TRUE SPORTSMANSHIP.
When Merriwell and his friends reached the flat they found Colonel
Hawtrey sitting on a bench under a cottonwood. His horse, with reins
hanging from the bit rings, stood a little way off. It was evident that
the colonel intended making his visit brief.
As the boys approached, the colonel arose from the bench. His eyes met
Darrel’s for a moment, and then swerved abruptly to Merriwell.
“I’d like a few words with you, Merriwell,” said he.
“Can’t you stay with us for a while, colonel?” Merry inquired. “We’d be
delighted to have you take supper and——”
“I thank you for the invitation,” he broke in, “but I must be back in
Gold Hill to-night. I came the cañon trail purposely to speak with you.”
The others withdrew, Darrel with a lingering look of apprehension at
Merriwell.
“Sit down here,” invited the colonel, resuming his place on the bench.
“You don’t smoke, of course,” he went on, taking a cigar from his
pocket when he and Frank were seated, “for, if you did, you wouldn’t
be following the footsteps of your father before you.” He scratched a
match thoughtfully and applied it to the tip of the cigar. “‘Chip,’
they call you, eh?” he proceeded presently, with the hint of a smile
under his gray mustache. “I suppose that means that you’re a ‘chip of
the old block’?”
“That’s where the nickname comes from, colonel,” young Merriwell
answered, with a laugh.
“I don’t know your father personally,” said the colonel, with some
enthusiasm, “but I have seen him on several occasions, both in the East
and at his T Bar Ranch in Wyoming. I have also heard a great deal about
him. I reckon he typifies everything a man can express in the term true
sportsmanship.”
“Thank you, colonel,” answered Frank. “Dad is all you think him—and
more.”
“If you’re a chip of the old block, you ought to stand for all that
your father stands for.”
“Why, yes,” said the puzzled youngster, “as well as I can.”
“Well,” continued Colonel Hawtrey, “I’ve stopped here this afternoon to
appeal to you as a true sportsman, and as a son of the Frank Merriwell
I have seen a few times and of whom I have heard so much.”
He paused. Frank was already over his head wondering what the colonel
was trying to get at. He said nothing, but waited respectfully for the
other to broach the subject he had in mind.
“As you doubtless know,” remarked the colonel, “I founded the Gold Hill
Athletic Club, and have been its best patron during the few years it
has been in existence. Some people say”—and he smiled slightly—“that
I am cracked on the subject of athletics. It’s a hobby with me, for I
believe that, rightly directed, sports of the track and field do more
to develop properly a young man’s character than anything else in the
world. On the other hand, if wrongly directed they are a source of
much harm. Just at the present time, and much as I regret to say it,
the club at Ophir and the one at Gold Hill are heading in the wrong
direction.
“A bitter partisan spirit has crept into the competitions between
the two clubs. Some of the members—I won’t say all of them—have
proved that they are not good losers. Rancor has shown its ugly head,
Merriwell. I think that you, more than any one else, can help to foster
a different spirit between the clubs.”
Frank tried to speak, but the colonel lifted his hand.
“Just a moment, my lad,” said he. “I want to place the whole matter
frankly before you, and then get your sentiments regarding it.
You don’t belong in Ophir any more than you do in Gold Hill. As I
understand it, you are in Ophir only temporarily, and Bradlaugh,
president of the Ophir club, got you to coach the Ophir eleven for the
coming Thanksgiving Day game with Gold Hill. This is all right, and
Bradlaugh is to be congratulated. I believe that you will give Ophir
a good team, perhaps a winning team. In the interests of true sport I
wish you every success. For the past two years Gold Hill has had nearly
everything its own way—too much so, for sharp competition is the life
of athletic sports; it’s the only thing that brings out the best that
is in us.
“I have heard, with much regret, that there was almost a clash between
the two clubs when Gold Hill, by mistake, came here to claim this
camping site. This is all wrong, and not at all as it should be. Sport
is bound to suffer if the hard feeling is not done away with.
“Now, you have befriended Ellis Darrel. So far, Merriwell, it has been
commendable in you to take his part as you have done. I am hoping that
your friendship will do much for the boy. Although personally I am done
with him, yet I cannot forget that he is my sister’s son. I confess an
interest in him on that account. But I wish to warn you against letting
Darrel prejudice you against his half brother, Jode Lenning. Jode is a
dutiful nephew in every way, and, above and beyond that, he is a true
sportsman.” The colonel paused, then added impressively: “I know Jode
better than any one else, and I assure you that what I say is true. I
am an old man, Merriwell, and I have been for years in the military
service of my country. I want you to believe that my judgment is sound,
and I want you to accept Jode as I know him, and not as Darrel may
offer him to you.”
“Colonel,” said Merry, “Ellis Darrel has said nothing against his half
brother that would cause me to take a different estimate of him than
you wish me to have.”
“Then I am to presume that your estimate is favorable? If anything is
done to wipe out the bitterness between the two clubs, there is the
point where the work must begin.”
Merriwell’s estimate of Jode Lenning was a good way from being
favorable. The sly trick by which Lenning had tried to get possession
of the camping ground at Tinaja Wells was well known to Merry and to
all the Ophir fellows. Had not the colonel been so completely dominated
by Lenning’s influence, he would have seen and recognized that trick
himself. Furthermore, it was Merry’s settled conviction that Lenning
had tried to involve Darrel in that theft of the thousand dollars; and
Merry had a belief that, when the bottom of the forgery affair was
reached, Lenning would be found to have had a hand in that.
But what good would it have done to tell all this to Colonel Hawtrey?
He would merely have thought that Frank had been influenced by Darrel
against Lenning. Besides, Frank had no proof in black and white
connecting Lenning with the robbery, and only a suspicion of him in the
matter of the forgery.
“I have tried to do what I could to patch up the differences between
Ophir and Gold Hill, colonel,” said Frank, “and I’m willing to keep on
trying. I believe I can promise that the Ophir fellows will show the
right spirit, if you and Lenning can induce the Gold Hill club to meet
them halfway.”
“Ah,” exclaimed the colonel, with deep satisfaction, “there you have
it! Now we’re getting together in the right sort of style. My lads have
found a most excellent camp in a gulch leading off Mohave Cañon, below
here. They have a mile of deep water which serves admirably for water
sports, and all they lack is a mesa like yours for an athletic field.
Some of them are now clearing brush from a patch of desert for their
football practice. Now,” and the colonel gave a winning smile, “why
can’t the Ophirites and the Gold Hillers be neighborly? Why can’t you
visit back and forth and have pleasant little contests of one kind and
another? That need not interfere very much with your football work, and
ought to afford an agreeable change in the monotony of camp life. It’s
about eight miles to Camp Hawtrey, as the boys call their place, if you
go through the cañon and the gulch, but across country it’s hardly more
than half that. How does the proposition strike you, Merriwell?”
“First-rate,” Frank answered. “We Ophir fellows wouldn’t like anything
better. That stretch of water, over at Camp Hawtrey, would be a fine
place for boat races—and we haven’t any such layout here.”
“Exactly!” beamed the colonel. “I should be delighted to come out from
town and see some of your contests. A friendly rivalry, Merriwell, will
go far toward inculcating a different spirit between the clubs. Eh?
I’m more than obliged to you for meeting my advances in the matter so
agreeably. Jode is coming over here this afternoon to get an expression
from you relative to a football game for to-morrow, or next day. What
are the prospects?”
“Good, I should say,” said Frank. “I’ll broach the matter to Handy as
soon as he gets back from up the cañon.”
“That’s the talk!” cried the colonel enthusiastically.
Merriwell was more than pleased with Colonel Hawtrey’s suggestion for
a series of competitions between the two camps. Incidentally, if the
contests were conducted in the right spirit, they would go far toward
healing old wounds. Mainly, however, Merriwell wanted to come into
closer contact with Jode Lenning, and see what he could discover, if
anything, that would prove a benefit to Ellis Darrel. These proposed
contests could not but help him in this desire.
The colonel, having achieved the purpose that brought him to Tinaja
Wells, got up from the bench in high, good humor.
“You are really a chip of the old block, Merriwell,” he laughed, “and
it’s something for you to be proud of.”
Merry thought he might take advantage of the colonel’s amiable nature
at that moment and do a little something for his new chum.
“Have you any word to leave for Ellis Darrel, colonel?” he asked.
The good humor left the other’s face. He straightened his shoulders
stiffly and his eyes narrowed under a black frown.
“The one word I have for Darrel,” said he harshly, “is this: that he
keep away from me. If he’s got it in him, he’ll live down the past; if
he hasn’t, he’ll go to the dogs. I shall be glad to learn that he’s
making something of himself, but—but I never want to see him again.”
There was sadness in the colonel’s voice as he spoke, but sternness
and determination were there, as well. Frank’s heart grew heavy as he
watched the colonel pull the reins over the head of his horse and swing
up into the saddle.
“Good-by, Merriwell,” he called, waving his hat as he rode off the flat
and headed northward along the cañon trail.
“Lenning has the old boy right under his thumb,” Merriwell muttered, as
he turned away.
Ballard, Clancy, and Darrel had disappeared. Merry asked Fritz about
them, and was told that Ballard and Clancy had gone down the cañon to
see if they couldn’t get up to the shelf and recover the football; but
where Darrel was, Fritz did not know.
“He’s probably with Ballard and Clancy,” said Frank. “Keep away from
Silva, Fritz, if you don’t want to get fined!”
“Dot greaser feller,” answered Fritz scornfully, “ain’d vort’ fife
cents, say nodding aboudt fife tollar. You bed my life I leaf him
alone.”
Frank, hastily leaving the camp, made his way down the cañon to do what
he could to help recover the lost football.