A STRONG ARM.
Hull did not pause to make any kind of a bluff, but he turned out
with remarkable alacrity, for Merriwell’s eyes were fastened upon
him and seemed to go through him like knives. Those eyes seemed
quite enough to turn any one aside.
Seeing Tilton make that abrupt swerve, Veazie and Lord looked for
the cause, and beheld Merry within two strides of them. They nearly
fell over each other in their haste to get away, and they went
clean off the sidewalk into the gutter.
Chickering pretended not to see Merry, although he could not help
swerving aside the least bit. Ives suddenly became busy with his
bang, and Skelding was the only man of the whole lot who ventured
to give Frank one savage glance. But Merry paid no heed to
Skelding, who was not in his path at all, and walked on. Gene was
mad.
“Well, I swear, you are like a lot of frightened sheep!” he
snarled, regarding the rest with scorn. “You make me sick, the
whole of you!”
“What is the matter?” asked Rupert, with pretended surprise. “What
made everybody dodge aside so?” Then he looked back and saw Frank.
“Can it be?” he said, in great disgust. “Really, it’s too bad!”
In disgust Skelding left the sidewalk and started to cross the
street. The others flocked after him stragglingly.
Then there was a great rumpus and uproar down the street. Men
shouted and ran for the sidewalks, teams got out of the way in a
hurry, and the electric car at the crossing slid over barely in
time.
And right down on the Chickering set bore two runaway horses
attached to a bounding, rocking, reeling carriage. The driver
was gone from his seat, the reins were flying loose, and the two
ladies in the carriage were quite helpless. At any moment they
might be thrown out and killed. At any moment the mad horses might
crash into another carriage, a car, a stone post, the curbing, or
something that would cap the catastrophe.
Men looked on helplessly, or ran after the reeling carriage,
shouting and waving their arms. Women shuddered, screamed, and
turned pale.
Was there no one to stop the runaway? Yes, there was the famous
strong policeman of that beat! Everybody knew him. He would stop
the horses. He ran out before them.
Then the crowd watched the officer perform the wonderful feat. He
was a giant in stature, and he had Hercules-like arms and legs. He
hurled himself fearlessly at the heads of the frightened beasts,
caught with one hand, clung, and was dragged.
“He’s down!”
Women covered their eyes to shut out the spectacle. He had failed
to obtain a good hold on the bridles of the horses, his hands
slipped, he hung desperately, and then----
It seemed that those terrible hoofs beat him down and went over
him, leaving him lying there.
At first the Chickering set had seemed dazed by the commotion.
Their brains were fuddled, and they hesitated fairly in the track
of peril.
“Run, you fools!” shouted somebody. “Get out of the way, or you’ll
be killed!”
As the others take to their heels and scamper for a place of
safety, it is seen that one remains behind.
It is Skelding.
On came the terrified horses, and Gene braced himself for the
effort that was to land him in the halls of fame--or in a cemetery.
The latter thought came upon him with appalling force as he saw
those mad horses almost within reach. Their eyes were glaring,
their teeth were set on the bits, their lips flung great flecks
of foam, and the muscular play of their thrashing legs, bounding
bodies, and shod hoofs, beating fire from the flinty stones, was
enough to shake the nerve of a would-be hero. The power of their
mad rush was something against which it seemed that no frail human
arm could avail.
The thought of fame had led Gene to halt there; but now the thought
of something quite different got hold of him. He saw himself hurled
to the stones with broken bones, maimed for life, perhaps. If he
lived, he would hobble through life a miserable cripple. But he
might be killed! It would be a glorious thing to die the death of
a hero, but even that was not quite enough inducement.
Thus it happened that, at the last minute, Skelding made a backward
spring and a scramble to get out of the way, not even lifting his
hand to try to stop the horses.
At another time his haste might have seemed comical and caused the
spectators to roar with laughter; but just now the peril of the
helpless women in the carriage prevented any one from laughing.
But another Yale man has rushed out into the street and prepared to
make an attempt to check those horses. As they approach, he runs in
the same direction they are going. They come up beside him, and he
swerves in toward them at exactly the right moment, having watched
their approach over his shoulder. Then he leaps at their heads,
gets them firmly by the bridles, and holds fast with a grip that
nothing can break.
The crowd looks on in breathless anxiety and admiration. All had
expected to see this beardless youth flung down and trampled as the
policeman had been trampled, but nothing of the kind occurs.
What wonderful strength he must have, for he has checked the mad
rush of the horses at once! Though they plunge and rear, he holds
them fast and sets them back with a surge of his arm, which seems
to have muscles of steel. They do not carry him half a block before
he had brought them to a stand and holds them there, his jaw
squared, his cheeks flushed a bit, but his broad chest scarcely
seeming to rise and fall with more than usual rapidity. It is the
deed of a man of wonderful nerve, skill, and strength.
“Who is he?” some ask.
“Why, it’s Merriwell!” others reply, as if all should know him.
Yes, it was Merriwell who had stopped the horses. He gave them his
entire attention till he had them quite under subjection. Then
other men came to his assistance, and he could leave them for a
moment.
Frank stepped back to the carriage, politely lifting his hat, and
saying:
“I trust neither of you is harmed, ladies? Your driver----”
He stopped, staring, astonished, wondering. The golden-haired girl
was gazing at him in unspeakable admiration.
“Elsie!” he gasped.
For it was Elsie Bellwood! Then he glanced at the lady at Elsie’s
side.
“Mrs. Parker! Well, this is a surprise!”
Mrs. Parker had been ready to faint, but now she recovered enough
to say:
“How can we ever thank you, Mr. Merriwell? You saved our lives!
There is no doubt of it!”
“When they ran away,” said Elsie, “when the driver fell off, I felt
that somehow, somewhere, Frank would turn up and stop them. He did
it!”
Her face was full of triumph. Although she still shook with the
excitement of the adventure through which she had passed, there was
happiness in that look she gave him.
Somehow that look stabbed him to the heart. Was it a look of love?
Why had she not fancied that Hodge might be the one to stop the
horses? In that moment, when he might have been well satisfied with
himself for what he had done, Frank Merriwell felt miserable.
“Elsie,” he said, “I did not know you were in the city.”
“We came to-day,” said Mrs. Parker. “I have a brother who lives in
Hamden.”
They had not let him know they were coming. He did not believe
Hodge had known it.
Mrs. Parker refused to ride farther in the carriage. She declared
the horses could not be managed. And so, as the dirt-covered
driver came panting up, angry, ashamed, and humble, Frank was
helping them from the carriage. He had offered to take the driver’s
place himself, but Mrs. Parker would not even trust one who had
shown his power to check the mad runaways.
“I shall return in a car,” she added. “Brother George shall not
induce me to come out behind those terrible creatures again.”
Elsie had given Frank’s hand a gentle pressure as he helped her to
alight.
“I was awfully frightened,” she whispered; “but I knew you would
stop the horses the moment I saw you.”
She trusted him--she trusted him still! And she did not know the
truth.
He was engaged to Inza!