UNTO DEATH!
The sun was down in the west and night was gathering over the face of
the world when Frank and Bart rode forth from Holbrook, setting their
faces to the southwest. Boxer trotted behind them.
They were not molested, although Frank remained in constant expectation
of an attack until they were fairly clear of the place and had it a long
rifle-shot at their backs.
The blue night grew upon the distant plain, and the stars were coming
forth over their heads as they rode down into the distance, the beating
hoofs of the ponies making rhythm on the baked ground. The first cool
breath of night touched their heated cheeks with grateful kisses.
"How did you happen to do it, Frank?" asked Bart.
"I found out a thing or two," Merry answered. "Cimarron Bill is in town,
and he was watching his chance to get another shot at me."
"Another?" exclaimed Bart; upon which Merry explained how Bill had fired
at him already.
"It was rather dangerous to stay there, and I couldn't resist when a
pretty girl took enough interest in me to urge me to get away," Frank
laughed. "We had some sport with our talking dog, and now----"
"You can't mean to ride far?"
"Remember the hut we passed on the way into town? It's not very far.
We'll stop there to-night."
"Good!" said Bart; and they rode on.
Coming to the deserted hut, they stopped there. The horses were cared
for, and Frank and Bart entered the hut with their blankets, where they
prepared to sleep until toward morning, planning to rise before daybreak
and get an early start, so that some distance could be covered ere the
sun rose.
Both of the young men were weary, and they lost little time in drawing
their blankets about them and rolling on the floor. Boxer curled in a
corner and went to sleep. The door of the hut was left open to admit the
cool night air.
Frank fell asleep at once, and Bart was not slow in following his
example.
They were awakened in the middle of the night by a snarl, a cry, a
struggle, and a fall. Both sat up, grasping their weapons.
The moon was up, and by its light, which streamed in at the wide-open
door, a man and a dog were seen struggling on the floor. The dog was
Boxer, who had leaped at the throat of the man as he came slipping in at
the open door.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Hodge. "What's the meaning of this?"
"One of my friends has arrived," said Frank. "Boxer has him."
The struggle was fierce and terrible. The dog seemed to have the man by
the throat. Before either Merry or Hodge could interfere the moonlight
glinted on something bright in the hand of the man, who struck and
struck again.
Not a sound came from the dog. But the bright thing in the man's hand
grew suddenly dark.
"Heavens!" gasped Frank, leaping forward. "He has a knife!"
Then a terrible sound came from the throat of the man, and he lifted his
arm no more. The thing in his hand, dark and dripping, fell to the floor
of the hut.
A moment later the man rolled into the shadow, and then Boxer was seen
dragging himself away, while the man lay still.
"Boxer! Boxer!" cried Frank, bending over the dog. "Are you hurt, boy?
Merciful goodness! he ripped your whole side open with that knife!"
Hodge struck a light and bent over the man who lay in the shadow. When
the match burned out in his fingers he dropped it and stepped out to
join Merriwell, who had picked up the dog and carried the creature into
the open air.
Bart found Merry sitting on the ground, with the dog in his arms. Boxer
had been cut in a terrible manner, and was bleeding in a way that
plainly told his end was near.
"Oh, the wretch!" choked Merry, in a husky voice. "Oh, the wretch who
did this! He ought to be hanged!"
"No need of hanging for him," said Hodge. "He'll be beyond that in less
than three minutes."
"You mean----"
"He's pretty near dead now. Boxer's teeth found his jugular vein."
"Who was it, Bart?"
"The fellow who made the row in Schlitzenheimer's saloon."
"Gentle Bob?"
"Yes."
"One of Cimarron Bill's hired tools, or I am mistaken! He followed us
here and tried to creep in on us with that knife, meaning to finish the
job at which he failed in town. Boxer saved us. Good old Boxer! Poor old
Boxer!"
The dog whined a little on hearing this name from Frank's lip's, and
feebly wagged his tail. The moonlight showed his eyes turned toward
Merry's face.
"Is it so bad there's no show for him?" asked Hodge, in genuine
distress.
"No show!" sobbed Frank. "He's finished, Bart! It's a shame! The most
knowing dog in the whole world! And he has to die like this, killed by a
human being that is more of a beast than he!"
"It's a shame!" said Bart.
The dog licked Frank's hand. Merry bowed his head, and tears started
from his eyes.
"Poor Boxer!" he choked. "Boxer, we have to part here. You're going to
another country, where I must follow in time. It's all up with you. You
may find your first master over there; but he'll never love you more
than I have. Good-by, Boxer!"
The dog uttered a whine. And so his life ended in Frank's arms, with the
moonlight falling on them and the stillness of the Arizona night all
around.
Hodge entered the hut, only to come forth, bringing the blankets and
looking very sick.
"For Heaven's sake, let's get away from here!" he exclaimed.
"The man in there?"
"Dead!" said Bart. "The place is gory! I'm faint from it!"
Boxer's body was wrapped in a blanket, and they mounted and rode away,
Frank carrying the dead dog in his arms to find a burial place where
there could be no chance that his body should be exhumed by any prowling
thing of the desert.