Ben Stone at Oakdale

by Morgan Scott

  CHAPTER VII.

  A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER.

  All that long, silent afternoon, he wandered through the woods, thefields and the meadows. The cool shadows of the forest enfolded him,and the balsamic fragrance of spruce and pine and juniper soothed histroubled spirit. He sat on a decaying log, listening to the chatter ofa squirrel, and hearing the occasional soft _pat_ of the first-fallingacorns. He noted the spots where Jack Frost had thus early begun hiswork of painting the leaves pink and crimson and gold. In a thicket hesaw the scarlet gleam of hawthorne berries.

  Beside Silver Brook, which ran down through the border of the woods, hepaused to listen to the tinkle and gurgle of the water. There theblackberried moonseed clambered over the underbrush. When he crossedthe brook and pushed on through this undergrowth, his feet and ankleswere wet by water spilled from many hooded pitcher plants. Near theedge of the woods, with a sudden booming whir of wings that made hisheart jump, a partridge flew up and went diving away into the deeperforest.

  At the border of the woods, where meadow and marshland began, hediscovered clusters of pale-blue asters mingling with masses ofrose-purple blazing star. Before him he sent scurrying a flight ofrobins, driven from their feast of pigeon berries amid the wine-stainedpokeweed leaves.

  The sun leaned low to the west and the day drew toward a peacefulclose. He seemed to forget for brief periods his misfortune andwretchedness, but he could not put his bitter thoughts aside for long,and whenever he tried to do so, they simply slunk in the background, tocome swarming upon him again at the first opportunity. At best, it wasa wretched afternoon he spent with them.

  He had escaped facing disgrace and expulsion by declining to return tothe academy that afternoon; but his trunk and clothes were at Mrs.Jones’ and he must get them, which led him, as night approached, toturn back toward the village.

  On the southern slope of Turkey Hill he lingered, with the valley andthe village below him. The sunshine gilded a church spire amid theoaks, and in its yard of maples he could see the roof and belfry of theacademy.

  The afternoon session was over by this time, and from that elevationBen could look down on the fenced football field, where he beheld theboys already at practice. Once the still air brought their voices tohim even from that distance. His heart swelled with a sense ofinjustice and wrong, until it seemed to fill his chest in a stiflingmanner.

  Of course Bern Hayden was there with the boys who had so joyouslyhailed his return to Oakdale. But for Hayden he might also be theretaking part in the practice, enjoying that for which his hearthungered, the friendly companionship of other lads.

  The shadows were thickening and night was at hand as he crossed thefields and reached the road to the north of the academy. He hoped toavoid observation and reach Mrs. Jones’ house without encountering anyone who knew him.

  As he quickened his steps, he suddenly realized that he must pass thewretched little tumble-down home of Tige Fletcher, a dirty, crabbed,old recluse, who hated boys because he had been taunted and tormentedby them, and who kept two fierce dogs, which were regarded as viciousand dangerous. Beyond Fletcher’s house there was a footpath from Highstreet to the academy yard, and this was the course Ben wished tofollow.

  Knowing he might be set upon by the dogs, he looked about for a weaponof defense, finally discovering a thick, heavy, hardwood cudgel, aboutthree feet in length. With this in his hand, he strode on, grimlydetermined to give the dogs more than they were looking for if theyattacked him.

  He was quite near the house when, on the opposite side, there suddenlyburst forth a great uproar of barking, with which there immediatelymingled a shrill scream of terror.

  Unhesitatingly, Ben dashed forward, instinctively gripping his stoutcudgel and holding it ready for use. The barking and the cry of fearhad told him some one was in danger from Old Tige’s dogs.

  Immediately on passing the corner of the house, he saw what washappening, and the spectacle brought his heart into his mouth. The dogshad rushed at a little girl, who, driven up against the fence, facedthem with her blue eyes full of terror, and tried to drive them back bystriking at them with her helpless hands.

  Giving a shout to check the dogs and distract their attention from thegirl, Ben rushed straight on. He saw one of the dogs leap against thechild and knock her down. Then he was within reach, and he gave theanimal a fearful blow with the club as it was snapping at the girl’sthroat.

  A moment later Ben found he had his hands full in defending himself,for the second dog, a huge brindle mastiff, having a protrudingunder-jaw and reddish eyes, leaped at his throat, his teeth gleaming.By a quick, side-stepping movement, the boy escaped, and with all hisstrength he struck the dog, knocking it down, and sending it rollingfor a moment on the ground.

  The first dog was a mongrel, but it was scarcely less ferocious anddangerous than the mastiff. Although Ben had seemed to strike hardenough to break the creature’s ribs, it recovered, and came at him,even as the mastiff was sent rolling. The yellow hair on the back ofthe dog’s neck bristled, and its eyes were filled with a fearful glareof rage.

  The boy was not given time to swing his club for another telling blow,but was compelled to dodge as the dog sprang from the ground. His footslipped a little, and he flung up his left arm as a shield. The teethof the dog barely missed his elbow.

  Quickly though Ben recovered and whirled, he was none too soon. Thistime, however, the mongrel was met by a well-directed blow on the nose,and the terrible pain of it took all the fight out of him and sent himslinking and howling away, with his tail curled between his legs.

  The mastiff was not disposed of so quickly; for, although it had beenknocked down by the first blow it received, it uttered a snarling roar,and again flung itself at the boy the moment it could regain its feet.

  Against the fence the white-faced little girl crouched, uttering wildcries of fear, as, with terror-filled eyes, she watched the desperateencounter.

  Knowing he would be torn, mangled, perhaps killed, if the teeth of thegreat dog ever fastened upon him, Ben fought for his very life. Threetimes he beat the creature down with his club, but for all thispunishment the rage and fury of the animal increased, and it continuedto return to the attack with vicious recklessness.

  The boy set his teeth and did his best to make every blow count. Hadhis courage and nerve failed him for a moment, he must have been seizedand dragged down by the frothing dog. He kept his wits about him, andhis brain at work. Repeatedly he tried to hit the mastiff on the nosein the same manner as he had struck the mongrel, but for some moments,which seemed like hours, every attempt failed.

  Once Ben’s heart leaped into his mouth, as his foot slipped again, buthe recovered himself on the instant and was fully prepared for the bigdog’s next charge.

  At last he succeeded in delivering the blow on which he believedeverything depended. Hit fairly on the nose by that club, which waswielded by a muscular young arm, the raging beast was checked andparalyzed for a moment.

  Seizing the opportunity, Ben advanced and struck again, throwing intothe effort every particle of strength and energy he could command. Thedog dropped to the ground and lay still, its muscles twitching and itslimbs stiffening; for that final blow had broken its neck.

  Quivering and panting with the excitement and exertion of the struggle,Ben stood looking down at the body of the dog, giving no heed for themoment to the hoarse cries of rage which issued from the lips of OldTige Fletcher, who was hobbling toward him with his stiff leg. Nor didhe observe three boys who were coming along the path from the academyat a run, having been led to quicken their steps by the cries of thegirl and the barking of the dogs.

  Of the trio Roger Eliot was in the lead, and he was running fast, thesound of the frightened girl’s screams having filled him with thegreatest alarm. He was followed closely by Chipper Cooper, while ChubTuttle brought up the rear, panting like a porpoise, and scatteringpeanuts from his pockets at every jump.
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br />   These boys came in sight soon enough to witness the end of theencounter between Stone and the huge mastiff. They saw the dog beatenback several times, and Roger uttered a husky exclamation ofsatisfaction when Ben finally finished the fierce brute with a blowthat left it quivering on the ground.

  By that time Eliot’s eyes had discovered the girl as she crouched andcowered against the fence, and he knew instantly that it was in defenseof her that Ben had faced and fought Fletcher’s dreaded dogs.

  Even before reaching that point Roger’s heart had been filled with thegreatest alarm and anxiety by the sounds coming to his ears; for hebelieved he recognized the voice of the child whose terrified criesmingled with the savage barking and snarling of the dogs. His littlesister had a habit of meeting him on his way home after footballpractice, and he had warned her not to come too far on account of thedanger of being attacked by Fletcher’s dogs. That his fear had beenwell-founded he saw the moment he discovered the child huddled againstthe fence, as it was, indeed, his sister.

  “Amy!” he chokingly cried.

  Reaching her, he caught her up and held her sobbing on his breast,while she clung to his neck with her trembling arms.

  “Drat ye!” snarled Tige Fletcher, his face contorted with rage as hestumped forward, shaking his crooked cane at Ben Stone. “What hev yedone to my dorg? You’ve killed him!”

  “I think I have,” was the undaunted answer; “at any rate, I meant tokill him.”

  “I’ll hey ye ’rested!” shrilled the recluse. “That dorg was wuth ahundrud dollars, an’ I’ll make ye pay fer him, ur I’ll put ye in jail.”

  Roger Eliot turned indignantly on the irate man.

  “You’ll be lucky, Mr. Fletcher, if you escape being arrested and finedyourself,” he declared. “You knew your dogs were vicious, and you havebeen notified by the authorities to chain them up and never to let themloose unless they were muzzled. You’ll be fortunate to get off simplywith the loss of a dog; my father is pretty sure to take this matter upwhen he hears what has happened. If your wretched dogs had bitten mysister—” Roger stopped, unable to find words to express himself.

  The old man continued to splutter and snarl and flourish his cane, uponwhich Tuttle and Cooper made a pretense of skurrying around in greathaste for rocks to pelt him with, and he beat a hasty retreat towardhis wretched hovel.

  “Don’t stone him, fellows,” advised Roger. “Let’s not give him a chanceto say truthfully that we did that.”

  “We oughter soak him,” said Chub, his round face expressive of thegreatest indignation. “A man who keeps such ugly curs around himdeserves to be soaked. Anyhow,” he added, poking the limp body of themastiff, “there’s one dog gone.”

  “Ain’t it a dog-gone shame!” chuckled Chipper, seizing the opportunityto make a pun.

  Roger turned to Ben.

  “Stone,” he said, in his kindly yet unemotional way, “I can’t thank youenough for your brave defense of my sister. How did it happen?”

  Ben explained, telling how he had heard the barking of the dogs and thescreams of Amy Eliot as chance led him to be passing Fletcher’s hut,whereupon he ran as quickly as possible to her assistance.

  “It was a nervy thing to do,” nodded Roger, “and you may be sure Iwon’t forget it. I saw some of it, and the way you beat that big dogoff and finished him was splendid.”

  “Say, wasn’t it great!” chimed in Chub, actual admiration in his eyesas he surveyed Ben. “By jolly! you’re a dandy, Stone! Ain’t manyfellers could have done it.”

  “I won’t forget it,” repeated Roger, holding out his hand.

  Ben flushed, hesitated, then accepted the proffered hand, receiving ahearty, thankful grip from Eliot.

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