INTO THE LAKE.
A curl of white smoke was rising above some water reeds, plainly showing
where the gun had been fired.
Hodge held up his hand, and there was blood on his wrist. He wiped it
away, and then picked a shot from under the skin.
Frank had felt several shot strike his clothes, but evidently they were
too far spent to penetrate far.
“Of all infernal carelessness!” grated Hodge, his face dark with anger.
“I never heard of anything like it.”
“It could not have been carelessness!” cried Frank. “Here we are in
plain view out in the open water. The person who fired that shot must
have seen us. If it was carelessness, it was criminal.”
“Are you hit, Merry?”
“Some of the shot struck my clothes, but none of them reached my body, I
think. How much are you hurt, Bart?”
“Not much, but I’m mad enough to thump the chump who fired that shot!
I’d like the job!”
Merriwell had reeled in his line, and now he swiftly drew in Bart’s.
Then he caught up his paddle and sent the head of the canoe round toward
the point where the puff of smoke had been seen rising above the water
reeds.
“We’ll soon find out who did the shooting,” came grimly from his lips,
as he sent the light craft forward.
Bart caught up his paddle, and soon the canoe was literally skimming
along the silvery surface of the lake.
As they approached the rushes there were signs of commotion behind them.
A head bobbed up and disappeared from view, and then a boat was thrust
slowly out. It contained two persons, who seemed inclined to row away,
but changed their minds when they beheld how close upon them the canoe
was. They turned about and desperately faced the boys.
One was a man of middle age, roughly dressed, with a wide-brimmed hat
set upon one side of his head and long-legged rubber boots on his feet.
He wore a full beard, and his hair was long enough to fall on the collar
of his coat. The face was that of a hard-drinking man, and his manner
indicated that he was a reckless ruffian.
The other was a youth of eighteen or nineteen, with square shoulders and
a sullen face. He, also, looked like a desperado, and yet, there was
something about him that might prove attractive and fascinating for a
thoughtless, romantic girl. He was dressed in a careless manner, in
plain clothes, but somehow those clothes seemed to set upon him in a way
that showed him to advantage. In fact, they actually made him look more
attractive than better and more fashionable garments could.
As soon as Merriwell saw these two persons, he softly exclaimed:
“Hello! So those are the chaps?”
“Do you know them?” asked Hodge, quickly.
“I should guess yes!”
“Who are they?”
“Welch and his backer.”
“What—the fellow who wanted to thrash you over at Camp Benson?”
“Yes. And the man is the one who was looking for a chance to dip into
the row. Now, I am beginning to think this shooting was not accidental.”
The man and the boy glared at Frank and Bart, but said not a word.
“Who fired that shot?” demanded Merriwell, holding his paddle in the
water so that it would slacken the forward motion of the canoe.
“Who are you talkin’ to?” demanded Welch, surlily.
“I am talking to you, sir! Who fired that shot?”
“What shot?”
“The one a few moments ago.”
“Oh! what are you drivin’ at? We don’t know nothin’ about no shot. You
make me tired!”
“That kind of bluff will not go. One of you fired a shot from behind
these reeds a few minutes ago. Who did it?”
The man regarded the boys with the utmost contempt, seemingly quite
indifferent, but Welch grew red with anger.
“Say!” he cried; “you’re too fresh, Mr. Frank Merriwell! I know you!
Because you are a college chap and have had your name printed in the
papers, you think you can come down here into Maine and run over the
countrymen you find here. Well, you will find out the countrymen won’t
be run over. I don’t believe you are such a much, anyway. What you
really need is a good thumping, and I’d like the job to give it to you.
I’d done it yesterday if it hadn’t been for that big lummuxing chum of
yours who meddled in. I’ll do it yet when I get the chance! I promise
you that I will thump you, and Jim Welch always keeps his promises. Now,
you chaps had better git!”
Frank laughed outright.
“You are very amusing, Mr. Jim Welch,” he declared. “It is evident that
you think yourself a dangerous sort of individual, but you are dangerous
only when you have a shotgun in your hands and are hidden behind some
reeds. It would be just like you to try to shoot somebody in the back.
Your face shows that.”
“I didn’t shoot at all, and you don’t want to say I did.”
“Then your friend did!” cried Hodge, who was fairly quivering for
trouble. “His face shows he wouldn’t hesitate to——”
“Look here, confound you!” growled the man, scowling at Hodge; “you want
to go slow! Neither of us did any shooting, for we ain’t got anything to
shoot with.”
“No guns?”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Well, it don’t make a bit of difference whether you believe it or not.
You’re nothing but kids, and we can’t fool with you. Come, Welch, if
we’re going to get any fishing this morning we must get started. Come
on.”
He placed the oars in the rowlocks and got into position for rowing.
“What were you doing in there behind those reeds?” asked Frank.
“That is none of your business!” shouted Welch. “Now, you chaps want to
get out of the way, or you’ll get into trouble, for we won’t fool with
ye!”
He lifted an oar threateningly, but the canoe was beyond his reach, and
so he sat down, after half rising to his feet.
“Take your paddle out of the water, Bart,” whispered Frank. “I’m going
to have a look into their boat.”
Hodge obeyed, and then, with a single, long, quick stroke, Merriwell
whirled the canoe up beside the boat.
“What are you doing?” growled the startled man.
“We want to see your guns,” said Hodge.
“To blazes with you! I told you we had no guns, and you can see for
yourselves. Do you see any guns?”
To Bart’s surprise, not a gun was to be seen in the boat. In the bottom,
at one end, however, lay a pile of rushes, such as are sometimes bound
on the front end of a boat when it creeps upon water birds, for the
occupants of the boat to obtain a shot. Of a sudden, Frank leaned over
and gave those reeds a yank.
Two shotguns were exposed to view!
Hodge gave a cry of triumph and anger, and Frank, with another sudden
twist of his paddle, tried to back the canoe away from the boat.
The man uttered a cry of anger, and Welch leaped to his feet, catching
up an oar.
“Oh, I’ll fix you!” he shouted, swinging the oar over his head and
striking straight at Frank’s head.
Merry saw he could not get out of reach, and so, in a moment, he swung
his paddle out of water and used it to divert the oar.
Crack!—the oar struck the paddle and was turned aside. Frank had saved
his skull from being cracked by his swift move.
With a great splash, the oar struck in the water, and Welch was given a
yank that set him toppling, in a frantic effort not to plunge headlong
out of the boat. He let go of the oar and flung up his hands, waving
them wildly, and then, finding he must go over, he dropped and caught at
the side of the boat, overturning that in a twinkling.
It happened in a moment. Both Welch and his companion were precipitated
into the water. The man disappeared a few seconds, and then came up and
grasped the end of the boat.
Welch went down, came to the surface, thrust his hands up into the air,
cried out gurglingly, splashed a moment, and went down again.
The commotion in the water caused the canoe to rock, but Bart Hodge
laughed shortly. His face showed triumph and satisfaction at the
misfortune that had befallen the man and boy. With his paddle, he moved
the canoe yet farther away.
Merriwell looked somewhat anxious and waited for Welch to come to the
surface again.
The man, clinging to the overturned boat, poured forth a torrent of
angry abuse at the boys in the canoe, neither of whom paid any attention
to him. Had they done so, they would have observed that he felt of his
beard and hair in a singular manner, as if doubtful about something.
Welch came up again, splashed about, strangled, coughed, cried out and
sank.
Immediately Frank began to take off some of his clothing. He flung his
cap into the bottom of the canoe, his coat followed it, and then he
pulled off his shoes, keeping low down, so that he would not overturn
the birch-bark craft.
“What are you going to do, Frank?” asked Bart, surprised.
“Save that fellow from drowning, if I can. He can’t swim.”
“But what is the use to jump into the water and get wet? We can get near
him as he comes up, and one of us can catch hold of him.”
“It won’t do.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you see, he is drowning! He would clutch the canoe—try to drag
himself out of the water—overturn it instantly! We’d both get a wetting,
when one can——There he is!”
Welch came up again. His struggles were feebler, and he gasped for
breath with a painful sound.
Merriwell half lifted himself. The canoe began to rock, and Bart
exclaimed:
“You can’t dive over without upsetting me!”
Taking hold of the frail craft in a certain manner, Merry lifted himself
with both hands, and swung himself fairly over the stern end. Had he
gone over the side, he must have overturned the canoe, but he dropped
into the water with a splash, and the light craft remained upright. It
was a skillful trick, and it astonished Hodge, who was more than half
expecting to be capsized.
As Frank struck the water, Welch sank again.
“He’s gone down, Merry!” cried Bart.
Frank struck out with powerful strokes, reached the spot where Welch had
disappeared, and then dived beneath the surface.
The man who was clinging to the overturned boat had begun to swim,
pushing it toward the shore, some distance below the mass of water reeds
behind which they had been concealed.
Hodge paid no attention to boat or man, but he waited with the greatest
anxiety for Frank to come to the surface. With the paddle, he moved the
canoe somewhat nearer the spot where Merry had dived beneath the water.
Frank came up directly, and he had a hold upon the drowning lad, but
Welch had twisted his legs about Frank with a grip that hampered Frank’s
movements. In vain Merry tried to break away. It seemed that Welch had
fastened upon him with a death grip.
“Can I help you?” asked Hodge, anxiously, as he saw Merry struggling in
the water, sometimes sinking beneath the surface. “What’s the matter?”
“This fellow—has—his legs—twisted about mine!” panted Frank. “Confound
him! He wants to drown us both!”
Bart worked nearer with the canoe.
“Hit him on the head, Frank!” he cried. “Hit him quick and hard! Don’t
let him pull you under like that!”
But Merry fought till he broke away from the half-unconscious Welch,
which caused him to utter an exclamation of satisfaction.
“I’m all right now,” he said.
“Can you get him ashore?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I will keep close, so that I can give you some help, if you need
it. Don’t drown yourself trying to save him.”
“We must save him, Hodge,” said Frank, as he swam toward the distant
beach, supporting Welch. “It would not do for us to let him drown
after——”
“After he tried to shoot us!” grated Bart. “Oh, that is like you,
Merriwell! You are ready to risk your own life for an enemy who has done
you any kind of injury! I’m not built that way! My enemies can look out
for themselves!”
Frank said nothing, for he was thoroughly occupied in the task of
reaching the shore, and he could make but slow progress, burdened as he
was.
Hodge paddled along, watching Frank anxiously.
“Let me hold the fellow’s head above the surface a few moments, while
you rest, Frank,” he urged.
“No,” said Merry. “Can’t take chances of his overturning you. I’m all
right. Keep on.”
The man with the boat was now so close to the shore that he could touch
bottom. He stood up and waded out, pushing the boat along and dragging
it up on the beach.
Having done this, the fellow turned and looked at the approaching lads.
He seemed undecided for a moment, but suddenly wheeled about and plunged
into the swampy woods, vanishing from view.
Hodge saw this movement, and wondered at it, but said nothing to
Merriwell, feeling that Frank needed to give his entire attention to the
task of getting ashore with Welch.
Nearer and nearer to the shore Merriwell struggled. He moved slower and
slower, and it was plain that the task was a heavy drain upon his energy
and endurance. Bart feared that Frank would give out, but this did not
happen. Finally Hodge said:
“I think you can stand up here, Merry. Try it—see if your feet will
touch bottom.”
Frank did so, and found he could touch the bottom and have his head out
of the water, which enabled him to walk ashore.
Bart got out upon the beach and helped Frank drag Welch upon the sand.
Merriwell was panting, but he regarded with the greatest anxiety the lad
he had brought to land.
“He’s drowned!” cried Hodge. “He is done for, Frank!”
“Off with your coat!” exclaimed Merriwell, panting. “Give me my coat and
shoes from the canoe. Quick! We must hustle if we bring him round!”
Taking the shoes, Frank wrapped the coat about them, making a hard roll
or bundle. Then he placed the bundle on the beach, and, aided by Bart,
lay Welch, face down, upon it so it pressed upon his stomach. Having
placed the unconscious lad in this position, with the collar of his
shirt ripped open, Merriwell began pressing upon his back just below his
shoulder blades, and with each pressure water spurted from the lad’s
mouth.
“If we can get him to breathing after we get this water out of him,
he’ll come round,” said Frank, anxiously.
They did not work more than a minute before Welch choked and groaned,
causing Frank to express relief.
“He’s coming round so quick,” said Merry. “We’ll have him all right in
short order.”
Now Welch groaned and choked in a most distressing manner. The boys knew
he was suffering fearful tortures, but they kept at work till he ceased
to expel water. Then Frank placed him in a position to breathe easily,
and they saw him staring up at them with wide-open eyes.
“You are all right,” said Merry; “but it was a close shave.”
“Oh!” groaned Welch; “I’d rather die than go through that again! How did
I get here?”
“You got here by being brought by Frank Merriwell,” said Hodge, scowling
at Welch. “He risked his life to save you from drowning, and you didn’t
deserve it.”
Welch said nothing for some moments, but seemed trying to collect his
scattered wits. At last he asked:
“Where is Bunker?”
“The man you were with?”
“Yes.”
“He skipped into the swamp somewhere.”
“And left me?”
“Yes. He got ashore first, and he——”
“That will do!” growled a hoarse voice, and there was a grating step on
the sand. “Bunker is here. He don’t run away from kids like you.”
The man approached, carrying a heavy club in his hand. He looked ugly
enough at that moment, and it was plain he was not in a pleasant mood.
“Look out for him, Frank!” whispered Hodge. “He is up to something.”
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