THE LISTENER.
"It’s dangerous," said Scudder.
"Nonsense!" derided Lynch.
"It is," persisted Uric, fumbling with his weak chin. "I know."
Jabez shrugged his shoulders, drawing his heavy coat about him, for the
day was cold, though the sun was shining. The keen wind set the fallen
leaves rustling. The fields were brown, and the woods looked bleak and
uninviting.
The two cadets were seated in a little hollow, sheltered from
observation by evergreen bushes on the side toward the highway.
"How do you know so much?" questioned Lynch. "You don’t mean——"
"I’ve tried it."
"Then the boy’s accusation was true, and you did have a meeting with
Glennon, of the Hudsonville team? You offered to give him points in
regard to the style of playing Fardale would adopt?"
"I told him all I had discovered."
"Which wasn’t much, thanks to the kid who caught you in the tree
watching Fardale’s secret practise, and——"
"Don’t speak of that!" harshly exclaimed Uric, his face flushing at the
remembrance. "Some day I’ll kill that kid!"
Lynch laughed at Uric’s words, which made Scudder still more angry.
"Don’t laugh!" he snarled. "You ran off and left me when you heard the
boy coming. But for that——"
"I did not know it was a boy."
"You might have waited to see."
"And been caught, perhaps, by some one from the academy. I did not care
to take the chances."
"Not you! Yet now you wish me to communicate with a Viewland chap and
offer to give away important information concerning Fardale. Thank you,
Mr. Lynch; I may be a fool, but I’m not such a thundering big fool as
you take me to be!"
"You’ve let a little thing like that knock the sand out of you. I
thought you had more backbone."
"Don’t talk to me about sand! What’s the matter with you, Mr. Lynch? Why
don’t you do your own work? You know I am under suspicion. If Glennon
hadn’t denied ever seeing me before, I’d been kicked out of Fardale."
"Likely," nodded Lynch coolly.
"Then what do you wish—to get me kicked out?"
"I want to reach this Dick Merriwell somehow—and his brother. I hate
Frank Merriwell as much as I do Dick. Why shouldn’t I? I believe he had
me dropped off the team that Dick might take my place."
"You don’t hate either of them more than I do, but I’m just where I
can’t do anything without being in danger of losing my head any moment.
I’m watched—I’m spied on, and the worst spy of the lot is that infernal
old wretch of an Indian, Joe Crowfoot."
It was Jabez’s turn to shiver a little then, for he remembered a
thrilling experience with Old Joe in the woods when the Indian had
threatened to burn off his right hand because he had flung red pepper
into Dick Merriwell’s eyes.
"That old devil!" he snapped. "He ought to be shot! One thing is
certain—he can’t get near enough to us here without being seen to hear
our talk."
"That’s right," nodded Uric, poking at the mass of dead leaves in the
hollow, having picked up a dead branch from the ground. "But he’s the
very Old Nick for concealing himself. One can never be dead sure the old
wretch is not watching or listening. I wish somebody would shoot him!"
"Still," said Lynch, "if it hadn’t been for him I’d not be in Fardale
now."
"Eh?" said Uric. "What do you——"
"Never mind what I did," said Jabez, remembering that Scudder had never
learned the particulars of the affair in question, the truth being that
Lynch had played in disguise with an opposing team against Fardale, and
had, during the game, thrown red pepper into Dick Merriwell’s eyes.
"Anyhow, it was that old red dog that found me out and exposed me to
Merriwell. If Merriwell blowed, it cooked my goose. He said get out of
Fardale, and I decided to get. Then the old redskin caught me in the
woods and was going to torture me."
"Jiminy!" gasped Uric.
"Fact!" nodded Lynch. "I think perhaps he’d half-killed me if Frank
Merriwell hadn’t turned up."
"And then—what?"
"Of course, Merriwell made him let me go. But you see, he knew I had Old
Joe in a bad hole."
"I don’t see——"
"Why, the old dog had tied me up and started to burn my hand off in a
fire he built. What if I had gone and sworn out a warrant against him?"
"You didn’t?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Merriwell agreed to keep everything dead quiet if I let the
matter drop. It was my chance to stay at Fardale, and I kept still. To
save Old Joe, Dick Merriwell had to be silent."
"You were lucky to get off that way."
"Sure thing; but I was told that I’d get it the first time I made
another move against Dick Merriwell. So, you see, I have to lay low and
pretend to be good. I must get somebody else to do the jobs. That’s why
I wanted you to do this piece of business."
"Well, I’m just as bad off as you are since that kid accused me. I’m
suspected."
"Do you propose to lie down and give up?"
"No, not much!"
"What can you do?"
"As much as you."
"That’s not much just now, and now’s the time. Fardale is making a
record under Frank Merriwell’s coaching. Not a game lost yet, and the
team’s growing stronger. If somebody does not take a fall out of Fardale
pretty soon, Frank Merriwell will own the academy and run it."
"Well, what’s your plan?"
"Somebody must find out the signals."
"And then——"
"Post the other team."
"I see."
"Merriwell is teaching Fardale another formation."
"I’ve heard about it."
"It leaked out somehow. Every man on the team seems to think it a
winner."
"That’s right."
"They say it’s new."
"Yes."
"And will make other teams look sick. Now, I’d give something to learn
what sort of a play it is. His line-across trick worked pretty well
against Hudsonville for a time, but it’s hinted that this new play is a
peach and will paralyze Viewland next Saturday."
Scudder’s curiosity was whetted, and he scratched his chin excitedly.
"It would be great to have Viewland onto the trick and ready to blank it
with another play," he said.
"That’s just what I want," nodded Lynch. "That’s why I proposed that you
open negotiations with Cranch, whom I know to be a fellow who will do
anything to beat Fardale."
"You’ll have to get somebody else," said Uric, shaking his head. "I
won’t take the chances."
"Then that settles it!" exclaimed Lynch, in disappointment, rising to
his feet. "It’s no use to chin over it longer, and we’d better separate,
for somebody might see us together and make talk about it. Keep your
mouth closed. Understand?"
"Sure thing. There’s no danger that I’ll blab. Don’t let that worry
you."
"I’ll go down the road. Better wait a little before you come along."
"All right."
Lynch started off without another word, leaving Scudder there. Uric
watched him till he disappeared.
"Do your own work, Mr. Lynch," he muttered, "and I’ll do mine. There was
a time when I’d been glad to stand in with you on almost anything; but
I’ve found you don’t care a continental about me, and you wouldn’t turn
your hand over to help me if I got in a scrape. I don’t love Merriwell,
but, at the same time, I don’t trust you."
After a few minutes, Uric followed his late companion, and the little
hollow was deserted. The wind came down and rustled the heap of dead
leaves that had gathered thickly at the bottom of the depression. And
then, when the sound of retreating footsteps had died out and all was
still, the leaves seemed to move of their own accord.
There was a gentle upheaval, and from the midst of the leaves rose a
human head, in which were set a pair of small, keen, coal-black eyes.
"Ugh!" grunted a guttural voice.
And from this spot of concealment, where he had listened within three
feet of the rascally pair, rose Old Joe Crowfoot.