Frank Merriwell's Backers: or, The Pride of His Friends

"That explains it!" said Merry, in deep disgust. "The old dog is drunk as a lord! That's how we happen to have the pleasure of finding him asleep. I'll give any man fifty dollars who will catch him asleep when he is perfectly sober."

"What a picture he doth present!" said Ready. "Look upon it! And yet there is something in it to bring sadness to the heart. Behold how tenderly he doth hold the long-necker to his manly buzzum! 'Tis thus that many a chap hugs a destroyer to his heart."

"The old sinner!" said Hodge. "I don't see how he got here without arousing any of us. There's his horse, picketed near the other animals."

Frank stooped and tried to take the bottle from Joe's clasp, but the sleeping Indian held it fast.

"Go heap better five dol's," he muttered in his sleep.

"He's still playing poker," said Frank.

He gave Crowfoot a hard shake.

"Wake up, you copper-colored sot!" he cried. "Wake up and see what you've got in your hands."

"Four king," mumbled Joe thickly. "Heap good!"

At this the boys laughed heartily.

"That's a pretty good hand!" said Frank. "It takes four aces or a straight flush to beat it."

Then he wrenched the bottle away, whereupon the redskin awoke at once.

"Mine! mine!" he exclaimed, sitting up.

"It's poison," said Frank, and smashed the bottle.

With a snarl of fury, the Indian staggered to his feet and made for Merry, drawing a wicked-looking knife.

"Look out!" cried Gallup, in consternation.

Frank leaped to meet old Joe, clutching his wrists and holding him helpless, while he gazed sternly into the bloodshot eyes of the drunken old man.

"What's this, Crowfoot?" he demanded. "Would you strike Strong Heart with a knife? Would you destroy the brother of Indian Heart? Has the poison firewater of the white man robbed you of your senses?"

"Firewater Joe's!" exclaimed the redskin. "No right to spill um! No right! No right!"

"I did it for your own good, Crowfoot," said Merry quietly. "You are in bad shape now. I want you to come out of it. You may be able to help us. What you need is a good drink of water."

"Ugh! Water heap good. Joe he take some."

Immediately Frank released the old man's wrists, and Joe slipped his knife out of sight with something like a show of shame.

In another moment Merry had his canteen, filled it at the spring, and handed it to Crowfoot, who gravely took it and began to drink. The boys stood around, and their eyes bulged as the old man held the canteen to his mouth, tipping it more and more skyward, a deep gurgling coming from his throat. He continued to drink until the canteen was quite emptied, when he lowered it with perfect gravity, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and observed:

"Joe him a little dry!"

"Well, I should say so!" smiled Frank. "Your interior must have been as parched as an alkali desert, Joe."

"If he takes many drinks like that," said Ready, with a queer twist of his mug, "there'll be a drought in this country that will make an ordinary dry spell look like a back number."

Crowfoot did not smile. Giving back the canteen, he sat down on the ground, resting his elbows on his knees and taking his head in his hands. He was the picture of misery and dejection.

"Injun big fool!" he groaned. "Last night feel much good; to-day feel a lot bad. Big pain in head."

"We've all been there many's the time," sang Jack Ready softly.

Then the eccentric chap sat down on the ground beside the redskin, about whom he placed an arm.

"Joseph," he said, "methinks I know how it is! I have felt that way heap often. Ugh! Sick all over."

Joe grunted.

"Nothing worth living for."

Another grunt.

"Much rather be dead with the beautiful daisies growing on my grave than living in such misery."

Again a grunt.

"Internal organs all out of gear, stomach on a strike, head bigger than a barrel. Are those the symptoms, Joseph?"

"Much so," confessed old Joe.

"Joseph, you have my sympathy. You've never been to college, but you have received part of a college education. I have taken my degree in that branch. I'm a P. M. of J. C. – Past Master of Jag Carriers. But I have reformed, and now 'lips that touch wine shall never touch mine.' Joseph, I would reclaim you. I would woo you tenderly from the jag path that leadeth to destruction. It is broad and inviting at first, but toward the finish it is rough, and hubbly, and painful to travel. Pause while there is yet time. My heart yearns to save you from destruction. Listen to the pearly words of wisdom, that drop from my sweet lips. Shun the jag juice and stick to the water-wagon. Heed this advice and your days shall be long ere you pass to the happy hunting-grounds."

"Heap talk a lot," said Joe; "no say anything. Make Injun lot sicker!"

Gallup laughed heartily, slapping his knee.

"That's right, by gum!" he cried. "The wind blows ev'ry time Jack opens his maouth."

"You are jealous," said Ready. "You are jealous of my wisdom and eloquence. Get thee behind me, Nose Talk! Your face is painful to look upon."

"Don't you go to makin' that kind of gab!" snapped Gallup. "If yeou do, dinged if I don't jolt ye one in the slats!"

"Such language! Slats! I'm shocked! Never have you heard words of slang ripple from my tuneful vocal chords. I disdain such frivolity! Slang gives me a pain! Go lay down!"

"Lay!" snorted Ephraim. "I'm no hen!"

"Let's have breakfast," said Hodge. "We may as well get on the move before it grows too hot."

It did not take long to prepare breakfast, but old Joe seemed to grow ill at the sight of food. All he wanted was water, and he threatened to drink the weak little spring dry. After a time, he seemed more inclined to talk.

"No ketch Cim'r'n Bill?" he said.

"So you found out we were after him?" said Frank.

"Ugh!" nodded the Indian. "Joe no big fool only when firewater is to get. He play poke', all time him keep ear open. Mebbe him learn a whole lot."

"It's quite likely. If you had been with us yesterday, we might have stuck to Bill's trail. Now it is lost, and he may get away."

"Crowfoot he know how find Bill."

"What's that? You know how to find him?"

"Ugh!"

"Well, that is interesting, for I am bound to find him. I gave Ben File my word to bring Bill back, and I'm going to keep that promise. If you can help – "

"You bet!" grunted Joe.

"How did you find out so much?"

"Joe him take drink in saloon. Keep much careful not git full. Make um believe so. Go sleep. Hear men talk in whisper. Waugh! Find out a heap."

"Well, you're a clever old rascal!" cried Merry; "and I'm in love with you!"

"Joe him play game pritty slick," said the Indian. "Same time him get one, two, three drink. That bad. Make um want heap more. Make um take firewater when um git out town."

"So you really got drunk because you were trying to do me a good turn?" said Merry. "Joe, I appreciate it! But what did you hear?"

"Bill him go to Sunk Hole."

"Sunk Hole?" cried Frank. "That place?"

"Where's that?" asked Hodge, who was deeply interested.

"Down in the White Mountain region, near the head of Coyote Creek."

"Why did you exclaim, 'That place?'"

"Because it is a camp made up of the worst characters to be found in the Southwest. It is a place without law and order of any sort. Murderers, gamblers, and knaves in general flee there when in danger. They are banded together to defy the law. Travelers who happen into that wretched place seldom come forth. At times the ruffians quarrel among themselves and shoot and kill with impunity. The people of the Territory have more than once asked that the place be invaded by troops and wiped off the map. It is a standing disgrace."

"An' Cimarron Bill has gone there?" asked Ephraim Gallup, his eyes bulging.

"So Joe says."

"Waal, I ruther guess yeou'll take a couple of thinks afore ye foller him any furder."

"I shall follow him into Sunk Hole if I live!" declared Merry grimly; "and I mean to bring him out of the place, dead or alive. I do not ask the rest of you to risk your lives with me. You are at liberty to turn back. Joe – "

"Him stick by Strong Heart!" declared the old Indian quickly. "You bet!"

"Thank you, Joe!" said Frank. "I shall need you to show me the road to the place, for I have heard Sunk Hole is not easy to find."

"I hope," said Bart Hodge quietly, "that you do not fancy for a moment that I'm not going with you? I don't think you would insult me, Frank, by entertaining such a thought. I shall be with you through thick and thin."

"Dear me!" said Ready. "How brave you are! Please stand in the glow of the limelight where we can admire your heroic pose! La! la! You are a sweet creature, and one to make the matinée girls rave with adoration."

"Don't get so funny!" growled Hodge, who always took Ready's chaffing with poor grace.

"Softly! softly!" smiled Jack, with a flirt of his hand. "Let not your angry passions rise. You can't play the bold and fearless hero any better than can your humble servant. I'm in this, and you want to watch me and note what a bold front I put on. I'll wager a lead nickle you will begin to think me utterly fearless, and all the while, beyond a doubt, I'll be shaking in my boots. Oh, I can make an excellent bluff when I have to."

"Bluff heap good sometime," said Crowfoot. "Mebbe bluff take pot."

"But it's a mighty poor thing if the other fellow suspects and calls," said Jack.

"Waal," drawled Gallup, "darn my punkins! I s'pose I'm in fer it, but I kinder wisht I was to hum on the farm."

Frank knew the Vermonter well enough not to fancy by those words that Ephraim was badly frightened. It was Gallup's way of expressing himself, and, even though he might be afraid in advance, the tall, lank fellow always showed up well "in a pinch."

"Then it's settled," said Merry. "We all go."

"Joe him not talk all he find out," put in the Indian.

"Is there more? Well, give it to us quick. There are many miles of alkali between here and Sunk Hole."

"Joe him hear men whisper 'bout gal."

"Eh? About a girl?"

"Ugh!"

"Then it must be about June Arlington? What did they say?"

"Mebbe Bill him know where she is."

"What?" cried Merry, clutching the redskin by the arm. "Is that possible?"

"Reckon um heap so."

"Then there is a double reason why I should get my hands on Cimarron Bill!"

"Mebbe Joe he no hear right; no could ketch all men whisper. He think gal she be took to Sunk Hole."

Frank reeled, his face going white.

"Merciful Heaven!" he gasped. "June Arlington, innocent little June! in that dreadful place? Come, fellows, we must go! June Arlington there? The thought is horrifying! If that is true, Cimarron Bill may go free until I can do my best to get June out of that sink of wickedness! Come, fellows – come!"

"We are ready!" they cried, in response.

CHAPTER XXX.

FRANK IN SUNK HOLE

The Great Dipper indicated by its position that the hour was not far from midnight. Crowfoot halted and pointed downward, where, in the gloom of a round valley, a few lights twinkled.

"Sunk Hole!" he said.

"At last!" breathed Frank.

The others stood in silence, looking down at those lights. Suddenly they started, for to their ears came the sound of music, dimly heard because of the distance.

"Perchance my ears deceive me," said Ready; "but I fancy I hear the soothing strains of a fiddle."

"Sure as fate!" exclaimed Bart Hodge.

"Listen!" cautioned Merry.

There were other sounds, a sing-song cry at intervals, and then hoarse laughter and several wild whoops.

"By gum!" exclaimed Gallup. "Saounds jest like one of them air country dances they uster hev over to Billing's Corners, Varmount. The boys called them 'hog wrastles.'"

"See," said Merry, "there is one place that seems more brightly lighted than the others. It's right in the center of the other lights. Fellows, I believe there is a dance going on down there!"

"Just what I'm beginning to think," said Bart.

"My! my! How nice!" exclaimed Jack. "Let's go right down and get into it! Balance your partners all! All hands around! Let her sizzle!"

"That would be a splendid place for you to get into a dance!" said Frank sarcastically.

"But a dance there!" exclaimed Hodge.

"It does seem mighty strange," agreed Frank. "Still something of the kind is going on. Hear 'em yell!"

And now they could faintly hear the sound of feet keeping time to the music.

"We've struck this place in a most excellent time to get into it," said Merry. "I suppose one of us ought to go back and watch the horses."

The horses had been left in a little pocket some distance behind and they had climbed on foot to the point where they could look down into the round valley.

"No need watch um now," said Joe. "Um hosses all picket fast. We go down there, better go quick."

"Correct," agreed Frank. "Just show us how to get down."

"Follow," said the redskin. "Take heap care."

The path over which he led them, if path it may be called, was precarious enough. At times they felt that they were on the edge of some precipice, with a great fall lying beneath. But the aged redskin went forward with surprising swiftness, causing them all to strain every nerve to keep up with him, and in time he brought them down into the valley.

"Take lot care," cautioned Crowfoot. "Have guns reddy. No can tell. May have to use um 'fore git out."

"It's quite likely," said Merry grimly.

So they all made sure that their pistols could be drawn quickly and readily, and then they crept toward the dark huts, from the windows of which lights gleamed.

The sounds of fiddling and dancing grew plainer and plainer. Now and then a shout would awake the echoes.

"Where do they find their 'ladies' for a dance?" asked Hodge wonderingly.

"Oh, there are a few women in this hole," answered Merry. "Perhaps others have come in."

They reached the first hut and paused where they could peer along the street, if such it could be called, for the huts had been built here and there, so that the road between them zig-zagged like a drunken man.

In the very center of the place was the building, somewhat larger than its neighbors, from which came the sounds of revelry. Doors and windows were wide open. The music having stopped, there might be heard a hum of voices, and then the wild, reckless laugh of a woman floated out upon the night air.

Frank shuddered a little as he heard the sound, which, to his ears, was more pitiful and appalling than any cry of distress that could fall from female lips.

"Poor creature!" he thought. "To what depths has she fallen!"

They went forward again, slipping around a corner, and Merry stumbled and fell over the body of a man that was lying prone on the ground.

"Hold on!" he whispered. "Let's see what we have here. It's a man, but I wonder if he is living or dead."

He knelt and felt for the man's heart.

"Living all right," he declared; "but dead in one sense – dead drunk! Whew! what a vile smell of liquor!"

"Let him lie," said Hodge.

"I have a fancy to take a peep at him," said Frank. "Hold still. I want a match. I have one."

Bringing out a match, he struck it and shaded it with his hands, throwing the light on the prostrate man.

The light of the match showed them that the fellow was an unusually large Mexican, dressed after the custom of his people in somewhat soiled finery.

"Dead to the world!" sighed Jack Ready softly.

The match died out in Frank's fingers, but Merry did not rise.

"What are you doing?" asked Jack. "Are you accumulating his valuables?"

"Hardly," said Merry. "I'm thinking."

"Can such a thing make you think! What is passing in your massive brain?"

"I have an idea."

"That's more than Ready ever hed," muttered Gallup.

"Fellows," said Frank, "this man's clothes ought to be a fairly good fit for me."

"Well, what of it?"

"I'm going to wear them. Get hold here, and we'll carry him aside where there'll be little chance that any one will stumble upon us. Let's move lively."

They did as directed, although wondering why Frank should wish to exchange clothes with the drunken Mexican.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE DANCE IN SUNK HOLE

A low-ceiled room with a bar at the end near the door. The odor of smoke, liquor, and perspiration. The place lighted with oil-lamps having dirty chimneys. The lights of the lamps dancing and flaring to the stamp of many heavy-shod feet. A maze of human beings whirling, shifting, prancing, and cutting figures on the floor. Rough-looking men, bearded and armed; disheveled women, their faces glowing with excitement and from the effects of drink. At the far end of the room an old man, mounted on a square box and seated on a chair, sawing away for dear life at his fiddle, while he called the figures in a sing-song tone.

And this was the way the fiddler called:

"First couple balance and swing,Promenade the inside ring,Promenade the outside ring,Balance and swing and cast off six,Ladies to the right and gents to the left.Swing the one you swung before,Down the center and cast off four,Swing the one that comes to you,Down the center and cast off two."

The men were such as most women would avoid. With few exceptions, they had wicked faces. They had been drinking, and at intervals some elated and enthusiastic fellow would utter a blood-curdling yell.

But the figures they cut were laughable at times. They "spanked 'er down" furiously. They seized their partners and swung them until often they were lifted off their feet. But those were not the sort of women to mind.

Three or four of the citizens of Sunk Hole were married. Two had daughters old enough to be present at the dance. Other "ladies" had come in from the surrounding country, brought there by their partners.

There were a number of Mexicans in the crowd, and three or four Mexican women.

Into this smoky room came yet another Mexican, a young man, dressed in soiled finery, his wide-brimmed high-peaked hat shading his face. He had a little mustache that was pointed on the ends, and he walked with a swagger. Immediately on entering he made for the bar and called for a drink.

Had any one been watching him closely that person must have noticed that he did not drink the stuff put out to him, but slyly and deftly tossed the contents of the glass into a corner under the bar.

This newcomer was Frank Merriwell, who had disguised himself as well as possible and boldly walked into this den of ruffians.

Having pretended to drink, Frank stood back in a retired spot and looked the dancers over.

In a moment his eyes fell on Cimarron Bill, who had a Mexican girl for a partner and was enjoying himself in his own peculiar way.

Frank knew it would not be safe to come face to face with Bill, although he saw at once that the desperado had been drinking heavily and could barely "navigate" through the mazes of the dance.

"Gents chassé and put on style,Resash and a little more style —Little more style, gents, little more style,"

sang the fiddler; and the dancers strictly obeyed the admonition by putting on all the style of which they were capable.

Under different circumstances Merry would have been amused by the spectacle; and even now, for all of his peril, he was greatly interested.

Cimarron Bill was not habitually a hard drinker, but on this occasion he had surprised everybody present by the amount of whisky he had imbibed. He seemed determined to get intoxicated, and it was plain that he was making a success of it.

Frank did not wish to dance if he could avoid it, knowing he might be brought face to face with Bill in the course of some of the figures.

All around the sides of the room men were leaning and looking on, some of them laughing and calling to various dancers.

"Go it, Seven Spot!"

"Spank it down, Dandy!"

"Steady, Pie Face! Your left hoof belongs to the church!"

"See Honeydew! He's a holy terror!"

"Watch Lanky Jim cut a pigeon wing!"

"Say, Big Kate can dance some! You bet your boots!"

"Hi! hi! There goes Sweet William, plumb off his pins!"

Now the fiddler was calling:

"First lady out to the right;Swing the man that stole the sheep,Now the one that packed it home,Now the one that eat the meat,Now the one that gnawed the bones."

Frank found an opportunity to slip along the wall toward the back of the room. No one seemed to pay any attention to him until he accidentally stepped on a big fellow's foot. Instantly he was given a shove, and the man growled:

"What in thunder ails ye, you yaller-skinned greaser? Keep off my corns, ur I'll make hash o' you with my toad-sticker!"

"Pardon, señor, pardon!" entreated Merry, in a soft voice, with an accent that seemed perfectly natural. "I deed not mean to do eet, señor."

"Ef I'd 'lowed ye did I'd sure slashed ye without no talk whatever!" was the retort.

Having no desire to get into trouble, Merry took great pains to avoid stepping on another foot, and he finally reached the point he sought. In the corner at the far end of the room there was not so much light. A bench ran along there, and Frank found a seat on it, where he could lean against the thin board partition, and he did not mind if some of the men stood up before him so that he was partly screened.

Merry knew full well that he had done a most reckless thing in entering that place, where all around him were ruffians and murderers; but there was something about the adventure that he relished, and the danger gave it a spice that was far from disagreeable.

He thanked his lucky stars that this dance had given him the opportunity to get in there without attracting any more attention.

"Meet your partner and all chaw hay,You know where and I don't care,Seat your partner in the old armchair."

That particular dance ended with this call from the fiddler; but there were no armchairs in which the ladies could be seated, and Merry crowded up into the corner in order to be as inconspicuous as possible and to escape being disturbed.

There was a general rush for the bar, the fiddler getting down from his box and hastening across the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Some of the women accompanied their partners to the bar and drank with them.

Such depravity was not pleasant to witness, and Merry felt pity for the fallen creatures. Sentiment, however, he sought to put aside, thinking only of the dangerous mission that had brought him into that nest of gambolling tigers.

Two men sat down near Merry. They had been dancing, and observed, with some lurid embellishments, that it was hot. Then one of them said something that interested Frank.

"Bill's goin' it a whole lot stiff to-night."

"That's whatever. Never saw him punish the razzle juice this way afore."

"You know why, mebbe."

"Waal, I opine he's some irked up over his mistake in Holbrook. First time he ever shot the wrong gent. He warn't gunnin' fer File. It was another galoot he was after."

"I jedge that's the matter with him. Bandy tried to joke him some about it, an' Bandy came mighty near gettin' his."

"Bandy's a dern fool! He should 'a' knowed better than to shoot off his mouth at Bill."

"I say so. But Bill he's a-playin' a right steep game in that thar gal business."

"Bill kin play his keerds. You let him alone."

"No danger o' me chippin' in. They say the gal's folks are a heap rich."

"I opine so, else Bill he'd never taken so much trouble over her."

"Oh, I dunno; she's the purtiest leetle thing I ever set my blinkers on. I 'lowed mebbe Bill was lookin' some fer a wife."

"Wife – northin'! He's lookin' fer the dust. Why, he sent word as how he'd skin the galoot what dared hurt her or even say somethin' impolite afore her."

"Let me tell you somethin'."

"Fire erway."

"Han'some Charley has seen that gal, an' I 'low he's taken a likin' to her a whole lot. Bill better look sharp, ur Charley will sure get away with her."

"I ain't the one to give Charley no advice, but if I were, I'd whisper fer him to think twice afore tryin' it."

"Charley's some clever. Look, thar he is a-drinkin' with Bill now. Say, pard, I've got an idee that Charley's doin' his best to load Bill to-night. If that's so, he's got somethin' up his sleeve, an' we want to look right sharp fer a breeze afore this dance is over. I'm goin' to stand ready to duck instanter when the shootin' begins."