AN IMPROMPTU CANOE RACE.
Water was dashed into Cole’s face, and he was given a swallow or two. It
was some minutes before he could sit on a chair without threatening to
pitch off to the floor.
When he could sit up he looked around for Dick.
Merriwell was there, and, as he stepped forward, he said:
“I hope you’re not badly hurt, Cole. I didn’t mean to wind it up this
way, but you forced me. I had to.”
“That’s all right,” said Cole in a low tone. “It’s not wound up yet!”
“Whatever does he want, pard?” exclaimed Buckhart. “Is he piggish enough
to be itching for any more?”
“I hope not,” said Dick. “He ought to be satisfied.”
“I ain’t satisfied!” grated Jack. “I never had nobody do me up before,
and I won’t forget this!”
“It’s an outrage!” declared old John, flourishing his fists in the air
and glaring around. “I say it’s an outrage, Henry Duncan!”
“You brought it on your son, sir,” said Duncan coldly. “You came here
and forced the encounter. Merriwell was considerate with your son until
he saw it was Jack’s purpose to do him injury.”
“He couldn’t do up my boy again in a year!” snapped the old man. “It was
jest an accident, anyhow!”
“You mulish old ignoramus!” exclaimed Duncan, in exasperation he could
not repress. “Only for you at the outset we would have retained these
boys here as the Maplewood baseball team. You joined Hammerswell and
backed him up when he refused to accept them. He used you as his tool.
Are you satisfied with the result? When he became tired of your boy he
kicked him off the Maplewood team. You’re a particularly offensive
nuisance, John Cole. This clubhouse is on private grounds, and hereafter
I wish you and your son to keep away from it. We don’t want you here.
Perhaps that’s plain enough for you to understand.”
“Oh, yes, it’s plain enough!” snarled old John. “I understand all about
you, Duncan! You think you’re mighty fine and aristocratic because you
happened to get in with the summer folk who come here. You think you’re
a lot better than us people who belong here.”
“That will do!” said Duncan. “I think your son is able to use his feet
now. Take him and walk.”
Although old John seized Jack by the arm and they started away, he
continued to splutter and snarl until he was quite out of hearing.
“I congratulate you, my boy,” said Mr. Duncan, as he placed his hand on
Dick’s shoulder. “I confess I feared that strapping chap would be too
much for you. You demonstrated that you knew more than he about the
science of boxing, but until near the finish I didn’t fancy you could
put him out. Your forbearance is creditable.”
“I thought he might quit,” said Dick.
“He’s not the kind to quit easily. I advise you to look out for him.
It’s my opinion he’s revengeful and will try to square this thing up. It
won’t surprise me if you had trouble at the ball field this afternoon.”
The boys spent the rest of the afternoon lazing about on the veranda of
the clubhouse or swimming in the lake. Near midday one of the rooms of
the clubhouse was closed and the boys heard the rattling of crockery
within that room.
This interested Tubbs at once, and he immediately pricked up his ears,
while a look of expectancy came to his face.
“Something doing in there,” he piped. “Seems ter me I smell pie.”
Within thirty minutes Mr. Duncan appeared on the veranda and invited the
boys to come in.
The room had again been thrown open, and the sight they beheld caused
them to gasp in astonishment. A long table was covered with a snowy
cloth. This table was daintily set, and the display of food upon it made
their mouths water.
But by far the most agreeable spectacle was presented by six young girls
in white, three on one side of the table and three on the other, who
evidently were there to act as waitresses.
Brad Buckhart stopped short and caught his breath.
“Oh, say,” he muttered, “I can’t do it! I certain can’t plant myself
there with them to wait on us. They are the real swell articles, and I
sure feel more like making a choice and inviting one to dine with me
some.”
The astonishment the boys could not conceal caused the girls to smile a
little.
“Sit right down, boys,” laughed Henry Duncan. “This is not the Maple
Heights Hotel, but I fancy you will find enough here to satisfy you.”
“To satisfy us!” said Obediah Tubbs, in his piping voice, which he tried
to repress. “Well, if anybody in this crowd isn’t satisfied with what
there’s here, he ought to go drown himself, by Jim!”
“Sus-sus-sus-sus-shut up!” whispered Jolliby. “Don’t make a fool of
yourself!”
“He couldn’t do that,” said Smart. “Nature got ahead of him on that
job.”
It was a jolly meal. The boys enjoyed themselves thoroughly, especially
Tubbs, whose liking for pie was known by the pretty girl who waited on
him. She had pie of all kinds for Obediah, and he sampled every variety
placed before him.
“I bet I’ll play the best game I ever played in my life this afternoon,”
he chuckled.
When the meal was finished Dick made a little speech of thanks,
addressed to the girls, to Henry Duncan, and to the Maplewood Canoe
Club.
“For some time,” answered Mr. Duncan, “it has been my desire to show you
in some manner that there are those in Maplewood who sincerely regret
what took place here on your first arrival in the town. We wished to
show our friendly feeling toward you and your companions of the
Fairhaven baseball team. Baseball properly played is a clean, manly,
wholesome sport. I am sorry to say that baseball as conducted by one or
two teams in this league has been anything but clean, manly, and
wholesome. It was my conviction from the first that Fairhaven had a team
to be proud of, both as gentlemen and as ball players. Never yet, on the
ball field or elsewhere, have I heard anything from a Fairhaven player
that could offend the most sensitive and particular person. I wish to
add that, with the single exception of Benton Hammerswell, the original
Maplewood Baseball Association regrets exceedingly that you were not all
retained in Maplewood to represent this town in the league. You have
made a gallant struggle against seemingly overwhelming odds, and should
you succeed in winning the pennant for Fairhaven, be sure that many
persons in Maplewood will feel intensely satisfied over such a result.”
He was heartily applauded, and again Dick uttered a few words of thanks.
The pretty waitresses smiled on the boys as they filed out of the room,
and then the sliding door closed once more.
After dinner some of the boys tried the canoes. Brad was anxious to try
one, and induced Dick to accompany him. They were given the use of Henry
Duncan’s own canoe, and in this they sped away over the smooth surface
of the lake.
In the bottom of the canoe lay a coil of small rope, which Buckhart
observed, wondering for what purpose it was generally used.
“Talk about flying!” laughed the Texan. “This is the next thing to it. I
say, pard, did you hear them say anything about a fine echo that can be
heard at the upper end of this lake? They say the hills yonder fling
back the sounds and make them wonderfully distinct. Let’s paddle over
there and give the echo a try-out. What do you say?”
Dick readily agreed, and they headed toward the precipitous hills near
the head of the lake. As they approached the locality for which they
were heading, they passed close to a small and heavily wooded island.
Suddenly Dick ducked involuntarily, for over his head he heard the hum
of a bullet almost simultaneously with the crack of a rifle somewhere on
the island.
“That was a little too close!” he exclaimed. “Somebody is decidedly
careless!”
Buckhart blazed his indignation.
“I should say so!” he exclaimed. “It must have been a right close call,
partner.”
“Don’t think he missed me by more than a foot, at most,” said Dick.
Brad had paused with his paddle uplifted. A strange expression settled
on his rugged face.
“Look here, Dick,” he said, in a low tone, “I don’t more than half
reckon that was accidental.”
“What do you mean?”
“Somehow I fancy a whole lot that the bullet was intended for you.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Dick.
“All the same, I’ve got it into my head that way. I say, partner, let’s
land on that island and see who did the shooting.”
Immediately Dick dipped his paddle into the water and headed the canoe
toward the island.
Barely had they taken a stroke or two, before Merriwell saw another
canoe move out from the opposite side of the island and swiftly glide
away. There were two persons in it, and both were plying paddles.
“There they go, Buckhart!” said Dick. “One of them fired that shot.”
“Hike up, partner!” exclaimed the Texan. “Let’s get after the galoots
good and lively.”
Without delay the pursuit began. The occupants of the strange canoe
glanced back and saw they were followed. Immediately they bent to their
work, and this aroused both Brad and Dick.
“They are a heap anxious to get away, pard,” breathed the Texan. “That
looks a whole lot guilty.”
“Do you know them?” asked Dick.
“Haven’t taken a square squint at them yet.”
“It’s Jack Cole in the stern,” Merriwell declared.
“That varmint!” grated Brad. “Then it’s a plenty lucky the bullet missed
you at all.”
“I don’t like to think Jack Cole would deliberately do a thing like
that,” said Dick.
“I judge I know the other gentleman,” suddenly declared Brad. “If that
bullet had come my way I’d bet all my loose collateral he fired at me.”
Dick’s keen eyes surveyed Cole’s companion in the canoe.
“Brad,” he said, “I believe that’s Tom Fernald.”
“Hit him first crack out of the box,” said the Texan.
“They’ll deny they fired at all.”
“That’s what they will. It’s up to us to run them down and take a look
into their canoe. If they have a gun with them, then they can do some
explaining. Bend to it, partner. We’re gaining.”
Both canoes were merrily flying now. Cole and his companion were doing
their best, but Fernald’s skill with the paddle was not equal to that of
the boy. Sometimes he missed a stroke and Cole was heard speaking
sharply to him.
The excitement of the race took hold of Brad and Dick. With the
steadiness of clockwork they swung their paddles and bent to the task.
Dip and lift! Dip and lift!
On either side the smooth water seemed flying backward, while the canoe
raised a slight ripple and left a broadening wake behind it.
Cole and Fernald headed down the western shore of the lake, apparently
looking for a good chance to run in and leave the canoe before their
pursuers could come up. All along there the shore was rocky, and no
favorable landing spot presented itself.
“We’ve got them, Brad!” laughed Dick exultantly.
The faces of the boys were flushed and their eyes gleaming. They felt
the breeze rush past their ears.
Before long Fernald began to show signs of weariness. Once more Cole was
heard speaking to him, and this time it was plain the boy urged him to
keep at it and do his best.
“Wait some,” invited Buckhart. “We want to chat with you a little.”
“You go to thunder!” cried Cole, once more glancing back.
Still the pursuers continued. Fernald seemed inclined to give up, but
Cole would not quit.
Foot by foot the canoe in the rear drew nearer to the one in advance.
The distance that separated them was cut down swiftly, and Brad
muttered:
“We’ll be on top of them in less than two minutes.”
Not more than ten feet lay between the canoes when Buckhart, giving an
unusually heavy surge at the paddle, met with an accident.
The handle of the paddle snapped short off.
The Texan uttered an exclamation of dismay.
Glancing back, Cole saw what had happened, and again urged Fernald to
exert himself.
“Now wouldn’t that bump you some!” exclaimed Brad. “In four seconds more
I could have placed my hand on his neck.”
Dick had not ceased paddling. Instead of that, he seemed to put more
force into his strokes, if such a thing were possible.
Although both Fernald and Cole pulled away as hard as they could, the
distance between the boats increased with astonishing slowness. Plainly
Merriwell was nearly equal to the task of keeping up alone.
Suddenly an idea occurred to Buckhart. He turned his body and reached
backward for the coil of rope behind him.
“Keep it up, partner!” he palpitated. “Just hold her as she is a
minute.”
Then the Texan made a running noose in one end of the rope. He did this
with the skill acquired from cowboy instructors on his father’s ranch.
Having accomplished his object, the Texan ran off some of the rope into
loops, which he held in his left hand.
“She may not work, Dick,” he said. “All the same, we’ll give her a try.”
Then, as he knelt in the canoe, he swung the loop of the rope once or
twice round his head and sent it writhing through the air.
The cast was made with all the cleverness of a Mexican lariat thrower.
The noose fell over Cole’s head and shoulders, and Buckhart quickly drew
it taut, pinning Jack’s arms to his sides.
Had Cole been aware of Brad’s purpose, he might have flung the noose off
by quickly lifting his arms. Not being aware of it, he was taken by
surprise and found himself unable to ply the paddle. Not only that, but
the forward motion of his canoe was checked and a steady pull by the
Texan drew the other canoe nearer.
In his excitement Cole made an effort to cast aside the noose. In doing
this he partly rose to his feet, and a moment later the canoe shot out
from beneath him, sending him with a loud splash into the water.
It happened at that very moment that Buckhart had relaxed his grip on
the rope slightly as he moved forward toward the prow of the canoe, with
the intention of grasping the one in advance. As Cole went down, the
rope was snapped from Buckhart’s fingers.
Although Cole had thus been projected into the lake, the canoe from
which he plunged did not upset. It seemed to dart from beneath him.
Fernald turned a somewhat agitated face to look round and was amazed to
find himself alone in the canoe. In a moment, nevertheless, he realized
that his late companion had fallen overboard. He also saw that attention
had been turned from him to Cole.
Immediately the man retreated toward the middle of the canoe in order to
balance it evenly, and then, without offering to aid in the rescue of
Jack Cole, he paddled hurriedly away.
“Hold on, Fernald!” cried Dick. “Wait and help your friend! Don’t play
the coward!”
The man made no retort, but continued to pull away.
Cole rose to the surface and attempted to swim. To his horror, he found
he was entangled in the rope in such a manner that he could not take a
stroke.
With a gurgling cry, he again disappeared from view.
Dick Merriwell wasted no time. Slipping off his shoes and speaking a
word of warning to Brad in order that the Texan might not be taken by
surprise and upset, he plunged from the canoe into the lake, thus
promptly going to the assistance of his enemy.
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