A NIGHT ADVENTURE.
Frank's plan was carried out. All the treasure was removed from the
cavern in which the mysterious old hermit was buried. The hermit's
horse was set free, and the boys carried the treasure to Ullin,
Nevada, where it was shipped to Carson and deposited in a bank there.
"If it is not claimed in a year's time, boys," said Frank, "we will go
about the work of having it evenly divided among us. In that case we
will have made a good thing out of this trip across the continent."
Nothing more was seen of the Indians, and the boys continued on their
trip until Carson City was reached.
One evening Frank was strolling along alone when a shrill, piercing
cry of pain, ending abruptly, cut the still evening air.
"Hello!" muttered Frank, as he paused to listen. "Something is wrong
with the person who gave that call."
He listened. In a moment the cry was repeated, and this time it ended
with a distinct appeal for help.
Frank was unarmed, but he was aroused by the thought that a fellow
being was in distress, and he ran quickly to a dark corner, from
beyond which the cry had seemed to come.
To the left was a dark and narrow street, which looked rather
forbidding and dangerous.
"I believe the cry came from this street," said Frank, to himself. "If
there were a few lights----"
"Help!"
There could be no mistake this time; the cry did come from that
street. A short distance away in the darkness a struggle seemed to be
going on. Frank could hear the sound of blows, hoarse breathing,
muttered exclamations and cries of pain.
"Some fellow is being done up there!" thought the boy from Yale.
Without further hesitation he ran toward the point from which the
sounds seemed to come.
In a moment Frank was close upon two dark forms that were battling
fiercely on the ground. He could see them indistinctly in the
darkness.
"Ah-h-h, you little whelp!" snarled a harsh voice "So ye will run
away, hey? Well, ye'll never run away no more after this!"
"Oh, please, please don't beat me so!" pleaded a weak voice. "You--you
are killing me! Oh! oh! oh!"
"I'll make ye 'oh, oh, oh!'" grated the other.
Then the blows fell thick and fast.
"Here, you miserable brute!" rang out the clear voice of Frank. "You
ought to be shot!"
Then he grasped the figure that was uppermost and attempted to drag
him off the other.
To Frank's surprise, although the attack had been sudden, he did not
succeed in snatching the assailant from the unfortunate person he was
beating.
"Get out!" roared a bull-like voice. "Lemme alone, or I'll cut yer
hide open! This is none of your business!"
"Help, sir--help!" cried the weak voice. "He has beaten me nearly to
death! He will kill me!"
"Ye oughter be killed, ye ungrateful little whelp!"
"Break away!" commanded Frank, as he lifted them both by a wonderful
outlay of strength and literally tore them apart.
The one who had been assailed could not keep on his feet, but swayed
weakly and sank to the ground.
With a sound that was like the snarl of a ferocious beast, the other
grappled with Frank. He was so short that he stood not much higher
than Frank's waist, but his shoulders were wonderfully broad, and he
had arms that were almost long enough to reach the ground when he was
on his feet.
"Great heavens!" thought Merriwell. "What is this I have run against?
Is it a human gorilla?"
And then he found that the creature possessed marvelous strength, for
Frank was literally lifted off his feet and flung prostrate, the other
coming down upon him.
The fall came about so suddenly that Frank was dazed, and his breath
was nearly knocked out of his body. For a moment he did nothing, and
the creature scrambled up and grasped the fallen lad by the throat
with hands that were like iron.
"Bother with me, will ye!" snarled that beastlike voice. "I'll fix ye
so ye won't do it no more!"
Frank felt that he was in deadly peril, and that caused him to clutch
the man's wrists and hold fast.
He saw something uplifted, and he knew well enough that the furious
creature had drawn a weapon of some sort.
"Look out!" panted the weak voice from close at hand. "He will kill
you! He has a knife!"
Then, as Merriwell used all his strength to hold back that uplifted
hand, he began to realize that, athlete though he was, he was no match
for the person he had tackled.
The strength of those long arms was something wonderful, for little by
little the man forced Frank's hand back, and his knife approached the
boy's breast.
Merriwell felt that his power of resistance might give out suddenly at
any instant, and then the blade would be driven to its hilt.
He was desperate and frantic, for there was something awfully
horrifying in the steady manner in which that knife was forced nearer
and nearer.
Cold sweat started out all over him, and he panted for breath, while
it seemed that his madly leaping heart would burst from his bosom.
He could see two glaring eyes that seemed to shine with a baleful
light of their own in the darkness. He could see the writhing features
of a ghastly face, and he could hear the creature grate his teeth.
Nearer and nearer came the blade.
Crying and panting, the one whom Frank had attempted to save got upon
his feet, swayed a bit, and then steadied himself with a great effort.
"You shall not do it--you shall not!" he gasped.
Then he flung himself on the man, seeking to drag him from the
prostrate lad.
Frank saw that the time had come to make a last effort for the
mastery, and so, aided by the other, he succeeded in forcing his
opponent back enough so he could squirm out from beneath.
In a moment Frank gained his feet, and then, as the man with the knife
came up, out shot the fist of the young athlete.
Smack!
The blow landed fairly, sounding clear and distinct.
Over went the dwarf, and the knife flew out of his hands, falling with
a clattering ring upon some stones.
Merriwell knew he must follow up his advantage, but he was barely
quick enough, for the fallen ruffian scrambled to his feet with the
nimbleness of a cat.
But again Frank struck the fellow, using all his skill and muscle. He
barely escaped being clutched by those long arms, but the dwarf was
knocked down once more.
The sounds which came from the throat of the man were decidedly
unpleasant to hear. They did not seem to be words, but were a
succession of snarls.
By the time Frank had struck the creature again, he did not scramble
up so quickly.
At that moment, having heard the sounds of the struggle, some person
brought a light to the broken window of an old house that stood almost
within the limits of the street.
That light shone out and fell full on the dwarf man as he was rising
to his feet after the third blow. His long arms were extended so that
his hands lay on the ground, and he was standing in a crouching
position on all fours. His face was pale as marble, and disfigured by
a red scar that ran down his left cheek from his temple to the corner
of his mouth. His eyes were set near together, and were blazing with
ferocity.
Taken altogether, Frank thought that the most horrible face he had
ever seen.
The light seemed to startle the horrid-appearing creature, and, with a
low, grating cry of baffled fury, he turned and ran swiftly away,
still in a somewhat crouching position, his hands almost touching the
ground, while he made queer leaps and bounds.
In a moment the dwarf had disappeared.
Frank gave a breath of relief.
"Good riddance!" muttered the lad from Yale.
Then he turned to look for the person he had saved from the dwarf.
That person had disappeared.
"Gone!" exclaimed Merriwell, in astonishment and regret. "He must have
been frightened away during the last of the struggle. He was weak, and
he may not have gone far."
Frank resolved to search, and immediately set about doing so. He had
not proceeded far when he came upon a form stretched motionless on the
ground.
A hasty examination showed Frank it was a boy, who seemed to have
fainted.
"It is the chap the dwarf was beating!" decided Merriwell.
He lifted the unconscious boy in his arms, tossing him over one
shoulder, and started toward the lighted street.
"I must take the poor fellow to the hotel, and then we'll see what can
be done for him. He seems to be in a bad way."
By the time the lighted street was reached the boy recovered
consciousness. He struggled a bit, moaned slightly, and then, in a
pathetic, pleading voice, he said:
"Please don't take me back to Bernard Belmont, Apollo--please don't! I
know he will kill me!"
"Don't be afraid," said Frank, gently. "I am not taking you to any one
who will harm you."
A cry of astonishment broke from the boy.
"Why," he exclaimed, "you are not Apollo!"
"No; I am Frank Merriwell. Who is Apollo?"
"A dwarf--a wretch--the hired tool of Bernard Belmont! Oh, he is a
monster, without heart or soul!"
"He must be the one with whom I had the lively little set-to."
"You--you came to my aid--you saved me from him! How can I thank you!
But I thought he would kill you!"
"And so he might if you hadn't helped me throw him off. You did it
just in time, and I believe you saved my life."
"Oh, but he had a knife--I could see it! And I knew he would use it.
He has such wonderful strength."
"He is strong."
"Strong! I do not see how you held him off! But I could see him
forcing the knife nearer and nearer, and I grew frantic, for it seemed
that you would be killed before my eyes."
"I was rather anxious myself," confessed Frank, with something like a
laugh.
"It was a nasty position."
"I don't know how I dared touch him, but I remember that I did. Then
you flung him off and got up. After that, I remember that you were
fighting, and I felt sure you could not conquer him. He would get the
best of you in the end, and then he'd finish me. I was scared and
tried to run away; but I did not go far before I became sick and weak,
and--and I don't remember anything more."
"You fainted."
"And you whipped Apollo?"
"Not exactly. I knocked him down a few times, but he seemed to spring
to his feet almost as soon as he went down. Then somebody brought a
light to a window and he was scared away."
The boy clung to Frank.
"He did not go far!" he excitedly whispered. "He is not far away! He
is liable to spring upon us any time! Bernard Belmont has sent him for
me, and he will not rest till he gets me. Oh, I must get
away--quick--to my sister! She is near--so near now! But my strength
is gone, and--and----"
The boy began to cough, and each convulsion shook him from head to
feet. There was a hollow, dreadful sound about that cough--a sound
that gave Frank a chill.
"Never mind if your strength is gone," said Merriwell, encouragingly.
"You'll get along all right, for I'll stick by you and see that you
do."
"You are so kind!"
"What's your name?"
"George Morris."
"Where do you live--here in Carson?"
"Oh, no, no! I live in Ohio."
"That is a long distance away."
"Yes, sir."
"How do you happen to be here?"
The boy hesitated, seeming in doubt and fear, and then, with what
appeared to be a sudden impulse, he said:
"I am going to tell you--I am going to tell you everything. Put me
down here. Let's rest. I am tired, and I must be heavy."
They sat down on some steps, the boy seeking to keep in the shadow,
showing he feared being seen.
"It's--it's like this," he began, weakly. "I--I ran away."
"Oh-ho!" exclaimed Frank.
The lad quickly, almost fearfully, clutched his arms.
"Don't think I ran away foolishly!" he exclaimed, coughing again.
"I--I came out here to find my sister, who is buried."
"Then your sister is dead?"
"No."
"Not dead? You said she is buried. How can a person be buried and not
be dead?"
Frank began to think it possible the boy was rather "daffy."
"There--there's lots to the story," came painfully from the boy. "I
can't tell you all. The letter said she was buried--buried so deep
that Bernard Belmont could never find her. That letter was from Uncle
Carter."
"Uncle Carter?"
"My father's brother, Carter Morris. He lives somewhere in the
mountains west of Lake Tahoe. He has a mine up there, and he is very
queer. He thinks everybody wants to steal his mine, and he will let no
one know where it is located. They say the ore he has brought here
into Carson is of marvelous richness. Men have tried to follow him,
but he has always succeeded in flinging them off the trail. Never have
they tracked him to his mine."
"Then he is something of a hermit?"
"Yes, he is a hermit, and my sister is with him. He wrote that she was
buried deep in the earth--that must be in his mine."
"How did your sister come to be with him?"
"I helped her--I helped her get away!" panted the boy, excitedly. "I
knew they meant to kill us both!"
"They? Who?"
"Bernard Belmont and Apollo."
"Who is Bernard Belmont?"
"My stepfather. He married my mother, after the death of my father. He
is a handsome man, but he has a wicked face, and he is a wretch--a
wretch!"
The boy grew excited suddenly, almost screaming his words, while he
struck his clinched hands together feebly.
"Steady," warned Frank. "You must not get so excited."
The boy began to cough, holding both hands to his breast. For some
minutes he was shaken by that convulsive cough.
"Come," said Frank, "let me get you to the hotel. You must have a
doctor. There must be no further delay."
"No, stop!" and the boy held to Merriwell's arm. "I must tell you now.
I seem to feel that my strength is going--going! I must tell you!
He--he killed my mother!"
"Who--Bernard Belmont?"
"Yes, yes!"
"Killed her? You charge him with that?"
"I do. He killed her by inches. He tortured her to death by his
abusive treatment--he frightened my poor mother to death. And then,
when he found everything had been left to us--my sister and
myself--then he set about the task of destroying us by inches. It was
fixed so that he could get hold of everything with us out of the way,
and he----"
Another fit of coughing came on, and, when it was finished, the boy
was too weak to proceed with the story.
"You shall have a doctor immediately!" cried Frank, as he lifted the
lad and again started for the hotel.