THE FATE OF SILVER TONGUE.
Following Barker’s lead, some of the boys derided certain features of
Piper’s story, it being difficult for them to believe that the
seemingly boastful, but timid, Texan could have mustered courage to
match himself barehanded against Lander. Spotty Davis arriving, they
questioned him. At first Davis betrayed amazement, but when pressed
hard he denied everything.
“Who’s been tellin’ there was any trouble between me and Bunk?” he
cried. “There ain’t nothin’ to it. Why, we wouldn’t have a fallin’ out
over cards nor anything else. Some sneakin’ spy made up that yarn.”
“I think that settles it,” laughed Barker.
No one ventured to say anything to Grant, who, as usual, was quiet and
reserved, and held himself aloof.
“As docile as a sick kitten,” chuckled Cooper. “Think of Sleuth
comparing him to a grizzly bear! My! but Piper’ll get dotty if he don’t
stop reading the rot he feeds on.”
After supper that evening Davis again called on Rodney Grant.
“I want to thank you for what you done last night, Rod,” said Spotty,
accepting the easy chair and bringing forth his cigarettes. “Thought it
wasn’t best for anybody to see us talkin’ together around the academy
to-day. Say, do you know some sneak was spyin’ on us?”
“Spying?” questioned Grant. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that somebody saw that mix-up at the camp.”
“Impossible!”
“They did,” persisted Davis. “Four or five fellers asked me about it
just as soon’s I got to the academy this morning.”
“I don’t see how any one could know,” muttered the boy from Texas, in
perplexity.
“I’ve been thinkin’ it over. There was only one way: somebody must have
followed us and peeked in at the winder.”
“I hope not,” said Rod, tapping the chair restlessly with his knuckles.
“What did you tell the fellows who questioned you?”
“Nothin’; I just denied everything flat. Say, have you seen Bunk
to-day?”
“No.”
“Nor I. Jingoes! but you did slam him around fierce. You scat me when
you took to chokin’ him that way. I never saw anybody look so savage in
my life as you did, and I swear I thought you meant to kill him.”
Rodney Grant shrugged his shoulders, and it almost seemed as if he
shivered a bit.
“I lost my temper, Spotty, and that’s a bad thing for anybody to
do—especially bad for me. I’m glad you grabbed my wrists and shouted at
me just as you did, for it sort of brought me to my senses.”
“I bet Bunk was astonished. He didn’t think you’d do anything like
that—didn’t think you could. I don’t understand why you’ve taken so
much sass off Rollins and Barker. I’ll guarantee you could wallop
either one of them in a minute and a half. No, sir, I don’t understand
it.”
“Perhaps you don’t, but I do, Spotty, and that’s plenty sufficient.”
“Lander was a chump to get mad the way he did.”
“But he caught you slipping a card off the pack. Really, you were to
blame, Davis—and I was to blame, too.”
“You? Why, you didn’t play.”
“No; but I sat there and looked on, knowing all the time that card
playing for money is bad business, just as I think I told you once
before.”
“Bunk didn’t really have no kick comin’, for he’s slippery with the
pasteboards himself. I was just tryin’ to hold up my end with him.”
“The chap who plays cards with any one he knows to be crooked is doubly
foolish, as there’s only one way for him to escape being trimmed: he
must cheat also. Where did you get the money to play with, Spotty?”
“I—oh, I got it by—by sellin’ something. What makes you ask?”
“I knew you were broke a few days ago,” said Grant, his steady eyes
fixed on Spotty’s flushed and confused face.
“Sometimes I have a little change in my clothes. Occasionally the old
man digs up for me, you know.”
“Well, I hope that hereafter you’ll know better than to play cards for
money. It’s dead sure you’ll not play while I’m around, for I got my
lesson. You weren’t at school this afternoon.”
“No; ain’t comin’ no more this term. There’s only another week of it,
anyhow.”
“Not coming any more? Why not?”
“Didn’t you hear about it? I had a mix-up with Barker to-day noon, and
the old prof took a hand in it.”
“What sort of a mix-up?”
“Oh, Barker happened to catch me lookin’ into his desk, and he
proceeded to put his paws on me.”
“Why were you looking in his desk?”
“Lost my algebra,” answered Spotty glibly, “and I was lookin’ ’round
for it. Barker come up behind me, and we was tumblin’ ’round in the
aisle when the old prof appeared and dipped right in. Jinks! I was
hoppin’ mad. But he wasn’t fair, anyhow; he went for me and hardly said
a word to Barker. When I answered back he told me to go home and stay
there until I was ready to apologize. I don’t care a rap. I shan’t
apologize now, for I’ll dodge the final examinations, and I don’t
believe I could pass ’em. But, say! you just wait till I get some kind
of a chance to square up with Barker! I’ve got it in for him, and I’ll
make him pay. He’ll wish he never put his fins on me.”
“You’re sure revengeful, Spotty,” laughed Rod; “but I opine it’s mostly
hot air with you. You talk a plenty, but you wouldn’t really do
anything.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I! You don’t know me. Perhaps you’ll change your mind
about me some day. I don’t forgit things, and I don’t forgive, either.”
“That’s a right bad policy.”
“You needn’t talk! It don’t strike me that you’re one of the forgivin’
kind. I hain’t seen you snoopin’ ’round after any of the fellers that’s
done you dirt.”
“Hardly. I’m not disposed to beg my enemies to accept my forgiveness,
but if they should come to me man-fashion and ask to be forgiven, that
would be different.”
“I don’t s’pose you’re chump enough to fancy they’ll ever do anything
like that?”
“No, indeed. Still, as long as they let me alone things will move along
right placid and serene.”
“But Barker didn’t let me alone. He won’t let you alone, either. He’s
got it in for you, and he’s goin’ to soak you any chance he gets. He
don’t like me because I told the truth about his chum, Bern Hayden, and
saved my own neck by it. That’s a peach of a necktie you’re wearin’,
Rod. Where’d you git it? Didn’t buy it ’round these parts, did ye?”
“Oh, no; I had it when I came here. Put in a full supply, you know.”
“You’re sort of dressin’ more’n you did at first. I don’t blame ye; I’d
wear swell togs if I had ’em. This old tie of mine is gittin’ on the
bum, but it’s all I’ve got.”
Smiling, Grant rose, opened a drawer and brought forth a number of
neckties, which he tossed on the table. “Take your pick out of those,”
he said. “You may have your choice.”
“Thanks,” cried Spotty eagerly. “This bright blue one just about hits
me.”
“You seem to like bright colors.”
“I guess I do, reds and blues in particular.”
“Well, I’ve got a red one somewhere that you may have also,” said Rod,
rummaging in the drawer, from which he removed handkerchiefs, collars
and various other articles. “I don’t care for it much. I wonder where
the thing is. I believe I threw it on the top shelf in the closet.” He
opened the closet door and stepped inside, leaving Davis, who had risen
to his feet, inspecting and admiring those articles of personal
adornment which had been brought forth from the drawer.
In a few minutes, discovering the red necktie, Rod reappeared and
passed it over, Spotty again expressing his thanks.
“I’ll cut a swell with this,” grinned the visitor.
They chatted a while longer, and finally Davis took his departure.
The following day Spotty loafed around the village, proudly wearing the
red necktie.
Saturday dawned cold, bleak and threatening; the sky was heavy and the
air chill and penetrating; it was one of those depressing winter
mornings which gives a person in the country a feeling of loneliness.
Springer and Piper, on their way past Barker’s home, saw Berlin appear
in the open stable door with a piece of rope in his hand. They stopped
and called to him, and he beckoned.
“Cuc-come on,” said Springer, leading the way toward the stable.
“Seen anything of my dog, fellows?” asked Berlin.
“I haven’t,” answered Phil.
“Nor I,” said Sleuth. “Lost him?”
“He chewed off his rope and got out. It’s the second time he’s done it
this week. Sawyer lets his old hound run loose, and when Silver Tongue
gets out they go off into the woods together and run rabbits. I don’t
like it. I’ll have to get a chain for Silver Tongue, and I’m going to
tell Sawyer he’d better keep his hound tied up. It spoils a young dog
to range the woods without his master. Going to snow, isn’t it?”
“My deduction is that it will,” nodded Sleuth. “By the inclement aspect
of the weather, I should say we were due to get a stiff old storm.”
“That will spoil the sus-sliding,” complained Springer. “The hill has
just got into good shape, too. Don’t seem as if a fellow can more than
begin to have good fuf-fun before something happens to spoil it. Snow
fixed our skating, and now if we get a big lot of it it will put our
sliding on the punk for a while. Then what will we do?”
“We’ll have to get our fun indoors. There’s basketball, you know, and
it’s time we were at it. Wonder if Stone is going to play?”
“I dunno,” said Sleuth; “but my deduction is——”
“Your deductions are generally bad.”
“Is that so!” cried Piper resentfully. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten my
remarkable work in the Ben Stone-Bern Hayden case? I received the
unqualified and flattering approval of the judge for that.”
“Oh, it was accidental; you just happened to guess right once in your
life. I’m going down town to see if I can get trace of Silver Tongue.
Come on with me.”
But barely had they started when Sleuth Piper uttered a cry and
pointed: “There’s your dog now! What’s the matter with him? He’s hurt.”
The young hound had appeared, and he was barely dragging himself along
as he crept staggering toward the stable, an occasional low, moaning
whine coming from his lips.
Barker uttered a shout and ran toward the dog. As he approached he saw
that Silver Tongue was leaving a bloody trail behind him, and also that
there was a shocking gory wound in the animal’s side. At Bern’s feet
the creature sank on the snow, uttering a mournful, quavering,
heart-piercing howl.
Three agitated, sickened boys gazed down at the stricken dog. Barker’s
face was ghastly white, and he choked as he cried:
“Somebody has shot him! Oh, the whelp—the wretch!”
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