Frank Merriwell's Bravery

by Standish, Burt L

  "Phwat has happened now, profissor?" asked Barney, anxiously.

  "I have received no reply to my telegrams."

  "Kape aisy; the reploies may come lather on."

  "And they may not till it is too late. I leaned out of the window a short time ago, and I heard a crowd talking in the street below. That horrible ruffian, Bill Buckhorn, was with them, and he was telling them how to make an attack on the jail. Some of the crowd laughed, and said Hank Kildare had been very slick about getting his prisoner under cover, but he would not be able to keep him long after night came."

  "Av they make an attack on th' jail, it's oursilves as should be theer to foight fer Frankie," said the Irish lad, seriously.

  "Fight!" roared Scotch, in his big, hoarse voice. "Why, I can't fight, and you know it! I can't fight so much as an old woman! I am too nervous—too excitable."

  "Arrah! Oi think we have fergot how ye cowed Colonel La Salle Vallier, th' champion foire-ater av New Orleans."

  "No, I have not forgotten that; but I was mad, aroused, excited at the time—I had completely forgotten myself."

  "Forget yersilf now, profissor."

  "I can't! I can't! It's no use! I would be in the way if I went to the jail. I shall stay away."

  The professor was an exceedingly timid man, as Barney very well knew, so he did not add to his agitation by telling him that, while returning from the jail, he had heard it hinted that the boy prisoner had two friends in the hotel who might be treated to a "dose of hemp necktie."

  The professor, however, suspected the truth, and he kept in his room. Danger could not keep Barney there, and, having reported the result of his conversation with Frank, he went out to learn what was going on.

  Two persons very much in evidence since the arrival of the train were the Jew and the dude. The Jew had a way of insinuating himself into the midst of any little knot that was gathered aside from the general throng, and, if they were speaking guardedly, he seemed sure to hear what they were saying and enter into the conversation. As a rule, this was not what would be called a "healthy" thing to do in such a place and on such an occasion; but the report of Solomon's encounter with Bill Buckhorn, the Man from 'Rapahoe, had been circulated freely, and the Jew was tolerated for what he had done.

  While he appeared very curious to hear anything that seemed like private conversation, the Jew did not neglect any opportunity to transact business, and he made so many trades during the day that the size of his pack materially decreased.

  The dude seemed scarcely less curious than the Jew. He had a way of listening with his eyes and mouth wide open, but he lost no time in getting out of the way if ordered to do so. For all of his curiosity, he seemed very timid.

  The day passed, and night came. Still Professor Scotch had received no answers to his telegrams.

  Shortly after nine o'clock that evening, the report spread rapidly that Robert Dawson, the Eastern banker, was dead.

  Immediately there was a swift and silent stirring of men—a significant movement.

  "Thot manes throuble!" was Barney Mulloy's mental exclamation. "Th' sheriff should know av it."

  The Irish lad believed that he was watched, but he hurried to the professor's room, telling him to lock the door and keep within till the storm was over, and then he slipped out of the hotel.

  Barney did not hurry toward the jail at once, but he took a roundabout course, dodging and doubling, to bother any one who might attempt to follow him.

  Finally, having doubled on his own course, he struck out for the jail.

  There was a moon, but it was obscured at times by drifting clouds, something rather unusual in that part of the country for a night that was not stormy, and did not threaten to become so.

  Coming suddenly to the main street of the town, which led straight from the hotel to the jail, Barney paused and listened.

  He heard a sound that caused his heart to beat faster, while he held his breath and strained his ears.

  Tramp! tramp! tramp! It was the swift and steady rush of many feet.

  There was no sound of voices, but the crouching boy knew a body of men was approaching.

  Barney drew back, concealing himself as well as he could, and waited.

  Nearer and nearer came the sound.

  A cloud passed from the face of the moon, and then the watching boy saw a band of men rushing swiftly past his place of concealment.

  The men were masked, and all were armed.

  They were moving straight toward the jail.

  "Th' lynchers!" panted Barney. "They are afther Frankie! Oi must get to th' joail ahead av thim!"

  He ran back along the side street till he came to another that led in the same direction as the one along which the mob was rushing. Turning toward the jail, he ran as he had never ran before in all his life.

  On the front door of the jail was a push-button that connected by a wire with a gong within the building. A push on that button set the gong to clamoring loudly.

  "Rattle-ty-clang-clang! rattle-ty-clang!

  "Wa'al, what's thet mean?" growled Hank Kildare, as he leaped up from the couch on which he had been reclining lazily. "What derned fool is punchin' away at thet thar button like he hed gone clean daft! Hyar ther critter ring!"

  Kildare looked at his revolvers, then picked up a short-barreled shotgun, and went out into the corridor that led to the door. Reaching the door, he shot open a small panel and shouted:

  "Whatever do yer think ye're doin' out thar? Will yer stop thet thar racket, ur shall I guv yer a dost out o' this yar gun!"

  "Mr. Kildare, is thot yersilf?" panted a voice, which the sheriff had heard before, and which he immediately recognized.

  "Wa'al, 'tain't nobody else."

  "Will yes be afther lettin' me in?"

  "What's ther matter?"

  "Th' lynchers are comin'!"

  Kildare peered out, and the moon, which did not happen to be hidden at that moment, showed him the boy who stood alone at the door.

  Clank, clank, clank!—the sheriff shot back the bolts which held the door, open it swung a bit, out shot his arm, and his fingers closed on Barney Mulloy's shoulder.

  Snap—the boy was jerked into the jail. Slam—the door closed, and the bolts shot back into place.

  "Howly shmoke!" gasped Barney. "Is it all togither Oi am, ur be Oi in paces?"

  "Ye're hyar," came in a growl from the sheriff's throat. "Now tell me w'at yer mean by wakin' me an' kickin' up all this yar row."

  "Th' lynchers are comin'."

  "How do yer know?"

  "Oi saw thim. Less than thray minutes ago."

  "Where?"

  "Back a short pace."

  "How many of them?"

  "I didn't count, but it's a clane hundred, sure."

  Kildare asked Barney several more questions, and he was satisfied that the boy spoke the truth.

  The deputy sheriff had slept in the jail that night, and, together with the guard, he was now at hand.

  "Look out fer this yar boy," directed Kildare. "One o' yer git ther hose ready. I'm goin' ter try my new arrangement fer repellin' an attack."

  He rushed away.

  The deputy sheriff, whose name was Gilson, opened a small square door in the wall of the corridor, and dragged forth a coil of hose.

  "Pwhat are ye goin' ter do with thot?" asked Barney, in surprise.

  "Wait, an' ye'll see," was the reply.

  Then the deputy spoke to the guard.

  "Tyler, be ready ter let ther prisoner loose if the mob breaks in an' gits past me. You kin tell by watchin'. You know it's Hank's order thet ther cell be opened an' ther poor feller give a chance ter fight fer his life."

  "Where is he?" palpitated Barney. "Oi'll shtand by him till he doies!"

  "Ye kin do better by stayin' hyar," declared the deputy. "Ye may be needed."

  Bang! bang! bang!

  The lynchers had arrived, and they were hammering on the door. The gong began to clang wildly.

  "Ope
n this door!"

  "Why don't Hank turn on ther water up above?" came anxiously from the lips of the deputy. "Kin it be thet his tank on ther roof has leaked dry? Ef so, his new scheme fer repellin' an attackin' party won't work very well."

  "Open this door!" shouted a commanding voice outside.

  The deputy sprang to the small panel and flung it open.

  "What d'yer want yere?" he demanded.

  "We want to come in," was the answer.

  "Wa'al, yer can't."

  "We'll agree to stay out on one condition. If you will pass out something, we'll agree not to break in."

  "What's ther something?"

  "Black Harry."

  "I reckoned so."

  "Will you give him up?"

  "No."

  "Then we shall break down the door, and I warn you that it will be very unfortunate if any of us is injured. It might bring about the lynching of other parties besides Black Harry."

  "Wa'al, I warn yer ter keep away from yere. We're goin' ter defend ther prisoner regardless, an' somebody's bound ter git hurt."

  "For the last time, will you open?"

  "No."

  "Down with the door!"

  Crash! crash!—the assault on the door began.

  * * *

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE ASSAULT ON THE JAIL.

  "Why don't Hank put on ther water?" groaned the deputy sheriff. "Et'll be too late in a minute!"

  Crash! crash! The assailants were using a heavy battering ram, and the door was beginning to give.

  "Oi'm afraid it's all up with poor Frankie!" gasped Barney.

  A wild yell came from the mad mob at the door.

  "Death to Black Harry!"

  Bang—splinter—crash! The door was breaking, and the battering-ram was being driven against it with renewed force.

  There was one last great shock, and down went the door before the assault.

  "No water yet!" cried Gilson. "Now it is too late!"

  He flung down the hose, taking to his heels before the gang of masked men that swarmed into the doorway.

  Barney Mulloy heard a hissing noise, and then he leaped forward and caught up the nozzle of the hose. He turned the large stop-cock, and a bar of water shot out, striking the leader of the lynchers in the neck, and hurling him, gasping and stunned, back into the arms of those behind.

  "Hurro!" trumpeted the Irish lad, in delight, his blood aroused. "Come on, an' git washed off th' face av th' earth!"

  This method of defense proved unpleasantly surprising to the attacking party. The stream of water swept men off their feet and flung them, half-drowned, back from the doorway into the night. In less than half a minute Barney had cleared the doorway.

  "Hurro!" he shouted, once more. "This is th' kind av sport! We'll howld th' fort till th' last drop av warther is gone!"

  There was a lull, and Hank Kildare came panting to the side of the lad with the hose. When he saw the broken door an exclamation of dismay came from the lips of the sheriff.

  "Something wuz ther matter, so I couldn't turn ther water on," he said. "An' now they've got ther door down!"

  "But Oi bate 'em off!" shouted the Irish lad, triumphantly.

  "They'll come in when ther water fails."

  Barney had not thought of that, and his feeling of triumph turned to anxiety and dismay.

  "Pwhat kin we do?"

  "Where is Gilson?"

  "Th' spalpane run whin the dure wur broke."

  "We might fight, but what if we did shoot down a few o' ther critters? It w'u'dn't stop 'em, an' we'd hev killed somebody. Stay hyar—hold 'em back long as yer kin."

  "Pwhat are ye goin' ter do?"

  "Git ther prisoner up onter ther roof. Mebbe we kin hold 'em back from gittin' up thar."

  "All roight. Oi'll do me bist here."

  Kildare ran back along the corridor and disappeared.

  Of a sudden rocks began to whistle about Barney's head, and then one struck him, knocking him down. The nozzle of the hose fell from his hands, and he lay prone and motionless on the floor.

  Wild yells of savage delight broke from the mob.

  Then, with a clatter of hoofs, a band of masked horsemen came tearing down the street, whirled into the open space before the jail, and began shooting into the mob. The horsemen were dressed in black, and every man was masked.

  "It's Black Harry's Braves!" screamed a voice that was full of fear.

  Twenty voices took up the cry, and the mob, utterly demoralized, broke and ran in all directions.

  Some of the masked horsemen sprang from their animals and dashed into the jail, springing over the prostrate body of the unconscious Irish lad.

  Kildare was removing Frank from his cell when those masked men came upon them. In a moment the boy had been torn from the sheriff, and the men whirled him away.

  Out of the jail rushed Black Harry's Braves, the boy was placed astride a horse, and away they went, with him in their midst.

  Frank had believed them lynchers, and he thought them lynchers as they bore him away.

  "It's all up with me," he mentally said.

  But his hands were free, and he was watching for an opportunity to escape. He meant to make one more effort for life, if given an opportunity.

  Through the town tore the wild horsemen, yelling like so many fiends, shooting to the right and left.

  Out of Elreno they rode, and then the man on the right of Frank leaned toward the boy, saying:

  "We came just in time, chief. If we'd been ten minutes later, the lynchers would have had you sure."

  "The lynchers?" gasped the bewildered boy. "Why, you——"

  "They had the door down when we reached the jail, but a dozen shots set them scattering."

  "But—but—I don't understand."

  "We didn't mean to strike before midnight, but Benson brought word that they were liable to lynch you, and so we lost no time in getting here. We rode twenty miles like we were racing with an express train. You must allow we did a good job this time, chief."

  "Chief? Why I——"

  Frank stopped short, choking the words back. At last he realized who these men were.

  They were Black Harry's Braves, and they believed him to be Black Harry!

  He reeled upon the horse he bestrode.

  "What's the matter?" asked the man, quickly. "Are you hurt any way?"

  "No."

  The boy's voice was hoarse and unnatural.

  "What can I do?" he thought. "How long will it be before they discover their mistake? I must keep up the deception, and I may find an opportunity to escape."

  In a moment he had recovered his composure. As old readers know, Frank was a boy of nerve, and he began to feel very well satisfied with the situation.

  "I have escaped lynching," he thought, "and these men believe me their leader. I am out of jail and now I shall be given a chance to fight for my life and honor. In order to prove my own innocence, I must capture Black Harry. This may lead me to the opportunity."

  But for one thing his heart would have been filled with exultation. That one thing was the memory of Barney Mulloy, whom he had seen lying prone and motionless just within the broken door of the jail. Had they killed his faithful friend?

  He feared the Irish lad had met death while trying to hold back the lynchers.

  The outlaws did not seem to fear pursuit, and they slackened their pace somewhat as soon as they were out of town.

  "Where shall we go, chief?" asked one.

  Frank was at a loss to answer, for he knew that a slip might betray him, and he was determined to be on his guard all the time. His hesitation was observed, and the man said:

  "I reckon it will be safe to return to Cade's Canyon for a while."

  "I reckon so," said Frank. "We'll go there."

  "I warned you that you would make a mistake if you ventured into Elreno," said the talkative outlaw, "but you were determined to have another look at that girl, and so you took chances. Girls have caused
more trouble in this world than everything else combined."

  "That's right," admitted Frank, who was wondering what girl the fellow meant.

  "Did you see her?" asked the man, with a sly chuckle.

  "Oh, yes, of course."

  "Ha, ha! I like the way you say that, chief. No offense, but Benson said you saw her in the railway station as soon as you landed in Elreno."

  Now Frank knew that Lona Dawson was meant.

  "Yes," he said, "she was there, and she informed the public in general that she had seen me before."

  "I don't suppose you will bother with her any more, and so we'll move on as soon as possible, and get out of this part of the country? It's getting right hot here."

  "It is all of that," admitted Frank; "but I am not for running away, as if we were scared out."

  "Well, you know our original plan."

  "Certainly."

  Frank spoke as if he knew it well enough, but he was wondering what it could be. However, the man soon explained.

  "We are to carry the expedition through into Indian Territory, and disband when the Arkansas line is reached. Then we can scatter and defy pursuit, and we can come together at Ochiltree, in the Panhandle, at the time set."

  Frank felt like thanking the fellow for the information.

  "That's right," nodded the boy, speaking carefully; "but this little affair has made me rather mad, and I don't feel like running away so very fast."

  "Especially from the girl."

  "Hang the girl!"

  Frank felt that it would not do to allow the fellow to become so familiar.

  "You didn't talk that way after seeing her last night. Why, you were sorry we didn't carry her off when we left the train."

  "Oh, well, a fellow has a right to change his mind. I have seen her by daylight."

  "And she didn't look so well?"

  "Hardly."

  "Still, she is something of a daisy."

  "She'll do; but I can't waste my time with her. There are others."

  "Now you're beginning to talk right, chief. The boys felt a little doubtful of you when you went racing off after that girl, and they will be mightily relieved to know you have come to your senses."

  Frank grunted, but spoke no word. During the entire ride, he talked as little as possible, but he kept his ears open.