DICK AND OLD JOE.
Having been reared in that wild section, and permitted to have his
own way in almost everything, Dick Merriwell had developed into a
high-spirited lad who fretted like an unbroken mustang beneath the bit
of restraint. To him the thought of giving in to the will of another
was repugnant, even though the wishes and plans of that other might be
for his own good.
Little did he know that, to a certain extent, the evidences of
pride and spirit he had betrayed had given his brother considerable
satisfaction. Little did he know that he had convinced Frank that there
was in him the making of something out of the ordinary.
Such, however, was the case. Frank would have been keenly disappointed
had he found his brother lacking in spirit and determination. Having
found the boy as he was, Merry was studying him and seeking to discover
the best manner to successfully lead Dick on to his own good. Merry
realized that the task might prove rather difficult, but this gave it
all the more fascination and interest for him.
Having left Frank, Dick passed out of the cabin and walked slowly away.
When he had passed beneath the thick shadows of some trees he felt a
touch on his shoulder, and turned to find Old Joe close behind him.
“Gracious!” exclaimed the boy. “I didn’t know you were following. I
didn’t hear you.”
“Little Hurricane keep him ear open,” grunted the old fellow. “Joe
teach him to hear.”
“I know, Joe, but I was thinking, and I forgot.”
“Must never forget if um want to be like red man.”
“But--but something happened to make me forget.”
“Heap bad!”
“You are right, Joe. It was careless of me.”
“Heap much,” nodded the Indian. “Joe him teach Little Hurricane to hear
snake in grass, bird in air, panther on moss--everything.”
“Yes, yes, you have taught me all that, Joe; but it is Indian lore, and
sometimes I forget myself and know no more than a white man.”
“Must never forget,” repeated Old Joe. “Heap bad! Some time enemy he
ketch um when um have forget.”
“But it was enough to make anybody forget. My brother----”
“Joe know; him hear.”
“You heard?”
“Ugh!” was the affirmative grunt of the old fellow. “Me hear. Set under
window; hear everything.”
“Well, what do you think of it, Joe? He means to boss me, Joe! He
sha’n’t.”
“Him heap big boss.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The Indian squatted on the ground, with his back against a tree.
“Down,” he said.
The boy flung himself on the ground, resting his head on one elbow and
looking into his companion’s wrinkled face. They were quite alone,
where no one could see them, yet the eyes of the Indian turned swiftly
from side to side, and his ears seemed to be lifted, like those of a
listening catamount.
Dick remained perfectly quiet and waited.
“Him heap big boss,” repeated Old Joe, after some moments. “Him have
way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Him have way to make all do as him say.”
“He can’t make me do as he says! I’ll never give up to him!”
The Indian shook his head.
“Little Hurricane him think so now.”
“I know it! I won’t let him be my boss!”
“Old Joe him see something in Steady Hand’s eye.”
“You call my brother Steady Hand?”
“Ugh! Him eye heap strong. Old Joe look into it. Heap strong to make
everybody do way him want.”
“I don’t care! He can’t do it with me! I won’t let him!”
“Think so now; think not so bimeby.”
“Never!” panted the boy. “Why, Joe, he wants to take me away!”
“Joe know.”
“He wants to put me into school.”
“Joe know.”
“He would make me just like any other boy.”
“Little Hurricane have to go.”
“You’re crazy, Joe! I tell you I won’t, and he can’t make me! I shall
stay here with you--and Felicia.”
Again the Indian shook his head.
“Steady Hand him strong mind; make you do way him want,” asserted the
old fellow positively. “Him have strength to do so in him eye. Him know
way to do it.”
The face of the boy paled now, for he placed implicit confidence in
anything the old Indian said.
“Then I’ll kill myself!” he panted, springing up. “I won’t let him boss
me! I’ll kill myself first!”
“Down,” said Old Joe, with a gesture, and, all unconscious that he was
obeying a master, the boy dropped to the ground again.
For some moments the aged Indian was silent, looking fixedly at the lad.
“Mebbe it be better,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” demanded Dick. “Maybe what will be
better?”
“For you to do same Steady Hand want.”
“You’re crazy!” again asserted the boy. “I can’t do it! I will not be
shut up in any old school. I love the open air and the freedom of the
mountains and plains! I love to wander alone in the deep forest and
listen to its murmuring voice. The trees talk to me, Joe, and all the
wild creatures know me. Do you think I am fool enough to give this up
for a stifling schoolroom and the study of books that will make my head
ache and make me weak? I tell you I will kill myself first!”
The face of the Indian remained grave and expressionless, but there was
a twinkle of pride and satisfaction in his keen old eyes.
“You have Injun heart,” he said. “You skin white; heart Injun.”
“I’m not a fool, and I won’t let him make me one!”
“Then only one thing um can do.”
“What is it? Tell me, Joe!”
“Go ’way.”
Dick caught his breath.
“Go away?”
“Ugh!”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“You mean to run away?”
“Ugh!”
“And leave Felicia?”
“Some time um come back. Steady Hand take um, um never come back.”
“Run away--alone?”
“Old Joe him don’t have to stay.”
The face of the boy flushed, and he panted:
“You will go--you’ll go with me, Joe?”
“Ugh! Joe him ’bout ready to go. Him tired stay here.”
“And you will take me with you--where?”
“Prairie big, mountains deep,” was the answer.
“And they will not be able to find us?”
“Never find Old Joe.”
“I’ll do it!” the boy suddenly decided. “Joe, I’ll go with you anywhere
to get away from him. And we’ll go this very night!”
Old Joe Crowfoot returned to his seat by the cabin wall and resumed his
smoking, apparently perfectly contented.
Dick wandered away by himself, passing through the woods, which led
down to the shore of Lake Sunshine.
The boy was happy again, believing that he was going to remain his own
master and live the wild, free life that he loved, so he whistled as
he passed through the woods. His whistling was like the warbling of
a mocking-bird, full of liquid sweetness and trills, and soon he was
answered from the branches overhead, where the flit of wings could
be seen. He was calling the birds in their own language, and they
were answering. The strange notes that came from his pursed lips were
marvelous to hear, and the birds came flying after him, flitting from
tree to tree.
By the shore of the lake he found a comfortable spot beneath a
wide-spreading tree, and there he flung himself on the ground,
continuing his birdlike calls. The birds gathered on the branches above
him, looking down at him with fearless curiosity.
A squirrel chattered not far away, and immediately the sound was
perfectly imitated by the boy, who added to it the call that the
squirrel makes to its mate. Soon the handsome little fellow came
leaping from limb to limb of the trees until he had reached the one
beneath which the boy rested. Then, by fits and starts, he descended to
the ground and approached the lad. In a few moments Dick had called the
wild squirrel of the woods to his knee.
Then down from the tree dropped a bird, alighting on Dick’s shoulder.
The other birds drew nearer and nearer until nearly all were gathered
on the lower branches of the tree.
Behold Dick Merriwell, the wild, strange boy of this mountain valley,
in all his glory, king of the birds. This is the life that appeals to
him and to which he clings. This is what he declines to forsake for
school or any of the advantages which Frank Merriwell has offered to
give him.
Dick laughed and talked to the squirrel, his voice low, soft, and
musical. The squirrel whisked his tail over his back and looked the lad
fearlessly in the face. A jealous bird darted down at the squirrel and
compelled the little animal to hop from the boy’s knee.
“Oh, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Dick softly. “Quarreling, are you? Stop
it--stop it this minute! There’s room enough for you both. No need
to be jealous. Frank tells about his friends. What are his friends
compared to mine! I would not give up my friends for all of his.”
For some time he remained there, with his wild friends about him. At
last, a voice was heard calling through the woods:
“Dick! Dick! Where are you, Dick?”
The squirrel started up in a listening attitude, while two or three of
the birds flew away at once.
“Dick! Oh, Dick! Where are you?”
It was the voice of Felicia.
“She won’t hurt you,” said the boy, to the squirrel and the birds. “You
need not be afraid of her.”
The little girl was heard coming through the woods, and more of the
birds took alarm, quickly darting away on silent wings.
“Here, Felicia--here I am,” answered Dick.
The squirrel did not stop longer. With a flirt of its tail, it bounded
to the trunk of the tree, up which it scampered.
Felicia came running toward the tree, but when she got there the
squirrel was gone and not a bird remained.
This seemed strange enough, for surely Felicia was the more gentle of
the two in appearance, and she was so tender-hearted that for the world
she would not harm the weakest creature in all creation.
But about the boy there was a certain quality that few human beings
possess--a magnetism that attracted the wild things of nature. He had
listened to the voices of these creatures and learned their calls. He
had watched them till he knew all their ways. And his heart went out to
them in sympathy, for their wild, free life seemed to him the perfect
life.
“I didn’t know where you were, Dick,” said little Felicia, her dark
eyes full of gladness because she had found him.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” said Dick.
“Care?” she cried, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him.
“Why, how can you say that? What do you mean? You know, Dick--you know
how much I love you!”
“After--after I did--that?”
“What?”
“You know--to Billy?”
“Oh, yes, Dick--yes! I know you didn’t mean to hurt Billy.”
“It didn’t hurt him, Felicia.”
“But it frightened him.”
“I couldn’t help it,” the boy declared. “He was standing there asleep.
I found the old tin can, and I thought what fun it would be to hitch it
to his tail. Then I got a string, tied it to the pail, made a loop, and
slipped it onto Billy’s tail.”
“It’s a wonder Billy didn’t kick you.”
“He would if anybody else had tried the trick, but I don’t suppose he
thought I’d do such a thing. I betrayed Billy’s confidence in me.”
“You won’t do it again, will you, Dick?”
“No. I wouldn’t have done it then if I’d stopped to think how much you
would care.”
“Oh, you dear Dick!”
She gave him a loving hug.
“But it was awfully funny!” he cried, his laughter beginning to bubble
up within him. “Oh, you should have seen Billy when I let the old thing
bang against his heels! Oh, dear! how he did jump! Oh, my! how he did
kick! Then he brayed and kicked, and the old pail came banging back
against his heels every time. And he rolled his eyes round at it and
looked so comical--so comical! Oh, ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!”
The elfish laughter of the strange lad filled the forest with its merry
sound. Convulsed with merriment over the remembrance, Dick lay on the
ground and clung to his sides, while Felicia stood near, compelled to
laugh despite herself.
“Oh, you’re so happy, Dick!” she said.
Quick as a flash the laughter stopped and the merriment left his face.
“I’m not happy!” he said, sitting up.
“Not happy?” she gasped.
“No, I’m miserable!” he declared.
“Oh, dear!” cried Felicia. “Is it anything I have done?”
“No, no! It’s him!”
“Him?”
“My brother.”
“Frank?”
“Yes.”
“What has he done?”
“I hate him!”
“Did he punish you?”
“I guess not! You don’t think he’d dare? But I hate him!”
“Oh, Dick! you mustn’t forget that he is your brother!”
“I don’t care! What right has he to be my brother? I don’t want a
brother! All I want is you, Felicia!”
“Oh, you mustn’t talk that way! It’s wrong!”
“I don’t care if it is! Do you know what he wants to do? Well, he wants
to take me away--away from you!”
She gave a little cry and clung to him.
“He wants to put me in an old school. I’m not going to school, for I
know enough of that kind of learning now.”
“You’ll have to do what he says.”
“Don’t you think so! He can’t make me do it! He’ll find that he can’t!”
“It was in your papa’s will.”
“That doesn’t make any difference; I won’t do it, just the same.”
“What can you do?”
“I am going to run away!” answered the boy promptly. “I’m going off
where he can’t follow, and he’ll never get me--never, never, never!”