THE FINISH OF THE RACE.
Frank had not asked directions, and he knew not which way Kilmerville
lay, so he was forced to stop and make inquiries.
He found he had started in the wrong direction, and, in order to get
onto the right road, he must go back through the town.
“That’ll be first rate!” he thought, with a laugh.
But he turned back, taking another street. He was obliged to ride
directly through the heart of the town, and he saw some men in the
livery stable making hasty preparations for pursuit. Horses were being
saddled for the purpose.
“So it’s going to be a race to Kilmerville,” he muttered. “All right.
That’ll add to the excitement.”
He was seen.
“There he is!”
The cry went up from a number of men and boys.
“Stop thief!”
“Stop me!” invited Merriwell. “Try it!”
Out of the stable door dashed two mounted men, followed by a third. The
hostler, believing he had let an animal to a rascal, had joined Riddle
and the sheriff in the chase.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Frank. “This thing is getting mighty serious. I
don’t fancy being chased about over the country and called a thief. If
it wasn’t for business, I’d go back and face the thing; but that would
be playing right into Riddle’s hands. No, I’ll catch that train if I
can.”
Through the town he rattled. The black horse was spirited and speedy. He
believed he had been given the best mount in the stable. If that was
true, his pursuers would have some trouble overtaking him.
Surely he was finding excitement enough ahead of the show to satisfy the
most morbid craving for something stirring.
There were several streets leading out of the town on that side, and he
was forced to choose one by chance, trusting to fortune to put him onto
the right one.
He was fortunate, indeed, for he chose the road to Kilmerville.
When he was clear of the town, he looked back and saw his pursuers
coming. He waved his hand tauntingly at them.
“I’ll have the satisfaction of giving them a merry race, anyhow,” he
thought.
The country was undulating, and he soon passed over a rise. Then he
looked back and did not see his pursuers for a time, but they finally
came up over the rise.
The roads outside the town were not in the best condition, but this
disadvantage to Frank was also a disadvantage to those who were
following him.
He kept looking for sign boards, as, at that time, he was not sure he
had struck the right road.
As he dashed past a branch road, an old, weather-beaten board told him
he was all right.
“Hurrah!” he cried, enthusiastically. “That’s the stuff! Now let them
come on!”
Then came another thought. What if he reached Kilmerville too soon,
giving his pursuers time to come up and capture him before the train
arrived?
That would be quite as bad as missing the train.
But he remembered his conversation with the hostler, and he was
satisfied that he did not have any time to spare. He must put as much
distance as possible between himself and his pursuers before Kilmerville
was reached, and then trust to fortune.
Frank talked to his mount, and it was not long before he decided that
the animal was unusually intelligent. He sought to make friends with the
horse, believing that the best way to get the best work out of the
animal.
Occasionally he looked back. For some time he could obtain occasional
glimpses of his three pursuers, but he was drawing away from them, and,
at last, they were not to be seen.
“It’s getting quieter,” he murmured; “but the excitement may not be
over. I suppose Riddle will follow me to Dundee and have me arrested
there; but it will give me time to get in some more work, I hope, and
send a telegram to Haley.”
He kept on at a good pace till he came to another branch road. He looked
the roads over, and then selected the one to the right, for there was no
guide board to tell him which way to go.
He had ridden on nearly half a mile when he met a man in a wagon.
Frank drew up, lifting his hat.
“Can you tell me, sir,” he asked, “if this is the right road to
Kilmerville?”
“Yes, sur, I kin,” nodded the man in the wagon.
Then he was silent, staring searchingly at Frank.
Merry smiled.
“Well, will you tell me?” he asked.
“Huah! Yep!”
“Is this the right road?”
“Huah! Nope.”
“Not?”
“Nope. Right road is ’bout half a mile back.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Frank wheeled about in double quick haste. Back along the road he sent
the black horse flying.
“Jeeminy!” muttered the old fellow in the wagon. “He must be in an awful
hurry!”
Frank feared his pursuers would reach the junction of the two roads
ahead of him and cut him off, so he pushed the black horse to its
highest speed. The creature responded nobly, fairly flying over the
ground.
“I wouldn’t mind owning you,” thought Merry. “Too bad you’re kept in a
livery stable and let out to every Tom, Dick and Harry!”
As he approached the junction of the roads, he began looking for the
pursuers. It was not long before he saw them come over a rise, and an
exclamation of dismay broke from his lips.
“They’ll get there ahead of me!”
He saw they must, and his mind was quickly made up on the course he
would pursue.
“Don’t know what kind of a hurdle horse you are, old fellow,” he said;
“but I’m going to try some cross-country riding with you.”
He swung out of the road, aimed at the fence, and the black rose to the
touch, clearing the rails like a flying bird.
Then a cheer broke from Merry’s lips.
It was answered by shouts from the three men, who now saw him. They
whipped their horses along the road as fast as possible, trying to cut
him off.
Of course, the ground was not firm beneath the feet of the black horse,
and it did seem for a time that Merriwell might be intercepted. But he
reached the road in advance of the trio of pursuers, the black again
clearing the fence beautifully.
“Stop!” roared the sheriff. “Stop, I tell you!”
“Can’t,” Frank called back. “I’m in a great hurry. Sorry I can’t jog
along with you. Ta, ta!”
He waved his hand tauntingly, turning in the saddle to do so.
At that instant the black horse stepped on a loose stone, and a second
later Merriwell was off and the animal was down. A shout of triumph came
from the pursuers.
Like a flash Frank sprang up, and the horse rose at the same instant.
Into the saddle Merry leaped.
“Go it, my boy—fine boy!” the fugitive called, and away sprang the
horse.
The pursuing men expressed their rage and dismay.
But the noble horse had been injured, and it was not many moments before
Frank saw the creature was going lame. This caused Merry some anxiety.
“Good boy—noble fellow!” he said, leaning forward and patting the
creature’s glossy neck.
The horse turned its head a bit, its breath fluttering through its
throbbing nostrils. It seemed that a bond of sympathy had been
established between horse and rider, and the intelligent animal was
straining every nerve to do its best.
The pursuers saw something was wrong, saw the horse was lame, and again
they shouted their triumph.
The hostler excepted. He was enraged, and he gave vent to his anger.
“The fellow has spoiled our best saddle horse,” he grated. “He shall pay
for it!”
“We’ll overtake him now,” declared the sheriff. “He can’t get away.”
Delvin Riddle laughed.
“He has given us lots of trouble,” said the advance agent. “But now he’s
in double trouble. If I don’t get back my watch, he’ll be detained to
settle for that horse.”
“And you’ll be detained to push your charge against him,” said the
sheriff.
“What’s that?” cried Riddle. “Why, my business won’t permit that. I have
to attend to my business.”
“You swore out the warrant and gave it to me to serve. Now you will have
to let your business hang while you appear in court and press the
charge.”
That did not suit Riddle at all. His object had been to bother and
detain Merriwell, while he went on, and he really had no intention of
appearing at the trial.
“Perhaps you’ll detain me, and then again perhaps you won’t,” he
thought; but he kept this thought to himself.
It was seen that Merriwell’s mount was failing rapidly, and Frank
plainly showed some anxiety.
The sheriff looked at his watch.
“He’ll not reach Kilmerville in time to stop that train,” he declared.
“We’ve got him.”
But Merriwell was sparing the black horse as much as possible, hoping
the creature would hold out. He saw he could not run away from his
pursuers, and his only object was to keep in advance of them
sufficiently to catch the train and get away.
Frank was anxious, but still he kept cool. He knew Riddle could not
prove the malicious charge of robbery, and he also knew the fellow could
make trouble for him in Dundee if he saw fit to follow the game up.
Merry had made up his mind to telegraph to Haley from Dundee as soon as
the place was reached, in case he escaped the pursuers. In that way he
could put the manager onto the main points of the crooked business the
rival concern had attempted to carry out.
At times it seemed that the black horse must give out entirely, but
Frank encouraged the creature without attempting to force it along, and
the animal responded bravely.
“Too bad, old boy!” muttered the youth, sympathetically. “Hope I’ll not
lame you permanently by driving you this way. If I knew I should, I’d be
tempted to stop right here and let those chaps take me.”
Looking back, he saw the pursuers lashing their horses and making
renewed efforts to overtake him in a hurry.
Looking to the left and southeast, he detected a faint trail of smoke
against the evening sky.
Then came the far-away, wailing shriek of a locomotive whistle.
“By Jove!” Merry muttered. “That’s my train! Kilmerville must be just
beyond the next rise. Looks to me as if I’ll have a hard pull to make
connections with that train.”
Now he did all he could to urge the black horse onward. There seemed a
magic persuasion about his voice, for the animal actually appeared to
fling off much of its lameness and shoot ahead with fresh fire and
speed.
Up the rise they went. The crest was reached and, ahead in the valley,
Merry saw Kilmerville.
Anxiously he turned his eyes in the direction of the trailing smoke that
rose against the sky.
“It’s too near!” came through his teeth. “I’ll lose at the last minute!
It is a howling shame!”
For the twentieth time his hand patted the sweat-stained neck and his
voice poured encouragement into those backward-tilted ears.
“You’ve done a fine job, my gallant boy. Faster—a little faster, noble
fellow! I’ll not forget this ride—I’ll not forget you! If I had the
money I’d buy you and take care of you the rest of your life for this.
Get me there in time to catch that train, my boy! On, on! That’s the
stuff! Now you are doing it! Good boy—fine boy!”
It was wonderful how that injured animal tore down the road toward the
little collection of houses huddled at the railroad crossing. Frank felt
himself thrill with the excitement of it all.
The horse’s sides were heaving and falling, while its breath came
puffing from its nostrils like steam from an exhaust pipe.
That line of smoke was coming nearer and nearer. The whistle of the
locomotive sounded like a taunting yell of derision.
“Lost the race!” grated Frank.
Still he kept on.
“Not yet!”
The train was close to the little village, but the black horse bore its
rider toward the crossing.
Merry saw the train for a moment, then lost it behind some houses. He
tore off his hat and waved it as he went madly galloping toward that
crossing.
Behind him the pursuers again shouted their triumph.
“You haven’t got me yet!” muttered the desperate youth. “I’d do ’most
anything to give you the slip now.”
He was near the crossing when the engine went past. The engineer did not
see him, and he knew his last chance to stop the train had passed.
He could not check the horse, and one or two open-mouthed, staring
villagers believed he would dash straight against the cars, be hurled to
the ground, possibly mangled beneath the iron wheels.
With all his strength Frank turned the horse to one side, so that it was
going in the same direction as the train.
Then he formed a resolve, marvelous, daring, foolhardy. The pursuers
gasped, for they saw him rise to his knees on the back of the horse.
Then, with the skill of a circus rider, he stood upright on the back of
the galloping animal!
A moment the desperate youth stood thus, and then, as the last car of
the train whirled by, Frank made a daring leap.
His act was greeted with shouts of astonishment, for it seemed that no
person in his right mind would venture to attempt such an astounding
thing.
Through the air Frank Merriwell shot, his hands clutched the rail of the
rear platform of the last car—clutched it and clung there. For a second
his body was straightened out in the air till it was in a position
almost horizontal. Then it swung in, and the youth stood erect on the
platform, laughing, triumphant, tauntingly and leisurely lifting his hat
and waving it in farewell toward his baffled and thunderstruck pursuers.
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