A HOT START.
"Mr. Lincoln" failed to return to the hotel that night. The following
day Jabez Lynch called at the hotel to inquire for the young man, and
was told of his rather singular disappearance.
Jabez left the hotel in a somewhat puzzled state of mind, but soon
decided that "Lincoln" had obtained the information he desired and taken
a hurried departure from Fardale.
Then it was that Jabez fancied he saw an opportunity to increase his
pocket-money, for Fardale’s past victories had made the cadets rather
confident in regard to the future, and some of them were willing to risk
a little in backing the academy team.
In an unostentatious way Jabez proceeded to seek bets, which he found.
He protested that he hoped to see Fardale win again, but said he was
satisfied that Viewland would prove superior. Whenever he succeeded in
raising an argument on this point he offered to back his conviction with
coin of the country, and, therefore, it was not long before he had
wagered his last dollar.
Secretly, Jabez chuckled to himself when he thought of the surprise
Viewland would give Fardale and Frank Merriwell. For he felt certain
that, knowing Fardale’s code of signals, the opposing team would be
prepared for any play, and, therefore, must readily defeat it.
Whenever any one accused him of disloyalty for betting on Viewland,
Jabez insisted that he did so not because he wished the enemy to
conquer, but because he believed that must be the inevitable result. But
he found that not a few of the cadets seemed indignant because he was
willing to bet against the academy team under any circumstances.
"They’ll be madder," he told himself, "when I gather in their dough.
Perhaps they’ll begin to think Mr. Frank Merriwell is not such a great
coach, after all."
The Fardale team worked steadily in practise that week, although
Merriwell did not permit it to engage in a contest with the scrub the
day before the game was to come off.
Saturday arrived, and found Fardale more confident than ever.
Fardale’s good record brought out an unusually large gathering of
spectators, filling the seats provided for them.
Of course, Zona Desmond and Doris Templeton were on hand, for they
seldom missed a game played in Fardale. Zona seemed more dashingly
handsome than ever, but it was Doris who received the undivided
attention of Hal Darrell, who accompanied the girls, looking spick and
span in his uniform.
A few minutes past two a band of shaggy-haired youngsters, garbed in
football-armor, trotted onto the field, and then about thirty
loud-lunged Viewland rooters broke loose.
"’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah!
V-i-e-w-l-a-n-d—Viewland! Viewland! Viewland!"
Divesting themselves of their heavy sweaters, the visitors lost no time
in beginning practise. Two footballs were brought out, and then a ring
was made, and part of the players began to pass the ball round the
circle.
Off at one side, the center, full-back, and a half-back took positions.
The center placed the ball on the ground, as far in front of him as he
could reach in a stooping position, with his legs wide apart, then
snapped it back to the full-back, who caught it and punted it to the
half-back at a distance. This was kept up for some time, the half-back
punting the ball back, or throwing it by taking hold of the end in a
peculiar manner and giving it a sweeping swing.
In the midst of these operations there was another stir, and then a
second band of youthful gladiators were seen coming on the run.
"Fardale!" shouted a voice, and then:
"Ha! ha! ha! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! Rigger-boom! Zigger-boom! All
hail—Fardale! Fardale! Fardale!"
It seemed that the Fardale team shed their sweaters on the run, for they
were ready for practise when they reached the gridiron, across which
they trotted to the side opposite that on which Viewland was practising.
Even as they came to a pause, the quarter-back was heard calling a
signal. Down went a ball, and the players lined up quickly; then there
was a snap, a pass, and a forward rush.
Frank Merriwell came onto the field with the team, and he was close to
the players as they formed, talking to them all the while. He kept them
at work right along, and it was plain to see that the home team moved
with more snap and regularity than ever before, each man seeming to know
what was expected of him and to do the thing expected. This was
calculated to arouse enthusiasm on the part of the Fardale spectators,
and it did not fail.
Jabez Lynch was watching, and there was an expression of anxiety on his
face. He saw the captain of the visiting team come across and meet Steve
Nunn, and from his position Jabez was able to hear some of their talk.
"What are you going to do to us?" asked the Viewland captain.
"We expect to beat you," was the prompt answer.
"Well, you can’t do that, even though we have lost one of our best men."
"Lost a man! Hurt?"
"No—vanished. It’s the queerest thing. Cranch left home the first of the
week, saying he’d be back the next day. Didn’t tell anybody where he was
going, and we have not seen him since. But we can beat your chaps
without him."
Jabez felt faint and ill. His face turned pale, and he longed to rush
out and ask questions, an inclination he was compelled to resist.
Cranch gone! What did it mean? And the fellow had not returned since
coming to Fardale!
"I’m soaked!" thought Lynch despairingly. "What the dickens has
happened! Good Lord! If Viewland loses, I’m cleaned out of my last
dollar and about twenty I have borrowed! I’ll be in a bad hole!"
From that moment he was desperately anxious.
Things moved swiftly. Viewland got the choice, and gave the ball to
Fardale. The wind was blowing almost directly across the field from the
west, so there was little choice in goals.
The positions of the players are here given:
FARDALE. POSITIONS. VIEWLAND.
Burrows Right end Warwick
Stanton Right tackle Purcell
Douglass Right guard Sargent
Buckhart Center Kernan
Gordan Left guard Low
Blair Left tackle Pitman
Kent Left end Gould
Shannock Quarter-back Moulton
Nunn Right half-back Warne
Merriwell Left half-back Jordan
Singleton Full-back Young
Viewland’s line was heavier than Fardale’s, and the appearance of the
visiting team was such as to give the impression that it would be able
to batter the cadets down by sheer weight and brawn. But Fardale’s men
were in fine condition, their training not being too fine, and they were
due to put up a better fight than the casual and uninformed observer
might think possible.
The officials were on hand, the referee wearing a red sweater. On one
side of the field were two men with stakes, and a line that permitted
them to be set five yards apart.
The two teams scattered out over the field, the Viewland backs retiring
to their goal-line, with the exception of the quarter.
Then there was a pause, as a discussion rose over something, and a boy,
with a pail of water, trotted onto the field. He was called by several
players, and plunged a huge sponge into the water-pail, letting the
water run from the sponge into the mouths of the players. One fellow
grabbed the dripping sponge and rubbed it over his face. Then the boy
trotted off.
A player tore off some kind of head-gear and flung it aside. The ball
had been placed on the spot in the center of the field.
At this moment the Fardale crowd gave the regular cheer, ending with
Viewland three times shouted. Not to be outdone, the thirty Viewland
rooters promptly retorted with their cheer, ending with "Fardale!
Fardale! Fardale!"
This was a little bit of courtesy that was intended to show that the
game was for square sport and there was no ill-will.
There was a hush, and then the whistle sounded.
"They’re off!" cried a voice.
The Fardale full-back advanced toward the ball, swung his muscular leg,
and booted the oval far into Viewland’s territory.
Warne took the ball on the run at the ten-yard line, and he carried it
ten yards before Kent brought him down. So the teams lined up on
Viewland’s twenty-yard line for the opening scrimmage.
Viewland was encouraged by cheers from her thirty lusty-lunged rooters.
A pause, a move, a rush, a swirl—then a mass of human beings piled up.
But Viewland had made full six yards by a plunge into Fardale’s center.
Again the visiting spectators cheered, for it seemed by this that
Fardale’s line was not strong enough to hold such rushes.
The signal was given as the teams lined up facing each other, crouching,
alert, ready. The players of the two lines bent forward so that it
seemed as if their noses must touch, and thus they glared into one
another’s eyes.
Again Viewland went hard for Fardale’s center, but this time Brad
Buckhart stood there like a tree rooted to the ground, and the guards on
either side of him refused to be swept back. There was a shock, a
straining, a break, and Buckhart had the man with the ball down, without
a gain.
Now Fardale opened up with a great cheer of satisfaction.
"Didn’t do it that time!" whooped a loud-voiced cadet joyously. "Oh, I
don’t know that it’s so easy!"
But Viewland was in for swift work, and the line-up was made in
breathless haste, so that the two teams were at each other again in the
shortest possible time.
Once more, with the best interference that could be made, the visitors
hurled themselves against Buckhart. The Texan set his teeth and met the
assault in the same spirit that it was made. He held it until Shannock
could break through and throw the man with the ball.
There was another roar of joy from the Fardale seats, and the red and
black was wildly waved in the breeze.
"Do it again!" whooped the same loud voice. "It’s just as easy!"
But Viewland had discovered that the center of Fardale’s line was not as
easy as had been anticipated.
"Will they kick?" asked many.
But Viewland was not yet satisfied that the required gain could not be
made, and the ball went to Jordan for an end-run. Moulton and Warne ran
across with Jordan, as interferers, while the Viewland line held
Fardale. Round the left end of the cadets the swiftest half-back of the
visiting team tried to circle.
Down on him came a flying tackler, and the excited witnesses yelled:
"Merriwell!"
Moulton tried to stop Dick, but Don Kent had escaped Warwick, and he
went into Moulton like a battering-ram, spoiling the interference of the
visiting quarter-back. Warne was running too fast to turn in time when
he made the discovery that Merriwell was on hand, and Dick shot past him
and had Jordan by the leg in a moment.
Down came the runner, who had dodged back in a poor attempt to avoid
Dick, and Viewland was stopped with a loss of at least four yards.
Then there was another cheer from Fardale—a cheer of exceeding great
joy. The game was opening well for the home team, and Fardale showed she
was not in the least awed by the apparent heaviness of the enemy.
The cadets had secured the ball, and, as the flags flew, the bleachers
began to sing, a wildly gesticulating fellow leading the chorus.
Zona Desmond had leaped up with a cry when Dick tackled Jordan, waving
above her head the flag she had brought. Turning, she caught hold of
Doris, and cried:
"Wasn’t that just beautiful? Why don’t you cheer?"
But Doris had been too breathless to utter a sound, though her blue eyes
were filled with a light of admiration.
The students were singing:
What’s the matter with old Fardale?
She’s all right!
She can fight!
She’s always in the game.
And her work is never tame;
She’ll get there just the same;
So——
What’s the matter with old Fardale?
"They’re singing too soon!" muttered Jabez Lynch. "Better wait a little
while!"
"That’s what I think," said a voice beside him.
Lynch started, for he had not fancied that he spoke the words aloud.
Scudder was there.
"What do you want?" asked Jabez, not quite pleased at having Uric there.
"Oh, nothing, nothing!" was the answer, as Scudder grinned and rubbed
his chin. "Just happened along and heard what you said."
"I didn’t say anything."
"Didn’t you? Then I must have been dreaming."
"And I don’t wish to talk to you here."
"Why not?"
"Because it may arouse suspicion. I——"
"Now, don’t get on your high horse with me!" said Uric, in a low tone,
suddenly assuming a defiant air. "I know all about you, and you’re not a
bit better than I am—if as good. Just because I declined to be your
tool, don’t think you can play the lofty with me. You acknowledged that
you had been caught, and——"
"Stop that kind of talk here! I don’t want to play the lofty; but we’re
both known as Merriwell’s enemies, and some of these suspicious ones may
see us talking together. We’re not in the same class. You’re a plebe. If
I have too much to say to you, it will excite comment. That’s all."
"I’m glad that’s all," said Uric, with sarcasm. "All right; I’ll not
call suspicion down upon you. But if you’re banking on Viewland winning
to-day, I fancy you’ll lose. Your game didn’t work, did it?"
Somehow, this pricked the curiosity of Lynch. Was it possible Scudder
knew something about the disappearance of Cranch?
"My game?" said Jabez. "You mean——"
"Oh, you know."
"What makes you think it didn’t work?"
"Did it?"
Uric did not seem inclined to commit himself.
"Are you quizzing me?" said Jabez angrily.
"Oh, not at all! But it looks to me as if something had gone wrong in
your plans. You wear a worried expression."
"Well, don’t you worry about me!"
"Little danger; but if Viewland wins, I’ll call round and see you
to-night."
"You call——"
"Sure thing."
"Why? You——"
"I’m broke, and I shall need a little loan," said Uric significantly.
Jabez glared at him.
"Well, you won’t get it!" he snapped.
"Won’t I?" grinned Scudder. "Oh, I don’t know! Perhaps you’ll conclude
to cough after you think about it. Of course, I don’t want to make it
unpleasant for you, you know, but [illegible]"
Lynch felt like hitting the fellow.
"Go on!" he grated. "You may be sorry if you try any blackmailing-game
on me!"
"Oh, law!" said Scudder, in pretended horror. "Don’t use such harsh
language! You shock me!"
Then, with a sneering laugh, he moved off. Lynch glared after him.
"That fellow is going to make trouble for me," thought Jabez. "I’ve told
him too much. He can’t be trusted."
But now he gave his entire attention to the playing.
Having secured the ball on downs, Fardale lined up for the assault, and
Merriwell was hurled into Viewland’s center. Kernan was a good man
there, but the impetus of Merriwell’s rush, backed as it was by
Singleton, Nunn, and Shannock, forced Viewland to give for a distance of
four yards.
This was good, and the watchers expected that the attempt would be
repeated. The signal followed, as the two lines formed once more:
"11—17—92—X—13—40."
Merriwell was not given another opportunity. The ball was snapped and
passed to Nunn, who started to the left on the run, Shannock and
Merriwell falling in between him and the line, with Singleton just ahead
of him.
But the left end of Fardale’s line broke, letting Purcell through. The
right tackle of the enemy plunged between Shannock and Merriwell and
nailed Nunn, throwing him fairly onto his head. The ball escaped Steve
and went rolling away. Singleton tried to drop on it, but missed, and
Warwick came down on the oval, having followed Purcell through the
break.
Viewland had recovered the ball on this fumble.