Dick Merriwell's Trap: or, The Chap Who Bungled

Bunol whirled on him.

“You first to propose I soak him!” he sneered. “Now you lose nerve! Now you are coward! But fire will wipe all out. It burn so nobody ever prove he was struck. He was caught in fire and couldn’t get out. That is it.”

Bunol was too much for them. Bad though they had been, the nerve of the Spanish lad after such a dark deed made him repulsive to them all.

“We had better get back to the academy in a hurry,” said Stark. “We don’t want to be out when the excitement over this fire starts. Let’s hustle, fellows.”

So they ran over the hill and on toward the academy. Behind them the fire rose and waved gleaming pennants to the clouds, which reflected the red glow. The wind moaned through the night and sent the flames leaping from tree to tree.

“We are all murderers!” whispered Crauthers, thinking of the boy left lifeless in the burning woods.

CHAPTER XXI – ON THE ACADEMY STEPS

They approached the academy cautiously, yet in a hurried manner. Lights were in the barracks windows, suggesting warmth and comfort within. Outside the driving wind was cold and biting. Away to the southwest the burning woods flung a red glow against the clouds, and this light reached even to the academy. They feared the light would betray them as they approached, and they slipped up swiftly.

Sure enough, some one was sitting on the steps outside the door. Who was it? They halted beneath the leafless trees and held a consultation. What was to be done?

“We must get in somehow,” said Hogan.

“I’m sorry I came out to-night,” averred Crauthers.

“It’s been a bad night,” came dolefully from Stark.

Miguel Bunol had kept near them, but he did not venture to take part in the conversation.

They watched the figure on the steps for some time. Now and then they looked away toward the strip of burning woods, and the reflected light revealed the terror in their eyes.

They thought of the boy who had been stricken down and left for the flames, and it robbed them of strength and courage and manhood.

“If that fool would leave the steps!” muttered Stark. “But he sits there like a dummy.”

“I’m going in,” chattered Hogan. “I’m almost frozen.”

“You’ll be recognized.”

“I don’t care.”

When he started forward the others quickly decided to follow him, and in a body they advanced toward the steps where sat the motionless figure. They came up close to it, and then – they suddenly stopped. It was Bunol who uttered first an exclamation in Spanish, and then jabbered:

“Look! See! It is here!”

He was half-crouching, pointing at the figure, and his teeth rattled together like castanets, while his protruding eyes gleamed with terror.

Crauthers uttered a groan, and his legs nearly gave way beneath him.

“A ghost!” he whispered.

For the light of the burning woods seemed to show them sitting there on the steps, hatless, pale, a streak of red down across his temple, Chester Arlington. Never before had those boys been so startled. In fact, they seemed for a moment struck dumb and motionless with horror. Then one of them turned and ran, and the others followed, not uttering a word.

As they disappeared beneath the trees, Dick Merriwell stepped round a corner of the building and spoke to the lad who sat on the steps.

“I thought that you would give them a shock. You had better get up to your room now.”

Chester Arlington, for Chester it was, made no retort and no move. He sat there dumbly, not even looking at Dick.

“Come,” said young Merriwell, taking his arm.

Chester rose, and they entered the building. Dick assisted Arlington to his room.

“Are you sure you are all right?” asked young Merriwell.

Chester nodded.

“All right,” he said, in a mechanical manner. “Only my head hurts some.”

At the wash-bowl the blood was washed out of Chester’s hair and from his face.

“Perhaps you had better have the doctor,” suggested Dick, but Arlington objected, saying:

“I don’t want the doctor! He’ll ask too many questions. I’m going to take care of myself. Tell me again how it was you happened to find me there in the woods.”

“It was not a case of happening to find you,” said Dick. “I have been to the Den before. I had a fight on the tree-bridge once. I followed you to-night when I saw you striking out in that direction. You aroused my curiosity. But I was not familiar enough with the path through that jungle to keep very near you. So I was not on hand when you were tapped on the head, but I knew something had happened to you when those fellows rushed past my place of hiding. I crossed the bridge and stumbled over you. Then I discovered the fire, which was just starting. I shook some life into you, got you out and brought you here.”

Arlington was gently drying his hair with a towel. He made a despairing gesture and dropped on a chair.

“It’s fate!” he muttered. “I might have been burned to death in the woods but for you! Twice you have saved me from fire! It’s no use, I’ve got to leave Fardale!”

“Why?”

“I can’t stay here as your frie – ” Chester stopped himself abruptly, remembering the change of policy he had decided upon. A few more words would ruin everything.

Could he play the part now? Could he continue to pretend to be friendly toward Dick while really plotting to injure him? That was the plan he had decided upon, but fate seemed determined to baffle him, to make sport of him.

Then he thought of the fellows who, a short time before, had pretended to be his friends. They had struck him down in the woods and left him to be consumed by the flames. Were these the kind of friends he had made since coming to Fardale? And Dick Merriwell had friends who would fight for him, suffer for him, sacrifice anything for him. Chester was doubly disgusted.

“I’m going away,” he declared. “Merriwell, I’ got to do it!”

“I don’t see why.”

“I do! I can’t tell you. But one thing I am going to do before I go: I’m going to get even with those whelps who turned on me to-night!”

“You know them all?”

“Every one.”

Chester tied a handkerchief about his head. His manner was rather queer, and he kept glancing at Dick out of the corners of his eyes.

“There is no more I can do?” said Dick, rising.

“No; you have done too much!”

“Too much?”

“Yes. Frankly, Merriwell, I’d rather any one else in the world should have given me this last lift.”

Dick smiled. He realized that he had been able to pour hot coals on Arlington’s head, and it gave him a feeling of satisfaction.

“Too bad you feel that way about it!” he said, retreating to the door.

“Good night,” said Arlington shortly, and Dick went out.

“A thousand devils!” grated Arlington, when he was alone. “How am I going to keep it up? I hate him still, but he has made it almost impossible for me to again lift my hand against him. Yes, I believe I shall have to get out of Fardale. Mother wanted me to go, and I would not; but now it is different.”

CHAPTER XXII – ANOTHER VICTORY FOR FARDALE

The escape of Chester Arlington from the burning woods seemed most astonishing to the four rascals who had left him there. Of course, they learned that it was Chester in the flesh, not his spirit, that they had seen sitting on the academy steps when they arrived there. At first it had seemed that he had not been given time to reach the academy ahead of them, even were he in the best of health and entirely unharmed; but when they came to consider the matter, they realized that they had spent considerable time in wrangling and in making a roundabout course that brought them to the academy as if they had come from a point almost opposite the burning woods. These small delays and this détour had given Arlington plenty of time to arrive at the academy ahead of them. Plainly, he had only been stunned by Bunol’s blow, and had lost little time in getting out of the woods after recovering.

It is needless to say that the relief of the young rascals was great. Knowing nothing of Dick Merriwell’s presence in the woods, they immediately agreed to swear sturdily that they were not there themselves, in case Chester made trouble for them.

But, to their wonderment, Arlington betrayed no great desire to even up the score. They fancied he would do this at once, but he ignored them. For a day or two he wore a handkerchief bound about his head, explaining that he had slipped and fallen on the stone steps of the academy, cutting his scalp. Chester was not one given to hesitation when a falsehood served his purpose better than the truth.

It was Saturday morning of the day that Fardale was to meet Springvale that Miguel Bunol slipped like a phantom into Dick Merriwell’s room.

Buckhart had gone out, and Dick was alone. Hearing the catlike step, Dick turned and confronted the young Spaniard.

“Well,” he said, “what do you want here?”

Bunol paused and threw up one hand.

“I come to tell you something,” he said swiftly. “You know Chester Arlington and I have been some friends. Mebbe you know we are not so any more? He try to throw me down. I do all I can for him. Well, I like it not much! From his friend I turn to hate him. When I hate, I hate a lot. Now I come to tell you that you will not win the football-game to-day. You think Chester Arlington change to be your friend, eh? Ha! Don’t fool yourself some like that! He stay your enemy forever. He make believe he become your friend. That is done to fool you.”

Dick smiled quietly, but the smile was followed by a frown.

“Go!” he exclaimed, pointing toward the door. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“I come to tell you something you better hear. Look, you; yesterday this room was entered and some papers were stolen from you. How do I know? I know. I find out. I know who come here. I know Chester Arlington he do that. Why should he come? You have a locket. It have a picture of his sister. He is bound to have that. It is one reason why he pretend to be your friend. He think perhaps he find it here when you were out. He do not find it, but he find papers on your table, and them he take.”

“You seem to know all about it,” said Dick.

“I know. I watch him. Once he tell me all he mean to do. Now he trust me no longer, but I watch him. I know papers he take have all the football signals, all the plays, all the things you do on the field. You mark out all your plays. You put down your signals. Yesterday you look them over. You work out one other new play. Then you have to go quick to classroom, and leave papers on table. When you come again they are gone. Ha!”

Dick was silent. The papers had been stolen, as Bunol described. His room had been entered by some one with a duplicate key, for the door was closed and locked when he returned to discover the papers missing.

“You know what he do with papers?” asked the Spanish lad.

Dick shook his head.

“He send them to captain of Springvale football team. To-day you see. To-day Springvale beat you. Springvale know all your signals – all your plays. Chester Arlington he get even with you ’cause you make him resign from committee.”

There seemed some reason in Bunol’s talk, and Dick wondered if the fellow did not speak the truth.

“How much you give me to trap him?” asked Miguel craftily, “I know how to do it. He lie to you. He make you think he is to you a friend now, when he is more your enemy than before. He play you false. I find a way to trap him, then you can make him get out of school. How much you give? You pay me, I do it.”

The thought of having anything to do with Bunol was extremely repulsive to Dick.

“You are a traitor to him,” he said. “I make it a practise to have no dealing with traitors. I do not trust you, Bunol, and so you may as well go.”

The visitor was astonished. He could not understand Dick at all. To him it was incomprehensible that Merriwell should not eagerly grasp at anything to crush an enemy like Arlington. Miguel began to chatter excitedly, but Dick sternly ordered him from the room.

“Fool!” snarled the Spanish lad, as he backed out “You see if Chester he do not beat you in the end!”

When the Spaniard was gone Dick thought it all over and worried about it. If Bunol told the truth, it was likely that Springvale would come prepared with a knowledge of Fardale’s methods and system that would make the game a walkover for the visitors. He thought of going to Chester and telling him plainly what had been proposed by Bunol. With this idea in mind, he left his room and ran into Arlington at the head of the stairs. Chester listened to Dick’s words, but his manner showed that he was aroused.

“So that is Miguel Bunol’s game?” he exclaimed, when Dick had finished. “Merriwell, it’s a lie! I did not take the papers from your room, and I know nothing about them. I brand the whole yarn as a lie from Bunol, and he must be the one who did the trick, else he would not know so much about it.”

Dick was not satisfied, but he could do nothing further.

Springvale had a husky-looking football-team, and it appeared on Fardale Field that afternoon with a swagger of confidence that seemed to betoken their belief in an easy victory.

Thor, their big full-back and captain, was a magnificent-looking fellow, with a shaggy mane of yellow and fearless blue eyes. He seemed a youthful reincarnation of the Scandinavian war god whose name he bore, if a god may be spoken of as reincarnated.

Springvale village had plenty of confidence in its team, and almost a hundred rooters had accompanied the young gladiators to Fardale to cheer them on to victory.

On the other hand, the villagers at Fardale had begun to believe the academy team could not be defeated, upon which their interest in the games waned, for which reason but a few of them came out. The cadets were on hand as usual, but the bleachers and ground were not crowded.

Springvale, like many of the other teams, had an almost entirely new line-up of players.

At a distance Thor looked handsomer than big Bob Singleton, but closer inspection showed that Singleton was of a higher order of intelligence. Thor was a fine animal, in almost perfect condition, delighting in physical contests, but he lacked a certain something that showed in Bob’s mild eye and lazy, well-modulated voice.

Phelps was a lively, slender fellow, while Wellington was swift on his feet and a great dodger and punter. Emery was a trifle larger than Smart, but not a whit quicker witted or capable. Springvale’s line was heavier than Fardale’s, but not a great deal heavier.

The game began with Fardale having the kick-off, and Singleton booted the leather to the twenty-yard line, where Wellington took it and sent it back with a magnificent kick that dropped it into the hands of Singleton. Big Bob started to run, found himself cornered by a tackler, and passed the ball to Dick Merriwell as he was dragged down. Dick went on, taking the ball to the thirty-five-yard line.

Then Fardale lined up for the attack, and Springvale prepared to hold the home team in check. The game was on.

The first assault on center was hurled back, and an effort to go around the left end was repulsed, a funnel-play directed at the right wing was a complete fizzle. Springvale seemed to anticipate every move and meet it quickly, destroying its effectiveness.

“They have our code!” muttered Dick. “The Spaniard was right! They know our plays!”

Fardale was forced to kick in short order. The visitors took the ball at the twenty-five-yard line, and the battle was shifted to Springvale’s territory, but with Fardale on the defense.

Springvale worked swiftly, using no signals at the start, which made it apparent that the team had entered the field with a series of plays agreed upon.

Wellington went round the right end for four yards, being pulled down by Dick. Next it seemed that Phelps had been sent to try the left end, but the ball was passed to Wellington, who again circled the right end, making three yards in spite of Dick, who had detected the trick.

A mass play was slammed into Fardale’s left wing. Kent went down before it, and Clark sat on him, while the tide rolled over them, the ball being carried to the forty-yard line. Kent was angry when he got up. Clark had fouled him, but the umpire had not seen it. Clark grinned into Don’s face.

“Wait! Wait!” said Don. “My turn will come.”

Springvale had Fardale going, and it kept the work up until the home team was pushed to its own twenty-yard line.

Dick was desperate.

“The Spaniard told the truth!” he kept repeating to himself. “Chester Arlington has betrayed us again! I was a fool to think he might be decent! It isn’t in him!”

He remembered how Chester had tried to bribe Jim Watson to steal the signal-code and diagram of plays at the very outset of the season. Watson had fooled him by supplying a false code and a lot of hastily faked-up plays. But a fellow who would think of betraying Fardale once could not reform so easily.

Both Arlington and Bunol must leave Fardale. Dick had endured quite enough. He had chosen to hold his hand on account of June, but now – well, not even for June could he see Chester Arlington betray the old school and work it harm.

Springvale seemed on the verge of success when the ball was lost by off-side play.

Fardale went at the enemy earnestly, but immediately after the first play the referee blew his whistle and set the cadets back for a foul.

Kent had been detected in an effort to get square with Clark, and everything seemed going wrong. To cap it all, Smart fumbled the ball and made a bad pass to Darrell.

Hal lost the ball. Hooper came through like the wind, gathered up the ball without stopping, and on he went over Fardale’s line for a touch-down. Dismay struck the watching cadets dumb.

Seeing this, Miguel Bunol chuckled and muttered to himself:

“Now mebbe Deek Merriwell he will believe me when I tell him they know all his signals and his plays.”

Chester Arlington seemed to be filled with the greatest dismay.

“It’s a shame!” he declared. “It was an accident, anyway! They can never score again.”

Crauthers, Stark, and Hogan were not far from him.

“He’s turned his coat, all right,” said Stark. “I did think it possible we had made a mistake, but it’s a sure thing that he is trying to get in with the Merriwell crowd.”

“Well,” said Hogan, “I hear that it was Merriwell who brought him out of the burning woods the other night. Now will somebody kindly explain to me how Merriwell happened to be there and where he was that we did not encounter him.”

“Not I!” growled Crauthers. “But I have found out that it is impossible to account for Merriwell’s acts.”

“Twice, then, has Merriwell pulled Arlington out of the fire,” said Stark. “I suppose that makes it seem to Chet that he must flop over and join the Merriwell crowd; but we’ve all heard him swear a hundred times that nothing on earth or in the depths below could ever change him or make him friendly toward Merriwell.”

“Plainly that was gas,” said Crauthers. “But I’m glad he wasn’t burned in that fire.”

“Can’t understand why he has not tried to settle with us,” admitted Hogan. “He must have known we were in the Den. And so it must be evident to him that some of us swatted him on the koko.”

At this moment the playing of the two elevens took all their attention, and this line of conversation was abandoned.

Springvale had kicked a goal. There had been some volleying after the kick-off, and then Wellington had made an effort to run with the ball, but had been brought to earth by Buckhart.

Fardale fought furiously now, and the visitors were unable to make gains as easily as they had at the outset. With every moment the home team seemed to grow stronger.

Dick resolved to cast aside the usual methods of play. He settled to straight football. The line held well, and Springvale could not advance the ball. She was compelled to kick.

Darrell took the ball and leaped away from Grant, who missed a tackle by a foot. Hal got away for fifteen yards before being pulled down.

Dick spoke a word to Smart. The plays peculiar to Fardale were abandoned. There was no funnel, no center-back, no ends around, but straight hammering football, smashing into the enemy’s line.

On the benches Chester Arlington rose and cheered. Fardale gained yard by yard. Springvale held as well as she could, but the cadets were at their best.

During the remainder of the first half the tide of battle shifted and swayed, but almost all the time the ball was kept in Springvale’s territory. Twice Fardale had the ball down close to the visitors’ line, but both times a touch-down was missed by a fluke or a fumble. It was disheartening, but Dick managed to keep the courage of the boys up, and they continued the work up to the moment when the whistle blew.

As he was leaving the field with his dirty, sweat-stained comrades, Dick saw Miguel Bunol hastening toward him.

“What you think now?” asked the Spaniard triumphantly. “You see they know every play. I tell you truth. What you do? You fail to expose Chester Arlington?”

“I shall do something when the game is over,” said Dick grimly.

Bunol seemed to take it for granted that he meant to strike a blow at Chester, and his heart rejoiced. Without delay, he sought Arlington out.

“Well,” he said, “how you like it?”

Chester shrugged his shoulders.

“Too bad Springvale made that touch-down,” he said.

“You feel bad!” sneered Bunol.

“Everybody does,” said Chester, with apparent sincerity.

“You feel worse after game, mebbe,” said Bunol.

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“Wait! You find out! Springvale know all Fardale’s plays. How she know them?”

“How do you suppose I know?”

“Perhaps you don’t. Deek Merriwell he want to see you after game.”

“See me?”

“He want to see you.”

“What for?”

“You find out,” said Bunol, with an insulting smile. “Perhaps you like it!”

Now, Chester felt like striking Miguel, but he turned from the fellow, shrugging his shoulders again. Did he show guilt? Was his face pale? Did he tremble a bit?

After the intermission Fardale returned to the field without a change in the team. One change had been made in Springvale’s line-up. Clark, who started the rough-house work, had “got his,” and he was replaced by a substitute named Mullen.

The second half was a hustler from the very start. Both teams went into the game to win, and the swift playing set the spectators wild with excitement, and for full ten minutes it seemed an even thing. Then Fardale got the ball on Springvale’s fifty-yard line.

Dick spoke to Smart, who nodded. A wedge was sent at the enemy’s center, protecting Singleton, who carried the ball, but Springvale tore the wedge to pieces.

Just as a tackler came through, Singleton tossed the ball out to Dick, who had kept clear of the wedge. Dick took the ball and was away like a flash. Shannock blocked Dodge, and Merriwell rounded the end.

Jolliby slipped through and flung himself before Phelps, who made a try for Dick. Phelps pulled Jolliby down.

Thor came cutting in. He was in Dick’s path, and there seemed no way to escape him. The watchers held their breath as Dick made a weak effort to try to dodge to the left of the big full-back. Thor laughed and shot forward for a tackle. Dick leaped like a panther to the right, changing his course with such amazing suddenness that he escaped the hooklike hands of Thor.

Wellington had been rushing down on them, but Merriwell quickly swung away, making it a stern chase. In vain Wellington tried to get near enough for a flying tackle. Dick kept on amid the wildest excitement and carried the ball over the line for Fardale’s first touch-down. But the ball had been carried over at the extreme corner of the field, making it necessary to punt it out.

Dick punted the ball, Darrell being placed to catch it. Somehow Hal missed, and the chance for a goal was lost.

“That settles it!” groaned a cadet. “We’ll never have another chance to tie the score in this game!”

But the success of that wedge-play had given Fardale new life. Dick reverted to the well-known plays of the team and sprung them on the enemy in rapid succession. Of course, Smart was the one who called for these plays, but he was working under Dick’s direction. The funnel-play made a gain twice and then was stopped. Center-back took Springvale by surprise and secured nine yards. Even the old ends around worked twice for fair gains.