CHAPTER XXIV--THE FOOT RACE
Frank saw a gleaming spirit of evil in the eyes of the savage.
Whirling Bear meant to injure, perhaps to kill, Barney.
He intended to cast the Irish youth down upon his head, and the prospectwas that Barney's neck would be broken instantly.
Immediately Frank leaped forward.
As the Indian dashed Barney to the ground, Frank caught him and kept himfrom falling on his head.
The Irish lad went down heavily, but he was not severely injured.
Whirling Bear gave a cry of anger when he saw what Merriwell had done,and then rushed at Frank.
Frank dodged and tripped the Indian with the greatest skill, so that theredskin was pitched forward on his face and stunned for the moment.
"If you will try the copper-skin a whirl, I'll back you for any amount,"said Dan Carver, quietly.
Whirling Bear sat up, savagely glaring at the white boys.
"No can wrastle with two!" he growled. "One at time is 'nough. Why otherwhite boy do something?"
"I simply kept you from murdering my friend," said Frank. "You weretrying to break his neck, and I saw it."
Whirling Bear got up, looking disgusted.
"Sometime may get 'nother chance," he said, and then walked away, payingno heed to the spectators who were calling for him to remain and settlethe match by seeing who could get the third fall.
"Begorra! it's a roight nate thrick he did whin he lifted me inther th'air," confessed Barney. "Sorry a bit do Oi know how he did it at all, atall!"
"I do not think I ever saw a throw made in that manner," confessedFrank. "He went under you like an eel, and brought you up across hisback and over his shoulder."
"He is the champion wrestler of the Pueblos," declared a spectator. "Idid not fancy you would be able to throw him at all."
"You should be proud to say you broke even with him," declared another.
Frank felt a hand on his arm, and a voice said in his ear:
"The sun priests are resting. While they rest there will be a footrace,the same as white men run. Will you enter. Swiftwing says you are agreat runner."
The speaker was a young Indian of evident intelligence.
Frank was willing and ready to take part in the footrace, and heimmediately accepted the invitation.
"I know I shall be pitted against Swiftwing," he thought, "and it isliable to be the race of my life, for he can run like the wind. I willbeat him--or die!"
A straight course of nearly a quarter of a mile was prepared, and thespectators ranged up on either side near the finish.
There were five starters, four of whom were Indians. Merriwell was theonly white persons who had been invited to take part.
The Indians were stripped for the race, as they had been in taking partin other sports.
Frank brought out a pair of running shoes, and these he put on. Heremoved his sweater and stripped down to a light, sleeveless undershirt.
As they stood side by side, Swiftwing spoke to Frank.
"Much depends on this race," he said--"much more than you can know. Beatme, Merriwell, if you can. You will be sorry if you fail."
All this was very mysterious, but Frank returned:
"You may be sure I shall do my best to beat you."
A moment later a great shout went up from the spectators.
The runners had started, darting off from the scratch like so many deer.
Swiftwing started in a most astonishing manner, seeming to leap off atfull speed in a second.
Frank was not slow in starting, but he found the Indian had gained aslight advantage at the outset.
It was a beautiful sight to see the five runners come speeding along thetrack, heads up, breasts thrown forward, nostrils dilated and eyesflashing.
Of them all, two persons seemed to fly over the ground with very littleexertion.
They were John Swiftwing and Frank Merriwell.
At Frank's side ran a tall Indian who was making great speed, but didnot seem as graceful as the white boy or the Indian in advance.
Although Swiftwing had gained an advantage at the start, he was not ableto widen the distance between himself and the white boy. Close behindhim he could hear the feet of Frank Merriwell.
And Frank? He was preparing for one mighty spurt at the last of therace, feeling that he would surprise Swiftwind then.
The spectators cheered wildly, and some enthusiastic cowboys fired shotsinto the air, yelling for the white boy to run faster and not let a"copper-skin" beat him.
Far ahead at the end of the course Frank saw Inza Burrage watching theirapproach. Near her stood an Indian who had just dismounted from the backof a magnificent horse, which he was holding.
Inza waved her handkerchief.
Was it a signal to Frank? or was it meant for John Swiftwing?
"In either case," thought the white boy, "it is enough. I will win!"
He set his teeth and gave a great spurt that must have carried him intothe lead; but, at that moment something happened.
The tall Indian who had been racing at Frank's side thrust out a footand neatly tripped Merriwell up. This happened at the very moment whenthe white boy started to spurt, and Frank was flung into the air andhurled forward upon his head. His hands were thrust out to break hisfall, and he saved himself in a measure, but he was stunned and laymotionless for some seconds.
With a gasp he sat up.
"Beaten!" he hoarsely grated--"beaten by a foul trick! I did not thinkJohn Swiftwing would have anything to do with a plot of this sort!"
Then he saw something that caused his heart to give one mad leap andstand still.
Swiftwing reached the end of the course. As he rushed over the line,without pausing, he caught Inza Burrage about the waist, swung her intothe air, tossed her over his shoulder, and----
How was it done? An instant later the Indian was astride the horse whichthe other Indian had been holding ready for him. He still held fast toInza. Frank heard her scream with sudden terror, and the cry was drownedby a hoarse sound from Swiftwing. Like an arrow leaving the bow, thehorse, bearing its double burden, shot away.
Frank Merriwell's Athletes; Or, The Boys Who Won Page 24