Frank Merriwell's Bravery

by Standish, Burt L

  "She must be saved!"

  "You're right; but how wuz we ter foller ther red varmints 'thout a canoe. Now they hev got clean away."

  "I will find her!" cried the hermit, with one hand uplifted, as if registering a vow. "I will find her and restore her to—hold! How did she happen to be with you?"

  A further explanation was in order. Frank told how Fay had appeared in time to save himself and Barney from being attacked by Half Hand and the Blackfeet, what she had told them, how they had taken her to the camp, and how Old Rocks had agreed to find her mother with the coming of another day.

  The guide and the boy believed the Hermit must be little Fay's father, and they watched him closely as he listened. When Frank had finished, the strange man eagerly asked:

  "Her name—her full name—did you learn it?"

  "No. She told us her name was Fay, and that her mother sometimes called her Fairy Fay; but we were unable to learn her last name."

  "From whut we saw in ther camp, we allowed as how it wuz likely you hed seen ther babby afore, an' you knowed her proper name," insinuated Old Rocks.

  The Hermit did not answer the implied question.

  "Come," he said, "follow me. I have a canoe."

  "I s'pose we can't do any wuss," mumbled Old Rocks; "though I don't prezactly know how we're goin' ter trail them critters through ther warter."

  The Hermit moved along at a swinging stride, and they followed him through the morning twilight.

  Less than half a mile had been covered when the man in advance suddenly paused, uttering an exclamation of surprise.

  Straight ahead, amid the trees of a little grove on the shore, they beheld the snowy outlines of a tent.

  In a little park beyond the camp could be seen the dusky outlines of horses feeding. Close to the open flap of the tent two dogs were curled, both sleeping soundly, so silent had been the approach of the trio.

  The light in the eastern sky was getting a pink tinge, and, with each passing moment, objects could be seen more distinctly.

  A tiny column of blue smoke rose from the white ashes of the camp-fire, telling that a brand still smoldered there.

  There was a stir within the tent. There were muffled grunts, a yawn or two, the rustle of clothing, faint sounds of footsteps, and then the flap of the tent was flung wide open, and a man came out into the morning air. He paused and stretched his limbs, standing so the trio obtained a fair view of him.

  With a sudden, hoarse cry, the Hermit rushed forward and confronted the man.

  "Foster Fairfax!" he shouted, with savage joy; "at last we are face to face!"

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXX.

  SEARCH FOR THE TRAIL.

  "Preston March!"

  The man who had just stepped out of the tent fell back, a look of astonishment, not unmingled with fear, on his face.

  "Yes, Preston March!" cried the Hermit. "You know me, and I know you, treacherous friend, base scoundrel that you are!"

  The man called Foster Fairfax lifted his hands, as if to ward off a blow.

  "Preston, it was a mistake—a fearful mistake."

  "For you—yes! I have sworn by the heavens above to have your life if fate ever threw you across my path. I shall keep that oath!"

  "I expect it."

  "Then draw your weapon, and defend yourself! I shall not murder you in cold blood. Draw, draw!"

  "No! Shoot, if you will! I'll never lift a hand against you."

  "Coward?"

  The Hermit was quivering with fury, while the face of the other man was still ghastly white.

  Other men came from the tent, rubbing their eyes, all of them very much surprised. One of them attempted to intervene.

  "Here!" he cried, addressing the Hermit; "what do you mean by coming into this camp and raising such a row? Are you insane? You are not going to do any shooting here!"

  Old Rocks strode forward, Frank Merriwell at his heels.

  "I'll allow as how the Hermit has fair play," said the guide, grimly. "He ain't alone in this yar deal."

  "Who are you?" demanded the man, haughtily. "Are we to be assailed by a band of desperadoes?"

  "None whatever. I'm hyar ter see fair play. I'll allow thar's some deeficulty atwixt these yere gents, an' ther Hermit feels like settlin' right now an' yere."

  "It is an outrage! You have no right to come here and make trouble. Fairfax, if that ruffian touches you——"

  Foster Fairfax motioned the speaker to be silent.

  "This man is not a ruffian," he declared, speaking as calmly as possible. "There is a misunderstanding between us. I have wronged him, and he has a right to seek satisfaction."

  The man's companions were astonished by his words. They looked at him in a dazed way.

  Even the Hermit seemed a trifle surprised, but he said:

  "It is true, and I demand satisfaction. Draw and defend yourself, Fairfax!"

  "No; you have not wronged me. Here, March—here is my heart! Shoot! You cannot miss it at this distance."

  Preston March, the Hermit of Yellowstone Park, half lifted the weapon which he had drawn. Then he fell back a step, hoarsely saying:

  "Would you put a curse upon me by making me a murderer? You have a weapon. Draw it, and we will play fair and even. It shall be a duel to the death at twenty paces. One of us shall die! The other can go back to——"

  "Hold! Speak not the name here! I tell you, Preston, there was a blunder—a frightful blunder. If you will listen——"

  "You will tell me a mess of lies. A man who would deceive his best friend as you deceived me would not hesitate to lie with his last breath!"

  "You shall judge if I lie. If you demand that I meet you, I demand that you first listen to my explanation."

  "If I must——"

  "On no other condition will I meet you."

  "But there are others to hear. Will you speak before them?"

  "No. Come aside where no one but ourselves may hear."

  The Hermit bowed, and they walked away, keeping several feet apart.

  "Wa-al," drawled Old Rocks, "we don't seem ter be in thet none whatever, an' so we'd best make ourselves easy."

  He flung himself down upon the ground, produced his black pipe and a plug of tobacco, and began preparing for a smoke, whittling off the tobacco with his bowie-knife.

  The campers drew aside and talked among themselves, regarding their uninvited visitors with suspicion, which did not disturb the guide at all.

  Frank was restless. He walked up and down, keeping his eyes on Fairfax and the Hermit, who had halted at a distance and were talking earnestly.

  In the east the streaky clouds had flushed to a deep red and paled again to richest gold. To the west the mighty mountains which rose beyond the lake were wrapped in garments of rose. The light of day had spread itself over all the heavens, and the sun was shooting glittering glances above the horizon.

  The campers began to move about. Wood was piled upon the ashes where the last embers of the old fire still smoldered, and the crackling of a match was followed by a blaze.

  Some of the campers prepared breakfast, while one of them approached Old Rocks, whom he questioned concerning the Hermit.

  "Yer know purty derned nigh ez much 'bout him ez I do," grunted the guide. "All I know is thet he's bin hyar in ther park fer ther last y'ar ur so. Some galoots has said as how he wuz cracked in ther upper story, but I'll allow thet's a mistake. Yer heard t'other gent admit thet he'd done the Hermit a crooked turn, an' I reckons thet's whut makes ther Hermit whut he is. Now I've tol' yer whutever I know 'bout ther Hermit, mebbe ye'll give me a few p'ints 'bout t'other gent?"

  "We know nothing in particular of him, save that he seems to be a man of leisure and means, rather melancholy, given to fits of despondency, followed by spells of wild hilarity."

  A queer look came into the guide's eye, and he asked:

  "How much o' it does he drink a day?"

  "How much what?"

  "Hilarity. Does he kerry
it in quart bottles, or by ther gallon?"

  "He does drink at times," admitted the camper; "but he declares that he hates liquor, and I believe him. He seems to take it to drown memory."

  "Wa-al, he may drown memory fer an hour ur so, but he'll find it comes back a derned sight harder when he lets up on drinkin'."

  Rocks lighted his pipe, settled himself into a comfortable position, and began to smoke.

  The fire was burning brightly, and a blackened coffee-pot was brought forth. As soon as there were some coals, the pot was placed upon them, and it soon began to simmer and send forth a delightful odor, making Frank ravenously hungry.

  Old Rocks was hungry, but he showed no symptom of it, smoking on indifferently, all the while keeping an eye on the Hermit and Fairfax.

  Frank offered to pay for something to eat and a cup of coffee; but the campers declined to take anything, telling him he was welcome. They then offered Old Rocks something, and the guide accepted gracefully.

  For nearly an hour the Hermit and Foster Fairfax talked. The manner of both became subdued, and the strange man of the park seemed to have lost his desire to meet Fairfax in a deadly encounter.

  All at once they parted, and the Hermit hurried away, while Fairfax walked back toward the camp.

  Old Rocks shouted to the Hermit, but the man paid no heed to the call.

  "Come, youngster," said the guide, getting on his feet and picking up his rifle. "We'd best foller thet critter. He said he hed a chance, an' thet wuz whut we wuz arter."

  Frank thanked the campers for their hospitality, and then hastened after Old Rocks, who was striding away after the Hermit, who had already vanished from view.

  "Whatever's got inter ther man?" growled the guide. "He seems ter hev clean fergot we're on earth."

  For at least a mile Old Rocks followed on the trail of the Hermit, and it finally ended at the shore of the lake, where it was seen that the man had taken a canoe.

  And far out on the lake he was paddling swiftly away.

  Putting his hands to his mouth, the guide sent a call across the water:

  "Oh, Hermit!"

  The man paddled on without looking back. Rocks repeated the cry several times, but without apparent effect, and then gave up in disgust.

  "I'll allow this is onery!" he growled, as he sat down and lighted his pipe once more. "Dog my cats ef it ain't!"

  Frank was disheartened.

  "Poor little Fay!" he murmured, sadly. "What will become of her?"

  "We'll find her," declared Old Rocks, grimly. "We'll find her ef we hev ter tramp clean round this yar lake ter strike ther trail o' them p'izen Blackfeet!"

  "Do you think we can ever find their trail?"

  "Wa-al, I'll allow! Ain't we got ter find 'em? Ain't they got ter come ter shore somewhar? You bet yer boots! Old Rocks is on ther warpath, an' ther measly varmints want ter look out!"

  The guide seemed very much in earnest, which gave Frank fresh hope. The boy was ready to spend any length of time in the search for the missing child.

  Having smoked and meditated a short time, Old Rocks arose.

  "Come," he said, and he struck out once more.

  Along the shore they went, the eyes of the guide always searching for the trail. Sometimes they were forced back from the water by steep bluffs and precipices, but the guide missed no places where the Indians could have landed.

  It was about midway in the forenoon that the trail was struck. The canoes were found craftily concealed, and in the soft ground near the lake were the imprints of tiny feet.

  "Thar!" cried Old Rocks, looking at the marks; "thet shows we ain't on a wild-goose chase. Now we don't hold up none whatever till we overtakes ther p'izen skunks an' rescues ther gal. You hear me!"

  "The grizzly folded Frank in his embrace, crushing the lad against his shaggy breast." (See page 205)

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  A FIGHT WITH GRIZZLIES.

  Frank found Old Rocks a hard man to follow, and the guide was amazed by the endurance of the boy.

  It was long past midday when Rocks sat down on a fallen tree, and filled his pipe.

  "Say," he drawled, surveying his companion, "you beat all ther tenderfut kids I've ever seen, dog my cats ef you don't!"

  "How is that?" asked Frank, who was glad to have a few moments' respite. "What do you mean?"

  "Wa-al, I hev bin expectin' all along as how you'd peg out, but I'm derned ef you don't seem fresh as a daisy now!"

  "Oh, I am good for a few miles more," said the boy, smiling.

  Rocks nodded.

  "Thet's whatever. You've got buckram; but I know yer ain't got sand. Tenderfeet never has any."

  "I don't suppose you have ever found any exceptions?"

  "Derned few! Now I've got somethin' ter say."

  "Say it."

  "It's plain these yar red varmints are makin' a run fer it, kinder thinkin' they might be follered. It's liable ter be several days afore they're overtook."

  "Well?"

  "Wa-al, we ain't fitted fer such a tramp."

  "What's that?" cried the boy in dismay. "You do not think of giving it up, do you?"

  "Nary bit; but I kinder 'lowed you might feel thet way."

  "I guess not!"

  "Stiddy! Don't be too quick. Wait till I tells yer whut yer may expect."

  "Go ahead."

  "Jest ez long ez I'm on this yar trail I shell keep up ther pace I hev bin makin' this day su fur."

  "That is good."

  "Huah! Think yer kin stan' it, eh? Wa-al, thet ain't all."

  "Give us the rest of it."

  "It'll be a case o' sleepin' in ther open, 'throut kiver, eatin' w'en yer kin, an' gittin' anything we kin shoot an' havin' it hafe cooked ur not cooked at all, an' lots o' other inconveniences thet'll make yer long fer ther comforts o' home."

  "And you fancy I'll not be able to stand it?"

  "I kinder 'lowed it'd be hard on a tender kid like you be."

  Frank had flung himself on the ground, but now he arose and faced the guide, speaking firmly and calmly:

  "Rocks, you heard the child say she'd be my fairy, you saw that she took to me, I sung her to sleep, and she clung to me. I will tell you now that I am ready to go through anything for Fairy Fay. She is in terrible danger. If she is not rescued, her fate is frightful to contemplate. I shall never rest till she is saved! I want to go along with you; but I shall continue the hunt alone, if you will not have me."

  The old fellow grunted sourly, and puffed away at the black pipe for some moments. At last, he got upon his feet and held out his hand to Frank.

  "Put ther thar!" he cried. "You talk all right; we'll see how yer pan out. You kin go erlong."

  They shook hands, and Frank was well satisfied.

  "You stay right yere by ther trail," directed the guide. "I'm goin' over yon a piece ter see ef thar is some mud geysers down thar. It's been some time sence I wuz in this yar part o' ther park, an' I wants ter git my bearin's. I'll be back yere directly, an' you kin be restin' meantime."

  Frank felt like demurring, but he believed it best to do exactly as the guide directed, and so he nodded and sat down again, while Old Rocks strode away and soon disappeared.

  Nearly thirty minutes passed, and then, of a sudden, the boy was startled by the report of a rifle, the sound of the shot coming from the direction in which the guide had disappeared.

  "I wonder what it can mean?" speculated Frank.

  He was uneasy. He knew the guide might have fired at some kind of small game, but for some reason he fancied such was not the case.

  Was Old Rocks in trouble?

  Catching up his rifle, Frank started on a run in the direction taken by the guide.

  Down into the valley he went, his eyes wide open. Suddenly, a short distance before him, there was a hissing, rushing roar, and a column of mud and water shot into the air.

  There were the mud geysers Old Rocks had started out to look for.

  Toward the
geyser hurried Frank, still looking for his companion.

  Before the column of mud and water had ceased shooting into the air, Frank came upon a startling spectacle.

  Not far from the geysers Old Rocks was engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter with a huge grizzly bear!

  On the ground near by lay the body of another bear, telling how accurate had been the guide's first shot.

  The guide was using his bowie knife, which was already stained with blood to the hilt.

  Frank did not hesitate about rushing straight toward the battling man and beast, and Old Rocks saw him coming.

  "Keerful, boy!" panted the man; "keerful with thet thar rifle! Don't shoot yere, fer yer might bore me."

  "I won't hit you," promised Frank. "I will shoot the bear."

  "You don't know whar ter put yer lead, an' yer might fire a dozen bullets inter this varmint 'thout finishin' him."

  It was evident that the old man was badly winded.

  Thus far he had avoided the bear's hug, but he could not hold out long. Barely had he uttered the last words when, with a sudden blow of one paw, the grizzly struck him to the ground.

  Frank rushed in, seeing the monster settle on all fours over Old Rocks.

  "I'll fix him!" grated the boy, as he thrust the muzzle of his rifle almost against bruin's head and pulled the trigger.

  For the first time on record the weapon missed fire.

  With a fierce growl, the bear whirled and knocked the rifle out of Frank's grasp.

  In a dazed manner, Old Rocks saw everything.

  "Ther kid's a goner!" thought the guide. "We're both done fer!"

  Out Frank snapped a revolver, and then, taking a step toward the bear, he fired five bullets into the creature in marvelously rapid succession.

  A roar came from the bear's throat, and the beast reared on its hind feet, its jaws dripping blood and foam, and rushed upon the dauntless boy.

  Frank flung aside the revolver, just as Rocks struggled to a sitting posture, thickly crying:

  "Run, kid! run fer yer life!"

  "Not much!" came through Frank's set teeth. "Think I'd run and leave you to the bear! I guess not!"

  "Dog my cats!" murmured the guide, weakly.