A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT.
“Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!”
Rattle-ty-smash! rattle-ty-thump! thump! smash! thud!
“Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!”
“Oh, ha! ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!”
Pandemonium seemed to have suddenly broken loose just outside the
window at which Frank was writing.
The braying hee-haw was followed by such a smashing, and crashing, and
banging that it brought Merry to his feet immediately.
Then came a burst of wild, elfish boy laughter.
“What the dickens is he up to now?” exclaimed Frank, as he sprang to
the window and looked out.
The sight that met his eyes was both amusing and surprising. To the
tail of a small, long-eared burro, attached by means of a cord, hung an
old tin can. And the burro was hee-hawing and kicking furiously in a
mad endeavor to free himself from the thing which clattered and thumped
about his heels.
On the ground, in a perfect paroxysm of delight, rolled Dick, from
whose lips came the shrieks of elfish laughter. It was two days since
Frank had first met this, until then, unknown half-brother.
Wrapped in a dirty red blanket, sitting with his back against the wall
of the cabin, was Old Joe Crowfoot, who calmly smoked his long-stemmed
pipe, and regarded the youngster and the burro with the gravity of a
stone image.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” shouted the boy. “Look at Billy! Kick it again,
Billy! Oh, ha! ha! ha! Oh, ha! ha! ha!”
Billy kicked and rolled his eyes round at the persistent thing that
came banging back against his heels. There was a comical look of
mingled terror and anger in the eyes of the little burro. He plunged
and leaped about in various attempts to get away from the rattling
pail, which his heels had battered out of all semblance to its original
shape.
“Ugh!” grunted the old Indian, and he gravely continued smoking,
without moving hand or foot.
Then came a sudden, childish cry of distress, and round the cabin
Felicia came running. She rushed straight toward the little burro.
“Oh, Billy! Billy!” she cried. “Who hurt my Billy? Stop, Billy! I’ll
take it off!”
Heedless of danger, fearless of the flying hoofs and plunging beast,
she ran right up to the burro. A moment later she was knocked flat as
the little animal lunged round in its mad struggles to get away from
the banging pail.
A leap carried Frank Merriwell out through the open window, and it
seemed that another spring took him to the side of the child, which he
caught up in his arms.
At the same moment the string broke and the burro sent the old can
whizzing into the branches of a tree near at hand. Twice after this
the heels of the excited little beast twinkled in the air, and then,
seeming to realize that he had conquered at last, he let forth a
triumphant bray.
The boy sprang up and stood quite still, all the laughter gone from his
face.
“Are you hurt, Felicia?” asked Merry, as he held the girl in his strong
arms.
“Oh, no, no!” she sobbed. “But my Billy is hurt! Put me down--please
put me down!”
Frank did so, and she ran to the burro, clasping it round the neck and
sobbing as she showered the now quiet little creature with caresses.
Still the old Indian remained motionless by the cabin wall, not even
pulling a bit quicker at the pipe to betray that he had been disturbed
or interested by what had happened.
Frank turned to the boy.
“Did you do it, Dick?” he asked.
“Do what?” said the boy, with a defiant air.
“Hitch that thing to Billy’s tail.”
“Yes; what if I did?”
Without retort to this, Merry again gave his attention to the girl, who
was continuing to bestow caresses on the burro.
“Billy is not hurt, Felicia,” he said gently. “Don’t cry any more. Are
you sure he didn’t hurt you when he knocked you down?”
“Not much,” was her assurance. “Just here some,” pressing her hand to
her side. “And here a little.”
But when he pushed back her sleeve he found her arm was bruised and
bleeding slightly.
At this moment, having been attracted by the rumpus, Juan Delores, the
father of little Felicia, came hastily upon the scene. He was a man
of few words, and it seemed that past experience must have told him
who was to blame for what had happened, as he gave the dark-eyed boy a
quick look, then lifted the child and carried her into the house.
“Dick,” said Frank, to the boy, “I have something to say to you.”
Again the lad gave him a defiant look, but did not speak.
“Come into the house,” said Merry, as he started toward the door.
The boy did not stir. On the steps Merry turned and looked straight at
the rebellious youngster.
“Dick!”
Their eyes met, and they stood thus for some moments, looking at each
other.
“Come in!” said Frank, still keeping his eyes fastened on those of the
boy.
It seemed that the lad was struggling to resist, but that, in spite of
his desire to do otherwise, his power was not sufficient to combat that
of the young man on the steps. Slowly at first, as if seeking to hang
back, he advanced, and then he followed Frank into the cabin.
In a back room little Felicia could be heard sobbing, her father
speaking an occasional kind word to her.
“Sit down, Dick,” said Frank, pointing to a chair.
The boy hesitated, as if on the point of refusing, and then sat down,
as directed.
Frank went to his chair at the table near the window. As he did so he
glanced out through the window and saw the old Indian in exactly the
same position as before, only it seemed he had moved a little nearer
the window, as if he wished to hear what passed within that room.
Merry sat down, took up his pen, dipped it in the ink, and quietly
finished the sentence he had been writing when he was interrupted by
the rumpus outside the window. The boy fidgeted nervously.
The sobbing of little Felicia gradually ceased in the back room; her
father was heard to tell her that she was all right, and a few moments
later she came running round the corner of the cabin, having passed out
by the back door. She hastened straight to the burro, which she again
hugged, and caressed, and kissed, calling the docile little beast all
sorts of pet names.
All at once the boy jumped up from his chair, crying:
“If you’re going to say anything to me, say it! I’m tired of sitting
here, and I won’t sit here any longer!”
Frank looked up, but Dick turned his eyes on the floor.
“Look at me,” Merry commanded.
“I won’t!” was the answer.
There was a moment of silence, and then Frank repeated:
“Look at me!”
Slowly those dark eyes were lifted till they met Frank’s steady gaze.
The boy caught his breath and stood quite still until Frank quietly
said:
“Please sit down a moment longer, Dick, till I reach a place where I
can stop conveniently.”
The words were not a command, but they were spoken as if Frank had no
thought in the world that they would meet with a refusal; and, without
waiting to note their effect, Merry resumed writing.
The boy sat down and remained quiet till Merriwell laid aside the pen,
smiling.
“Come here, Dick,” said Frank.
The boy rose and came to him.
Frank turned his head to look out of the window, which led the boy to
look in the same direction, and he saw little Felicia still caressing
the burro.
“You didn’t know Felicia cared so much for Billy, did you, Dick?” asked
Merry, smiling a bit.
The boy did not answer.
“Of course you didn’t,” Frank went on; “and it’s very foolish of her.
It’s silly to care so much for a homely little donkey, and she ought to
be punished for it.”
“It isn’t silly!” burst forth the boy warmly, his face flushing; “and
she hadn’t ought to be punished!”
“Do you really think so?” asked Merry, elevating his eyebrows slightly,
and appearing surprised.
“Yes, I think so!” was the defiant answer.
“And you knew she cared so much for Billy?”
“Yes, I knew it.”
“It can’t be possible! Why, I thought you loved Felicia, your cousin!”
“I do!”
“Oh, I can’t believe it, Dick--really I can’t!”
“I do! I do!” cried the boy passionately. “Don’t you dare say I don’t!”
“But you like to give her pain?”
“No, I don’t!”
“Strange! You have done so often within the past two days. You have
done about everything you could think of that she would not like you to
do, ending with hitching that old tin can to the heels of her burro,
which nearly frightened Billy to death.”
These words seemed to bring to the mind of the boy the picture of the
wildly kicking burro, with his rolling eyes and comical aspect of
terror and anger, and he suddenly burst into a peal of wild laughter.
In a moment he was convulsed, and it almost seemed that he was on the
point of falling and rolling on the floor, as he had rolled on the
ground outside.
Beneath the window the old Indian continued smoking, but a grunt that
seemed an expression of satisfaction came from his lips as he heard
that burst of laughter.
Frank did not laugh, but sat there quietly, betraying no effort to
remain grave, until the lad had ceased to give expression to his
merriment.
It must be confessed, however, that Merry found it no easy task to keep
a sober face through that burst of laughter, about which there seemed
something strangely infectious.
When the boy had quieted down somewhat, Frank quietly said:
“You must have forgotten the climax. Felicia, in her anxiety for Billy,
ran out, was knocked down and hurt. She might have been killed. But
what do you care? You laugh.”
“I do care! I do care!” panted the lad, all the laughter gone from his
face now. “Billy had no right to hurt her! I’ll kill him if he does it
again!”
“Then you think Billy was to blame? Of course there was nothing to
cause Billy’s actions? The old tin pail that was hitched to his tail
had nothing to do with it?”
The boy’s dark eyes looked Frank full and fearlessly in the face, but
his face flushed. He was quick to discern the trap into which Merry was
luring him, and, like a flash, he asked:
“Were you ever a boy?”
“Oh, yes,” smiled the young athlete; “I believe I was once on a time.”
“Did you ever have any fun?”
“Lots of it.”
“But you never played any pranks, did you?”
Merry smiled again, seeing how the lad was seeking to turn the tables
on him.
“Yes,” Frank confessed unhesitatingly, “I have, and some of them I
afterward regretted. I want you to profit by my experience. I know how
much you think of Felicia, yet you did not pause to consider that while
you were having sport with her donkey, Billy, you might give her pain.
There is such a thing as harmless fun, Dick. This prank of yours, like
most of the pranks you play, caused somebody pain. You are my brother,
Dick, and I want you to be a little more careful.”
“How do I know I’m your brother? My father never told me anything about
you--that is--until----”
Frank’s clear eyes had disconcerted the boy, causing him to hesitate
and falter in the declaration he had started to make.
“He told you about me before he died,” said Frank positively. “He told
you how my mother was his first wife, which made us half-brothers, and
he also told you that I would come to take you and care for you.”
“I don’t want you to take me! I won’t let you take me! I am satisfied
here, and I’m going to stay here! You shall not take me away!”
This was defiance and opposition in earnest, but the boy could not see
that it produced any effect on the quiet-eyed young man who sat before
him.
“When you understand it better, Dick,” said Merry, “you will be quite
willing to do as father desired.”
“I won’t! I know what you want. You want to take me away where there
are big towns and lots of people and every boy has to go to school.
I don’t want to go to school. I can learn all I want to know without
going to school.”
“You think you can, but you would be sure to find out your mistake when
you grew up and became a man. Next to health, education is the most
valuable possession in the world.”
“Next to health! Why, Old Joe says white folks in the big towns make
their boys and girls go to school till they get weak and sickly and
lose their health. He says the white boys in towns study till their
chests are flat, and they cough, and their eyes are weak, and they have
to wear glasses, and they have no muscles, and they never become real
men at all. I’ll never do that! I can read and write and figure. That
is enough education of that kind. Now Old Joe is teaching me all he
knows, and he knows more than any white man who ever lived.”
“I see Old Joe has given you some false ideas, Dick,” said Frank
quietly, as he stood up. “Take a look at me. I was brought up in the
white man’s school. Am I flat-chested? Have I a cough? Are my eyes
weak?”
The boy regarded Frank searchingly and silently for some moments, and
then into his dark eyes came a look of lofty scorn, as he said:
“You’re a tenderfoot!”
Frank laughed outright.
“Is that why you have taken such an aversion to me?” he exclaimed.
“That’s one thing.”
“What’s another?”
“You want to boss me.”
“Is that all?”
“I won’t be bossed by you. I won’t do as you say! Even if you are my
brother, you can’t make me do just as you want to!”
Under the window the old Indian smoked on, apparently unhearing or
unheeding.
“Dick,” said Merry, “I shall not try to make you do anything that will
be to your harm.”
“You can’t make me do anything, whether it’s to my harm or not!”
Frank decided that he had been incautious in letting the word “make”
pass his lips. He realized that this passionate, impulsive lad must
be governed by reason, and that it would not do to try to drive him.
Dick’s proud spirit would rebel against being driven, even though he
knew the object was for his own good.
“You must see from me that not all boys who attend schools lose
their health. In fact, the best schools to-day have gymnasiums and
training-rooms where the students can work every day to become strong,
just as they study to get an education. And all over the country boys
are at work educating their bodies while they educate their minds. I
have lots to tell you, Dick, about their games and their contests of
strength and skill. I will tell you about baseball, football, and other
games.”
“I don’t want to hear! What do I care? I shall never play any of those
games.”
“You may some time.”
“Never! I have made up my mind. They are silly, and I will not play
them.”
“When you get older you will learn that it is bad policy to form a
conclusion or a resolve in regard to anything you know nothing about.”
“I know enough about those games. Only white boys play them.”
“You are mistaken. At Carlisle there is a school of Indian boys, and
those young Indians learn to play baseball and football. Every year the
Carlisle baseball and football-teams grow stronger and more difficult
to defeat. They play with all the great college teams, and they enter
into the games with a certain wild joy and fierceness that make the
contests seem at times like life-and-death struggles. You should see
the Carlisle football-team come onto the field. Eleven big, bronzed
fellows come trotting out in a bunch upon the gridiron, the chalk-marks
of which look like a skeleton bleaching in the sun.
“They have long, coal-black hair and flashing eyes. They have been
trained till they are fit to do their level best. All around that
chalk-marked field rise great wooden stands, containing tier after tier
of human beings, packed in as thick as they can be, gathered there from
hundreds upon hundreds of miles to witness the game. As the Indians
come trotting out they are given a great cheer from their admirers,
both red and white.
“A football, like a huge yellow egg, is tossed out on the ground and
the Indians begin to chase it about and fall on it to warm up. While
they are at this there comes another cry, and onto the field comes the
team of the white players. Then in front of those great tiers of seats
men rise and give signals with waving arms. At those signals the great
multitude breaks into a mighty cheer for the white contestants. Soon
the game is ready to begin. The men line out on the field, scattering
and spreading to their positions.
“The whites have their first kick at the ball, which has been placed on
a certain spot, and the best kicker on the team stands off and gets
ready. A great hush falls on the people, who lean forward, lips parted,
eyes staring, waiting for the moment. Slowly and with steady steps
the kicker advances on the ball, while the players, to the last man,
crouch, ready to leap forward. The leg of the kicker swings back, then
forward, and--plunk!--his toe strikes the ball, which leaps up from the
ground and sails away, away, away, over the heads of the Indians.
“At the same instant the white players dash down the field after the
ball. Two of them run faster than all others, darting past the first
Indians who get in their path, and reach the spot where the ball is
coming down. But they cannot touch it again till it has been touched by
an Indian. One of the red men’s swiftest runners is under it, ready to
catch it. It falls into his hands and he holds it, instantly springing
forward to carry it toward the white players’ territory. One of the
whites leaps at him to clasp him and bring him down, but, without using
his hands, another Indian player gets in front of the white and blocks
him off. The crowd roars. The runner with the ball dashes forward.
Another white is after him. Both run like antelopes. The white cannot
gain. But past the Indians who try to stop him comes another white,
who hurls himself headlong like an arrow through the air, clasping the
Indian about the legs, and down they come to the ground in a flash.
On top of them leap five or six players, like famished wolves, pinning
them there.
“The great crowd is standing now, and from every throat goes up a
shriek, a yell, or a roar, till a mighty volume of sound leaps to the
sky. The players quickly get up. The ball is placed just where it was
held when the Indian was brought down by the white. Then those players
pack together in two close masses, facing each other, crouching,
looking into one another’s eyes. Just a moment. Then the ball is
lifted, passed back, and an Indian goes leaping and plunging right into
the midst of the compact mass of white players, pushed and jammed and
hurled forward by every man of his own side that can help him, while
his friends block off the whites with their bodies. But the whites can
use their hands, and they hurl the Indians aside, grapple the one with
the ball, down him again.
“The whites have kept their red rivals from making a gain, and once
more the great roar goes up from the crowd. But next time a man grasps
the ball and goes darting and leaping round one end of the bunch of
players. He dodges two who hurl themselves at him, he escapes the
tacklers, and away he races down the field, with every man after him,
like coyotes running down a wild horse. One gains, gets close, springs,
and again the man with the ball goes down, with man after man jumping
on him to pin him fast. Flags are waving, men are roaring, women are
screaming. A band is playing, but the thundering of the crowd drowns
it. The players rise again. Again they crouch, ready for the next
struggle, and----”
“But I forgot that you do not care for this, Dick. Of course, you do
not want to hear about anything so silly, and I’ll stop.”
“Don’t stop!” cried the boy breathlessly. “Go on! Tell me some more.”
Then, as Frank did not resume at once, he stamped his foot, almost
shouting:
“Go on! I must hear it! I will hear it! Tell me some more.”
Frank knew he had won a point, but he did not betray satisfaction.
However, he compelled Dick to beg for a continuance, and then went
on with his thrilling account of a football-game, which he made more
thrilling as he advanced.
Merry knew how to play on the feelings of this spirited, high-strung
lad, and he had Dick throbbing with breathless excitement as
he pictured the tide of battle rolling back and forth over the
football-field.
When Merry permitted, in his fanciful recital, the Indians to score the
first touch-down and goal, Dick actually danced with joy.
“I knew it!” he cried. “I knew the Indians, who lived in the open air,
could beat the whites, who spend their days in schools.”
“But the game is not over yet,” said Merry.
He continued, turning the tables with skill, till he showed how,
by superior generalship, the whites finally defeated their red
antagonists. In order to hold the interest of the boy to the last, he
was forced to make the game very close, but the whites finally won.
“I don’t believe they could do it!” said Dick indignantly.
“But they do do it,” said Frank. “Of course, the Carlisle boys win
sometimes, but they cannot defeat the great colleges, like Yale and
Harvard.”
“Then they are not used fairly. The white men never did use the Indians
right.”
“Old Joe has found you an apt pupil,” observed Merry. “It is true that
in many things the red men have been unfairly treated, but not in
football. When you go East with me, I’ll take you to see some of the
games.”
The dark eyes of the lad sparkled for a moment, and then he said:
“I’m not going East. I had rather stay here.”
“You will change your mind about that later. In fact, I am sure you
will.”
“I’ll not leave Felicia and Old Joe.”
“That is loyal of you, Dick. It shows the spirit of constancy to your
friends, and a fellow who is not constant to his friends is a very poor
chap, indeed.”
“Perhaps,” said the boy, “I might go just to see what the East is like,
if I didn’t know you’d want me to go into one of those schools. I’ll
not do that, because I want to be healthy and strong.”
Frank smiled.
“Do I look unhealthy?” he asked.
“N-no; but I don’t believe you could stand it to live like a
cow-puncher.”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course you couldn’t! No tenderfoot could.”
This time Merry laughed outright. The wisdom of the boy was amusing.
“Well, we’ll not argue about that; but you can see that I am not
weak-eyed, flat-chested, or sickly. Yet when I was a year or two
younger than you I was weak and sickly, so that there were fears
concerning my ability to ever become strong and sturdy. I began to
train to acquire strength and health. I kept at it persistently, and
the improvement in a few months was surprising. At your age I was
stronger than you are now.”
A look of indignant contradiction flashed over the expressive face of
the boy.
“I do not believe it!” he flatly declared.
“It is true,” said Frank. “When I entered the military school at which
I fitted for college I was something of an athlete, but while at that
school I made the greatest progress. It was there that I really became
an athlete of some consequence.”
Still it was plain the boy was not convinced.
“That school,” continued Merry, “is one of the best in the country for
boys who need building up in body as well as mind. Since I left it vast
improvements have been made there. When a student enters now he is
compelled to pass a physical examination at the hands of a competent
professor, and all his weak points are noted and recorded. Every day he
is required to spend a certain length of time in the gymnasium building
up those weak points and strengthening himself generally. For this very
reason Fardale Military Academy is turning out vigorous, healthy young
chaps, who are well prepared for the strain of study and competition
during their college careers; or, if he does not enter college, he is
ready to begin the battle of life with a stout heart and plenty of
stamina to meet all sorts of hardships.”
“It’s no use to talk to me,” said the boy stubbornly. “I don’t want to
go to school, and I’m not going.”
“I didn’t know you were afraid!” exclaimed Merry, as if greatly
disappointed.
“Afraid?” cried Dick. “Who’s afraid?”
“You must be.”
“Of what?”
“You must be afraid to have your weak spots discovered. You are a
trifle hollow just in front of your shoulders, and your neck is not
quite large enough at the base. You would have to train at Fardale to
correct these weaknesses.”
Dick’s eyes flashed with angry indignation.
“I am not afraid of anything of the sort!” he asserted.
“Oh, then you do not care to become as strong as the boys who graduate
from Fardale Academy?”
“I don’t care anything about your old academy!” cried Dick, his cheeks
burning and his hands clenched. “I don’t believe your stories about
great college athletes. I know you’re not weak, but I’ll bet others
are.”
“Hodge is another. You have seen him.”
“Well, that’s only two; and I don’t believe you two are equal to
Western men.”
“All my friends,” said Merriwell, “are strong and athletic. You may
have an opportunity to see another one of them when Hodge gets back
from Denver. He has gone there to meet one of my college chums, who
has come West to spend the summer vacation. I have written to several
others, and, unless I am much disappointed, you’ll have an opportunity
of seeing what sort of fellows they are before very long.”
“I don’t care anything about them,” said Dick sulkily.
“Then I’ll make you care about them,” was Frank’s quiet assertion.
“You can’t!” cried the boy, all his spirit of opposition awakened
instantly. “You can’t make me do anything!”
The look on Frank’s face was one of quiet confidence, and it seemed to
anger the boy more than words, for it plainly told him that Merry had
not the least doubt about succeeding in his object.
Still into Dick’s mind there had crept a fear that somehow this
handsome, confident brother of his possessed strength of will
sufficient to conquer him, and this thought made him desperate, so that
he was tempted to exhaust his powers of resistance, just as a wild bird
beats out its strength against the iron bars of its cage.
“You may go now, Dick,” said Merry quietly.
The boy did not stir, but stood there looking at him with those defiant
black eyes.
Merry, however, sat down and resumed his writing, just as if Dick had
left the room; nor did he give the lad the least attention.
After a time the boy stole silently out of the room, and, despite
himself, into his heart there stole a sense of defeat--a growing
knowledge that he had encountered a master mind.