FRANK’S CHALLENGE.
“My poor heart is broken!” sighed Jack Ready, as Merriwell’s team
gathered in Frank’s room at one of the leading hotels in the city.
“Alas and alack!”
“It was ‘alack’ of something, else we’d won,” said Merry.
“A lack of ball-playing,” growled Hodge. “We played like a lot of
wood-choppers.”
“Oh, Bart, how can you say so?” exclaimed Ready. “We didn’t make more
than fifteen or twenty errors and bad plays.”
“Wasn’t my throw to third a bird?” grunted Browning, who was
stretched on a comfortable couch.
“It was a match to my throw to first,” said Jack. “They made a
beautiful pair of birds.”
“And to think we have met defeat at last!” moaned Greg Carker. “But
it is ever thus. Now we can see how others feel when we beat them.
This strife for the mastery in this world is a monstrous evil. We see
it every day, and it makes brutes and monsters of mankind. The time
will come when such strife will cease and perfect harmony will exist;
but never can this harmony be known until there has been a great
social upheaval--never until----”
“Here comes the earthquake!” cried several of the party.
Greg looked pained.
“Some day the earthquake will come,” he said, “and you, like
thousands of others, will be entirely unprepared for it.”
“It was a gug-gug-gol-ding shame to lose that game!” stuttered Gamp.
“We had it all nun-nun-nailed down once.”
“I was in poor condition to pitch to-day,” said Frank.
“Nay, nay!” disputed Ready. “It was not that, gentle captain. The
team was in poor condition to support any kind of a pitcher. It was
one of our ragged days.”
“But I could not use the double-shoot as much as I ought.”
“You can’t play the whole game alone,” muttered Hodge.
“Methinks he has more than once,” said Ready.
“I helped lose the game,” sighed Rattleton. “I feel like hagging my
bed--I mean bagging my head!”
“These people will crow over us here,” growled Browning.
“I fancy some spondulicks changed hands on the result of that game,”
observed Ready. “The wicked gamester is abroad in the land, and
he----”
“Tried to buy Merry off,” finished Hodge. “The whelp did buy the
umpire.”
“But we cast that umpire forth, and his influence was felt no longer
upon us,” put in Ready. “We can’t lay the blame on the umpire.”
“I won’t get over this in a month!” muttered Hodge bitterly. “It was
a hard game to lose.”
“Lul-lul-let’s challenge them to another gug-game!” cried Gamp. “We
can dud-dud-do ’em next time!”
“Fellows,” said Frank, “we lost the mascot of the nine, and that’s
what ailed us to-day. We played a bad game, but it might have been
different if Dick had been with us.”
“Dick was a mascot,” agreed Browning. “Why, that little wizard can
pitch ball like a veteran.”
“And Old Joe Crowfoot,” said Frank; “he was not with us. If he had
been on hand to powwow round the home plate before the game, he might
have put something into the team that seemed lacking.”
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever see that old varmint again?” said Jack
questioningly.
“I think we shall,” nodded Merry. “He’s recovering from the wound he
received, and I do not believe he will leave Dick when he gets well.”
“Are you going to bother with that soiled old scarecrow?” asked Jack.
“For Dick’s sake, I shall.”
“He’s made you no end of trouble,” declared Hodge. “It was he who
induced Dick to rebel.”
“But he has learned his lesson. I saw that he was placed where he
could have the very best care and nursing, and I left Dick with him.”
“Don’t expect gratitude from an onery redskin,” said Bart.
Then he looked round quickly and gave a breath of relief on
discovering that Swiftwing was not in the room.
“I confess,” said Frank, “that Old Joe’s skin seemed chock full of
peskiness, but he has taught Dick many things that no white man
could. If I can get the false notions out of the boy’s head, he will
be a perfect wonder in time.”
It was only after the death of Frank Merriwell’s father in the West
that Merry had learned that he had a half-brother. In his will Mr.
Merriwell imposed upon Frank the care of Dick, who had been brought
up in the wilds of the West, in the care of Juan Delores, a Spanish
refugee. The boy’s constant companion and mentor had been an old
Indian, known as Joe Crowfoot. It had been with great difficulty that
Frank had forced his young brother to accept him as his guardian, and
the boy’s rebellion against Frank’s plans to remove him from his wild
life had been encouraged by the old Indian, who loved the wild boy
as he would have loved a son. Merry’s powerful will, however, had
finally won both the boy and the Indian to him.
“What do you intend to do with Dick?” questioned Carson. “Will you
send him to Yale?”
“I hope to; but first he will have to put in some years at school.”
“Where will you send him to school?”
“At Fardale.”
“That’s the place!” nodded Hodge. “He’ll get some of the kinks taken
out of him there.”
“One thing fills me with extreme sadness,” said Ready. “That is that
the first umpire did not receive his medicine from the crowd to-day.”
“That crowd was rooting for us before the game finished,” laughed
Frank.
“And they seemed to feel bad because we lost,” said Rattleton. “We
made some friends.”
“For the love of goodness, Merry!” exploded Ready; “is there no way
we can get square? Can’t we tackle those fellows again and wipe up
the earth with them?”
“If Dick were here----”
“We won games before we knew anything about Dick.”
But, strange to say, Frank seemed to feel that the presence of his
young brother was needed in order for them to win.
“I’m not going to talk about it any more,” said Carson. “I am going
to get out of this hotel and take a walk.”
The others seemed to feel like doing something of the sort, and they
left the room in a body, descending to the office of the hotel, where
Frank called for their mail. There happened to be letters for several
of the party. Merry received one, which he opened and began to read
at once.
As Frank was reading his letter he heard two men talking near at
hand. One of them was saying:
“It would draw a big crowd, and there would be money in it. Why don’t
you get Merriwell’s team for another game, Wilson?”
“What’s the use?” said a voice that Frank recognized as that of the
manager of the Stars. “Those fellows put up the best game they are
capable of to-day, and we’d simply beat them to death next time. I
don’t want to play any poor games, as that will spoil baseball in
this town. The Stars are drawing well now.”
“I know a man who says he’ll bet five hundred even that you can’t
beat Merriwell again.”
“He’s crazy!”
“No. It’s Livingstone.”
“Why, Hazen will give him two to one.”
“But Hazen has queered himself to-day. The crowd is onto him. It’s
current to-night that he tried to bribe Merriwell, and that, failing
in this, he bought Derring.”
“How could he buy Derring?”
“He made signs to him.”
“Bah! How did Derring know what his signs meant?”
“I have heard it said that Derring has been bought before.”
“Don’t believe that rot!”
“Well, I know that he made some terrible decisions, and he would have
been mobbed if Merriwell hadn’t protected him.”
“He’s stubborn, and he would not give in--that’s all. I don’t think
he really meant to rob the other team.”
“The crowd thought so.”
“Oh, well, I doubt if Merriwell would dare play us again, even if we
offered him a game.”
“That is where you make a mistake, Mr. Wilson.”
Frank Merriwell was the speaker, and he stepped forward, having
crushed in his hand the letter he had been reading.
“Merriwell!” exclaimed Wilson.
“Yes,” nodded Merry. “I happened to hear some of your conversation
just now. I trust you will pardon me, but I was curious when you
spoke my name. You have said that I would fear to meet your team
again. You are wrong. Not only am I not afraid, but I now challenge
you to play us another game day after to-morrow, the winners to take
the entire gate-money. I shall publish my challenge in the morning
papers.”
“Then,” said Wilson warmly, “we’ll play you, and we won’t give you a
run. You are due for a shutout, Mr. Merriwell.”
Several of Merry’s friends had heard him make the challenge, and they
were eager to know why he had done so. As they left the hotel, Frank
said:
“I have received a letter from Dick.”
“Your brother? What does he say?”
“He’s on his way. He will reach Omaha in the morning.”
“Ah, ha!” cried Ready. “Now I understand why you flung the gauntlet
in the teeth of Manager Wilson. You believe we can do his team, with
the aid of Richard.”
“Exactly. Dick is bringing Old Crowfoot along, and we’ll get into the
Stars in great shape.”
“Will you pitch him against these heavy-hitters?”
“I have not decided on that. If my wrist were right, I’d not think of
it.”
“Don’t think of it, anyway!” begged Hodge. “Pitch the game yourself,
Merry, and we’ll support you next time.”
“That’s what we will, most mighty one!” declared Ready. “We’ll back
you up like a stone wall.”
Within a short distance of the hotel they came face to face with
Derring, the treacherous umpire. He was accompanied by Hazen, the
gambler.
The moment he saw Merriwell, Derring’s face flamed, and he uttered an
exclamation of anger. He had been drinking, and he made straight for
Frank.
“I want to see you!” he exclaimed. “T believe you gave the crowd the
impression that I was trying to do something crooked to-day. I have
a score to settle with you.”
Frank looked at the rascal in surprise and contempt.
“You have more nerve than any man I ever saw,” he declared. “Your
work on the field to-day spoke for itself. I did not have to give the
impression.”
“But you did it, just the same. You got the crowd down on me.”
“How?”
“By kicking against my decision.”
“I kicked because I was not willing to be robbed.”
“Then you say I was robbing you?”
“Yes!”
“You are a----”
“Stop!” rang out Frank’s voice. “Don’t say it! I protected you from
the mob to-day after you did me a dirty turn, but I’ll not hold my
hand in case you call me a liar!”
“If you lifted a hand on me,” said Derring, his eyes glaring and his
hand moving toward his hip, “I’d shoot you like a dog!”
“If you were quick enough you might, but I doubt if you would.”
Bart Hodge was ready to spring at Derring.
“You had better get out of this town!” grated the umpire. “I give you
warning that it isn’t safe for you to stay here!”
“I do not mind your warnings. I shall stay here until after the next
game with the Stars.”
“The next game?”
“Yes. We play again day after to-morrow.”
“Well, you’ll be pie. Say, Hazen, that will be your chance to make
a stake. Bet all your money on the Stars. The next game will be a
walkover.”
“All of that,” nodded Hazen.
“You thought so to-day, sir,” said Frank; “but at one time you were
so worried that you tried to bribe me to throw the game. When you
failed, you did bribe Derring.”
“It’s false!”
“It’s true! But we’ll win the next game, for all of your crooked work
and for all of the umpiring.”
“Just so,” chirped Ready. “We’ll win in a walk, and nothing can stop
us. The Stars shall fall, and great will be the fall thereof.”
“Come,” said Frank, to the others; “let’s move on. I do not care to
be seen talking to these men.”
That cut both Derring and Hazen.
“Go on!” growled the latter. “I’ll bet my last dollar you lose.”
“Then you’ll be a subject for public charity directly after the
game,” assured Ready.
Frank was about to move along when Derring insolently blocked his way
and shoved against him. Quick as a flash Merry whirled and grasped
the man. Then he gave the rascal a shake that yanked him from beneath
his hat.
Derring snarled and struck at Merry. Frank’s patience was exhausted,
and he could not hold back the return blow. His fist caught the man
under the ear, and down to the sidewalk dropped Mr. Derring.
“Police!” cried Hazen; but he reached for his hip pocket.
“Don’t draw!” warned Merry.
Hazen did not heed. Out came his hand, and it held a revolver.
Instantly Merry’s foot flew out, and the toe of his boot struck the
hand of the man, sending the revolver flying into the air.
As the weapon came down Merry caught it, snapped it open, casting out
the cartridges, and politely returned it to its owner.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Here is your gun. But I believe it is
a dangerous thing for you to have round. You might shoot somebody
with it.”
Hazen was frothing. Derring struggled up and reached for his hip.
“Look out!” cried Hodge.
Frank was on the alert. He leaped on Derring, twisted his hand from
his hip, jerked out the revolver himself, and sent the weapon flying
across the street.
“Some of you Western people are extremely careless with your
shooting-irons,” he observed. “Come on, fellows.”
Then, accompanied by his friends, he walked away.