Frank Merriwell's Backers; Or, The Pride of His Friends

by Burt L. Standish

  CHAPTER XVII.

  THE WAR-WHOOP OF OLD ELI.

  The afternoon sun lay scorching hot upon the arid plain. Heat wavesmoved in the air like the billows of a phantom sea. To the west werebarren mountain-peaks and the nearer foot-hills; to the east theunbroken plain lay level to the horizon.

  Behind the body of his dead horse lay a sorely wounded man, with his dogcrouching close at his side. The dog's dry tongue lolled from theanimal's mouth; at times the poor creature whined and sought to lick thehand of its master; anon he growled fiercely, the hair bristling on hisneck, and started up in a savage manner.

  "Down, Boxer, down!" the man would order, in a voice ever growingweaker. "You can't help. The red devils will get you with a bullet.Down, sir!"

  At which the dog would sink back, whine again and draw his fileliketongue along the hand or cheek of his master.

  "Heavens!" muttered the man. "For a swallow of water. I'd give the lastounce in the saddle-bags if I could finish one or two more of thosemurderous curs before I cash in!"

  His almost nerveless hands grasped the barrel of his rifle, and helooked away toward the spot where six horsemen had drawn up in a littlecluster just beyond bullet-reach.

  They were Indians, mounted on tough ponies, and some of them armed withmodern weapons. Two or three carried lances, on which the glaring sunglinted.

  They had hunted him down; they had killed the horse beneath him andwounded him unto death. The bullet was through his body, and the sandsof life were ebbing fast. He had reached the end of his trail, and thered fiends out there on the baking plain knew they had only to wait awhile and then ride forward unmolested and strip off his scalp. Yet,being far from their reservation, the savages were impatient at thedelay. Their hearts were vengeful within them, for in the chase he hadslain two of their number.

  One of them, an impetuous young buck, was for making haste in finishingthe paleface. He motioned toward the declining sun and suggested thatthe wounded man might try to crawl away with the coming of darkness.Besides, they had far to go, and it was a waste of time to wait for thepaleface to die. Likely he was so far gone that he could not shoot todefend himself, and there would be little trouble in getting near enoughto despatch him.

  The impetuous spirit of this savage prevailed, and soon the redskinsbegan riding around and around man and horse and dog, spreading out intoa circle with great gaps and slowly closing in, now and then uttering achallenging yell. As they closed in they flung themselves over upon thesides of their ponies opposite the wounded man, so that their horsesseemed riderless. Occasionally a shot was fired from beneath the neck ofa racing pony.

  The dying man gathered himself a little and watched them. A puff ofwhite smoke leaped out before a pony and was quickly left behind todissolve and fade in the heated air. A bullet threw up a bit of dustwithin three feet of the white man. The dog bristled and growled.Another bullet clipped a stalk from a cactus plant five feet away.

  "They're within shooting distance," whispered the doomed wretch. "Wonderif I've got nerve enough to drop a pony."

  He rested his rifle on the body of the dead horse and waited. Out on theplain the racing ponies began to swim in a haze. He could see themindistinctly, and he brushed a hand across his eyes.

  "I'm going fast, Boxer," he muttered to the dog. "My sight is failing!I'm burning inside! And I know you're choking yourself, poor dog! It's ahard way to pipe out."

  The dog whined sympathetically and pressed closer. A bullet whistledpast the head of the man. He tightened his grip on his rifle, sought totake aim, and finally fired.

  His bullet went wide of the target he sought, and a yell of derisionfloated to his ears through the hot air.

  "No use!" he muttered huskily. "I'm done for! It's the finish! They canclose right in and wipe me out!"

  The savages seemed to know it, and they were drawing nearer.

  Of a sudden out from the depths of a long barranca, a mighty fissure inthe plain, produced in former ages by a convulsion of nature, or markingthe course of a river--out from one end that rose to the surface of theplain not far from the circling savages, came a horse and rider. As therider rose into view he began shooting with a magazine rifle, and hisfirst bullet caused a redskin to lose his hold and tumble end over endin the dirt, while the pony galloped on.

  The following Indian stooped and seemed to catch up his wounded comradeas he swept past.

  The lone horseman rode straight at them in a reckless manner, workinghis repeater.

  A pony was wounded, another plunged forward into the dirt. In anothermoment the redskins wheeled and were in full flight, astounded anddemoralized by the attack, two of the horses carrying double, whileanother left drops of blood upon the ground.

  The daring paleface uttered a strange war-whoop of triumph: "BrekekekCo-ax, Co-ax, Yale!"

  Never before had those Indians heard such a singular cry from the lipsof a white man. It seemed to fill them with a mad desire to get away, toflee at top speed. It struck terror into their hearts, as many a timethe same slogan has struck fear to the hearts of those battling againstOld Eli on some athletic field. They urged their ponies forward, andaway they went, scurrying into the distance, with bullets singing aroundthem.

  The man behind the dead horse lifted himself and strained his bedimmedeyes, seeing the youthful rider shoot past in pursuit of the savages.The dog rose, planting his forefeet on the horse's body, and barkedmadly.

  When he was satisfied that the Indians were in full retreat, with littlethought of turning or offering resistance, Frank Merriwell, for it washe who had dashed out of the barranca, drew up and turned about,galloping back toward the man he had dared so much to save.

  But he had come too late.

  As Merry rode near the dying man had fallen back beside his dead horse.Over him stood the dog, covered with dust, its eyes glaring redly, itsteeth disclosed, ready to defend the body of its master. As Frank drewup the dog snarled fiercely.

  Merry saw at a glance that the situation of the dog's master was seriousin the extreme. He dismounted and stepped forward, leaving his horse,knowing well the animal would stand. As he approached the dog grewfiercer of aspect, and he saw the creature meant to leap straight at histhroat.

  "Good dog!" he said, stopping. "Fine dog! Come, sir--come! Ah-ha, finefellow!"

  But all his attempts to win the confidence of the dog were failures.

  "The man is dying," he muttered. "Perhaps I might save him if I couldget to him now. Must I shoot that dog? I hate to do it, for the creatureseems very intelligent."

  At this moment the man stirred a little and seemed to realize what washappening. He lifted his head a little and saw the dismounted horsemanand the threatening dog.

  "Down, Boxer; down, sir!" he commanded. "Be quiet!"

  His voice rose scarcely above a whisper, but the dog reluctantly obeyed,still keeping his eyes on Frank, who now stepped up at once.

  "You're badly wounded, sir," he said. "Let me see if I can do anythingfor you."

  "Give me water--for the love of Heaven, water!" was the harshlywhispered imploration.

  In a twinkling Frank sprang to his horse and brought back a canteen thatwas well filled. This he held to the lips of the wretched man, while thecrouching dog watched every move with his red eyes.

  That water, warm though it was, brought back a little life to thesinking man.

  "God bless you!" he murmured gratefully.

  The dog whined.

  "Can't you give Boxer a little?" asked the dog's master. "He's sufferingas much as I am."

  Frank quickly removed from his saddle-bags a deep tin plate, on whichsome of the water was poured, and this the dog greedily licked up,wagging his tail in thankfulness.

  "Poor old Boxer!" sighed the doomed man.

  "Now, sir," said the youth, "let me examine your wound and find out whatI can do for you."

  "No use," was the declaration. "I'm done for. It's through the lung, andI've bled enough to finish two men. The blood is al
l out of me."

  But the young man insisted on looking and did what he could to check theflow of blood.

  The doomed man shook his head a little.

  "No use," he repeated. "I'm going now--I feel it. But you have done allyou could for Old Bens, and you won't lose nothing by it. What's yourname?"

  "Frank Merriwell."

  "Well, Pard Merriwell, you sure went for those red devils right hot. Iallowed at first that you must have four or five friends with ye."

  "I'm alone."

  "And it was great grit for you to charge the red skunks that way.However did you happen to do it?"

  "I saw what was going on from the high land to the west with the aid ofa powerful glass. I knew they had a white man trapped here. I struck thebarranca and managed to get down into it, so I was able to ride closewithout being seen and charge up from this end, where it rises to thelevel of the plain. That is all."

  "It was nerve, young man, and plenty of it! My name is Benson Clark. I'ma miner. Been over in the Mazatzals. Struck it rich, young pard--struckit rich. There was no one but me and old Boxer, my dog. I took out aheap of dust, and I opine I located a quartz claim that certainly isworth a hundred thousand dollars, or I'm away off. Been a miner all mylife. Grub-staked it from the Canadian line to Mexico. Have managed tolive, but this is my first strike. No one staked me this time, so it'sall mine. But see, pard, what black luck and those red devils have donefor me! I'm finished, and I'll never live to enjoy a dollar of mywealth. Pretty tough, eh?"

  "Pretty tough," admitted Frank Merriwell; "but brace up. Who cantell----"

  "I can. Bens Clark is at the end of his trail. Young man, I want you tosee me properly planted. You'll find enough in the saddle-bags here andin the belt around my waist to pay you for your trouble."

  "I want no pay, sir."

  "Well, I reckon you may as well have it, as I have neither kith nor kinin the wide world, and most of my friends have cashed in ahead of me, soI'm left all alone--me and Boxer."

  The dying man lifted his hand with a great effort and caressed the dog.The animal whined and snuggled nearer, fixing his eyes on his master'sface with an expression of devotion and anxiety that was quite touchingto see.

  "Good old Boxer!" sighed the man, with deep feeling. "You'll miss me,boy, and you're the only one in all the wide world. What will become ofyou, Boxer?"

  Again the dog whined a little, touching the bloodless cheek of the manwith its tongue.

  "I'll do what I can for your dog, sir," said Frank Merriwell.

  "What do you mean? Will you take Boxer and care for him?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do it! You'll never be sorry. You'll find him the most faithful,devoted, and intelligent of dumb animals. Truly, he knows almost as muchas a man--more than lots of men. It's a shame he can't talk! He knowswhat I say to him almost always. I've almost fancied he might be taughtto talk; but that's ridiculous, I know. Take him, Frank Merriwell, treathim well, and you'll never regret it."

  The dog seemed listening. He looked from one to the other in a peculiarmanner, and then, as if realizing what had passed and that he was soonto part with his master forever, he uttered a whining howl that wasdoleful and pathetic.

  "Poor old Boxer--good boy!" said Benson Clark. "I've got to go, boy."

  The dog crept close, and the dying man weakly folded the animal in hisarms.

  Frank Merriwell turned away. The sunlight was so bright and strong onthe plain that it seemed to cause him to brush a hand over his eyes. Hestood looking far off for some moments, but was given a start by hearinga weak call from the man.

  "I'm going!" breathed Clark huskily. "Here--in my pocket here you willfind a rude chart that may lead you to my rich mines in the Mazatzals.Feel in my pocket for the leather case. That's it. Take it--keep it.It's yours. The mines are yours--if you can find them. Boxer is yours.Be good to him. Poor old Boxer!"

  He closed his eyes and lay so still that Frank fancied the end had come.But it was not yet. After a little he slowly opened his eyes and lookedat Merry. Immediately Frank knelt beside him, with uncovered head.

  The dying man then looked at the dog.

  "Boxer," he said faintly, "I'm going off on my long trail, and we'llnever meet up again this side of the happy hunting-grounds. Good-by, olddog! This is your new master. Stick to him like glue, old boy. Fight forhim--die for him, if you have to. I opine you understand what I mean."

  A strange sound came from the throat of the dog--a sound that was almostlike a human sob. If ever a dog sobbed that one did. Agony and sorrowwas depicted in his attitude and the look in its red eyes.

  The miner took the dog's paw and placed it in Frank Merriwell's hand,his body lying between them.

  "I make you pards," said Benson Clark.

  Then he whispered to Frank:

  "Can't you pray? I've clean forgot all the prayers I ever knew. But Ifeel that I need a prayer said for me now, for I'm going up before thejudgment bar. Pray, partner--pray to the Great Judge that He will beeasy with me."

  So Frank Merriwell prayed, and that prayer fell upon the heart of thedying man with such soothing balm that all fear and dread left him, andhe passed into the great unknown with a peaceful smile on hisweather-worn face.