BATTLE ROYAL
“Idiot!”
The voice, sharp, querulous, came from the gloom on the heels of the
collision, and Monty half unseated by the shock, struggled around and
peered surprisedly at the speaker. The skiff had wandered almost to the
bank, and, since he was himself now in the darkness of the bordering
trees, Monty had slight difficulty in making out the shadowy form of a
canoe drawn close to the shore, and its lone occupant. The face of the
latter was indistinct, only a grayish oval, but Monty was instantly
convinced that he didn’t like it. In fact, he heartily disliked
everything about the unknown canoeist, especially his voice.
“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” demanded the other in tones
that seemed to Monty deliberately insulting, and that, very naturally,
roused his anger.
“Why don’t you give warning, Harold?” he retorted promptly. “Think I’m
an owl?”
“You row like one,” sneered the other boy. “Blundering all over the
river like that! Don’t you suppose there are other fellows around here
besides you, you silly fool?”
The skiff had floated slowly away, scraping in the twilight against the
overhanging branches, but now Monty pulled it back until it was once
more alongside the canoe, and he could grasp the gunwale of the latter.
“Say, partner, I can’t see your face,” he replied, in the drawl that
came naturally to him when he was angry, “and so I don’t know whether
you smiled when you said that.”
“What if I didn’t?”
“Nothing, except that I’ll reach over and grab you, Harold.”
“Try it, won’t you?” The voice sounded really eager.
“Sure!” answered Monty. As he got to his feet in the swaying skiff he
thought that perhaps this cocky youth might not be such a bad sort
after all. In Monty’s present mood a scrap seemed the most desirable
thing in life, and that the other fellow was apparently of his way of
thinking amounted almost to a bond of sympathy. But Monty didn’t take
as much time for these reflections as I have taken to record them, for
he was essentially prompt in his undertakings. So, too, was the boy
in the canoe, for he also was on his feet now, and when Monty made a
sudden lunge for him his fist shot out, and only Monty’s quick duck of
the head made the blow harmless. The next moment, gripping each other
across the sides of the craft, they were struggling mightily.
“Over you go, Monkey Face!” grunted Monty.
“I reckon――you’ll go――too!” panted the other.
Wrestling under such conditions is a precarious undertaking, and
presents novel difficulties. As the boys leaned together their crafts
in the most natural way in the world slowly parted until presently
Monty was on his knees on the gunwale, and his adversary, no longer
able to stand up, became a dead weight in his arms.
“Apologize?” demanded Monty grimly as the water poured in about his
knees.
“No, you――you dirty Yank!”
“Yank, eh! I’ll Yank you, you――” But Monty’s powers of invention were
handicapped, and he gave his thought and strength to tearing loose the
grip of his opponent. It dawned on him then that there could be just
one climax to the struggle, and he found time to grin before, the skiff
tiring of the unusual task required of it, he slid gently forward into
the river!
Fortunately, perhaps, there was a depth of only some three feet just
there. Monty, still clasping his adversary, and still clasped, went
sputtering and gurgling to the bottom, or, at least, as near the
bottom as the body of the other, which happened to be underneath,
would permit. The taste of the water suggested that they had disturbed
the muddy sediment, and Monty was all for getting back to air again.
But no such idea seemed to possess the other, for the death-like grip
still held, and for a fraction of a second Monty had a horrid vision of
drowning! Then, however, he found his knees, and, at last, his feet,
and, with the other boy still clinging to him, managed to stand up.
“Had――had enough?” he gasped chokingly.
There was no verbal reply, but the adversary’s actions plainly
intimated that he hadn’t, for, once out of the water, he began beating
a clenched fist into the back of Monty’s head, the only point he could
reach. Monty pushed his head as far out of the way of punishment as
possible, and, floundering about in the water, slowly worked his right
hand up under the boy’s chin. No one can stand the agony of having
the head pushed back for long, and gradually the boy’s grasp loosened
until, with a sudden effort, Monty wrested himself free, at the same
instant straightening his right arm. His opponent staggered back, tried
to recover, failed and disappeared.
Monty awaited his reappearance, smiling grimly. The humor of the thing
struck him then, and the smile became a laugh, and the laugh broke
out just as the other boy came out of the water again. With a rush he
returned to the fray, his hands aiming blows at Monty’s face, which
the latter had difficulty in avoiding, and which caused him to give
back toward the bank. He was watching for an opportunity to close in,
but the other afforded him none. A staggering left to Monty’s cheek
sent him reeling on the rotting debris under foot, and he brought up
against the branches of an alder, and then, losing foothold, sat down
on the bank.
“Get up!” sputtered the other. “I’m just started!”
Monty was dimly conscious of a small clearing a few yards to the
left, and concluded that he had had quite enough of aquatic battling.
Hurling himself on the other, receiving a blow on the face that jarred
but didn’t stop him, he got his arms around his adversary’s body,
heaved, and staggered with his struggling, infuriated burden through
the shallow water, and reached the bank. But to climb out was beyond
him, and in the effort he fell and they rolled apart. Each got to his
feet quickly, panting, ready. There was a little light in the small
clearing, enough for each to see for the first time the features of the
other, and, while they paused, as though by mutual consent to recover
breath, they made use of the opportunity.
Monty saw a tall, lithe, well-built boy of possibly seventeen, with
very dark hair――probably black, although he couldn’t be certain of
that――big dark eyes in an oval face, a determined-looking mouth,
a nose that was a trifle aquiline, and a chin that was at once
pointed and strong. Monty’s first verdict was: “Great Snakes, he’s
a good-looking _hombre_!” Then he added: “A regular dude, though!”
The boy’s attire was, in fact, almost too picturesque, although
his immersion had left it somewhat bedraggled. His dark head was
bare――perhaps he had worn a hat and lost it, as Monty had――a negligee
shirt of some pale tint that in the present uncertain light might have
been blue or pink or lavender clung to his body beneath a well-cut
jacket of some dark-gray material, his neck was encircled by a soft
collar which now lay like a twisted rag, a flowing tie hung wet and
stringy from beneath it, there was a belt at the waist and a metal
buckle gleamed in the half-light, and his costume was completed by
dripping white flannel trousers and discolored white buckskin shoes.
Before the encounter, reflected Monty, he must have been a thing of
beauty!
But, after all, there wasn’t much time for studying the enemy, for the
enemy was clearly impatient for a renewal of hostilities. Monty was
forced to acknowledge, albeit a bit grudgingly, that the black-haired
chap had plenty of spunk. The recess lasted less than a minute, and
then they drew together again, Monty stepping cautiously with guard
down, and the other dancing lightly on nimble feet, hands up and moving
impatiently, dark eyes snapping, mouth close shut, and with a little
droop at one corner.
The space they had found was barely twelve feet in length along the
river bank, and less than half that in depth, and the ground was
hummocky. Small bushes, protruding roots and withered brakes made
uncertain footing, and the light was going fast. It was very quiet,
save for the gurgle of water where the river washed past a pile of
driftwood, and for the deep breathing of the two boys and the brush
of their feet through the low bushes and yellowing fronds. Then the
black-haired youth rushed and Monty met the onslaught.
As a boxer, Monty was not clever, and while he managed to escape
punishment for a moment or two, and to even land once against the
enemy’s neck, he was presently giving back. His opponent fought like
fury, but with a science that was something of a revelation to Monty.
He had a most disturbing way of leaving his right side unguarded, and
then, when Monty tried to reach his head, ducking aside and at the same
instant swinging up with his right with disastrous effect to Monty’s
left ear! And every time Monty tried to beat down his guard, and get
his hands on him he was brought up all-standing. It was after his
opponent had landed a fourth or fifth blow to the head that Monty’s
temper gave way, and, utterly regardless of consequences then, he
hurled himself on the other under a rain of blows, and wrapped his
arms around his body. Then his right leg went back, his grasp fell to
the other’s waist, and he bore backward. A shower of short-arm blows
was ringing against the back of his head and neck, and he was growing
dizzy under them when, with a sudden, quick heave, he lifted the other
from his feet, and sent him crashing backward to the ground. Monty was
on him before he could move, pinioning his arms to the earth.
“Coward!” gasped the other. “Fight fair!”
“That was a fair throw!” grunted Monty. “Give up, do you?”
“No! Get off me! Let me up!”
“Not much, partner!” answered Monty grimly. “You’ve made jelly of my
ear, I guess. You’ll stay where you are now until you cry quits.”
“Coward!” taunted the other again, writhing under the weight that held
him helpless. “Can’t you fight with your fists?”
“Not so well as I can wrestle,” replied Monty calmly. “Better stop
kicking, you!”
“Let me up! Fight decently, you――you cad!”
“Look here!” Monty’s right hand traveled slowly up, bringing the boy’s
left arm to his stomach. “Stop calling names!”
“Cad! Coward! Rotten Yank!”
“What’s to keep me from punching your face?” asked Monty grimly,
drawing up one knee and setting it on the imprisoned wrist while his
left hand strained at the captive’s right.
“Nothing! It’s what I’d expect of you, you――you――――”
“Easy now! Be good or I’m likely to hurt you. It would be fierce if I
made a mess of that pretty face of yours!”
He was having a hard time bringing that right arm around. Both boys
were panting hard. Just how it happened, Monty never knew, but suddenly
he found himself sprawled aside, and, although he tried desperately
to hold his adversary, the latter eluded him like a cat and was on
his feet. Monty had just time to spring erect before he was once more
beset. A blow on the chest almost lost him his balance, and before he
could recover the black-haired youth had landed again on that long
suffering ear and had danced back. With a roar of rage Monty rushed,
took a blow that almost dazed him and again wrapped his arm about
the slim body of the opponent. For a moment they swayed, struggled,
staggered about on the treacherous ground, and then went crashing
to earth, Monty on top. But this time there was no need for him to
grapple the other’s arms. The boy with the black hair lay still, with
eyes nearly closed. Monty, suspicious, watched a moment and then got
unsteadily to his feet.
“Stunned,” he muttered. “Great Snakes, I hope he isn’t hurt!” He went
to the bank and dipped cupped hands in the water and splashed it over
the boy’s face. He had to make three trips to and fro before the boy on
the ground stirred, sighed deeply and opened his eyes. He viewed Monty
at first blankly and then dubiously in the half-darkness.
“What happened?” he asked weakly.
“Guess you hit your head on a root or something,” answered Monty. “How
do you feel?”
“All right now, thanks. What――oh, yes, I remember.” He frowned and
closed his eyes tiredly. “Give me a minute or two and I’ll be ready,”
he added apologetically.
“Great Snakes, haven’t you had enough yet!” marveled Monty.
[Illustration: “Great snakes, haven’t you had enough yet!” marveled
Monty.]
“Have you?”
“Gee, yes, minutes ago!”
“Oh! Well, all right. I reckon I have, too. Would you mind――” He
struggled to sit up and Monty dropped on his knees and propped him in a
sitting posture. “That was a fierce bump I got,” he muttered.
“Sorry,” said Monty cheerfully. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
To his surprise the boy laughed merrily if weakly.
“What’s the joke?” asked Monty, puzzled.
“Nothing, only――you said you didn’t mean to hurt me,” gasped the other.
“It――it sounded funny!”
“That’s so,” Monty allowed with a chuckle. “I meant I didn’t mean to
damage you, I guess. Look here, we’d better be getting back. It’s
pretty nearly dark. Think you can make it?”
“Oh, yes, thanks. I’m all right.” With Monty’s help he got to his feet.
But he swayed and fell against the arm that his recent adversary had
put out. “I’m sort of dizzy,” he murmured apologetically.
“Take your time,” said Monty, feeling of his aching ear. “Say, where’d
you learn to fight like that, _hombre_?”
“I took boxing lessons for awhile. Did I get you much?”
“Did you! I’ve got an ear on me that feels as big as a football. Seems
about the same shape, too!”
“You asked for it,” rejoined the other calmly. “You ought to keep your
guard up. I’ll show you what I mean some time, if you like.”
“You’ve shown me quite enough, thanks,” answered Monty decisively. “I
know when I’m satisfied. All right now? Say, what about those boats?
And I lost a perfectly good hat!”
“I reckon the boats will run aground somewhere,” replied the other boy
quite unconcerned. “If you want to look for your hat, though――――”
“No, let it go. Do you know how to get out of here?” Monty surveyed the
underbrush with misgiving.
“No, I was never here before. I reckon school’s up that way somewhere.
We’ll just have to break through the bushes, I suppose. Shall we try
it?”
“Have to, I guess. Gee, but it’s getting chilly!” Monty shivered as a
little night wind caressed his damp form. “I’ll go ahead. I’ve done
this sort of thing before.” He started into the bushes and pushed and
crashed his way through them, his new acquaintance following at his
heels. It was nearly pitch dark now and Monty had to guess at his
direction, but the fringe along the river was not deep and presently,
somewhat scratched by branches, they stood on the edge of the field
and the lights of the school buildings twinkled across at them and a
million stars blinked calmly down from a purple-black sky. To their
right a darker shadow loomed and Monty guessed it to be the boathouse.
He chuckled as he led the way across the turf.
“If we had gone a little further we’d have had a better place for our
scrap,” he said. “The boathouse float would make a fine ring, I guess.
Say, what were we fighting about, partner?”
“I called you a silly ass or something, didn’t I?” responded the other
mildly. “And I think you called me monkey face, and said you would lick
me. I don’t remember exactly.”
“Neither do I,” laughed Monty. “Fact is――er――I say, what’s the name,
eh?”
“Desmarais.”
“Des――mer――er?”
“Des――ma――ray. It’s French.”
“Oh! Well, I was going to say that you happened along when I was in
just a nice mood for a scrap, Des――Des――――”
“Desmarais. Seems to me it was you who happened along, though. I was
sitting there in that canoe doing a little thinking when you came out
of nowhere and slammed into me. I reckon I was rather ugly about it,
but I was feeling out of sorts just then――――”
“So was I! Fact is, I was getting homesick, er―― Say, what’s your first
name? I can’t get the twist of that one.”
“Leon.”
“Leon, eh? Mine’s Monty Crail. There’s more of it, but that’s enough.
What’s your class?”
“Upper Middle.”
“I’m in the Lower. I’m one of those backward chaps you read about, I
guess. Old Whiskers, who put me through my paces this morning, says I
can get into the Upper Middle next term if I try hard, and I mean to
try, but, gee, I’m up against a tough proposition, I guess. About all
I know of German is that you have to gargle when you talk it! You been
here long?”
“About twenty-four hours.”
“What? Are you a new fellow, too? Say, it’s sort of funny our running
across each other like this, isn’t it? I’m right cheered up about it,
Lon. I guess they’re right when they say misery loves company. You
don’t mind my calling you Lon, do you? I never was much good at French.”
“I’d prefer to have you put the ‘e’ in,” replied Leon, “if you don’t
mind. Is Monty your real name or just an abbreviation?”
“Short for Montfort.”
“Why, that’s French, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my mother was French. But, I don’t remember her at all.” They
went up the steps at the end of the path, passed through the gate, and
crossed the road to the Green. “Say, you’d better come up to my room
and fix up a bit, hadn’t you? I live in Morris, the house on the corner
there. I don’t know what they think about scrapping here, but maybe if
a teacher spotted you there’d be trouble.”
“Thanks, I will, if you don’t mind.”
“Not a bit. Hope my roommate isn’t in, though. He’s a regular Indian.
Here we are.” The steps were deserted now, and although the open doors
of several rooms proved their occupants at home, Number F was dark and
empty. Monty switched on the light, closed the door and viewed his new
friend. And Leon viewed Monty. And after a moment their lips began
to curve upward, and then, quite suddenly, Monty had subsided on his
bed, and Leon on Standart’s, and they were shouting and rocking with
laughter!