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

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.