HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF.
In the morning the hostler came to Steele and sheepishly informed him
that some time during the night the captive had slipped his bonds,
managed to get out of the box stall, and escape.
“I don’t see how he did it, sor,” said the hostler. “I wisht you’d tell
me how he opened the door of the stall from the inside, sor.”
“You must have slept like a log, Killen,” said Casper. “I’m sorry the
fellow got away, but perhaps it saved the trouble of prosecuting him. I
don’t believe he’ll show his nose in Cambridge again.”
Breakfast, with the morning sun streaming in at the windows of the
dining room, was a jolly affair. Of course it was not what might be
called an early breakfast, but before nine o’clock every one of the
guests was up and ready to sit down at table.
And now Dick found that, in some manner, June’s seat had been changed.
She was no longer at his side, but Sparkfair had the pleasure of
discovering her beside him. Outwardly, Dick did not seem a bit
disturbed. He chatted and laughed as easily as ever. The girl who filled
June’s former seat received Dick’s smiling attention.
Plans for the day were freely discussed, and new projects were proposed,
until Steele laughingly reminded them that they had suggested enough
things to keep them all busy for a week, at least.
“Who’s for a ride?” cried Agnes Locke. “Casper has a stable full of
saddle horses.”
“I accept the challenge,” came quickly from Arlington. “You can’t shake
me, Miss Locke, I’m with you.”
“And I think I’ll go, too,” said June. “Will you come along, Dale?”
“Will I? Ask me,” laughed Sparkfair.
“Perhaps you’d like to join them, Merriwell,” said Steele. “I have a
fine black thoroughbred that it would do your soul good to mount. I have
plenty of riding togs. What do you say?”
“Of course I wouldn’t think of forcing myself on such a satisfactorily
arranged party,” laughed Dick. “Still, Steele, I’d like to bestride your
thoroughbred.”
“Where’s there another girl to balance the party?” cried Sparkfair.
June touched his arm.
“Hush!” she murmured. “Are you going to insist on inviting Dick
Merriwell to join us?”
“Not if you don’t want him,” he whispered.
“I don’t,” she declared.
Therefore, it happened that less than an hour after breakfast two lads
and two girls rode out from Meadwold, and Dick was not one of them.
Nevertheless, Merriwell had donned riding clothes offered him by Steele,
and the quartet had no more than disappeared when he galloped out from
the stable, astride the black thoroughbred.
Sparkfair found June in a nervous, excitable mood. Several times he
detected her looking back over her shoulder as if half expecting to
discover some one in pursuit of them. In truth, she was looking for
Dick, but he had taken another course, and there was no chance that he
would come upon them from the rear.
“I can’t get over the nervous feeling caused by that affair last night,”
said June. “I was dreadfully frightened when that scoundrel leaped upon
us from behind the rosebush.”
“But you proved yourself a heroine, June. You hung to him and yelled
bloody murder until the fellows came up and nabbed him. At first I was
sorry when I learned this morning that he’d escaped in the night. Now
I’m rather glad of it. It saves us the trouble of pressing the case
against him, and I don’t believe he’ll go back to Cambridge.”
“If he does——”
“If he does, I may have further trouble with him, but I’m not worrying
over that.”
After a time Arlington and Agnes fell behind. Beneath some trees by the
roadside they halted, and soon Dale and June passed from view. Finally
discovering that their companions were not following closely, they drew
rein and waited for them to come up. June was seized by a strange desire
to be alone for a time, at least.
“I wish you’d go back and look for them, Dale,” she said. “Please do.
You can overtake me. I’ll wait for you.”
Thus urged, he finally turned back. She permitted her horse to move
along slowly, the rein lying loose upon its neck. She was buried in deep
thought when a sheep suddenly started up by the roadside and gave the
horse a fright. An inexperienced horsewoman would have been thrown from
the saddle by the sidelong leap of the animal. June maintained her seat
and caught up the reins. But the horse had the bit between his teeth.
With ears set flat back, he was running away. Through a gate he tore,
and away across an open field the girl was carried.
Merriwell, cutting across that field to reach the highway, saw what had
happened. Immediately he headed the black thoroughbred in pursuit of the
runaway. It was a wild and thrilling race, for neither walls nor fences
nor ditches could check the frightened animal that was bearing June.
Over them all he sailed. The girl heard some one shouting to her, and,
half turning her head, she caught a glimpse of the pursuer.
“Dick!” she breathed.
But she could not understand his words, although she fancied they
contained a warning. Ahead of her loomed another stone wall. She
wondered if the runaway would not be turned by it. Not until the animal
was sailing over that wall did she realize what lay beyond it. A moment
later horse and girl struck with a mighty splash in the placid water of
a small river.
Carried from the saddle, June rose to the surface just in time to see
the black horse bearing Dick Merriwell come flying over the wall above
her.
What followed seemed like a dream to June. She knew Dick clutched her
with his strong hand, and she had good sense enough to give herself up
without struggle or effort, so that he was finally able to bring her
unharmed to the low bank on the far side of the little river.
The horses had swam out and were grazing in companionable contentment
upon the grass as Dick and June, dripping wet, sat on the bank and
looked at each other.
“Well,” said Merriwell, with a light laugh, “I hope this doesn’t give
you a cold.”
“I hope it does!” she cried. “I told Dale last night that I wanted to
catch cold and have pneumonia and die. Now this is my chance.”
“It surely is,” agreed Dick. “But why this sudden morbid desire for
death? What’s the matter?”
“You ought to know.”
“I don’t.”
“You’ve deceived me, Dick. I heard you last night—I heard you talking to
that girl they call Barbara Midhurst. You were speaking about a secret
between you. If you like her better than you do me, I’m sure you’re
welcome to her. I don’t care. I’m glad of it! I hope you’ll live long
and both be happy. I’m going to die, anyhow!”
“And I hope it isn’t quite as serious as that, June,” he laughed. “I’m
glad I know what was the matter. Yes, there is a secret between Barbara
Midhurst and myself, but I give you my word that the secret concerns a
third party. I discovered it by accident, and I’ve kept it for her sake
and the sake of the third party. I don’t care for Barbara, June—that is,
not as you mean. Don’t you believe me? Did I ever tell you a lie in my
life? You’re the girl I care for more than all others in the world.
Can’t you trust me? What’s the matter? You’re crying!”
“Oh, I’m all we-wet, and fuf-feel just per-perfectly horrid!” sobbed
June.
“And you think I’m a two-faced scoundrel?”
“No-no I don’t. I tried to think that, but now I know I was fuf-foolish.
I’m ashamed of myself, Dick. I can’t help crying, and I haven’t even got
a dry handkerchief to wipe my eyes with.”
“Nor I,” he said, glancing around to make sure no one was in sight.
“Never mind the handkerchief. Let this dry your tears.”
And behind the palms they kissed and the misunderstanding was at an end.
The next day the house party dispersed, Dick and his friends returning
to Yale to resume active work in their baseball work.
Dick had not been in New Haven two hours before he heard news that
worried him. He learned that some one had sold the baseball team’s
signals to the enemy. He quickly discovered the guilty person, and,
knowing that no further useful steps could be taken in the matter, he
told his friends that the incident was closed.
But the incident was not closed. For the guilty man’s friends took the
matter up. Not knowing that Dick Merriwell already knew the identity of
the traitor, they resolved to capture Tommy Tucker for the purpose of
forcing him to sign a supposed confession.