Frank Merriwell's Champions: or, All in the Game

“Let’s keep away,” said Diamond. “I’ll risk Hodge. I haven’t known him long, but he strikes me as a terror.”

The fight lasted some time, and it was fast and furious. At last, it was seen that Hodge was getting the best of it. He would not take a mean advantage of his enemy, but he pressed Addison, who began to weaken. Bart got in some heavy blows, occasionally knocking Addison off his feet.

“Will you give up?” he demanded. “I don’t want to use you too rough. Give up, old fellow – give up!”

Addison made a last spurt of rage, but he was knocked down, and Hodge stood over him, ready to thump him again if he tried to rise.

“Will you give up now?” Bart demanded.

“Yes,” came the reluctant reply. “Don’t strike me again! You are too much for me.”

“That settles it. Get up and we’ll shake hands.”

But Addison refused to shake hands after he got upon his feet.

“You have won the fight,” he confessed, wiping the blood from his face with a handkerchief, “but I hate you just as much as I did before. I won’t shake hands with anybody I hate.”

“I don’t blame you a bit,” said Bart, at once. “I wouldn’t do it if I were in your place; but I don’t hold any hard feelings, though, to tell the truth, I might if you had licked me. I’m going to my room, and see if I can get myself in shape to dance again. So long.”

Then, tossing on his coat and vest, he sauntered away toward the hotel, leaving the defeated Blue Cove lad on the ball ground.

Addison put on his coat, muttering to himself:

“Oh, I hate all of that Yale crowd! I can’t wait any longer! I don’t believe they’ll have time to get another boat before the race. I’ll do the job now!”

As he started away, Diamond whispered to Spencer:

“That fellow is up to something crooked. Let’s watch him.”

“All right,” nodded Kent.

They followed Addison, and saw him go down back of the boathouse, where he stripped off all his clothing and prepared to go into the water.

“I think I know what he is up to,” declared Kent. “Come with me.”

Taking care not to be seen by Addison, the two boys made their way to the door of the boathouse, where Spencer produced a key and hastily admitted them, closing the door cautiously when they were inside.

“Here,” whispered the Blue Cove stroke, “we’ll hide in this corner. If I am right, Addison is coming in here for something.”

They crouched in a corner and waited. Before long there was a splash of water in the slip and a blowing sound, as if a diver had just come to the surface.

With his lips close to Diamond’s ear, Spencer gently whispered:

“Just as I thought! He dived from the outside and came under the door, which is closed.”

Then the intruder was heard pulling himself out of the water, and the eyes of the crouching lads, having become accustomed to the darkness of the place, saw a form moving about.

Addison went into the clubroom, soon returning. Then he struck a match and lighted a lamp.

“There are no windows in this part,” he muttered. “The light won’t be seen.”

The light shone on his wet and dripping body. The watching boys, hushing their breathing, for fear they would be detected, watched his every movement.

“There’s the boat,” Addison grated, glaring at the handsome new shell of the visitors. “I’ll soon spoil its beauty!”

Then he went to the wall and took down from some brackets an ax, with which he approached the boat. There was a glare in his eyes, and his pale face was contorted with rage.

“Now! he cried, I’ll do the job!”

He raised the ax.

“Stop!”

Out leaped Spencer and Diamond, and the ax was torn from Addison’s hand before he could carry out his dastardly design.

CHAPTER XVIII – THE RACE

The race was on at last. At the crack of the pistol, the three boats had jumped away, Alexandria taking a lead of half a length by a quick start. The course was straightaway down the river, but against the tide.

A large crowd had assembled near the start and the finish to watch the race. Those at the starting point cheered wildly as the boats shot away.

Alexandria rowed with short, snappy strokes that made the boat jump, jump, jump all the time. The strokes of the Blue Cove crew and the Yale Combine were much alike.

Toots was coxswain in the Yale boat, and proud indeed he was of the position. His black face shone with delight.

On the river was a small steam launch that was loaded with admirers of the Alexandria crew. They waved hand and hats and shouted like a lot of wild Indians when they saw the Alexandria boat increase its lead so that clear water could be seen between it and the other boats.

With a regular, long swinging stroke, the other boats kept side by side for a time. Then Frank’s crew began to gain slightly on the Blue Cove lads.

Steadily Merriwell drove them on. He did not attempt a stiff spurt so soon, but forced them gradually, drawing away from Blue Cove. Soon the Yale boat was close behind that of Alexandria. The latter spurted, and then it was that Frank held close, like a leech, determined not to permit the crew from up the river any further advantage.

The stroke of the Yale crew was strong and steady, sending the boat through the water at high speed. Before a mile had been made the short stroke of the Alexandria men was beginning to tell on them.

And Blue Cove was clinging in a remarkable manner, for all of the fact that it had lost one of its best men at the last moment. Anson Addison, caught in the dastardly attempt to ruin Merriwell’s boat, had been dropped from the crew and expelled from the club.

In vain Spencer had urged Noel Spudd to take Addison’s place in the boat. Spudd longed to do so, but did not dare disobey his father to such an extent.

So another and far less valuable man was substituted, and Blue Cove felt that it had very little show of winning the race.

“You must save us, Merriwell,” said Kent Spencer, a few moments before the start was made.

“I am sure we’ll do our best,” nodded Frank.

The shouts of the Alexandria crowd on the launch became less and less confident as the Yale boat was seen to creep up on the leader. At last it lapped Alexandria. Then, despite the most desperate efforts of the crew from up the river, the Yale boat crept alongside and gradually took the lead.

On an elevated bank near the finishing point a crowd was seen. The ones assembled there were all aflutter with excitement.

Blue Cove was doing good work. Up beside Alexandria the boat was stealing, and it was plain that a most exciting finish would be made.

The cheering on the launch had ceased. It was keeping near the Yale boat, and, in the midst of his work, Frank heard a familiar voice declaring:

“They can’t win to-day – not much! The race is not over yet!”

Harlow was on the launch.

But it seemed plain enough to everybody that the Yale boat would cross the finish more than two lengths ahead of the others, for it was gaining rapidly now.

The crowd on shore was cheering, and it was a scene of wild excitement.

Suddenly something whizzed through the air and struck the water. Then there was an explosion, and the entire forward end of the Yale boat was blown to pieces!

The boat filled immediately, and the crew was in the water, while the other boats shot past and crossed the line together, it being difficult to tell which was leading.

“One of the greatest races ever rowed on the river,” declared Kent Spencer in the boathouse that evening. “You Yale chaps would have won easily if it hadn’t been for that bomb that ruined your boat. As it was, that put you out of the race, and we got over the finish a little in advance of Alexandria. Blue Cove still holds the championship.”

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the delighted lads.

“It’s lucky there were boats ready to give us a lift,” said Jack Diamond. “Hans was floundering about like a maniac, and – ”

“Who told me so?” cried the Dutch boy. “Dot Bodomac Rifer vater vos der thinnest sduff dot efer tried to valk on me. Id don’d seem unaple to subbort me ven I tried to svim oudt der shore to. I sunk der pottom to shust like you vos von sdick uf vood.”

“Where is Browning?” asked Fred Dobbs.

“Oh, he’s in the hotel, having a chill,” laughed Rattleton. “The plunge in the river brought on the ague again.”

“I don’t suppose there is any doubt as to the identity of the fellow who threw the bomb?” said Noel Spudd, questioningly.

“Not a bit of it!” exclaimed Bart Hodge. “Miss Bellwood and Miss Spencer both saw him when he did the trick. He was on the steam launch. Miss Bellwood was looking at him through field glasses, and she is ready to swear it was Rolf Harlow.”

“In that case,” said Spudd, “I presume Mr. Merriwell will see that the fellow is punished, if he is arrested?”

“Bet your life on it!” cried Diamond. “Merry means to put Harlow where the birds won’t peck him. That chap has given Merry trouble enough.”

“Anyway,” said Kent Spencer, “we want you fellows to stay at Blue Cove a while longer. We’ve had more sport since you struck the Cove than ever before.”

“Had to glear it – I mean glad to hear it,” said Rattleton. “But you haven’t had any more sport than we have. It’s been the jolliest time of the whole trip for me, and as for Merriwell, Diamond and Hodge – well, there are attractions enough to keep them here the rest of their lives.”

“The only gal I ever was able to ketch was away aout in Forth Wuth, Texis,” put in Ephraim, grinning. “I kainder knocked the spots aout of a feller that was cuffin’ her brother some, an’ she stuck to me zif I was kivered all over with mewsledge. She was a peach, too, b’jee! Some time I’m goin’ back aout there an’ ax her will she splice to me. Ef she’ll have me, I’ll have her quicker’n a cat kin wink her eye.”

“Vale,” said Hans, with unusual sadness, “I don’t peen aple to had a girl catch me. Vot vos der madder, somehow? Don’d I peen peautiful py my faces?”

“Oh, yes!” cried Rattleton; “you are a perfect chromo! I don’t understand why all the girls are not trying to catch you.”

“Mebbe you understood dot shust as pad as I did. I sed ub nighds dryin’ to haf dot vigger me out vot id vos, but now I don’d knew so much apoud id as you did pefore.”

Frank Merriwell came bounding into the room, waving a scrap of yellow paper over his head.

“A dispatch!” he cried. “It was just brought me from the nearest station. Harlow has been arrested in Alexandria!”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the boys.

“Will you appear against him?” asked Harry of Frank.

“I think I ought to.”

“Certainly,” came from several of the Blue Cove boys.

The matter was talked over for half an hour, and then Frank set off for the jail in which Harlow had been confined.

On the day following the rascal was brought out for a hearing.

He was held for trial and bail was placed at several thousand dollars.

As he could find nobody to go his bondsman he was compelled to remain in jail for the time being.

The boys of the Yale Combine remained with their friends for two days more. During that time Frank saw Elsie twice, and when the pair parted it was with a promise to write every week or oftener.

The combine got a rousing cheer on leaving Blue Cove, the celebration being fully equal to that participated in at Lake Lily.

“Virginia is all right,” said Frank to Jack. “I don’t wonder that you are proud of your mother State.”

The tour now led northward, toward New York, and two days later found the boys in the southeastern portion of Pennsylvania.

Here the roads were found to be fairly good, and they took again to their bicycles, but taking their time, for Bruce and Hans absolutely refused to hurry.

“The boat race nearly killed me,” growled the big fellow. “Give me a chance to recover.”

As for Hans, he wanted to stop and eat five or six times in every twenty-four hours.

“Dot draining vos make me empty by mine heels up,” he declared. “You could eat me mine own head off alretty, ain’t it?”

On one occasion Frank felt like spurting ahead and did so. He was quickly joined by Barney, and the two kept it up until they were well out of sight of the rest of the crowd.

“Sure an’ this tickles me to death,” observed Barney. “Me wheel acts loike grased lightning, bedad!”

“I love a spurt myself,” replied Frank. “Especially when my wheel is just in proper trim.”

They had passed over a slight rise and were now on a down grade where coasting became a double pleasure. There was a wood on either side of the road, with great trees interlocking their branches high overhead.

“Listen!” cried Frank, presently. “What is that?”

“Sure an’ somebody is gettin’ a drubbin’,” replied Barney. “Come on, we’ll see who it is!”

“Confound the beast!” came the cry from a curve ahead. “I will teach the beast how to mind!”

And then followed more blows, mingled with a low cry in a female voice.

Rounding the curve, Frank and Barney saw a man and a girl who were mounted on handsome horses. The man was belaboring with his riding whip the horse he bestrode, while the animal danced about, refusing to go ahead.

At every blow of the whip the horse under the girl started in fear, trembling and snorting. She was obliged to give him much of her attention, but she sharply called to the man:

“Don’t whip Firefoot that way, Cousin Stephen! He is not used to your harsh ways, and – ”

“I’ll make him used to them!” grated the man, his face flushed with anger. “He is a miserable brute anyway!”

“But not half such a brute as the man on his back!” muttered Frank.

“Roight ye are, me b’y,” agreed Barney. “It’s a foine lookin’ crayther he’s batin’ there.”

“And a fine creature it is,” declared Frank; “but it will not take long to spoil it in that way. The fellow doesn’t know how to ride, and he has confused the horse between yanking and whipping it. It’s likely the creature stopped and began to rear and back because it did not know what its rider wanted.”

The sight of the approaching bicycles seemed to startle the horse more than ever, and it bolted out of the road with its rider, who was nearly swept from the saddle by an overhanging limb.

Again the man fiercely applied the whip. Then he, too, saw the bicyclists, and cried to them in a snarling voice:

“What do you mean by riding along here like this? You chaps have no right in the road, anyway! Can’t you see you have frightened this horse?”

That brought a touch of warm color to the handsome face of our hero, but his voice was calm and steady as he retorted:

“We have as much right on the public highway as you. The trouble with your horse is that you have abused and frightened it. You are not a fit person to ride a horse or have any dealings with one.”

That seemed to make the man more frantic than ever. He tried to force the horse at Frank, but the creature shyed at the wheel, so the rider did not accomplish his design of riding Merriwell down.

With a muttered cry of anger, the man struck at Frank with his whip, and the lash fell upon the boy’s shoulder, so that he felt the sting through his coat.

Then of a sudden, away leaped the horse, nearly unseating its rider. The girl followed.

“Confound him,” muttered Merriwell, watching the retreating figure of the horseman.

“May th’ Ould Nick floy away wid him!” cried Barney. “Did he hurrut yez, Frankie?”

“No. If he had, I might be tempted to follow him. Let him go. It is plain he thinks he is a blue blood and owns the earth. What he really needs is a sound thrashing.”

“An’ ye’re th’ b’y to give him thot, Frankie!”

“I want no quarrel with him, though it did make me hot to see him lash that horse. Look at him now! See him bob in the saddle and saw at the reins! He will ruin the mouth of that horse, as well as spoil its temper. It’s a shame!”

“So it is!” nodded Barney.

The man and girl disappeared from view, and gradually the sound of the galloping horses died out in the distance.

CHAPTER XIX – A RESCUE ON THE ROAD

Frank and Barney rode along leisurely.

“The mouth of a horse, until it is spoiled by bad usage, is a very delicate thing,” declared Frank. “As a common thing the mouth of a horse is ruined before the creature is seven years old. In order to preserve its natural delicacy, the right sort of a bit must be used and the reins must be handled gingerly. A heavy hand will ruin a good mouth in a short time, but not one man in fifty can drive with a light hand. The man who saws on the reins has no business in the saddle. If I owned that black horse it would take the price of the animal to induce me to let such a rider mount him for a ten-mile canter.”

“But whin a crayther runs away, thin phwat’re yez goin’ to do?” asked the Irish lad. “Ye’ve got ter yank him up, me b’y.”

“Not at all, Barney. Yanking and sawing are vile practices.”

“Thin how do yez be afther holdin’ the b’aste?”

“There is a trick in holding a horse with a light hand. Proof of this is that some of the most famous jockeys, although slight and weak, can control and hold horses which would run away with strong men, and could not be sawed or yanked into submission. The best jockeys are never seen leaning back in the saddle, pulling and sawing to hold their horses.”

“Oi belave it’s roight ye are, me b’y,” nodded the Irish youth, after a moment, “although Oi niver thought av it before.”

“Take notice of it on race tracks hereafter. Horses are apt to behave better with women, if they are skillful, for women commonly have lighter hands than men. That fellow did not know how to ride, for all that the horse did not throw him when it jumped sideways or started ahead. It’s ten to one he thinks himself an expert rider, but he is a bungler, for, besides having a bad hand, he did not sit well in the saddle. When the horse started suddenly he was forced to support himself somewhat by a hard pull on the reins, a thing that never should be done. A good rider has a seat low in the saddle, which he grips with his knees and thighs, keeps his back straight, keeps his elbows, and hands down, and varies the force on the reins only for the purpose of controlling his horse, and not for steadying himself.”

Barney gave Frank a glance of wonder. He saw that Merriwell was warming to his subject and growing enthusiastic.

“Oi don’t understhand it!” muttered the son of the Emerald Isle.

Frank gave him a quick glance of surprise.

“Don’t understand what?” he asked. “I thought I was talking plain enough.”

“Ye wur, me b’y – ye wur! It’s how ye know so much about iverything thot puzzles Barney Mulloy. If there’s iver a thing ye’re not posted on Oi dunno pwhat it is. Ye can talk about iverything, an’ ye can tell me more in a minute thin Oi iver knew. How do ye foind it all out, Frankie?”

Frank laughed.

“I’ll tell you, Barney,” he said. “Some years ago I made up my mind that I couldn’t know too much, and I resolved to find out all about everything that came beneath my notice. Since then I have practiced the art of observation and investigation. That is the way I have found out about things. It is one way of obtaining an education. Lots of fellows are not able to go to college, but they can keep their eyes and ears open and lay up a store of practical knowledge that will be of the greatest use to them in all probability. Of course many of the things I have investigated and found out about may not be of value to me at any time during my life; but there is no telling what will be of value and what will not. All my life I have taken an interest in horses, and it is but natural that I should find out as much as possible concerning them. If this had not been the case, I could not have astonished the cowboys by my horsemanship during this trip. They regarded me as the most remarkable tenderfoot they had ever seen, and it all came from the fact that I had found and improved an opportunity to ride, shoot and throw the lasso. I didn’t learn those things without some trouble, but trouble doesn’t cut any ice with me when I set out to do a thing.”

“Well, it’s not ivery fellow can put hissilf out to learn all about th’ things he says.”

“He can if he will. The trouble is that he sees things without thinking of learning anything about them. If he begins to cultivate the habit of investigation it will grow on him, and it will not be long before he will discover the value of some of the knowledge thus obtained. Try it, Barney.”

“Begobs, Oi will! Oi niver thought av it before, but it’s mesilf thot’ll be after trying it. Did yez notice th’ girrul wid thot horse-bater, Frankie?”

“Yes. Rather pretty, I thought.”

“It’s a p’ache she wur, me b’y!” enthusiastically declared the Irish lad. “It’s not plazed she wur wid th’ way th’ spalpane wur b’atin’ th’ poor b’aste.”

They came out of the wood to the open country, and a beautiful stretch of country lay before them.

Of a sudden, Barney gave an exclamation:

“Look there, Frankie!” he cried, pointing.

Along the road from a distance, coming toward them at a mad and furious gallop, was a horse, bearing a girl, who was vainly trying to hold the frightened animal.

In pursuit of the runaway was a man who was fiercely lashing another horse, and Frank recognized this animal even before he did the rider.

It was the handsome black horse that the stranger had been maltreating in the wood, and its rider was the same hot-tempered young man.

The girl on the runaway was his companion.

Instantly Frank seemed to understand what had happened.

“The fool!” burst from his lips. “He has kept at his own horse till the one the girl is riding has been frightened and is running away with her. She may be thrown and killed!”

Without loss of time, Frank turned about, so he was heading in the same direction as the runaway horse, which was coming behind him.

“Pwhat are yez goin’ to do?” cried Barney.

“I am going to stop that runaway horse if I am built right!” returned Frank, with grim determination.

“Look out – look out, there!”

The man in pursuit of the runaway shouted to the boys.

Barney was not given time to turn about. He tried to do so, but in his haste and confusion, ran out of the road into the ditch, and was forced to dismount. Before he could get into the saddle again the frightened horse was bearing the girl past.

The Irish boy caught a glimpse of her face, from which the warm color had fled. Her lips were pressed firmly together, and there was a look of fear in her dark eyes; but she was doing her very best to check the frightened horse, although the animal had the bit in his teeth, and her gloved hands seemed unable to do but little to restrain him.

A thought of Frank’s theories concerning a “light hand” for driving flashed through Barney’s head, but he instantly realized that this was an exceptional occasion. Even brute strength might not avail now.

Then how did Merry expect to check the runaway?

The Irish youth saw his friend, who was pedaling swiftly along the road, glance over his shoulder at the approaching runaway. Then Barney held his breath, wondering what Frank would do, but feeling that he was bound to make some desperate attempt to stop the horse.

Frank was pedaling along at high speed when the runaway reached his side. He swerved toward the horse, crying to the girl:

“Hold fast, if he swings sideways suddenly! Don’t let him pitch you out of the saddle.”

She nodded that she understood. She realized that this daring young cyclist was going to try to check the horse.

Frank was close to the animal’s head, and then Barney saw him reach out swiftly and grasp the bit. A moment later Merriwell was torn from the saddle and carried along, dangling at the head of the runaway.

“Hurro!” shouted Barney. “It’s just loike th’ b’y! It’s niver a bit is he afraid av anything at all, at all!”

With a death grip, Frank clung to the bit, knowing he might receive fatal injuries beneath the feet of the horse if his hold was broken. With his other hand he reached up and obtained a hold. He lifted his feet so they did not touch the ground, and, within three seconds, the speed of the runaway slackened.

Then, still clinging, Frank talked to the horse softly, soothingly, reassuringly. His words were snatched out sometimes, sometimes broken, but there was nothing in the sound of his voice to add to the fears of the frightened animal. Instead, there was something to calm and quiet the frantic creature.