ON THE ROAD.
The bully was knocked out completely, and had to acknowledge Mont the
victor of the encounter.
This he did with very bad grace, and a minute later sneaked off with his
toady.
"I'll get even for that," he growled. "He'll be sorry he ever tackled
me."
"You'll have to watch Hoke Ummer," said Link, some time later, when the
crowd had dispersed. "He is a treacherous fellow."
"I'll have my eyes open," returned our hero.
Yet little did he dream of the dastardly way in which the bully would
try to get even.
It did not take Mont long to settle down at Nautical Hall. The fight had
made him many friends, and established him as a sort of leader among a
certain set.
On the following Saturday Link proposed that he, Barry Powell, and Mont
take a stroll down to the village.
The others were willing, and soon the party was on the way.
"I'll get some stuff for a midnight feast while I am at it," said Mont.
Soon the school was left behind, and they came out on the village
highway.
"Hark!" cried Barry suddenly.
"What is it?" demanded Mont.
Barry was listening intently to a dull, heavy tramping sound, which was
wafted faintly toward them on the breeze.
"Do you hear that?" he asked excitedly.
Link and Mont listened, and could distinctly hear a low thud, thud, thud
in the distance.
"What does it mean?" Link asked.
"It means that a pair of ponies, or horses, have run away, and are
coming along at a tearing gallop."
As if in corroboration of Barry's words, at that moment a light phaeton,
drawn by two high-spirited ponies, which were pounding along at the top
of their speed, burst round the bend of the road.
The vehicle was rocking from side to side, and every moment threatened
to hurl it into one of the deep ditches which lined the road.
As the boys gazed at the approaching carriage Mont's heart seemed to
stand still.
"Fellows!" he cried, "there is someone in the phaeton--a lady, I
believe."
"So there is!" gasped Link, in tones of horror. "What shall we do?"
"We must stop them."
With his face whiter than usual, and his lips tightly compressed, our
hero ran down the road.
"He is courting death," said his chum, beneath his breath, "but we may
be of some use."
And both started after their companion.
Mont was running at the top of his speed, for he saw that the occupant
of the carriage was only a young girl, and utterly helpless, and that
every second's delay endangered her life.
On and on he went, until he was within a score of yards of the maddened
steeds.
Then he planted himself firmly in the middle of the road and prepared
for a spring.
Fiercely the ponies dashed onward.
Nearer and nearer they came, until it seemed they must inevitably
trample him beneath their iron-shod hoofs.
But our hero never wavered.
Motionless he crouched there until the end of the pole almost touched
his cheek.
Then he leaped up and caught both the bridles in his strong, nervous
grip.
The ponies, with loud whinnies of rage, tossed up their heads and lifted
him from his feet, but he clung tenaciously to them.
They dragged him along the ground for a few yards, and then their speed
began to slacken.
Link now came up, and the vicious little brutes were brought to a
standstill.
Then Mont, thoroughly exhausted, sank in a heap upon the ground.
As soon as the carriage was stopped in its wild career, a fair and
beautiful girl sprang out.
"Oh, is he very much hurt?" she cried, as she raised her clasped hands
in despair.
Our hero staggered to his feet, and as he gazed on the fairy-like form
and sweet, delicate face his cheeks flushed and his heart beat quickly.
"I am not hurt at all," he said stoutly, although his arms and legs and
every portion of his body ached as though he had been upon the rack.
"How can I thank you?" she exclaimed. "If it had not been for you, I
shudder to think what might have happened. You saved my life."
At this praise our hero blushed more than ever.
"I require no thanks," he said. "I am rewarded enough by knowing I have
been of some service to you, but I think you are scarcely strong enough
to be trusted with such high-spirited animals."
"My father would never have thought of such a thing," she replied. "He
alighted at a cottage to visit one of his old friends, and while he was
inside the ponies bolted. But here he comes, and I know he will be
better able to thank you than I am."
She pointed to the figure of a tall, elderly gentleman, of upright
carriage and aristocratic bearing, who was coming up the road at a rapid
pace.
"It's Judge Moore," whispered Link; "he owns a fine place a couple of
miles from here."
In another moment our hero found himself being presented to the judge,
who overwhelmed him with praise.
"You must come and dine with us, you and your friends," said the judge;
"there will only be myself and my daughter Alice. Nay, you must make no
excuses. I shall call upon Captain Hooper and tell him all about it, and
if ever you require a friend do not forget to come to me."
Mont would have respectfully declined the invitation, but a glance from
Alice Moore prevented him from doing so.
He therefore thanked the judge for his kindness, and then the boys took
their leave.
Our hero simply raised his cap, but Alice put out her hand.
"You will be certain to come?" she asked in a low tone.
"Certain," he replied.
The news of Mont's heroism spread through Nautical Hall, and he speedily
found himself a decided hero.