CHAPTER XXVII.

THE BOY WHO DIDN’T CARE.

It was Lenning, of course, who had lighted the fuse and hurled that

infernal machine in the direction of Merriwell and those he had been

talking with. The hot-headed recklessness of the act made Merriwell

gasp. Had Bleeker not seen the hissing bomb in the air, and shouted his

warning, what would have happened?

A wave of indignation and anger rushed over Merriwell. He was running

at top speed at the moment of the explosion, and he continued to run

while the booming echoes reverberated among the hills—but he changed

his course.

Lenning and his friends were clustered together in a compact group,

staring sullenly at the place where the dynamite had “let go.” All at

once they saw Merriwell, eyes flashing and face like a thundercloud,

bearing down on them.

Perhaps Lenning would have stood his ground had not his three

companions deserted him in a panic. His courage was of a sort that

needed backing, and when his supporters fled, he whirled and made after

them. He had not gone far, however, before Merriwell overhauled him,

grabbed him by the collar, and jerked him roughly backward.

Clancy, even more furious than his chum, and Bleeker and Hotchkiss,

both scowling fiercely, made haste to get to Merriwell’s side. Lenning

had been thrown from his feet, and was lying on the rocks half lifted

on one elbow. There was a look of ugly defiance in his face that did

not match the glimmer of fear in his eyes.

“You crazy fool!” cried Frank. “Are you trying to kill somebody?”

“It’s not the first time!” panted Bleeker.

“He ought to be kicked from here plumb to the bottom of the gulch,”

clamored Hotchkiss.

“Let’s pound a little sense into him!” suggested Clancy.

“I don’t care a whoop what happens to you junipers,” answered Lenning.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on me! The colonel will make it hot for you

if you do.”

“That’s about what I’d expect of you,” came scornfully from Clancy. “As

soon as you earn a good trouncing you begin whooping it up for your

Uncle Alvah. Oh, you’re the limit, all right.”

“Suppose Bleeker hadn’t seen that lighted bomb coming toward us?” went

on Frank. “What would have happened, eh?”

“I don’t care a tinker’s darn,” said Lenning. “You fellows keep your

hands off or you’ll wish you had.”

With a roar of anger Clancy attempted to use his fists on Lenning, but

Merriwell put out a restraining arm and pushed him back. Frank’s temper

had had time to cool a little.

“Stow it, Clan!” said he. “We don’t want to make this matter any worse

than it is, you know.”

“Hang it, Chip,” Clancy protested, “you’re not going to let this crazy

chump try to blow us up and then get off without a pounding, are you?”

“He’ll get all that’s coming to him before long, and without any help

from us. We’ve made a mess of the work that brought us to Camp Hawtrey,

and it’s just as well not to complicate matters any more than they are.”

Frank turned from his chum and gave his full attention to Lenning.

“You’re a good deal of a puzzle to me, Lenning,” said he. “I don’t

believe I ever saw a fellow who was just like you. The reckless way you

have of robbing your uncle and then throwing the responsibility on some

one else, cutting a rope, and dropping your half brother over a cliff,

and lighting dynamite cartridges and throwing them around, is going to

get you into a peck of trouble. I’ve got a hunch that you’re crazy. If

that’s really the case, then you ought to be in a padded cell, for it’s

a cinch it’s not safe to leave you at large. Now——”

Lenning had risen hastily to his feet. Something Merriwell had said had

caused his face to go white.

“Look here,” he broke in, “I reckon you found something I lost on the

mesa, over at your camp, during the football game our crowd had with

yours. It was a note in which Bleeker, there, put down a lie for the

purpose of getting me into trouble. You can’t make any capital out of

what Bleeker says.”

Bleeker, red with anger, tried to get close to Lenning, but Hotchkiss

held him back.

“What I wrote in that note,” cried Bleeker, “was the truth.”

“You can’t get even with me and help Darrel by any such talk,” sneered

Lenning.

“I’ll finish what I want to say to you,” continued Merriwell sharply,

“and then Clancy and I will be going. If you try any more desperate

games, Lenning, you’ll be caught at it, sure as fate. If anything

happens, we know where to look for the cause of it, and you can’t bank

on Colonel Hawtrey doing anything to save your neck. That’s about all.”

He turned away. Lenning, scowling and muttering, hurried to join his

friends, who had kept at a safe distance, and the four vanished on

their way down into the gulch.

“Ain’t that about the worst ever?” murmured Hotchkiss. “Jode’s pretty

near right when he says he don’t care what he does. He counts on his

uncle’s faith in him to pull him out o’ any trouble he gets into.”

“I wish to thunder the colonel wasn’t such a fool,” blurted out

Bleeker. “Why can’t he get next to the coyote?”

“He will, some time,” declared Frank. “Where did that dynamite come

from, Bleeker? Do you know?”

“Yes, I know, although pretty nearly our whole camp is in the dark

about it. When Hawtrey was out here, the last time, he and Jode took

a walk along the south wall of the gulch. Now, the colonel’s got a

scent for mineral-bearing ground same as a hound dog has for a rabbit.

He found a place where he reckoned there might be gold, and on the

q.  t. he sent out some hand drills, a sledge, some fuse, and a little

dynamite, and told Jode to put down a hole. Jode’s been working with

the drill and sledge, now and then, as he could steal away and find the

time. The colonel told him to put the fuse and dynamite where it would

be safe, and to leave ’em there until he—the colonel—came out with a

box of caps and asked for the rest of the blasting material. Hawtrey

intends to load and fire the hole himself, I reckon. It’s dangerous

business, and he doesn’t want Jode, or any of the other fellows, mixed

up in it. Jode got a cap somewhere, and fixed up that cartridge for the

coyote dog.”

“I see,” Frank nodded.

“Jode has made a misplay,” said Hotchkiss. “If that coyote dog had

been killed, I reckon he’d have been all right; but Merriwell stripped

off the bomb the cur was trailin’ and I up and cut the rope. Gee, man,

how that animile skedaddled!”

“How did Jode make a misplay, Hotch?” asked the puzzled Merriwell.

“Ain’t you ever heard about coyote dogs?” returned Hotchkiss. “Why,

they’re that vengeful they hold a grouch for years until they pay it

off. Abuse a coyote dog, by thunder, and he’ll make it a p’int to get

even. How about it, Bleek?”

Bleeker nodded solemnly.

“Go on,” jeered Clancy; “you can’t make me swallow any such stuff as

that.”

“You don’t know coyote dogs same as us fellows that live out in these

parts,” persisted Hotchkiss. “Over at Sacatone a miner kicked one o’

those tramp curs and broke its leg. Six months after that the miner was

found dead in the trail, all chewed to pieces.”

“Maybe it was a panther did that,” suggested Frank.

“Not on your life, Merriwell! The footprints around the miner were

those of a dog. Lots o’ things like that have happened.”

“I’m glad, Chip,” chuckled Clancy, “that you and I are on the safe

side. We did what we could for that homely brute, so he ought to feel

sort of friendly toward us.”

“I guess, fellows,” said Chip, with a laugh, “that there’s a whole lot

of superstition wrapped up in those yarns about coyote dogs. What’s a

coyote dog, anyhow?”

“Just enough coyote in him to make him savage and wild, and just

enough tame dog in him to make him want to be around where human

bein’s congregate. People who know, treat an animile like that with

consideration, but those who are ignorant make a big mistake when they

try to shoot such a brute, or to hit it with a club.”

“Much obliged for the tip, Hotch,” grinned Frank. “Whenever I meet a

coyote dog, after this, I’ll treat him with consideration. So long,

fellows. Clancy and I have got to be going.”

Rather grimly, Bleeker and Hotchkiss said “good-by” to the two lads

from Tinaja Wells and started for the camp where they knew they were

unwelcome. Merry and Clancy turned their faces ’cross country and began

retracing their way to their own headquarters.

Merriwell was in no very pleasant mood. He and Clancy had started out,

that afternoon, with the intention of inaugurating a little friendly

sport with the rival athletic organization, and the coyote dog had

dropped into the equation and played havoc with their plans.

“I don’t know how the deuce we could have avoided that mix-up with Jode

Lenning,” muttered Merry.

“Well, we could have side-stepped it all right,” returned Clancy.

“How?”

“Why, by letting them make a skyrocket of the dog, Chip.”

“Neither of us could stand for that.”

“Sure not, but that was the only way we could have kept on friendly

terms with Lenning. So far’s I’m concerned, I’ll be hanged if I’d be on

friendly terms with the chump if I could.”

“Lenning doesn’t amount to a whole lot, but Mr. Bradlaugh and Colonel

Hawtrey both want the clubs to be on a friendly footing. We made a

fair beginning with that football game, and now, while we were trying

to keep up the good work, we’ve knocked what little true sportsmanship

there was about seven ways for Sunday.”

“Lenning has too much influence with the Gold Hill crowd. He can’t

domineer over Bleeker and Hotchkiss, and so they’ve got to get out. I

wish to blazes that coyote dog would turn up and do business with Jode.

But we can’t hope for any such good luck as that.”

“You’ll be as bloodthirsty as Lenning, Clan, if you keep on,” grinned

Merry.

“Lenning is at the bottom of all the bad blood between the two clubs,”

asserted Clancy warmly, “just as he’s at the bottom of all Darrel’s

troubles. The cub is too mean to live.”

“Speaking about coyote dogs,” said Frank, “that notion of Hotch’s is

mighty interesting.”

“Hotch, and Bleeker, too, seemed to take a good deal of stock in the

idea. But it’s pretty far-fetched, and——”

A startled expression crossed Clancy’s homely face. He came to a dead

halt, the words died on his lips, and he lifted one hand quickly

and pointed. Frank, following the direction indicated by his chum’s

finger, saw a tawny form slipping like a specter among the rocks. The

form paused, reared up on a bowlder, and stood peering over its front

paws for a space at the two lads; then, like an ill-omened wraith, it

dropped to all fours and disappeared as though by magic.

Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Helping Hand; Or, Fair Play and No Favors · 第 27 / 48 章