FRANK MAKES A DECISION.
Frank leaned against the door-jamb of his cabin and looked out into the
sunny valley. To his ears came the roar of the stamp-mills of the mine,
which was in full blast. Before him lay the mine-buildings about the
mouth of the tunnel, from which rich ore was being brought to be fed to
the greedy stamps.
It was now something like ten days since the ruffians under Cimarron
Bill tried to carry the mine by assault.
Frank had remained watchful and alert, well knowing the nature of
Cimarron Bill and believing he would not be content to abandon the
effort thus easily. Still the second attack, which he had so fully
expected, had not come.
He was wondering now if the ruffians had given it up. Or had they been
instructed by the trust to turn their attention to the San Pablo Mine?
If the latter was the case, Frank felt that they would find the San
Pablo prepared. He had taken pains before hastening to the Queen Mystery
to fortify his mine in Mexico, leaving it in charge of a man whom he
fully trusted.
Nevertheless, Frank felt that it would be far better were he able to
personally watch both mines at the same time. Just now he was
meditating on the advisability of leaving the Queen Mystery and
journeying southward to the San Pablo.
As he thought this matter over, something seemed to whisper in his ear
that such an action on his part was anticipated by the enemy, who were
waiting for him to make the move. Then, while he was away, they would
again descend on the Queen Mystery.
Again the old Indian, Crowfoot, had disappeared, after his usual manner,
without telling Frank whither he was going. Merry knew he might be in
the vicinity, or he might be hundreds of miles away. Still, Joe had a
remarkable faculty of turning up just when he was most needed.
Merry turned back into the little cabin, leaving the door open. He had
been feeling of his chin as he stood in the doorway, and now he thought:
"A shave will clean me up. Great Scott! but I'm getting a beard! This
shaving is becoming a regular nuisance."
Indeed, Frank was getting a beard. Every day it seemed to grow heavier
and thicker, and he found it necessary to shave frequently to maintain
that clean appearance in which he so greatly delighted.
Frank could wear old clothes, he could rough it with joy, he minded
neither wind nor weather, but personal cleanliness he always maintained
when such a thing was in any manner possible. To him a slovenly person
was offensive. He pitied the man or boy who did not know the pleasure of
being clean, and he knew it was possible for any one to be clean, no
matter what his occupation, provided he could obtain a cake of soap and
sufficient water.
So Frank was shaving every day when possible. He now turned back into
the cabin and brought out his shaving-set. On the wall directly opposite
the open door hung a small square mirror, with a narrow shelf below it.
Here Merry made preparations for his shaving. Over a heater-lamp he
prepared his water, whistling the air of the Boola Song. This tune made
him think of his old friends of Yale, some of whom he had not heard from
for some time.
A year had not yet passed since he had gathered them and taken his
baseball-team into the Mad River region to play baseball. In that brief
space of time many things had occurred which made it evident that never
again could they all be together for sport. The days of mere sport were
past and over; the days of serious business had come.
Frank thought, with a sense of sadness, of Old Eli. Before him rose a
vision of the campus buildings, in his ears sounded the laughter and
songs, and he saw the line of fellows hanging on the fence, smoking
their pipes and chaffing good-naturedly.
With some men it is a sad thing that they cannot look back with any
great degree of pleasure on their boyhood and youth. They remember that
other boys seemed to have fine times, while they did not. Later, other
youths chummed together and were hail-fellow-well-met, while they
seemed set aloof from these jolly associates. With Frank this was not
so. He remembered his boyhood with emotions of the greatest pleasure,
from the time of his early home life to his bidding farewell to Fardale.
Beyond that even unto this day the joy of life made him feel that it was
a million fold worth living.
There are thousands who confess that they would not be willing to go
back and live their lives over. Had the question been put to Frank
Merriwell he would have said that nothing could give him greater
pleasure.
When the water was hot, Frank carefully applied his razor to the strop
and made it sharp enough for his purpose. Then he arranged everything
needed on the little shelf beneath the mirror.
Now, it is impossible to say what thing it was that led him to remove
his revolver from the holster and place it on the shelf with the other
things, but something caused him to do so.
Then he applied the lather to his face, and was about to use the razor,
when he suddenly saw something in the mirror that led him to move with
amazing quickness.
Behind him, at the open door, was a man with a rifle. This man, a
bearded ruffian, had crept up to the door with the weapon held ready for
use.
But for the fact that the interior of the cabin seemed somewhat gloomy
to the eyes of the man, accustomed as they were to the bright glare of
the sun outside, he might have been too swift for Frank.
Another thing added to Frank's fortune, and it was that he had drawn his
revolver and placed the weapon on the little shelf in front of him. For
this reason it was not necessary for him to reach toward the holster at
his hip, an action which must have hurried the ruffian to the attempted
accomplishment of his murderous design. For Merriwell had no doubt of
the fellow's intention. He saw murder in the man's eyes and pose.
The rifle was half-lifted. In another moment Frank Merriwell would have
been shot in the back in a most dastardly manner.
He snatched the revolver from the little shelf and fired over his
shoulder without turning his head, securing such aim as was possible by
the aid of the mirror into which he was looking. Frank had learned to
shoot in this manner, and he could do so as skilfully as many of the
expert marksmen who gave exhibitions of fancy shooting throughout the
country.
His bullet struck the hand of the man, smashing some of the ruffian's
fingers and causing him to drop the rifle.
Merry wheeled and strode to the door, his smoking revolver in his hand,
a terrible look in his eyes.
The wretch was astounded by what had happened. Blood was streaming from
his wounded hand. He saw Merriwell confront him with the ready pistol.
"You treacherous cur!" said Frank indignantly. "I think I'll finish
you!"
He seemed about to shoot the man down, whereupon the ruffian dropped on
his knees, begging for mercy.
"Don't--don't shoot!" he gasped, holding up his bleeding hand, "Don't
kill me!"
"Why shouldn't I? You meant to kill me."
"No, no--I swear----"
"Don't lie! Your soul may start on its long trail in a moment! Don't lie
when you may be on the brink of eternity!"
These stern words frightened the fellow more than ever.
"Oh, I'm telling you the truth--I sw'ar I am!" he hastened to say.
"You crept up to this door all ready to fill me full of lead."
"No, no! Nothing of the sort! I was not looking for you! It--it was some
one else! I swear it by my honor!"
A bitter smile curled the lips of the young man.
"Honor!" he said--"your honor! Never mind. How much were you to receive
for killing me?"
"It was not you; it was another man."
"What other?"
"Tracy."
"My foreman?"
"Yes."
"You were looking for him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Him and me have had a fallin' out, and he cussed me. He threatened to
shoot me, too."
"What was the matter?"
"Oh, he didn't like the way I done my work. It's true; ask him. I swore
I'd fix him."
"Well, what brought you here to my cabin to shoot the foreman?"
"I thought I saw him coming this way."
Frank pressed his lips together and looked the man over. Somehow he
believed the ruffian was lying, in spite of all these protests.
"See here, Anson," he said, "you were hired by the mining trust, or by
some of its tools, to shoot me, and you tried to earn your money. Don't
deny it, for you can't fool me. Just own up to the truth and it will be
better for you. Tell me who made the deal with you and how much you were
to receive. If you come out honestly and confess all, I'll spare you.
Your hand is bleeding pretty bad, and it should be attended to at once.
I'll see to that, but upon condition that you confess."
Still the ruffian continued to protest, insisting that it was Tracy he
was looking for. In the midst of this he suddenly stopped, seeming to be
badly frightened.
"Oh, Lord!" he choked. "Here comes Tracy! Don't tell him! I can't defend
myself! Don't tell him, or he'll sure shoot me up and finish me!"
Jim Tracy was coming with long strides. He saw Frank and the wretch with
the bleeding hand.
"Whatever is this?" he demanded. "I heard the shooting. What has this
yaller dog been up to?"
"I shot him," said Frank quietly. "He came walking into my door in a
careless manner with his rifle in his hand, and I shot him in a hurry.
He was foolish; he should have been more careful. It's dangerous to walk
in on me that way, even with the most peaceable intentions."
There was a strange look on Tracy's face.
"So that's how it happened?" he exclaimed, in a harsh voice. "Well, it's
pretty certain that Hop Anson needs to have his worthless neck
stretched, and all I ask is permission to attend to the job. I'll
dispose of him very quickly."
"I told you, Mr. Merriwell!" muttered the wounded man.
"You have had some trouble with him, have you, Tracy?" asked Frank.
"Confound his hide! yes, I have. He has no business here at this time.
His place is discharging the rock as it comes out. The fact that he's
here counts against him. Turn him over to me."
"Instead of that," said Frank, thrusting his revolver into his holster,
"I think I'll take care of him. Come in here, Anson."
Tracy seemed astonished and disgusted.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I'm going to see if I can't dress that hand and keep him from bleeding
to death," was Merriwell's answer.
"Well, by thunder!" muttered the foreman.