble you,” smiled Frank. “I do not
fear that man, and he will not harm me, unless he does
so in a treacherous manner.”

Within ten minutes every cowboy about the ranch
knew what had happened, and it was not long before
they were trooping around to the front of the house to
get a look at the tenderfoot who had dared face Indian
Charlie and had knocked him out. They stared at the
youth doubtingly, and then went away shaking their
heads.

“Look at them!” laughed Rattleton. “They won’t
believe you could do it, Frank. I’ll bet that some of
them think Charlie was struck by lightning.”

“It’s quite likely he will think so himself, when he
is able to think at all,” said Hodge. “I thank you for
chipping in, Frank; but I should have tried him a whirl
if you hadn’t touched him.”

“I saw him reach for his gun, and——”

“You reached for him. You found him, too. Here
come more cowboys!”

Another party of horsemen were seen tearing down
toward the ranch, and the wild and reckless manner
in which they rode made it a thrilling spectacle.

“Ah!” cried Jack; “those fellows are horsemen!
It is not often you see men who can ride like that.”

“Vale, I don’d know!” put in Hans. “You don’d
seen me ride a proncho alretty yet, eh? I vos a vonder.
Pimeby britty soon I vos goin’ to shown you der
sort uf a vild parepack rider I peen. You pet I vill
surbrise meinself!”

“That’s right, b’gosh!” grinned Ephraim. “It will
be better’n a circus to see ye.”

“Mebbe you don’d think I can’t ride a proncho?”
cried Hans, resentfully. “You gif me a chance un I
vill shown you.”

“Begorra!” cried Barney; “it’s a chance ye can be
afther havin’ now. Come on, ye Dutch chaze.”

“Oh, gone avay mit yourself!” said Hans, quickly.
“I nefer ride a pig preakfasts on.”

“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed the Vermonter. “I
knowed he’d back aout. Why, you couldn’t ride a saw-hoss!”

“Vot?” screamed Hans, angrily. “Don’d you pelief
me! I pet myself zwei tollar I can ride der pestest
horse vot you never saw! Yaw! I done him any oldt
times!”

“Then come on, an’ don’t ye darst back aout.”

Hans was wildly excited. His fat face was flushed
and his eyes were bulging. He presented such a
ludicrous spectacle that the boys broke into shouts of
laughter.

“You hadn’t better try to ride a broncho, Hans,”
warned Frank, who feared the fat lad might be injured.
“Keep away from the deceptive broncho.
Only the most expert horsemen can ride them.”

“Vale, I peen der most exbert horseman vot you
nefer saw. Yaw! I profe him to yourself. Come
on!”

Hans ran down the steps, tripped over his own feet,
and rolled on the grass, producing still more amusement.

“Come on!” he wildly cried, as he struggled up.
“You don’d know der kindt uv sduff I vasn’t made uf.
Shust you pring me to a hoss vot I don’d peen aple
not to ride! You can’t done dot!”

“He’ll nivver dare throy it, b’ys,” grinned Barney.
“He’ll back out th’ minute he sees th’ baste. Come on.
It’s poiles av shport we’ll be afther havin’ wid him.”

“Come on, fellows!” shouted Rattleton. “Here’s
where we have a circus! Hurrah for fun!”

A moment later they were following the fat Dutch
boy around to the nearest corral, in the vicinity of
which a number of cowboys were gathered.

“Pring der proncho oudt righd avay alretty!”
shouted Hans, as he waddled around toward the corral,
with the others following him. “I peen goin’ to
shown you how to ride him, you pet!”

The cowboys stared at him in astonishment.

“Hey?” cried Hank Kildare, putting his hands on
his hips and glaring at the Dutch lad. “Whatever is
thet thar ye say?”

“Vere dot proncho vos, ain’d id? I peen goin’ to
took a whirl oudt of.”

“Git out! Ye’re crazy! Why, you couldn’t ride
a dead cow!”

Hans grew still more excited. His face was red,
and he wildly flourished his short arms, fairly choking
in his excitement.

“Py ginger! I shown you dot about pritty queek
right avay!” he cried. “Uf I don’t ride der vorst
proncho I nefer seen you vos a liar!”

The cowboys shouted with laughter.

“Why, dern my eyes!” came from Pecos Pete, who
was a veteran “broncho buster,” or horse trainer. “I
reckon mebbe I’ll have to git you to show me a few
p’ints about ther business.”

“I shown you somedings vot I don’t know,” flung
back the excited Dutch boy. “Pring oudt der proncho!”

“Hyar,” said one of the cowboys, dismounting from
the tough little beast upon which he had ridden up to
the ranch; “hyar’s yer chance. Git right on hyar.”

“Vot am I gifin’ you!” shouted Hans. “Dot peen a
drained horses. Vot I vos lookin’ for been a horse dot
don’d peen drained alretty yet.”

“I’ll allow as how you’ll find ther critter ain’t trained
any too much. You can’t ride him.”

“Vot vill I pet you apout dot?” excitedly demanded
the fat boy. “You don’t think I can’t ride him, ain’d
id?”

“Wa-al, I judge he’ll make it right lively for ye.”

“Dot seddles id! How I peen aple his pack to ged
on?”

Frank interfered, seeing Hans was in earnest about
attempting to ride.

“You hadn’t better try it,” he said. “The broncho
might kill you.”

“Vot? Don’d you pelief me! Der proncho vot
could done dot don’d peen porn alretty yet. Get oud
der vay of.”

Hans was determined, and Frank found it useless
to argue with him.

“Is the animal vicious?” he asked in an aside of its
owner.

“Wa-al, he ain’t bad,” was the slow reply. “He kin
buck a leetle, but he’s trained to it, an’ he won’t try it
unless I set him at it.”

“Then don’t set him at it, for Hans might be thrown
off and killed. Let him ride, and he will be satisfied.
It’ll be more sport to hear him boast than it
would be to see him flung off and injured.”

The cowboy looked doubtful, but Frank finally succeeded
in getting him to agree not to set the broncho to
bucking.

Then Ephraim and Barney each got hold of one of
Hans’ legs to assist him to mount.

“Are yez riddy?” asked the Irish lad, a twinkle in
his eyes, with one of which he winked a signal at the
Vermonter, who grinned back knowingly.

“Vait a leedle!” squawked Hans, as he reached up
with his short arms and got a hold on the saddle—“vait
till I ged me der saddles hold uf!”

“Wal, be ye reddy naow?” asked Ephraim.

“Yaw. Led her went!”

Barney and Ephraim gave a whoop and lifted Hans
off his feet. Then, as the broncho shied sideways,
they dropped him with a dull thud to the ground,
where he struck in a sitting posture, the breath going
out of his body with a grunted puff.

The cowboys laughed heartily, and the girls, who
were watching from a distance, were much amused,
Miss Gale alone looking severe and unruffled.

“Shimminy Gristmas!” gasped the Dutch boy, as
soon as he could catch his breath. “Why you done
dot, ain’d id? Why you scared der proncho your
holler mit? Don’d you know somedings?”

“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Ephraim, slapping his
thigh. “Darn my pertaturs! but that’s ther funniest
thing I ever saw!”

“Hey?” squawked Hans, shaking his fist at the
Vermonter. “Vot you don’d peen laughin’ at? I
don’d seen nottings funny apoud id!”

He got up slowly and advanced toward the broncho,
which was standing quiet enough.

“Begorra! it wur a mistake, me b’y,” declared Barney.
“It wur simply an exidint.”

“Oh, id vos an oxident?” said Hans, his suspicions
allayed by Barney’s honest manner. “Vale, don’d
you led id fail to happen again. Und if dot Yankee
poy from Fermonts done dot any more I peen goin’ ter
kick uf him der stuffin’s oudt!”

With this threat he prepared to attempt to mount
once more.

Barney and Ephraim came forward to lift him. The
Irish lad made a significant upward gesture behind
Hans’ back, and Ephraim nodded and chuckled.

“Are yez riddy?” Barney asked once more.

“Yaw. Led her gone!”

Then, with all their strength, the mischievous assistants
fairly flung the fat boy over the broncho’s back.

Hans came down on the other side, striking the
ground with a dull thud, having fallen flat on his back.
He lay there a moment, and then slowly reached out
toward the sky with his hands, as if trying to catch
something.

“Py shimminy!” he exclaimed; “I nefer seen such
peautiful fireworks pefore!”

This seemed to amuse the gathering cowboys more
than anything that had happened, and their shouts of
laughter aroused the fallen lad, who sat up and looked
around.

Frank and his friends were amused.

“Vill somepody peen kindt enough to exblain vot
habbened,” urged Hans, in a bewildered way.

Barney and Ephraim rushed around and lifted him
to his feet, although he regarded them with some suspicion.

“May th’ ould Nick floy away wid a broncho thet
won’t shtand still!” cried Barney. “Av th’ baste
hadn’t moved thin it’s mounted ye’d been alriddy.”

“Did der proncho move?”

“Move?” cried Ephraim, with a broad gesture.
“Does dynamite move if yeou swat it with a brick!”

Hans faced the animal, shaking his fist angrily at
the innocent creature.

“Look ad here, Mister Proncho!” he squealed; “uf
you don’d done dot again, I peen goin’ to kick uf you
der hay oudt! Dot vos peesness! I don’d dislike dot
foolin’, und I vant you to misunderstood dot!”

“Thar, b’gosh!” said Ephraim; “I kinder guess the
gol darn critter understands it naow!”

“You pet! Now, you put me ub right avay queek
pefore he haf forgotten id. Hurry up!”

Again the boys caught hold of Hans, but this time
they lifted him onto the back of the broncho, where,
with no small amount of awkwardness, he succeeded
in getting seated in the saddle.

“Hah!” he cried, triumphantly. “Don’d I toldt you
so! Ven I vos retty to done peesness, I vos der poy
to got there!”

“Hurrah!” shouted the other boys, waving their
caps and hands. “What’s the matter with Dunnerwust?
He’s all right! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah!”

The Dutch boy looked proud as a peacock.

“Look avay oudt now!” he said. “I vas goin’ to
shown you der vay to ride.”

Then he tried to start the broncho, but the animal refused
to stir.

“Vot peen der madder mit you?” angrily demanded
Hans, striking the creature with his hand. “Why
you don’d gone along, ain’d id?”

Still the broncho stood quite still, its head down and
its short ears tipped back in an ominous manner.

Hans tried in various ways to start the creature up,
but was not successful.

“Der proncho peen dead!” he said, in disgust,
thumping the animal with his heels.

As if resenting this, the creature suddenly gave a
squeal, made a bound into the air, and came down with
all four feet close together and its back “humped.”

Dunnerwust shot up from the saddle in a most surprising
way.

By chance he came straight down and struck in the
saddle again. He tried to catch hold and cling on, but
the broncho made another leap.

“Hellup! hellup!” roared Hans, as he again shot
into the air. “Dat proncho haf injy-rubber mit his
pack in!”

CHAPTER XXX—INDIAN CHARLIE’S GAME
=================================

Although he realized that Hans might be injured,
Frank could not restrain his laughter, for the spectacle
was one to make a wooden image laugh.

Barney and Ephraim were convulsed.

“Oh!” shouted the Irish lad, holding his hands to
his sides and swaying forward and backward. “See
th’ broncho play bounce ball wid th’ Doochman!”

“Gol darned if this ain’t better’n goin’ to ther best
circus that ever struck aour part of the country!”
laughed the Vermonter. “I’d ruther see it than a hull
cage of monkeys, b’gosh! Haw! haw! haw!”

“Yah! yah! yah!” sounded the shrill “coon” laugh
of Toots. “’Scuse meh, but I’s gotter laff or bu’st mah
boiluh fo’ suah! land ob wartermillions! de nex’ bounce
am gwan teh——Dar he goes!”

The broncho shot forward a short distance, then
stopped suddenly, its forward feet planted solidly.

Over the creature’s head sailed Hans, like a huge
toad.

In some way the Dutch lad turned in the air and
struck on his back.

The others ran forward to see if he was injured.

“Are you hurt?” asked Frank, anxiously, bending
over Hans.

The fat lad looked at Merriwell, and slowly the most
comical expression conceivable spread over the broad
expanse of his face.

“Nit, I don’d peen hurted alretty yet,” he replied;
“but you pet my life I vos goin’ to peen britty queek!
I vas goin’ to got pehindt dot proncho and teekle his
heels a straw mit shust to seen if he could kick uf me a
few prains oudt.”

Hans was assisted to his feet. He took a look at
the broncho, which was standing quite still, and then
turned and ran, as if afraid of the creature.

All this was very amusing to the cowboys, who
shouted with mirth.

“Wal, if I don’t believe I kin ride that critter!” cried
Ephraim Gallup, wagging his head. “I’ve rid some
purty tough nuts in my day.”

“Better not try it,” warned Frank.

That was just enough to start the Yankee boy.

“By gum! I will try it!” he shouted, and made a rush
for the animal.

The deceptive creature stood quite still while Ephraim
jumped up and swung one leg over its back, and
then, before the Vermonter could straighten up in the
saddle, the broncho started with wild and eccentric
leaps to scoot around through the party.

“Whoa!” yelled the lank lad, wildly clinging to the
creature—“whoa, gol darn ye! Stan’ still a jiffy till I
git onter——Wow!”

The broncho performed a twisting evolution that
sent Ephraim spinning, and the twinkling heels of the
animal narrowly missed the Vermonter’s head.

Ephraim got up quickly from the ground, placed his
arms akimbo, his hands resting on his hips, and stared
at the broncho, which was quite still, its head drooping
and its whole attitude one of dejection and meekness.

“Wal, may I be chawed to death by ’skeeters if yeou
ain’t ther darndest deceivin’ critter I ever saw!” he
drawled.

Then the cowboys shouted again. They were having
fun at the expense of the tenderfeet.

Frank was enjoying all this, and, at the same time,
was watching Indian Charlie, who had sauntered out
of one of the stables and joined the crowd.

To his surprise the foreman of the Lone Star did
not notice him at all, or pretended not to notice him.
Charlie did not look in the direction of Frank.

“I’ll keep my eyes open to see that he doesn’t take
me by surprise some time,” thought Merriwell.

Charlie sneered at Ephraim.

“What is all this?” he asked. “Tenderfeet can’t ride
anything.”

“To be course not!” nodded one of the punchers near
him; “but they seem to think they kin, an’ we’re havin’
fun with um.”

That was quite enough for Frank.

“So they think tenderfeet can’t ride anything!” he
muttered. “Well, I don’t like to have them believe
that.”

Then all were surprised to see him walk forward
quickly, come up beside the broncho, and spring into
the saddle with a single bound.

The boys gave a shout.

“’Rah for Frank Merriwell!” cried Hodge. “’Rah! ’rah! ’rah!”

“Now ye’ll see some roidin’!” came from Barney.

For a moment the broncho stood quite still, as if astonished
that a third person should attempt to ride it,
then, with a wild squeal, it began to plunge and leap
and rear and buck in the fiercest manner.

To the astonishment of the cowboys Frank kept his
seat in the saddle, apparently with as much ease as
any one of them could have maintained it.

“Hey! go it!” laughed Merry, finding an opportunity
to snatch off his cap and give it a flourish around his
head. “This is the sport! Wake up, old crowbait!”

It happened that the owner of the horse did not
fancy having the animal called “crowbait.” He was
angry in a moment.

“Buck him, Comet!” he shouted, waving his arms to
the little horse and making certain gestures—“buck him
hard!”

And Comet bucked as hard as he was able, but still
the laughing rider maintained his seat in the saddle.

“Why, this is easy!” declared Frank, who had
ridden bucking horses before and studied their tricks.
“This creature doesn’t seem to have much ginger in
him.”

The boys laughed and applauded, while the cattlemen
looked astonished and disgusted.

“Whatever do yer think o’ thet?” said one.

“It’s derned queer an onery kid like him kin ride a
broncho,” admitted another.

“That’s ther feller what knocked Injun Charlie
out,” said Hank Kildare. “I’ll allow he’s a terror.”

Charlie happened to be standing near enough to hear
the words. His face reddened, and he said:

“He proved rather handy with his fists,” he admitted;
“but he didn’t knock me out. I fell backward over
the veranda rail, and was stunned. I reckoned it
would be said he did it.”

Now up to this time no one had felt like disputing
anything Charlie said, or even hinting that they doubted
him. The time had come, however, when Hank Kildare
felt like showing independence.

“Mebbe yer went backward over ther rail, Charlie,”
he said; “but I don’t reckon ye’ll claim ye wasn’t
pushed?”

Charlie scowled, but forced a sneering smile.

“The kid struck at me, and I stepped backward,” he
declared. “In doing so I struck against the rail and
fell over upon my head. That is all.”

“Wa-al,” dryly drawled Kildare, “it’s a nice black
eye ye’ll have to remember that yar fall.”

In the meantime, while this conversation was taking
place, Comet had been doing his best to unseat Merriwell,
but had not succeeded. At last he stopped and
stood still, seeming played out and completely disgusted
by failure.

Frank laughed.

“It’s easier than I thought,” he said.

“That broncho was trained to buck,” said Indian
Charlie, speaking loudly enough for Frank to hear.
“He isn’t much like a natural bucker. The tenderfoot
couldn’t stay on the back of a natural bucker a second.”

Again Frank laughed, and it was far more expressive
than words. That laugh distinctly said that the
foreman of the Lone Star was making a fool of himself.

Bart Hodge was angry.

“I’ll bet Frank Merriwell can ride any broncho on
this ranch!” he cried, addressing no one in particular.

That was exactly what Indian Charlie wanted.

“What will you bet, sir?” he instantly asked.

“A hundred dollars!” cried Hodge, recklessly.

“Done!” exclaimed Charlie. “Put up the money in
Rodney’s hands. Here is my william.”

He produced a crisp new hundred-dollar bill and
flourished it at Bart.

Hodge turned pale, for he suddenly realized that he
did not have a hundred dollars to his name.

“I—I haven’t the money,” he stammered. “I spoke
too quick. If I had it I would put it up.”

“Bah!” sneered Indian Charlie. “You are a bluff!
You know he can’t ride an unbroken broncho. Back
down, but keep your mouth closed after this.”

“Mr. Hodge need not back down,” said the cool
voice of Frank, who had dismounted. “I will let him
have a hundred dollars, or two hundred, if he wishes
it.”

And Frank produced “a roll.”

Charlie’s eyes snapped. The game was coming all
right, after all.

“Hodge has made betting talk, and I have my money
ready to put up,” he said. “Let him cover it—if he
dares!”

Bart seized the money Frank offered, and Bill Rodney
was called forward. As soon as he understood the
terms of the bet the rancher protested.

“Mr. Merriwell is a rider, as I will allow,” he said;
“but he can’t ride one critter there is on the ranch. No
one yere can ride him, an’ Pecos Pete, what is a reg’ler
broncho breaker, is goin’ to break him as part of the
fun ter-day.”

“I presume that is the horse Indian Charlie will expect
me to ride?” said Frank, his lips hardening a bit
and a determined look coming to his handsome face.

“To be course it is.”

Charlie was standing near enough to hear this talk,
and a sneer curled the red lips beneath his dark mustache.

“There isn’t any blood in those tenderfeet,” he said,
speaking to one of the men, but meaning that Frank
and Bart should hear. “I’ve driven them into their
holes.”

Hodge looked as if he longed to fly at the sneering
man.

“Here is the money!” he cried. “If Merry says so,
up she goes!”

Frank nodded a bit, and Bart thrust the money into
Rodney’s hand. The rancher did not want to take it,
but Indian Charlie was not letting any time go to
waste.

“Here’s mine!” he exclaimed, quickly covering the
amount.

“Say,” broke in Pecos Pete, stepping forward
quickly; “this don’t go none whatever. I cotton to this
yar tenderfoot, an’ I don’t want ter see him murdered.”

“There can’t be any backing out now!” came triumphantly
from the foreman of the Lone Star. “The
money is up. I reckon nobody here wants to chip into
this game.”

He glanced around in a way that usually served as
a warning to those who knew him, but, to his surprise
and anger, he suddenly discovered that to a certain extent
his former prestige was gone. The men who had
known and feared him did not seem to fear him as in
former times.

“Ef this wuz a squar deal fer ther tenderfoot it’d be
all right,” said Hank Kildare; “but it ain’t that none
at all. Ther youngster don’t know what he is goin’ up
against.”

“Thank you,” said Frank, quietly. “If I am caught,
I’ll stand it, that is all. It will be my funeral, as you
say out here.”

“Ther boy’s got sand,” muttered Kildare, as he
turned away, “but it’s a shame to run him up against
such a game as this. He’ll be killed ef Charlie says
he’s ter try ter ride Firebrand.”

“And that is what I do say!” cried Indian Charlie.
“I said there was a horse on this ranch he couldn’t
ride, and I meant Firebrand.”

“Bring out Firebrand,” directed Merriwell, grimly.

CHAPTER XXXI—FRANK MERRIWELL’S RIDE
===================================

Frank Merriwell was a natural horseman, and he
had often taken pleasure in breaking some obstinate
and vicious animal. At the same time he knew well
enough that a bucking broncho is about as much like
an ordinary unbroken horse as dynamite is like baking
powder.

But he had encountered vicious horses in the West.
He remembered how, on the ranch of Miles Morgan,
in Kansas, he had successfully ridden a man-killing
stallion, to the unutterable astonishment of everybody
about the place.

From choice Frank would not have attempted to
ride a bucker, but he was aroused by the sneering
words of Indian Charlie and the manner in which the
coward had sought to make him the butt of ridicule.

“I’ll ride the beast if I live!” Frank mentally vowed.

It was useless to try to dissuade him, as the cowboys
soon found out.

When Inza learned what he meant to do, she came
out and cautioned him, but she had the utmost confidence
in his ability.

Sadie Rodney, however, did not think Frank could
ride the broncho.

“Don’t try it, Mr. Merriwell!” she entreated. “You
will be killed!”

“I hardly think so,” smiled Frank, quietly.

Four cowboys came leading Firebrand from the corral.
The animal was a vicious-looking creature, with
an ugly cast in his eyes, and even as it was brought
forth, it made a desperate attempt to beat down one of
the men with its forward hoofs, rearing into the air
and striking with amazing quickness.

The cowboy dodged and escaped, but the broncho
suddenly stopped, and no urging could induce it to
stir another step.

Indian Charlie’s metallic laugh rang out.

“The tenderfoot will do a fine job with that creature!”
he cried. “I never collared a hundred easier
in all my life. Why, he won’t be able to stay on Firebrand’s
back a second, if he ever gets there.”

It was not possible to strap a saddle to the back of
such a creature without a fight, and it took six cowboys
at least twenty minutes to succeed in doing this.

Frank stood and watched this work, seeming not at
all disturbed by the struggle that was going on.

“The tenderfoot has confidence in himself,” said one
of the cowboys.

At last everything was ready for Frank to make the
attempt to ride Firebrand. He flung aside his jacket,
pulled his cap hard down on his head, and advanced
toward the animal.

“You’ll have to make a jump fer ther saddle ef you
ever expect to——Wa-al, dern me!”

Pecos Pete interrupted himself with the
exclamation, for Frank was mounted on the broncho before he
could finish speaking.

“Let go!”

Merriwell’s voice rang out clear and strong, and the
cowboys broke away in all directions, one of them
barely escaping being struck by the whistling heels of
the animal.

Then, as if every muscle in him was of spring steel
and he was run by a furnace, the broncho let himself
loose. It was marvelous how he could double himself
up, shoot into the air, bounce, bound, rear and kick
with such rapidity. It really was impossible to follow
all his movements with the eye. He squealed with
fury. For thirty feet he shot ahead, and then he
stopped as if turned to stone.

It did not seem possible that any living man could
remain on the broncho’s back, and Frank was snapped
about as if some of the movements would break him
in two or jerk his head off; but he retained his seat in
the saddle as if he had been fastened there and nothing
could free him from it.

Firebrand stood on his forward feet and then stood
on his hind feet. He jumped into the air and humped
his back five or six times in rapid succession. He
jumped sideways, forward, backward, in all directions,
but Frank refused to be dislodged.

A murmur of admiration came from the cowboys.

“Dern my eyes!” grunted Pecos Pete, his mouth
wide open.

“He’ll be thrown in a minute,” declared Indian
Charlie. “He can’t stay much longer.”

“He will be killed!” cried Sadie Rodney, clinging to
Inza’s arm.

“He will not be harmed,” said Inza, but her face was
very pale and her hands were clasped.

Firebrand reared into the air, and, with a scream of
fury, threw himself on his back.

In some way Frank succeeded in dropping upon his
feet, and he was in the saddle again when the broncho
arose.

That brought a shout of applause from the cowboys.

“He done it as well as I could!” cried Pecos Pete.

“That’s whatever!” fluttered Hank Kildare. “Derned
ef I don’t believe he’s goin’ ter ride ther critter! Kin it
be he is a tenderfoot?”

“Ef so, he’s seen bronchos before.”

“You bet!”

Indian Charlie was astonished as well as disgusted.

“Why that trick should have finished him!” he muttered.
“He should have been killed by the fall!”

Barney Mulloy was near enough to catch the words.

“G’wan wid yez!” he cried. “Loightning can’t kill
thot b’y!”

The broncho was not satisfied by any means. If possible,
it continued its wild gyrations with renewed fury.
It darted hither and thither, and, finally, made straight
for the nearest corral in a blind manner.

“Look out! look out!” shouted several cowboys.

It seemed the furious animal meant to run straight
into the corral fence, but it wheeled sideways and tried
to rub Frank off. In this attempt it was not
successful, and, with a scream that was wilder than any yet
uttered, it again threw itself backward.

Then it was that Frank demonstrated that his escape
on the previous occasion had been no accident, for
he alighted on his feet with quite as much skill as before,
and was in the saddle again when Firebrand
got up.

Bill Rodney waved his hat with one hand and the
stake money with the other, uttering a genuine cowboy
yell of delight.

“Why, he’s a wonder—a howlin’ wonder!” the admiring
rancher shouted. “Look out, Pecos Pete, for
hyer’s a chap what’s mighty nigh your equal.”

“That’s right,” nodded the broncho buster, generously;
“but how it happens is a sight more than I
know!”

Miss Abigail, who had come from the house with
the two girls, nodded her head, her hard face softening.

“He is a wonderful young man,” she said. “I do
hope he will not be injured, and I hope you’ll be lucky
enough to marry him, Inza. If you don’t—well, I’ll
marry him myself, and he’s the first male critter I ever
saw that I’d have!”

“I didn’t think he could do it,” confessed the rancher’s
daughter, her eyes glowing with admiration as she
watched Frank struggling with the broncho. “There
are old cowboys who would not dare attempt to ride
that beast.”

“Frank never fails in anything he attempts,” declared
Inza, proudly.

Indian Charlie ground his teeth.

“Who’d dreamed the tenderfoot knew anything
about riding such a creature?” he hissed, under his
breath. “It is a miracle!”

Still he hoped some accident would happen to Frank.

But no accident occurred, and after five minutes of
struggling Merry sprang from the back of the broncho,
the creature being taken in charge by several cowboys
at once.

“I claim the stake money, Mr. Rodney,” said Hodge.

“You can’t have it!” came in a flash from the lips of
the foreman of the Lone Star.

“Can’t?” asked Bart, in astonishment, as Charlie
pushed forward. “How is that? I do not understand,
sir.”

“You have not won it.”

“Haven’t? I think you are mistaken. Didn’t you
see——”

“I saw the fellow get on Firebrand’s back and stay
there a short time, but that was all.”

“That was enough.”

“He did not break the broncho.”

“I didn’t bet that he would. I bet he would ride
any horse on the ranch, and he has done it. The
money is mine.”

“Pecos Pete would have broken the animal. Merriwell
must do that before the money is yours.”

“Not much,” smiled Frank, who came up in time
to overhear the man’s words. “I heard the terms of
the wager, and Hodge wins. He bet I could ride the
horse, and I will leave it to anybody present if I did not
do so. I did not agree to break the creature, and I
did not try. That’s all.”

“You didn’t ride long enough.”

“No time was stipulated. I will leave it to the men
here if I did not ride long enough to prove that I could
ride the animal.”

“Yes! yes! yes!” was the shout that went up.

“And I shall pay the money to Mr. Hodge,” said
Bill Rodney. “He won it all right, or Mr. Merriwell
won it fer him.”

He gave the money to Bart, and the cowboys
cheered.

With an angry exclamation, Indian Charlie turned
and walked away.

CHAPTER XXXII—INSOLENCE OF BILLY CORNMEAL
=========================================

Frank was the hero of Rodney’s ranch. He had
caused two great sensations, one by his encounter with
Indian Charlie, and the other by his skill in riding the
broncho.

Sadie Rodney congratulated him, offering him her
hand.

Inza fancied Sadie held to Frank’s hand in a manner
that was extremely significant, and she did not
like it at all.

From a distance Indian Charlie saw this, and again
he ground his teeth.

“She is stuck on that fellow!” he thought. “I can
see that. She thinks him something wonderful, and
I stand no show with her now. Wait! I am not done
with him. My opportunity may come before the tournament
is over.”

Then he withdrew to think up some manner in which
he could “do up” Frank.

Frank was dripping with perspiration, and the party
of “tenderfeet” withdrew to the shelter of the veranda,
where they sat in hammocks and easy-chairs, while
they refreshed themselves with cooling drinks.

With the next party that arrived at the ranch was
a mother and her two daughters, and one or more
females continued to come in with every party that appeared
after that.

By eleven o’clock in the forenoon several hundred
people had assembled, and the “tenderfeet” were not
backward in entertaining the prettiest of the girls who
were there.

A big picnic dinner was served, and all the guests
received something to eat.

The sports were to begin immediately after dinner,
but the cowboys had amused themselves during the
forenoon by numerous tricks and games of their own,
besides telling stories and discussing the remarkable
youngster from the East who had ridden Firebrand.

Indian Charlie held aloof. He was still angry and
had not given over his determination to “fix” Frank.

“He will take a hand in the sports this afternoon,”
thought Charlie. “Then my time will come. He had
better look out!”

He did not wish to injure Frank in an underhand
way, but he had found the boy from the East could
more than take care of himself when given a fair show.

“If I had not seen that Sadie Rodney is stuck on
him, I don’t know as I should care so much,” thought
Charlie.

He tried to chat with Sadie, but she shunned him,
which simply added to his rage. Then he watched
for his chance to find her alone.

He found it.

“I wish to speak with you, Sadie,” he said, hurrying
to her side.

“Miss Rodney, if you please,” she said, rather
sharply.

“Oh, all right!” grated Charlie. “You have permitted
me to call you by your given name at times in
the past.”

“I may have permitted it without being at all pleased
by such familiarity.”

Charlie’s face flushed.

“Something has happened to change you,” he
grated, “and I know what it is.”

“Indeed!”

“You used to think I was not such a bad fellow.”

“Perhaps I did not know you as well as I know you
now.”

“It was not that. You did not know some one else.”

“Ah?”

“Yes, you did not know this tenderfoot with the
swelled head.”

“Who is the tenderfoot with the swelled head?”

“Frank Merriwell.”

“Oh, I don’t know! He seems to be all right.”

Charlie twisted one end of his black mustache into
his mouth and began to chew it in a savage manner.

“Frank Merriwell is something surprising for a tenderfoot,”
he admitted; “but you had better keep away
from him.”

“Oh, really!”

“Yes, really. It will be better for him.”

“It strikes me that your words are insulting, sir!”

“Wait!” he exclaimed, putting out one hand and
barring her way as she sought to pass him. “Please
don’t go so soon, Sadie! Listen! Frank Merriwell
has a sweetheart, and she is your friend. It would
not be just for you to try to cut her out. You know
that, and I do not believe you would think of such a
thing.”

“Thank you for your good opinion of me!” laughed
the girl in a way that caused him to scowl and shrink
a bit.

“I am in earnest,” he went on, quickly. “Am I right
in thinking so. I know you can win him from her if
you try, but you shall not do it!”

He hissed the words through his teeth, and she
started back, an expression of fear flitting across her
face. Then she became angry to think that he should
speak to her in such a manner.

“Stand aside!” she exclaimed. “You are not my
master! It is well for you that Frank Merriwell is
not here.”

“It is well for him that he is not here,” declared
Charlie, his face pale and his lips cold and blue, while
there was a deadly glitter in his eyes. “I see you care
for him! That is enough! You shall be mine! I
have sworn it a thousand times and I swear it again!”

CHAPTER XXXIII—SHOOTING
=======================

Immediately after dinner there was an exhibition of
trick and fancy shooting, in which Frank resolved to
take part.

Rodney had provided a trap and plenty of glass balls
for the occasion, and it was said that Indian Charlie
was certain to carry off the honors of the day, as he was
a wonderful shot with rifle, revolver or shotgun.

Charlie had a splendid black horse, and he started
the shoot off by shooting from horseback, breaking a
dozen balls in rapid succession without a miss, while
the horse was at full gallop.

The watching cowboys uttered a yell of applause.

“Certainly that fellow is a peach with a shooting iron,”
nodded Frank Merriwell. “There are not many who
can beat that sort of work.”

Hank Kildare followed Indian Charlie, but he rang
the bell only three times out of the six shots.

Pecos Pete, mounted on a wiry little broncho, went
scooting across the grassy plain, flung his hat into the
air, and shot six holes through it before it could touch
the ground.

Then Indian Charlie showed the spectators another
trick. As he rode along a revolver in his right hand, he
snapped six quarters into the air with the thumb of his
left hand and knocked each one out of sight with a bullet
as it spun above his head.

This brought another yell of applause from the
watching cowboys, and Frank began to understand how it
came about that Charlie had been regarded with no small
amount of respect by those who knew him best.

“A fellow with a hot temper and the ability to shoot
like that is dangerous,” thought Merriwell. “I can see
how it is that no one cared to anger him. It was lucky
for me that he did not get out a gun when we had that
little trouble.”

With a revolver in either hand, and hanging head
downward on the right side of his horse, clinging there
face outward in some marvelous manner, one of the cowboys
tore past the target, at which he sent a dozen bullets,
shooting with one revolver and then with the other.

This was most remarkable as an exhibition of horsemanship,
for he did not succeed in ringing the bell once,
although nearly every bullet hit the target.

“Wait till they come down to straight shooting,” said
Frank. “Then I will get into the game.”

One after another, the cowboys gave an exhibition of
some sort of trick shooting; but it was noticeable that,
although several of them were fully more skillful as
horsemen, none could make such a record as Indian
Charlie for hitting whatever he fired at.

Frank watched his style of shooting with no small
amount of interest, and saw him break ball after ball
till he had smashed fifty-one. On the fifty-second ball
he missed, but Merry saw he did so from pure carelessness.

“There is no telling when he would stop if he felt he
was on his mettle,” thought Frank.

A bow-legged chap from the Star and Bar Ranch
made thirty-two straight, and created no small amount
of excitement.

The fifth man made twenty-four and then failed.

Frank was next and last.

If he did not beat the Star and Bar man he could
not get into the “shoot off.”

“Now, Frankie, me b’y,” said Barney Mulloy, anxiously,
“show th’ punchers what ye’re made av.”

Frank nodded quietly and took his position.

CHAPTER XXXIV—FRANK SHOWS HIS SKILL
===================================

“He’ll do it!”

“He can’t do it!”

“He’ll miss the next one!”

“Don’d you pelief me! Dot poy nefer vos known to
miss!”

Hans was confident, as were all of Frank’s friends.
Those who did not know him were the ones who were
doubtful.

Twenty balls were broken in a deliberate, confident
manner. It seemed that Frank did not think it was
possible to miss.

Twenty-five! He was getting close to the Star and
Bar man, and the excitement increased.

Indian Charlie laughed loud enough for Frank to hear,
scornfully saying:

“It’s a case of luck—nothing more. He’ll slip up in
a minute. Why, he’s getting nervous now!”

Frank paid not the least attention to this, apparently
not hearing it.

Thirty balls were broken! Two more would tie the
Star and Bar man.

Every spectator was standing. Inza Burrage was confident,
while Sadie Rodney was almost quivering with
excitement. Miss Abigail looked calm and confident.

“Ther youngster is a wonder,” said Pecos Pete. “I’ll
allow he kin shoot as well as ride, an’ that’s a right
smart bit.”

Thirty-one!

Another to tie!

Thirty-two!

The tie was made!

Charlie carefully cleaned his gun and prepared for the
trial.

Frank was congratulated by his friends.

It was agreed that the shoot-off should be to see who
could make the most points out of a possible hundred.

In the choice to see who should shoot last Frank felt
that he was fortunate, as he had secured that privilege.

Indian Charlie was ready, and he took his stand. Then
he proceeded to break fifty balls without a miss.

Then, to the astonishment of all, Charlie missed the
next ball.

That angered him, and he uttered a smothered exclamation.
His anger did him harm, for he missed again.

The foreman of the Lone Star stopped to swab out
his gun and cool off. He realized that it would not do to
continue shooting till his nerves were perfectly steady.

When he started in once more he seemed to smash the
balls with greater ease than before, and he made seventy-eight
out of a possible eighty.

“That is more than enough to win,” he laughed.

Then he seemed to grow careless, for he missed again.

He finished by making ninety-six out of one hundred
shots.

“There,” he said, “that is pretty bad, but it is good
enough to beat the tenderfoot and have twenty to spare.”

“We shall see,” thought Frank.

Merriwell took the position Charlie had vacated, and
then, to the amazement and disappointment of every one,
missed the second ball.

No one was more surprised than Frank by the miss,
but it did not rattle him in the least. He remembered
the gun in his hands shot “close,” and resolved to take
unusual care.

Then he went on shooting, and for the next fifty shots
he did not make a single miss.

Frank followed up his success with twenty-five more
without a break, and then missed one.

When eighty was reached, Frank was tied, having
made seventy-eight.

Now the excitement was greater than it had been at
any time during the day, for it was seen that the tenderfoot
stood an even chance of winning.

“He shall not win!” cried Indian Charlie, deep in his
burning heart. “He must not win!”

Then for a moment he turned toward the nearest corral
and lifted his hand to his hat in a peculiar manner.

No one observed this movement, for the attention of
all seemed concentrated on the handsome youth who
was doing the shooting.

Frank had made ninety-three out of ninety-five. With
his next two shots he broke two more balls.

If he broke another he would tie Indian Charlie.

Once more the foreman of the Lone Star faced toward
the corral and made a rapid gesture. His face was pale
and his hands shook. He felt that he would be eternally
disgraced if beaten by this boy.

Bang!

Frank fired again and another ball was broken.

Charlie was tied!

Merriwell’s friends got together, prepared to cheer
when the next ball was broken.

Frank stood in readiness for the next ball.

“A thousand demons!” huskily whispered the foreman
of the Lone Star. “If that half-breed——”

Snap!—a white ball sailed into the air.

Bang!—Frank tossed the gun to his shoulder and fired.

At the same instant he was seen to reel, drop the gun
and fall forward on his face, as if death-stricken.

But he had smashed the ninety-seventh ball and won
the shoot-off!

CHAPTER XXXV—WHO FIRED THE SHOT
===============================

Frank was lifted and carried into the house, and a
cowboy by the name of Fisher, who had once practiced
medicine, and was something of a surgeon, was rushed
in to attend to him.

The cowboys and the others scattered to search for
the unknown who had fired the dastardly shot.

Behind one of the corrals they found Billy Cornmeal,
apparently dead drunk, an empty whisky bottle clasped
to his breast.

They shook and hammered the half-breed, but not
even several sharp pricks with the point of a knife
served to arouse him.

“Let him alone,” said Pecos Pete. “He’s dead ter
ther world, an’ he couldn’t tell anything. We’re losin’
time.”

So Billy was left to sleep off his jag while the search
was continued.

It proved anything but satisfactory, as no person save
the half-blood was found who could have fired the shot,
and it seemed certain that Billy Cornmeal had not
done it.

There was something mysterious about the affair.

“If there had been a possible way for him to do the
trick, I should suspect Indian Charlie,” said Diamond;
“but he was with us, and we know he did not do the
trick.”

“He did not do it,” said Hodge, fiercely, “but he may
have been at the bottom of it.”

They went back to the house.

As they entered, they were astonished to meet Frank,
about whose head a bandage was tied.

Rattleton gave a wild shout of joy and clasped Merry
in his arms.

“He’s all right, fellows!” Harry shouted. “Here he
is! He is not dead! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” roared the others, expressing
their delight in a wild outburst of cheering.

It was some time before the rejoicing over Frank’s
lucky escape abated, but the mystery of the shot remained
a mystery still.

Who had tried to kill Merriwell? That question
seemed unanswerable.

“I tell you,” said Hodge, “I believe that half-breed
had something to do with it.”

“Billy Cornmeal?” asked Rodney.

“Sure.”

“But he was drunk.”

“He seemed to be, but I don’t think he was drunk at
all. I think it was a trick, and he played it well.”

“Why should he shoot Merriwell?”

“That is a question he might be forced to answer.
Let’s go find him and bring him into the house.”

This was agreed upon, but when they went to look for
the half-breed he was gone. He had seemed too drunk
to move, but still he had disappeared.

That was suspicious. They looked for his pony, and
that had disappeared also.

“He must have skipped immediately after we left
him,” said Hodge; “and so he has had time to place himself
beyond some of those knots of timber. That is
proof enough that he was the skunk who did the shooting,
but some other person put him up to it. Mark me,
the real enemy of Frank Merriwell is not Billy Cornmeal.”

CHAPTER XXXVI—A CAST FOR LIFE—CONCLUSION
=========================================

Frank begged them not to let what had happened interrupt
the sport, and so it was soon in progress again.

The cowboys gave some exhibitions of the manner in
which they roped steers and wild horses, and a Mexican
“roper” did some fancy work with a lariat.

The Mexican delighted them with his skill, and not a
few of his tricks were graceful and difficult, being very
pleasing to the eye.

He could set a noose whirling in the air, let it fall
over his head, still whirling, pass down to his feet, and
then he would step out of it without letting it touch his
person or the ground and lift it whirling into the air.

This trick he would reverse, whirling the noose about
a foot above the ground, step into it and whirl it up over
his head into the air.

He could send it spinning far upward, till the rope
looked like a big corkscrew top, with the little end touching
his hand, and then, as it fell, he would jump through
the noose and snap it into the air again.

“I can’t do that,” smiled Frank, as he watched the
roper, “but I am not exactly a greenhorn with a rope. I
can throw it fairly well.”

A sudden desire to get on horseback and join in the
sports once more seized him. He could not keep still.

“I am all right,” he declared. “It will hurt me much
more to hump up and keep still. Let me have the best
horse you have, Mr. Rodney. If I harm the animal, I
will pay for him.”

“You shall have Fleetfoot,” said the rancher. “In
fact, I feel like letting you have anything I own.”

A short time later Frank was mounted on a handsome
black gelding, a creature full of fire and intelligence.

Frank joined the cowboys in their sport, and, being
provided with a rope, sprang another surprise on them
by showing that he could cast the noose with more than
ordinary skill.

The fun waxed fast and furious, and the cowboys,
riding madly hither and thither, drew farther and farther
from the house.

Suddenly all were startled to hear a shrill cry and
see a girl running toward them.

Several women and girls came rushing out of the
house and ran around the corner toward one of the
corrals.

The girl running toward the cowboys was Inza Burrage.
She waved her hand toward the corral.

At that moment a horse bearing a double burden was
seen to shoot out from the corral and go racing across
the plain.

“It’s Indian Charlie’s critter, an’ that’s Charlie on its
back!” cried Hank Kildare.

“Right ye are!” agreed Pecos Pete; “but it’s more’n
Charlie ridin’ ther critter! He’s got somethin’ in his
arms! Dern my eyes! I reckon he’s tryin’ ter kerry off
Rodney’s gal!”

“That’s it!” burst from Frank Merriwell. “He is kidnaping
Miss Rodney! After the fellow, men! We must
run him down!”

Frank was right. Charlie, driven desperate and maddened
by several drinks he had taken, had quite lost his
head. Again seeking Sadie Rodney, he had found an
opportunity to catch her in his arms, carry her to the
corral, where his horse was saddled and ready, and bear
her away.

Ordinarily the man would not have attempted such a
thing. Just now he was ready for any desperate deed.

He believed he had a horse that was the superior of
anything on or about Rodney’s ranch, and so he had
tried to kidnap Sadie, hoping to get a big start before
he was discovered.

Inza had seen him, and she ran to tell Frank what
had happened.

Away went the cowboys in pursuit of the kidnaper
and his victim, and Frank, mounted on Fleetfoot, was
leading them.

The boy remembered how Swiftwing had carried off
Inza.

Frank coiled up the lariat as he rode.

There was great excitement about the ranch. Men
and women ran in all directions, shouting and calling.

The cowboys, headed by Merriwell, swept past to the
south.

Indian Charlie looked back and saw his pursuers. He
recognized the boyish leader, and ground his teeth.

“That fellow has brought me nothing but bad luck!”
he grated. “I don’t care now! Let them catch me if
they can! I’d like to get a shot at Merriwell myself!
I wouldn’t make such a bungle of it as that fool half-breed
made. I was to give Cornmeal fifty dollars, but
he failed to do the job.”

Sadie Rodney had not fainted, although it seemed so
at first.

“Oh, you wretch!” she exclaimed, faintly, having overheard
his words. “So you hired the half-breed to kill
Frank Merriwell! You are more of a wretch than I
thought!”

She shuddered with horror.

“Oh, shiver away!” brutally laughed the man. “I
am a demon, and I know it! I’m proud of it! It was
born in me, and I have not been able to get away from
it. I vowed I would have you at any cost, and I mean
to keep my word.”

“You will not succeed.”

“Oh, yes, I shall! They can’t run me down.”

“You do not know the stuff Fleetfoot is made of, and
Frank Merriwell is mounted on Fleetfoot. You can’t
get away from him.”

“So much the worse for him! I shall shoot him!”

Away they went, mile after mile being covered.

Charlie looked back again. Mounted on the black
horse, Frank was drawing away from the cowboys. He
was gaining on Charlie.

“Let him come!” snarled the desperate wretch. “He
can’t save you!”

Frank continued to gain.

The kidnaper was riding recklessly, without considering
the course he was taking. Soon he could hear the
beating hoofs of the horse ridden by his persistent pursuer.

Closer and closer Frank crept. His face was set with
determination. He was alone, but he would rescue
Sadie Rodney.

Suddenly a scream of fear came from the girl.

“The bluffs!” she cried—“the bluffs! We are right
upon them!”

Indian Charlie realized it for the first time. He saw
before them the bluffs which arose two hundred feet
from the bed of a dry gorge.

Then he hastily tried to rein about with his free hand.

Too late!

The horse took the bit in his teeth and charged straight
at the gorge which lay in advance.

To go over the bluff meant a plunge to death, and
yet he was unable to rein his horse about. Frantically
he tried to turn the creature aside.

Frank realized the peril that threatened the man and
girl. He freed the lariat he had brought all this distance
and prepared to use it. Around and around his
head the noose circled, and then, just before the horse
in advance reached the brink of the bluff, he made the
cast.

The noose sailed through the air and dropped over
the head and shoulders of the man and girl. The trained
horse Frank bestrode suddenly turned and braced itself.

Snap!—the rope tightened, and two human beings
were jerked from the back of the horse, just as, with a
wild shriek of fear, the animal plunged over the brink.

When the cowboys came up they found Frank talking
reassuringly to Sadie Rodney, who had been stunned
somewhat by the fall to the ground, but was not seriously
hurt, while the body of Indian Charlie lay sprawled
on the ground.

Charlie’s neck was broken when he fell, and his plotting
and crookedness were over forever.

Great was the reception the party was given at Rodney’s
ranch. Great were the honors bestowed on the
“tenderfoot,” who, as Hank Kildare expressed it, “had
shown the punchers he wuz jest as good as the best of
them—an’ a sight better!”

William Rodney could not find words to express his
thankfulness and admiration of Frank.

The tournament was over for that day, but the dance
followed in the evening, and a jolly time it was.

Sadie Rodney waltzed twice with Frank, but he did
not neglect Inza, who received full assurance that the
rancher’s daughter had not won her place in Frank’s
heart.

It was a jolly time, and for all of the misfortune which
had befallen Frank, the boys felt they were fully repaid
for the time spent in visiting Rodney’s ranch.

And in spite of all that had occurred there was not
a grumbling spirit among “Frank Merriwell’s Athletes.”

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    THE END

.. vspace:: 2

No. 18 of the :sc:`Merriwell Series`, entitled “Frank
Merriwell’s Skill,” gives an account of some startling
adventures, in which Frank and his pals once more prove
their grit, skill, and courage.

.. clearpage::

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    :lg:`What Is the Greatest Thing in the World?`

    .. vspace:: 1
    
.. container:: medium left noindent

    Years ago there lived a kindly man who sought the
    greatest thing in the world—and found it.

    His name was Henry Drummond, and the pearl
    beyond price that he found was—love!

    All treasure and gifts are as nothing beside this—love
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    woman—clean, pure love!

    It is entirely fitting, therefore, that at last a magazine
    has been devoted to love stories, exclusively.
    You may now find it at all news dealers. Ask for

.. container:: center

    Love Story Magazine

.. container:: medium left noindent

    In it you will find nothing of the immoral—nothing
    sordid, but bright, cheerful love stories in which sunshine
    follows the shadows—as it should.

    :sc:`Love Story Magazine` is for you, for every human
    being who has ever loved or been loved.

    .. vspace:: 1
    
    Buy a copy now.

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    Published Semimonthly Price, 15c.

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.. container:: center white-space-pre-line
  
    STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
    Publishers, New York City

.. vspace:: 6

.. pgfooter::