FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH.
The following day, guided by Old Joe, a party set out on a journey to
the mountains, in a secluded valley of which, the old Indian declared,
John Swiftwing lived with his half-blood wife. The party was made up of
Frank, Bart, Jack, Dick, and the old redskin.
They did not start till past midday, and it was their plan to camp out
for at least one night. All were well mounted and armed and prepared
for roughing it.
Dick had dressed himself in the half-Mexican finery he was wearing the
first time Frank saw him. Those were the clothes in which Juan Delores
delighted to see the lad attired.
Dick bade Felicia an affectionate adieu, promising to return within
two days. At first she had feared he was going away for good, and the
thought had nearly broken her heart; but she was relieved when Frank
gave her his word that they would return.
That night they camped by a stream that came down from the mountains
and flowed out through a broad valley, in which a great herd of cattle
was grazing.
Old Joe had discovered “antelope sign” some hours before, and he set
out to shoot one of the creatures. But Merriwell took a fancy to see
what he could do, and, by skirting a ridge that kept him from view of
the antelopes, he reached a point where he could obtain a good shot at
them when they were alarmed by the Indian and took to flight.
Thus it happened, much to Dick’s amazement, that Frank brought in the
antelope, while Old Joe returned empty-handed.
This seemed something like a marvel to the lad, but, if possible, Old
Joe was even more astonished, and, although he tried to conceal it, he
felt deeply chagrined over the outcome of the affair.
Joe, however, insisted on cooking the juicy steak cut from the slain
antelope, and, though he felt that he could do it quite as well
himself, Merry did not refuse the old fellow this privilege.
The smoke of their camp-fire rose in a blue column. Behind them rose
the cottonwoods by the stream, and the majestic mountains towered close
at hand. Soon the coffee-pot was simmering on some coals raked out from
the fire, sending forth a delightful odor that gave every one a feeling
of ravenous hunger.
Wrapped in his old red blanket, Crowfoot squatted by the fire and
broiled the antelope steak, smoking his pipe.
No one observed that Dick had slipped away. They were talking of
college days, and the conversation served to make them forgetful of
their romantic surroundings.
“Alas!” sighed Ready, “old Yale will not seem like it used to be,
now that Merry has taken himself hence, his radiant brow wreathed in
undying laurels.”
“I’m glad I’m through,” asserted Bart. “I couldn’t stay there another
year.”
“It’ll be hard on me,” confessed Jack. “But I’ll have to stand it.
There is one satisfaction in the thought that there will be no one in
Yale to dispute my claim to the honor of being the most beautiful and
highly intellectual chap on the campus. But the football-games--oh,
my! And the baseball-games--oh, me! What will they be without Merry?
Oh, Lud! I shall think with breaking heart of the days gone by, when
the only and original Frank Merriwell reigned. I shall listen in vain
for the acclaiming populace to thunder forth his name. Nevermore! ah,
nevermore!”
Then, as Jack pretended to weep, there came a sudden and startling
interruption. There was a clatter of hoofs, a shout, and a cry of
warning.
They started and turned. Bearing down upon them was a wild-eyed steer,
and, astride the back of the animal, they saw Dick Merriwell!
“Look out! Jump!” cried Frank, as, with lowered head, the frightened
steer charged straight for the fire.
“Make way for the gentleman!” cried Ready, scrambling aside in
ludicrous haste.
Bart Hodge got out of the way without a word.
And right through the smoke, leaping over the fire, went the steer,
while a wild peal of laughter came from the lips of the daredevil boy
astride the back of the creature.
“Oh, ha! ha! ha! ha!” shouted the lad. “Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!”
“Talk about your untamed catamounts!” gurgled Ready. “Why, that boy is
the worst yet!”
“Ugh!” grunted Old Joe. “Him got Injun heart.”
But Frank said not a word, as he leaped to his feet and ran toward the
spot where his horse was picketed.
Merry knew Dick was in danger, for the wild steer might run at that mad
pace for miles and miles, and there was no telling what might happen
when the lad got off the creature’s back.
Merry’s horse snorted as he came up, backing away and flinging up its
head; but he seized the picket-rope and quickly had the beast by the
head.
Up came the picket, and Frank quickly flung himself on the back of
the horse, without stopping to saddle his mount. Then he whirled the
horse’s head toward the spot where he could see the steer careering
down the valley, and gave the bronco the end of the rope.
He was off in pursuit, wondering how it happened that Dick had managed
to get astride the steer.
The explanation was simple enough. Dick had wandered away to the
stream, where he climbed into the lower branches of a tree. The steer
came along to drink, and the reckless youngster dropped astride his
back.
Merriwell urged the horse to its fastest pace, guiding it with the
picket-rope. He did not look back to see if any of the others followed,
but kept his eyes on the steer that was bearing the boy away.
The herd of cattle at a distance looked up in alarm as the frightened
steer approached. Merry feared they might stampede, with the steer
ridden by the boy at their head.
As the animal approached the rest of the cattle, it suddenly swerved to
one side and made a half-circle. Then it partly stopped, and, seizing
the opportunity, Dick slipped from its back to the ground.
Frank lashed his horse still harder, for he knew that Dick was now in
the greatest peril of all. The cattle of the plains are used to the
sight of mounted men, whom they respect and fear; but the spectacle of
a human being on foot attracts them, first arousing their curiosity and
then their rage. Woe to the hapless man who is thus discovered by a
herd of cattle, for, unless he can quickly find shelter of some sort,
he is almost certain to be charged upon, gored, and trampled.
Knowing this, Merry raced to the rescue of his brother, his heart in
his throat.
The steer ran a short distance, and then turned and looked at the boy,
pawing the ground. The cattle began to approach, gathering in on the
lad.
“Keep still!” muttered Frank, as he again lashed his horse. “Face them,
Dick--face them!”
The boy did face them at first, but they gathered thicker and thicker.
One after another they began to bellow and paw the ground. Their eyes
glared, and their aspect was awesome indeed.
The boy turned and moved away, upon which the herd started after him.
He looked back over his shoulder and saw them coming. The bright colors
in his clothes aided in arousing them. Then Dick saw Frank racing
toward him, and he turned in that direction.
“Keep still!” shouted Merry. “Don’t run! don’t run!”
But the only word Dick understood was:
“Run!”
Immediately he started running toward the approaching horseman.
In a moment the great herd was moving after him, faster, faster,
faster. There rose a rumble of hoofs that was terrifying, a clatter of
horns like musketry, and behind the mass of cattle floated upward a
dust-cloud that resembled the smoke of battle.
Frank Merriwell urged his horse to its utmost, bending forward and
seeking to estimate the possibility of reaching the boy in time.
Dick ran for his life, well knowing that certain death was seeking to
overtake him.
Nearer, nearer, nearer! Then Frank shouted:
“Stand still! Make ready!”
It seemed that the rushing herd must sweep them both down, but Frank
charged athwart the crest of the mass of animals.
Fortunately the boy heard and understood this time. He stopped and
partly lifted his arms, but, knowing that to pick him up while dashing
at full speed on horseback was a feat worthy of a most experienced and
expert cowboy, there was doubt and fear in his heart.
Frank leaned over, clinging to the neck of the horse. It seemed that he
meant to run the boy down, he went so close to Dick. As he passed, he
made a clutch at the strong sash of the lad--caught it--held fast.
The boy was lifted by Frank’s powerful arm. He felt himself raised and
flung across the horse in front of his brother, and then the doubly
burdened horse wheeled and swept away from beneath the very noses of
the cattle.
The herd did not follow far. The cattle seemed surprised at the sudden
disappearance of their intended victim, and they quickly settled down
and stopped.
When they were safely away, Frank lifted Dick, holding an arm about
him. The lad looked at Merry’s face and saw it was very pale, but
strong, and resolute, and masterful.
“That was a close call, Dick,” said Frank quietly. “I was afraid once
that I’d not get there in time.”
Not a word of reproach or reproof. In that moment the heart of Dick
Merriwell went out to his brother in a great leap of affection.
“Frank,” he said, his voice not quite steady, “I--I want to stay with
you--always.”
“You shall, Dick!” promised Frank.