A CLASH OF AUTHORITY.
The sight that met Merriwell’s eyes, as he came out of the tent and
followed Clancy toward the edge of the camp, was vastly disturbing. A
train of pack animals was being unloaded in the grove, while fifteen
or twenty saddle horses were being stripped of their gear, watered in
Mohave Creek, and staked out in the “bottoms” among the picketed Ophir
stock.
A swarm of youngsters overran the flat, some looking after the horses,
some helping the packer, and some beginning the erection of tents.
Merry judged that there were at least twenty members in the party that
had just arrived.
“Here’s a pretty fair-sized bunch of Indians, Chip,” said Clancy, “and
they’ve got their tomahawks out. Well,” he added grimly, “while we’re
not looking for trouble, you can bet we won’t dodge any.”
A worried look crossed Merriwell’s face.
“With the two clubs at loggerheads, like they are,” said he, “it would
be a mighty bad move, all around, for the Gold Hillers to camp so close
to us.”
“Bad?” echoed Clancy. “Say, Chip, how the mischief could we do any
practice work with the fellows we’re to fight hanging around and
looking on?”
“We couldn’t,” was the answer.
The Ophir contingent was drawn up in compact formation, at the edge of
the flat, watching angrily while the Gold Hillers went calmly on with
their preparations for a permanent camp at Tinaja Wells. Bradlaugh,
whose father was president of the O. A. C., was stumping up and down
and spouting wrathfully.
As Merriwell and Clancy walked toward the Ophir fellows, a youth
approached Bradlaugh from the direction of the Gold Hill crowd. He was
ragged out in gray corduroy riding breeches, tan shoes and leggings,
Norfolk jacket, and a fancy brown sombrero with carved leather band and
silver ornaments jingling at the brim. He carried a riding crop under
his arm and was removing a pair of gauntlet gloves.
“Look here, Lenning,” shouted Bradlaugh, plunging straight at this
rather startling figure, “what are you trying to do here, anyhow? What
business have you got bringing a Gold Hill crowd to Tinaja Wells?”
Lenning turned a pair of shifty, insolent eyes upon Bradlaugh.
“We’ve a right here,” said he sharply, “or we shouldn’t be here. Pull
in your horns before you make a fool of yourself. Bradlaugh—that’s my
advice to you. Where’s this big chief, Merriwell?” A sneer there was
no mistaking came with the words “big chief.” “Trot him out,” Lenning
finished, “and it won’t take two minutes for me to show him where you
Ophirites get off.”
Lenning’s manner was insulting, to the last degree. A bitter partizan
spirit was already flaming in the Ophir ranks, aroused by the plain
determination of the Gold Hillers to take possession of the camping
ground. Brad’s temper had been strained to the breaking point even
before the appearance of Lenning, and now, under the weight of
Lenning’s insolence, it gave way utterly.
“You pup!” shouted Brad, leaping at Lenning with clenched fists. “It’s
a cinch you’ve got some dirty trick up your sleeve or you wouldn’t blow
in here in this high-and-mighty fashion. I’ve a notion to punch your
head on general principles.”
Lenning jumped back and lifted the riding crop.
“Try it on,” he snarled, “and I’ll rip off some of your hide!”
A number of Gold Hillers, scenting trouble, hastened to run out of the
grove and line up back of their champion. The Ophir fellows pressed
forward to back up Bradlaugh. Fritz Gesundheit, who loved excitement
in any form, showed himself for the first time since being chased up
the cañon by the spook of old Chief Hoop-en-de-doo. Rolling out of the
chuck tent, he waddled toward Bradlaugh.
“Gif him fits mit himselluf, Prad!” he called. “I bet you someding for
nodding he iss some pad eggs.”
The Gold Hill packer was a Mexican, and already he and Silva had come
to blows. They could be heard screeching and floundering around in the
underbrush. It was a moment rife with many disagreeable possibilities,
and only quick and judicious action on Merriwell’s part could prevent a
general row.
“Clan,” said he, “you and Ballard go over and separate those greasers
before they get to knifing each other. I’ll take care of this end of
the ruction. Do your best to smooth things out, or we’ll all be in hot
water.”
While Clancy grabbed Ballard and hustled away with him, Merriwell
jumped in between Brad and Lenning.
“Cut it out, Brad!” said he sharply, giving the fiery youngster a
push backward. “All you fellows,” he added, to the Ophir crowd, “are
carrying too much sail. Double reef your tempers and we’ll weather this
squall without much trouble.” He whirled on Lenning. “I’m Merriwell,”
said he. “I believe I heard you asking for me as I came up.”
“That’s what you heard,” was the answer. “I’m Jode Lenning, and Colonel
Hawtrey, of Gold Hill, is my uncle. The colonel——”
“What has this to do with Colonel Hawtrey?” interrupted Merry.
Remembering what Darrel had just been telling him, Frank was taking
Lenning’s measure with a good deal of interest. His comparison of the
two half brothers gave Darrel no end the best of it.
“My uncle,” drawled Lenning, running his eyes over Merry in an impudent
up-and-down stare, “has a lot to do with our athletic club but he’s
not mixed up in this camping expedition. He has been out of town for a
week, but I expect him back to-day, and——”
“Let us hope that he gets back safely,” said Merry, with just a touch
of sarcasm in his voice. “Are you intending to camp here, Lenning?”
“Not intending only, but we’re going to.”
“Allow me to suggest that we have already occupied the flat, and that I
don’t think the grove is big enough for an outfit of Gold Hillers and
Ophirites. You ought to know that as well as I do. Move on and find
some other place.”
“You’ve got a rind!” grunted Lenning. “We’re out here for fun and work,
and we need the mesa for an athletic field. I’ve leased the ground, and
I want you fellows to pack up and clear out at once.”
This was staggering. Merriwell supposed that Brad’s father had leased
the ground. In that section of the country there were very few places
so adapted to the needs of the Ophir fellows as was the grove and mesa
at Tinaja Wells.
“We’ve leased the ground ourselves!” shouted Brad, “and we’ve got it
down in black and white.”
“He’s shy a few,” said Lenning, and drew a paper from the pocket of his
coat and showed it to Merriwell.
It was a written memorandum of agreement. In consideration of twenty
dollars, in hand paid, one Lige Struthers had given the Gold Hill
Athletic Club exclusive camping privileges at Tinaja Wells.
“This appears to be all right, Brad,” said Merriwell, bewildered.
“Who leased the ground to Lenning?” demanded Brad.
“A man named Struthers; Lige Struthers.”
Brad laughed ironically.
“Struthers doesn’t own the ground,” said he. “Newt Packard is the
owner, and he’s the one that gave us our lease. Hold your bronks a
minute.”
Brad turned and hurried off to one of the tents. When he came back, he
brought a paper showing that Bradlaugh, senior, had secured the site
exclusively for the Ophir club.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Merriwell. “How could two different men
execute leases on the same plot of ground? There’s a hen on, somewhere.”
“It’s Packard’s ground,” declared Brad. “Right at this minute Struthers
is fighting Packard for it in the courts, but Struther’s claim is a
joke—he hasn’t a legal leg to stand on. Everybody says so. This is a
scheme of Lenning’s, Chip, to drive us from Tinaja Wells.”
“Scheme or not,” cried Lenning, “we’ve got our rights and we’re going
to stand up to them!”
“Even if Struthers has a just claim on the place, Lenning,” said
Merry, “your right here isn’t any better than ours. If Struthers
happens to win the lawsuit, then we have to get out, for our leave
isn’t any good; but if Packard wins, then that paper of yours isn’t
worth a whoop, and Tinaja Wells is ours.”
“You’ll make tracks from here,” stormed Lenning, “or we’ll drive you
out! We’ve got a big enough crowd to do it.”
Merry’s dark eyes flashed dangerously.
“You’ll not drive us out,” said he calmly, “as long as we have a right
here. And we’ll not be able to force you to leave so long as the
lawsuit is hanging fire.”
“Bossession iss nine points oof der law,” clamored Fritz truculently,
“und ve vas here fairst, py shinks. I haf reasons for vich I don’d vand
to ged oudt, und I don’d vant more fellers as is necessary aroundt.”
Nobody paid much attention to Fritz just then. The Ophirites were
keeping their eyes on Merriwell, smothering their hostility as best
they could and letting him cut the pattern they were to follow.
Clancy and Ballard, a little while before, had returned from the
chaparral with Silva. The Mexican was fairly boiling with rage, but the
lads were managing to hold him in check.
“_Carramba!_” hissed Silva. “Dat odder Mexicano he move my burro, to
give his burro best place. I lick him for dat, bymby!”
Merry was filled with forebodings as to what might happen if both
parties went into camp at the Wells; and yet, considering the peculiar
condition of affairs, there seemed no possible way to avoid a division
of the camping privileges. Both sides held a lease of the ground; and,
not until the lawsuit between Struthers and Packard was settled, would
it be known which side was entitled to the exclusive use of Tinaja
Wells.
“I’ll give you fellows half an hour to begin packing.” blustered
Lenning. “If you don’t show symptoms of leaving by that time, there’ll
be a fight!”
“I think not,” said Frank, still holding his temper in check. “For
the present, Lenning, we’ll both camp at the Wells, and both have the
use of water and forage. You and your crowd will keep away from us,
however, and we’ll do our best to keep away from you. There’s no sense
in having a mix-up.”
“Half an hour,” threatened Lenning. “I’m banking on Struthers. This
is his water and his ground, and he’s the only one that has a right
to give a lease. We’ve got a bigger crowd than you have, and it won’t
bother us much to run you out.”
Here was a complication of the tangle which Merriwell did not relish a
little bit. Nevertheless, he knew he was within his rights and he had
no intention of backing down and letting Lenning have his way.
Lenning had spun around on his heel with the intention of returning to
the spot where his own camp was being put in shape, when Ellis Darrel
hurried forward.
“Don’t be in a rush, Jode,” called Darrel. “I want a word with you.”