Dick Merriwell’s Backers
OR,
WELL WORTH FIGHTING FOR
BY
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous MERRIWELL STORIES.
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79–89 Seventh Avenue, New York
Copyright, 1907
By STREET & SMITH
Dick Merriwell’s Backers
(Printed in the U. S. A.)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. LACK OF CONFIDENCE.
CHAPTER II. A HEART-BREAKING FINISH.
CHAPTER III. A SURPRISE FOR DICK.
CHAPTER IV. A HEARTY WELCOME.
CHAPTER V. THE DINNER.
CHAPTER VI. THE BLACKMAILER.
CHAPTER VII. BEHIND THE PALMS.
CHAPTER VIII. HUSH MONEY.
CHAPTER IX. ARLINGTON TAKES A HAND.
CHAPTER X. A HOT OPENING.
CHAPTER XI. CAUGHT WITH THE GOODS.
CHAPTER XII. RETURNING THE MONEY.
CHAPTER XIII. JEALOUSY.
CHAPTER XIV. HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF.
CHAPTER XV. THE ABANDONED CAPTIVE.
CHAPTER XVI. AN EVIL BAND.
CHAPTER XVII. TUCKER GETS WARMED.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE FIRE.
CHAPTER XIX. THE NEXT MORNING.
CHAPTER XX. A PAIR OF RASCALS.
CHAPTER XXI. FURTHER PLOTTING.
CHAPTER XXII. A CERTAIN VISITOR.
CHAPTER XXIII. THE CONSOLER.
CHAPTER XXIV. SOMETHING DOING.
CHAPTER XXV. REFUGE IN THE RIVER.
CHAPTER XXVI. WHAT HAPPENED TO BRAD.
CHAPTER XXVII. FROM THE BAR Z RANCH.
CHAPTER XXVIII. A PITCHER NEEDED.
CHAPTER XXIX. DICK ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE.
CHAPTER XXX. THE FRESHMAN PITCHER.
CHAPTER XXXI. THE GREAT REBELLION.
CHAPTER XXXII. CUT DOWN.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE RED STAIN.
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE UNSEEN SHADOW.
CHAPTER XXXV. AN APPARITION.
CHAPTER XXXVI. A TERRIFIED TRIO.
CHAPTER XXXVII. PANGS OF CONSCIENCE.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE ESCAPE.
CHAPTER XXXIX. THE GHOSTLY FACE.
CHAPTER XL. A QUEER DELUSION.
CHAPTER XLI. SILVER BULLETS.
CHAPTER XLII. BAD NEWS.
CHAPTER XLIII. THE SILVER BULLETS.
CHAPTER XLIV. LYNCH CONFESSES.
CHAPTER XLV. MIKE PUTS IT ON PAPER.
CHAPTER XLVI. TURNING A NEW LEAF.
CHAPTER XLVII. A BITTER DOSE.
CHAPTER XLVIII. WAS HE SINCERE?
CHAPTER XLIX. A WASTED WARNING.
CHAPTER L. WOLFE HAS AN IDEA.
CHAPTER LI. THE HOLDUP.
CHAPTER LII. ROUTING THE RUFFIANS.
CHAPTER LIII. THE ODDS AGAINST YALE.
CHAPTER LIV. MANHATTAN IN THE LEAD.
CHAPTER LV. A BEAUTIFUL BINGLE.
DICK MERRIWELL’S BACKERS.
CHAPTER I.
LACK OF CONFIDENCE.
At the beginning of the sixth inning, Sam Kates went into the box
against the Tufts freshmen. The score then stood seven to one, in favor
of Yale Umpty-ten. Tufts had shown no ability to connect with Dick
Merriwell’s shoots and benders. This was the opportunity to give Sam a
good try-out, and so, at Dick’s suggestion, he changed places with
Kates, who had been playing first.
At the opening of the game, Tufts had professed a hilarious confidence
in its ability to hit Merriwell, but within a short time this confidence
oozed away, and the game was proving tiresomely one-sided and monotonous
when Yale changed pitchers.
Immediately Tufts braced up and took heart. Kates was nervous, and the
visitors seemed to know it. They whooped and barked joyously as the
first man to face Sam lined out a sizzling two-bagger.
“Never mind that, Kates,” came reassuringly from Dick. “Those things
will happen occasionally. They can’t all do it.”
Nevertheless Kates realized that he was trying to fill the position just
vacated by one vastly his superior, and he also knew the Yale men who
had been cheering lustily in the stand were aware of the same fact. This
placed him at a disadvantage, for he was extremely anxious, and a
pitcher who gets anxious in the box is almost sure to be an easy mark
for the opposing batters. Kates, under the manly influence of Dick
Merriwell, had broken away from former undesirable associations and was
now putting forth his best efforts to redeem his past mistakes.
The following Tufts man pounded a long fly into the outfield. The ball
was caught, but the runner on second advanced to third after the catch.
“It’s all right,” again assured Dick. “They haven’t scored, Sam.”
But, unfortunately, the team had even less confidence in Kates than he
had in himself. Therefore, they were likewise anxious, and this anxiety
caused Claxton, at second, to let a warm grounder get through him.
The little band of Tufts rooters yelled wildly as another tally was
chalked down for their side.
“Keep after him! keep after him!” whooped a coacher, as the next batter
pranced out to the pan. “Got him going!”
“We’ll put the blanket on him in a minute,” came from the other coacher.
“Knock his eye out, Tompkins!”
Tompkins responded by slamming a hot one into right field, where Bouncer
Bigelow fell all over himself, and lost the ball until another run had
been credited to the visitors and Tompkins had third safely within his
clutch.
“Not your fault, Kates,” said Dick, as the wretched pitcher cast him an
appealing glance. “Nobody can blame you.”
Blessed Jones, captain of the team, rushed part way in from left field
and called to his players to steady down.
On the bench Robinson, the manager, was fidgeting ponderously, and
muttering to himself that Merriwell would have to go back on the slab.
Dick walked out into the diamond, and many thought that he was going to
change places with Kates once more. Instead of doing so, he placed a
hand on Sam’s shoulder and spoke to him in low tones.
“Don’t get worried now because of those errors behind you. They’ve made
one clean hit off you, and that’s all. This sort of a thing is likely to
happen to any one. It might have happened to me.”
“But I don’t believe it,” muttered Kates. “They won’t back me up,
Merriwell, old man.”
“They’ll learn to back you up before the season’s over.”
“Not if I throw away the first game in which I’m given a chance to
pitch.”
“But you’re not throwing it away. Don’t look round, Kates. That fellow
on third is going to try to steal home. He thinks neither of us sees
him. He’s edging off. Now—nail him!”
Kates whirled like a flash, and found the runner well off third,
balanced on his toes, and ready to make a sprint for the plate.
With a snap Sam sent the ball to Otis Fitch, who had covered the sack
behind the runner’s back.
Nipped just in time, the Tufts man tried to plunge headlong back to
third, but Fitch clutched the ball and nailed it onto him.
“You’re out!” shouted the umpire.
This piece of work caused the Yale men to cheer, while the Tufts lad who
had been caught in his own attempt to work a bit of craft walked in to
the bench shaking his hanging head.
“Rotten! rotten!” snapped one of the coachers. “Why don’t you keep your
eyes open? Why don’t you do your sleeping nights? You can’t afford to
get dopy on bases.”
“But everybody hits! everybody hits!” came from the coacher at the other
side of the field. “We’ll keep right on. We’ll pound him off the rubber
just the same.”
But, somehow, Sam’s nervousness had disappeared beneath the effect of
Merriwell’s touch and words. Having caught the runner in this manner,
Kates grew cool and collected, and the next man up promptly bit at two
twisters that he did not touch.
“Now you’re pitching, old fellow,” laughed Dick. “The poor boy can’t see
the ball. He’s yours, Sam—he’s yours. Eat him up!”
Kates had a huge drop, and this was the next ball he used. As he
delivered it, however, he pretended it had slipped from his fingers, and
he yelled for Buckhart to “look out.” The batter thought the ball too
high, and made no move to swing. The sphere shot down in an astonishing
manner and crossed the batter’s chest.
“Three strikes—out!” announced the umpire.
The deceived hitter stood as if dazed for a moment, and then savagely
hurled his bat to the ground. Once more the Yale stand cheered, and
Merriwell walked in to the bench with Kates, congratulating him with
sincere pleasure.
“You’ve got to do your best work to-day, Sam,” said Dick. “You’ve got to
prove yourself. I need you. Toleman won’t come out. He’s still sulking.
I can’t do all the pitching. The games are coming too thick.”
“It wasn’t wholly my fault, was it, Merriwell?” asked Kates.
“Certainly not. Still, you’d better not kick about your support, for
that gets the fellows sore. They know what they did, and they feel as
rotten about it as any one can. You’ll hold Tufts down after this.”
“But if you see they’re going to win the game, Dick, you must go onto
the slab again. You’ll do this, won’t you?”
“If you don’t get the idea into your head that it’s necessary, I believe
I won’t have to pitch another ball to-day.”
“But if it is necessary——”
“Oh, I won’t see them win the game if I can help it, you may be sure of
that.”
The Tufts pitcher, who had improved as the game advanced, now seemed to
be at his best, and Yale could do little with his delivery.
Not until the first of the eighth did anything more of a sensational
nature occur. In the eighth Tufts got a batter to first by an error, and
then Kates had the misfortune to hit the next man. The third batter
lifted a long fly into center field, where Spratt made a disgraceful
muff and lost sight of the ball. While Jack was spluttering to himself
and pawing around wildly in the grass, all three of the Tufts men romped
over the sacks and raced across the pan.
There was now great excitement, for Tufts needed only one more run to
tie the game.
Kates gave Dick a questioning look.
“No fault of yours,” came once more from Merriwell.
“But they won’t support me, they won’t support me!” muttered Sam, in a
disheartened manner.
The uproar was so great that Dick could not hear these words, although
he read them plainly by the movement of Sam’s lips. Again he trotted out
into the diamond, and once more the spectators fancied it was his
intention to resume pitching.
“Don’t you quit, Kates,” was what he said. “If you do, they’ll never
give you any backing. Pitch as if your life depended on it, but keep
cool—keep cool and use your head.”
There was an audible groan as Dick was seen returning to first.
The next Tufts man batted a slow grounder at Tucker, who juggled the
ball a moment and then made a disgustingly bad throw to first. Dick was
forced to leave the sack and leap into the air to get the ball, and the
hitter crossed the hassock in safety.
With no one out, Tufts’ prospects of tying the score were bright indeed.
“Look out for a bunt, Sam,” warned Dick, who believed the visitors would
try to sacrifice.
The infielders crept in toward the plate, and poised themselves on their
toes, every muscle taut.
The intention of the enemy had not been miscalculated. The bunt came,
and the runner on first reached second while Kates got the ball and
“killed” the batter at first.
But now a fine single properly placed would be almost sure to give the
enemy the coveted run to make the score a tie.
More than that, the next hitter was one of the cleverest batsmen on the
visiting team. Kates used all his art and skill on the man, but finally
the fellow smashed the ball, driving it on a line toward right field.
Dick was playing ten or twelve feet into the diamond. He made an
electrified leap, shot out his right hand, and pulled the liner down.
The moment his feet touched the ground he was ready to throw to second,
but he made sure that Claxton would get the ball. The runner on second
had started for third, but he stopped and nearly broke himself in two in
an effort to get back.
He was a second too late, and the double play put something of a
dampener on Tufts’ elation.
Kates heaved a great sigh of relief, and something like a sickly smile
of joy passed over his face.
This was what he needed to put him once more at his best, for he struck
out the man who followed.