Frank Merriwell's Athletes: or, The Boys Who Won

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.