Frank Merriwell's Backers; Or, The Pride of His Friends
Page 11
CHAPTER IX.
FRANK MAKES A DECISION.
Frank leaned against the door-jamb of his cabin and looked out into thesunny valley. To his ears came the roar of the stamp-mills of the mine,which was in full blast. Before him lay the mine-buildings about themouth of the tunnel, from which rich ore was being brought to be fed tothe greedy stamps.
It was now something like ten days since the ruffians under CimarronBill tried to carry the mine by assault.
Frank had remained watchful and alert, well knowing the nature ofCimarron Bill and believing he would not be content to abandon theeffort thus easily. Still the second attack, which he had so fullyexpected, had not come.
He was wondering now if the ruffians had given it up. Or had they beeninstructed by the trust to turn their attention to the San Pablo Mine?
If the latter was the case, Frank felt that they would find the SanPablo prepared. He had taken pains before hastening to the Queen Mysteryto fortify his mine in Mexico, leaving it in charge of a man whom hefully trusted.
Nevertheless, Frank felt that it would be far better were he able topersonally watch both mines at the same time. Just now he wasmeditating on the advisability of leaving the Queen Mystery andjourneying southward to the San Pablo.
As he thought this matter over, something seemed to whisper in his earthat such an action on his part was anticipated by the enemy, who werewaiting for him to make the move. Then, while he was away, they wouldagain descend on the Queen Mystery.
Again the old Indian, Crowfoot, had disappeared, after his usual manner,without telling Frank whither he was going. Merry knew he might be inthe vicinity, or he might be hundreds of miles away. Still, Joe had aremarkable faculty of turning up just when he was most needed.
Merry turned back into the little cabin, leaving the door open. He hadbeen feeling of his chin as he stood in the doorway, and now he thought:
"A shave will clean me up. Great Scott! but I'm getting a beard! Thisshaving is becoming a regular nuisance."
Indeed, Frank was getting a beard. Every day it seemed to grow heavierand thicker, and he found it necessary to shave frequently to maintainthat clean appearance in which he so greatly delighted.
Frank could wear old clothes, he could rough it with joy, he mindedneither wind nor weather, but personal cleanliness he always maintainedwhen such a thing was in any manner possible. To him a slovenly personwas offensive. He pitied the man or boy who did not know the pleasure ofbeing clean, and he knew it was possible for any one to be clean, nomatter what his occupation, provided he could obtain a cake of soap andsufficient water.
So Frank was shaving every day when possible. He now turned back intothe cabin and brought out his shaving-set. On the wall directly oppositethe open door hung a small square mirror, with a narrow shelf below it.
Here Merry made preparations for his shaving. Over a heater-lamp heprepared his water, whistling the air of the Boola Song. This tune madehim think of his old friends of Yale, some of whom he had not heard fromfor some time.
A year had not yet passed since he had gathered them and taken hisbaseball-team into the Mad River region to play baseball. In that briefspace of time many things had occurred which made it evident that neveragain could they all be together for sport. The days of mere sport werepast and over; the days of serious business had come.
Frank thought, with a sense of sadness, of Old Eli. Before him rose avision of the campus buildings, in his ears sounded the laughter andsongs, and he saw the line of fellows hanging on the fence, smokingtheir pipes and chaffing good-naturedly.
With some men it is a sad thing that they cannot look back with anygreat degree of pleasure on their boyhood and youth. They remember thatother boys seemed to have fine times, while they did not. Later, otheryouths chummed together and were hail-fellow-well-met, while theyseemed set aloof from these jolly associates. With Frank this was notso. He remembered his boyhood with emotions of the greatest pleasure,from the time of his early home life to his bidding farewell to Fardale.Beyond that even unto this day the joy of life made him feel that it wasa million fold worth living.
There are thousands who confess that they would not be willing to goback and live their lives over. Had the question been put to FrankMerriwell he would have said that nothing could give him greaterpleasure.
When the water was hot, Frank carefully applied his razor to the stropand made it sharp enough for his purpose. Then he arranged everythingneeded on the little shelf beneath the mirror.
Now, it is impossible to say what thing it was that led him to removehis revolver from the holster and place it on the shelf with the otherthings, but something caused him to do so.
Then he applied the lather to his face, and was about to use the razor,when he suddenly saw something in the mirror that led him to move withamazing quickness.
Behind him, at the open door, was a man with a rifle. This man, abearded ruffian, had crept up to the door with the weapon held ready foruse.
But for the fact that the interior of the cabin seemed somewhat gloomyto the eyes of the man, accustomed as they were to the bright glare ofthe sun outside, he might have been too swift for Frank.
Another thing added to Frank's fortune, and it was that he had drawn hisrevolver and placed the weapon on the little shelf in front of him. Forthis reason it was not necessary for him to reach toward the holster athis hip, an action which must have hurried the ruffian to the attemptedaccomplishment of his murderous design. For Merriwell had no doubt ofthe fellow's intention. He saw murder in the man's eyes and pose.
The rifle was half-lifted. In another moment Frank Merriwell would havebeen shot in the back in a most dastardly manner.
He snatched the revolver from the little shelf and fired over hisshoulder without turning his head, securing such aim as was possible bythe aid of the mirror into which he was looking. Frank had learned toshoot in this manner, and he could do so as skilfully as many of theexpert marksmen who gave exhibitions of fancy shooting throughout thecountry.
His bullet struck the hand of the man, smashing some of the ruffian'sfingers and causing him to drop the rifle.
Merry wheeled and strode to the door, his smoking revolver in his hand,a terrible look in his eyes.
The wretch was astounded by what had happened. Blood was streaming fromhis wounded hand. He saw Merriwell confront him with the ready pistol.
"You treacherous cur!" said Frank indignantly. "I think I'll finishyou!"
He seemed about to shoot the man down, whereupon the ruffian dropped onhis knees, begging for mercy.
"Don't--don't shoot!" he gasped, holding up his bleeding hand, "Don'tkill me!"
"Why shouldn't I? You meant to kill me."
"No, no--I swear----"
"Don't lie! Your soul may start on its long trail in a moment! Don't liewhen you may be on the brink of eternity!"
These stern words frightened the fellow more than ever.
"Oh, I'm telling you the truth--I sw'ar I am!" he hastened to say.
"You crept up to this door all ready to fill me full of lead."
"No, no! Nothing of the sort! I was not looking for you! It--it was someone else! I swear it by my honor!"
A bitter smile curled the lips of the young man.
"Honor!" he said--"your honor! Never mind. How much were you to receivefor killing me?"
"It was not you; it was another man."
"What other?"
"Tracy."
"My foreman?"
"Yes."
"You were looking for him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Him and me have had a fallin' out, and he cussed me. He threatened toshoot me, too."
"What was the matter?"
"Oh, he didn't like the way I done my work. It's true; ask him. I sworeI'd fix him."
"Well, what brought you here to my cabin to shoot the foreman?"
"I thought I saw him coming this way."
Frank pressed his lips together and looked the ma
n over. Somehow hebelieved the ruffian was lying, in spite of all these protests.
"See here, Anson," he said, "you were hired by the mining trust, or bysome of its tools, to shoot me, and you tried to earn your money. Don'tdeny it, for you can't fool me. Just own up to the truth and it will bebetter for you. Tell me who made the deal with you and how much you wereto receive. If you come out honestly and confess all, I'll spare you.Your hand is bleeding pretty bad, and it should be attended to at once.I'll see to that, but upon condition that you confess."
Still the ruffian continued to protest, insisting that it was Tracy hewas looking for. In the midst of this he suddenly stopped, seeming to bebadly frightened.
"Oh, Lord!" he choked. "Here comes Tracy! Don't tell him! I can't defendmyself! Don't tell him, or he'll sure shoot me up and finish me!"
Jim Tracy was coming with long strides. He saw Frank and the wretch withthe bleeding hand.
"Whatever is this?" he demanded. "I heard the shooting. What has thisyaller dog been up to?"
"I shot him," said Frank quietly. "He came walking into my door in acareless manner with his rifle in his hand, and I shot him in a hurry.He was foolish; he should have been more careful. It's dangerous to walkin on me that way, even with the most peaceable intentions."
There was a strange look on Tracy's face.
"So that's how it happened?" he exclaimed, in a harsh voice. "Well, it'spretty certain that Hop Anson needs to have his worthless neckstretched, and all I ask is permission to attend to the job. I'lldispose of him very quickly."
"I told you, Mr. Merriwell!" muttered the wounded man.
"You have had some trouble with him, have you, Tracy?" asked Frank.
"Confound his hide! yes, I have. He has no business here at this time.His place is discharging the rock as it comes out. The fact that he'shere counts against him. Turn him over to me."
"Instead of that," said Frank, thrusting his revolver into his holster,"I think I'll take care of him. Come in here, Anson."
Tracy seemed astonished and disgusted.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I'm going to see if I can't dress that hand and keep him from bleedingto death," was Merriwell's answer.
"Well, by thunder!" muttered the foreman.