A CHALLENGE.
The sound of Darrel’s voice caused Lenning to whirl as though a
rattlesnake had suddenly buzzed its warning behind him. The look on
the fellow’s scowling face was one of stunned astonishment. For a
brief space, the two half brothers stared at each other; then Lenning,
seeming to get a grip on himself, demanded contemptuously:
“Who the devil are you?”
Darrel peered at him in amazement.
“Well, strike me lucky!” he muttered. “You can’t run in a bluff like
that, Jode. You know me, all right. I’ve changed a heap in a year, I
know, but not in the way that would keep you from recognizing me.”
A gasp of astonishment escaped Brad’s lips. His surprise was echoed by
at least half a dozen others among the Ophir crowd, and by practically
all the Gold Hillers.
It was to be presumed that a former member of the Gold Hill club could
not have dropped entirely out of remembrance during the absence of a
year; and it was but natural that some of the Ophir fellows should
have been acquainted with Darrel. That the Ophir lads had not recalled
Darrel before, seemed strange to Merriwell. And he was even more
astonished now, when recognition seemed almost general, at the queer
twist which had entered into the situation.
While plainly discovering in Darrel something that was familiar to
them, a general acceptance of the “boy from Nowhere” as the person
he purported to be, was hanging fire. Darrel himself seemed as much
perplexed about this as Merriwell was.
“I don’t recognize you,” said Lenning, “and that’s all there is to it.”
“Well, if you don’t,” answered Darrel, “some of the other fellows
from Gold Hill have better memories. How about it, boys,” he asked,
appealing directly to the crowd behind Lenning.
“You look a lot like Ellis Darrel,” said one of the Gold Hillers.
“He’s a dead ringer for El,” averred another.
“But he can’t be my half brother!” cried Lenning. “He’s an imposter,
by thunder! Why are the Ophir fellows springing him on us? What’s your
scheme, Merriwell?” he demanded, turning on Frank.
“No scheme about it,” Frank answered. “This chap is Ellis Darrel. If he
looks like Darrel, and says he’s Darrel, what in thunder’s the reason
you don’t accept him as Darrel?”
“Because Ellis Darrel is dead,” said one of the Gold Hillers who had
spoken before.
“That’s news to me,” returned Darrel whimsically.
“It’s a fact; whether it’s news to you or not,” said Lenning.
“When did I die?” inquired Darrel, with a short laugh.
“Three or four months ago,” went on Lenning. “The papers were full of
it. You can’t run in any rhinecaboo on us, just because you happen to
look like my half brother.”
“No rhinecaboo about it, Jode. If the papers reported my demise, then
the report was slightly exaggerated. I never felt better in my life,
nor more like living and making life worth while. How was I taken off,
eh?”
“Darrel was killed in a railroad wreck in Colorado. He was identified
by something in his coat pockets. Uncle Alvah sent on enough to bury
him, and some of the authorities had him decently planted. I don’t know
what your real name is, but I’ll gamble a thousand against a chink wash
ticket that this railroad accident is no news to you. You’ve come on
here to bluff the thing through, make the colonel believe you’re his
wandering nephew, and then put you in his will along with me. But the
scheme won’t work. When the real Darrel forged that check, he killed
all his hopes of ever connecting with any of Uncle Al’s money. Didn’t
know about that forged check, eh? Well, you’d better skip if you don’t
want to get yourself in trouble.”
With a contemptuous fling of his shoulders, Lenning whirled again as
though he would leave. Darrel, his face convulsed with anger, leaped at
him and jerked him around.
“You don’t get away from me like this, Jode,” he cried. “There’s been a
big mistake, but I think I can understand how it happened. While I was
working at a mine in Cripple Creek some one stole my coat. I think it
was a hobo. If there was a railroad smash-up, then the hobo was killed
and supposed to be me from something found in the stolen coat. I never
heard of that wreck, or that I was supposed to have been a victim of
it. I don’t know whether I should have set the matter right, even if
I had heard of it; but I can correct the mistake now, and you can bet
your bottom dollar I’m going to!”
Lenning, held against his will, shook Darrel’s hand roughly from his
arm.
“You’ve got your scheme all framed up, I reckon,” said Lenning
angrily, “but it won’t work. My half brother’s dead, and you can’t
palm yourself off as Ellis Darrel. You’ll find yourself behind the bars
if you try it. The colonel won’t stand for any monkey business of that
sort.”
“I didn’t come back to get any of the colonel’s money,” went on Darrel.
“What I came back for was to prove that I’m not a forger. First, I’ll
offer evidence that I’m Ellis Darrel, and then I’ll make the other part
of it plain.”
“How’ll you prove that you’re my half brother?” asked Lenning mockingly.
“Who was the best sprinter in the Gold Hill Athletic Club?” returned
Darrel. “Who won the two-twenty dash at Los Angeles?”
“Darrel,” answered one of the Gold Hillers.
“Who was the next best sprinter in the club?”
“Jode Lenning.”
“Now you’re shouting,” went on Darrel. “If I run against Lenning, and
beat him, I’ll bet a pack of pesos that every member of the Gold Hill
club will agree that I’m the fellow I say I am. If I look like Darrel,
and am trying to run in a bluff on you because of it, is it at all
likely that I could run like Darrel? You’ll see, if you give me the
chance to show it, that I have the same form and the same speed.”
“You’re a rank counterfeit,” scoffed Lenning, “and I’ll not have a
thing to do with you.”
But the rest of the Gold Hillers, as Frank could see, were not disposed
to have the matter brushed lightly aside in that way. Perhaps there
were some among them who had known and liked Darrel, and felt that this
newcomer should have every chance to make good his pretensions.
Merriwell, facing a difficult situation because of the dispute
regarding the camping site, saw a chance to shift the attention of
the rival clubs to a foot race, and thus, for the time, patch up their
other differences. Not only that, but the “boy from Nowhere,” while
helping out the general situation, would be making a logical attempt to
prove his identity.
Personally, Merriwell did not doubt Ellis Darrel in the least; but he
was beginning to have ugly misgivings regarding Jode Lenning.
“Is that a challenge, Darrel?” Frank asked.
Darrel nodded. “Jode wants to believe that I have kicked the bucket,”
said he, “and he’s afraid to run against me. He knows, if he does,
that I’ll beat him, and that the Gold Hill fellows will wipe out that
foolish railroad accident and take me at my word.”
“You’re a fake,” scowled Lenning, “and I tell you I’ll not run against
you. What I’m going to do, though, is to send to Gold Hill after the
sheriff and have you locked up. The colonel will deal with you, my
festive buck!”
Again Lenning started to leave the scene. This time, however, he was
halted by one of his own crowd.
“Don’t be in a hurry, Jode,” said the fellow who had stepped in front
of him. “I reckon this here’s a case that’s not to be passed up in any
offhand way like you’re doin’. Hey, fellers?”
There was a chorus of approval of the Gold Hill chap’s words from the
rest of his companions.
“You can prove he’s a fake, Jode!” said one.
“Give him a chance, anyhow!” cried another.
“It’s no more than a fair shake to run against him,” chimed in a third.
All the others had more or less to say in favor of Lenning’s accepting
the challenge. Lenning, because of this, was placed in a most
uncomfortable position. If he still refused to run, it would appear as
though he was anxious not to do the fair thing; on the other hand, if
the race was run, and Darrel came out ahead, this might convince the
Gold Hillers that he was all he claimed to be.
Lenning stood for a moment, thinking the matter over; then, suddenly,
his face cleared.
“All right, Bleeker,” said he to the fellow who had stepped in front of
him. “I’m not afraid to run against the fellow. Even if he wins, and if
he proves that he’s really Ellis Darrel, he’ll be sorry for it. My half
brother disgraced himself, and was ordered by the colonel to clear out.
If this chap wasn’t a fool, he’d prefer to drop the matter right here
and make himself scarce, rather than to try to prove that he’s Darrel,
the forger.”
“Then you accept the challenge, do you, Lenning?” inquired Merriwell.
“You heard me,” was the snarling response.
“What’s the distance, and when do you want to pull off the race?”
“Hundred yards; and we’ll run ’em off to-morrow afternoon. Now, if
you’re all satisfied, I’ll go back and boss the operation of getting
our camp in shape.”
The acceptance of that challenge put an altogether different complexion
upon the situation, so far as it concerned differences regarding the
camping ground. A spirit of sportsmanship had been aroused, and the
animosity that had long existed between the rival clubs had, for the
time, been pushed into the background. Merriwell was greatly pleased
over the outcome.
“This hundred-yard dash is a good thing, all around,” said he to
Darrel. “Until to-morrow afternoon, anyhow, we’re going to have peace
at Tinaja Wells. Already Lenning’s threat to run us off the flat if we
weren’t packing up in half an hour has been forgotten. I’m hoping that
something will happen, soon after the race, to show whether Struthers
or Packard owns this camping site. Have you kept in training during the
past year, Darrel?”
“As well as I could,” was the answer. “I’d like to practice starts a
little, this afternoon. Will you help me?”
“Sure,” answered Merriwell heartily. “We’ll go up on the mesa right
away, and begin. Bring the pistol, Brad. Get into your speed togs,
Darrel. I’ll be waiting here for you.”
Brad went after the starter’s pistol and Darrel, securing his roll of
clothes from the place where he had left it, disappeared inside of
Merriwell’s tent.
While waiting, Merriwell saw two horsemen coming down the cañon and
heading toward Tinaja Wells. One was a tall, soldierly appearing
man with a white mustache, and the other was a roughly dressed,
businesslike-appearing fellow, with a hatchet face.
A shout went up from Bleeker, of Gold Hill, who was the first of his
party to catch sight of the approaching riders.
“Whoop!” he shouted, “here comes the colonel! Call Jode, somebody.”