Читать книгу: «Frank Merriwell's Athletes: or, The Boys Who Won», страница 14
CHAPTER XXXIII – SHOOTING
Immediately after dinner there was an exhibition of trick and fancy shooting, in which Frank resolved to take part.
Rodney had provided a trap and plenty of glass balls for the occasion, and it was said that Indian Charlie was certain to carry off the honors of the day, as he was a wonderful shot with rifle, revolver or shotgun.
Charlie had a splendid black horse, and he started the shoot off by shooting from horseback, breaking a dozen balls in rapid succession without a miss, while the horse was at full gallop.
The watching cowboys uttered a yell of applause.
“Certainly that fellow is a peach with a shooting iron,” nodded Frank Merriwell. “There are not many who can beat that sort of work.”
Hank Kildare followed Indian Charlie, but he rang the bell only three times out of the six shots.
Pecos Pete, mounted on a wiry little broncho, went scooting across the grassy plain, flung his hat into the air, and shot six holes through it before it could touch the ground.
Then Indian Charlie showed the spectators another trick. As he rode along a revolver in his right hand, he snapped six quarters into the air with the thumb of his left hand and knocked each one out of sight with a bullet as it spun above his head.
This brought another yell of applause from the watching cowboys, and Frank began to understand how it came about that Charlie had been regarded with no small amount of respect by those who knew him best.
“A fellow with a hot temper and the ability to shoot like that is dangerous,” thought Merriwell. “I can see how it is that no one cared to anger him. It was lucky for me that he did not get out a gun when we had that little trouble.”
With a revolver in either hand, and hanging head downward on the right side of his horse, clinging there face outward in some marvelous manner, one of the cowboys tore past the target, at which he sent a dozen bullets, shooting with one revolver and then with the other.
This was most remarkable as an exhibition of horsemanship, for he did not succeed in ringing the bell once, although nearly every bullet hit the target.
“Wait till they come down to straight shooting,” said Frank. “Then I will get into the game.”
One after another, the cowboys gave an exhibition of some sort of trick shooting; but it was noticeable that, although several of them were fully more skillful as horsemen, none could make such a record as Indian Charlie for hitting whatever he fired at.
Frank watched his style of shooting with no small amount of interest, and saw him break ball after ball till he had smashed fifty-one. On the fifty-second ball he missed, but Merry saw he did so from pure carelessness.
“There is no telling when he would stop if he felt he was on his mettle,” thought Frank.
A bow-legged chap from the Star and Bar Ranch made thirty-two straight, and created no small amount of excitement.
The fifth man made twenty-four and then failed.
Frank was next and last.
If he did not beat the Star and Bar man he could not get into the “shoot off.”
“Now, Frankie, me b’y,” said Barney Mulloy, anxiously, “show th’ punchers what ye’re made av.”
Frank nodded quietly and took his position.
CHAPTER XXXIV – FRANK SHOWS HIS SKILL
“He’ll do it!”
“He can’t do it!”
“He’ll miss the next one!”
“Don’d you pelief me! Dot poy nefer vos known to miss!”
Hans was confident, as were all of Frank’s friends. Those who did not know him were the ones who were doubtful.
Twenty balls were broken in a deliberate, confident manner. It seemed that Frank did not think it was possible to miss.
Twenty-five! He was getting close to the Star and Bar man, and the excitement increased.
Indian Charlie laughed loud enough for Frank to hear, scornfully saying:
“It’s a case of luck – nothing more. He’ll slip up in a minute. Why, he’s getting nervous now!”
Frank paid not the least attention to this, apparently not hearing it.
Thirty balls were broken! Two more would tie the Star and Bar man.
Every spectator was standing. Inza Burrage was confident, while Sadie Rodney was almost quivering with excitement. Miss Abigail looked calm and confident.
“Ther youngster is a wonder,” said Pecos Pete. “I’ll allow he kin shoot as well as ride, an’ that’s a right smart bit.”
Thirty-one!
Another to tie!
Thirty-two!
The tie was made!
Charlie carefully cleaned his gun and prepared for the trial.
Frank was congratulated by his friends.
It was agreed that the shoot-off should be to see who could make the most points out of a possible hundred.
In the choice to see who should shoot last Frank felt that he was fortunate, as he had secured that privilege.
Indian Charlie was ready, and he took his stand. Then he proceeded to break fifty balls without a miss.
Then, to the astonishment of all, Charlie missed the next ball.
That angered him, and he uttered a smothered exclamation. His anger did him harm, for he missed again.
The foreman of the Lone Star stopped to swab out his gun and cool off. He realized that it would not do to continue shooting till his nerves were perfectly steady.
When he started in once more he seemed to smash the balls with greater ease than before, and he made seventy-eight out of a possible eighty.
“That is more than enough to win,” he laughed.
Then he seemed to grow careless, for he missed again.
He finished by making ninety-six out of one hundred shots.
“There,” he said, “that is pretty bad, but it is good enough to beat the tenderfoot and have twenty to spare.”
“We shall see,” thought Frank.
Merriwell took the position Charlie had vacated, and then, to the amazement and disappointment of every one, missed the second ball.
No one was more surprised than Frank by the miss, but it did not rattle him in the least. He remembered the gun in his hands shot “close,” and resolved to take unusual care.
Then he went on shooting, and for the next fifty shots he did not make a single miss.
Frank followed up his success with twenty-five more without a break, and then missed one.
When eighty was reached, Frank was tied, having made seventy-eight.
Now the excitement was greater than it had been at any time during the day, for it was seen that the tenderfoot stood an even chance of winning.
“He shall not win!” cried Indian Charlie, deep in his burning heart. “He must not win!”
Then for a moment he turned toward the nearest corral and lifted his hand to his hat in a peculiar manner.
No one observed this movement, for the attention of all seemed concentrated on the handsome youth who was doing the shooting.
Frank had made ninety-three out of ninety-five. With his next two shots he broke two more balls.
If he broke another he would tie Indian Charlie.
Once more the foreman of the Lone Star faced toward the corral and made a rapid gesture. His face was pale and his hands shook. He felt that he would be eternally disgraced if beaten by this boy.
Bang!
Frank fired again and another ball was broken.
Charlie was tied!
Merriwell’s friends got together, prepared to cheer when the next ball was broken.
Frank stood in readiness for the next ball.
“A thousand demons!” huskily whispered the foreman of the Lone Star. “If that half-breed – ”
Snap! – a white ball sailed into the air.
Bang! – Frank tossed the gun to his shoulder and fired.
At the same instant he was seen to reel, drop the gun and fall forward on his face, as if death-stricken.
But he had smashed the ninety-seventh ball and won the shoot-off!
CHAPTER XXXV – WHO FIRED THE SHOT
Frank was lifted and carried into the house, and a cowboy by the name of Fisher, who had once practiced medicine, and was something of a surgeon, was rushed in to attend to him.
The cowboys and the others scattered to search for the unknown who had fired the dastardly shot.
Behind one of the corrals they found Billy Cornmeal, apparently dead drunk, an empty whisky bottle clasped to his breast.
They shook and hammered the half-breed, but not even several sharp pricks with the point of a knife served to arouse him.
“Let him alone,” said Pecos Pete. “He’s dead ter ther world, an’ he couldn’t tell anything. We’re losin’ time.”
So Billy was left to sleep off his jag while the search was continued.
It proved anything but satisfactory, as no person save the half-blood was found who could have fired the shot, and it seemed certain that Billy Cornmeal had not done it.
There was something mysterious about the affair.
“If there had been a possible way for him to do the trick, I should suspect Indian Charlie,” said Diamond; “but he was with us, and we know he did not do the trick.”
“He did not do it,” said Hodge, fiercely, “but he may have been at the bottom of it.”
They went back to the house.
As they entered, they were astonished to meet Frank, about whose head a bandage was tied.
Rattleton gave a wild shout of joy and clasped Merry in his arms.
“He’s all right, fellows!” Harry shouted. “Here he is! He is not dead! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” roared the others, expressing their delight in a wild outburst of cheering.
It was some time before the rejoicing over Frank’s lucky escape abated, but the mystery of the shot remained a mystery still.
Who had tried to kill Merriwell? That question seemed unanswerable.
“I tell you,” said Hodge, “I believe that half-breed had something to do with it.”
“Billy Cornmeal?” asked Rodney.
“Sure.”
“But he was drunk.”
“He seemed to be, but I don’t think he was drunk at all. I think it was a trick, and he played it well.”
“Why should he shoot Merriwell?”
“That is a question he might be forced to answer. Let’s go find him and bring him into the house.”
This was agreed upon, but when they went to look for the half-breed he was gone. He had seemed too drunk to move, but still he had disappeared.
That was suspicious. They looked for his pony, and that had disappeared also.
“He must have skipped immediately after we left him,” said Hodge; “and so he has had time to place himself beyond some of those knots of timber. That is proof enough that he was the skunk who did the shooting, but some other person put him up to it. Mark me, the real enemy of Frank Merriwell is not Billy Cornmeal.”
CHAPTER XXXVI – A CAST FOR LIFE – CONCLUSION
Frank begged them not to let what had happened interrupt the sport, and so it was soon in progress again.
The cowboys gave some exhibitions of the manner in which they roped steers and wild horses, and a Mexican “roper” did some fancy work with a lariat.
The Mexican delighted them with his skill, and not a few of his tricks were graceful and difficult, being very pleasing to the eye.
He could set a noose whirling in the air, let it fall over his head, still whirling, pass down to his feet, and then he would step out of it without letting it touch his person or the ground and lift it whirling into the air.
This trick he would reverse, whirling the noose about a foot above the ground, step into it and whirl it up over his head into the air.
He could send it spinning far upward, till the rope looked like a big corkscrew top, with the little end touching his hand, and then, as it fell, he would jump through the noose and snap it into the air again.
“I can’t do that,” smiled Frank, as he watched the roper, “but I am not exactly a greenhorn with a rope. I can throw it fairly well.”
A sudden desire to get on horseback and join in the sports once more seized him. He could not keep still.
“I am all right,” he declared. “It will hurt me much more to hump up and keep still. Let me have the best horse you have, Mr. Rodney. If I harm the animal, I will pay for him.”
“You shall have Fleetfoot,” said the rancher. “In fact, I feel like letting you have anything I own.”
A short time later Frank was mounted on a handsome black gelding, a creature full of fire and intelligence.
Frank joined the cowboys in their sport, and, being provided with a rope, sprang another surprise on them by showing that he could cast the noose with more than ordinary skill.
The fun waxed fast and furious, and the cowboys, riding madly hither and thither, drew farther and farther from the house.
Suddenly all were startled to hear a shrill cry and see a girl running toward them.
Several women and girls came rushing out of the house and ran around the corner toward one of the corrals.
The girl running toward the cowboys was Inza Burrage. She waved her hand toward the corral.
At that moment a horse bearing a double burden was seen to shoot out from the corral and go racing across the plain.
“It’s Indian Charlie’s critter, an’ that’s Charlie on its back!” cried Hank Kildare.
“Right ye are!” agreed Pecos Pete; “but it’s more’n Charlie ridin’ ther critter! He’s got somethin’ in his arms! Dern my eyes! I reckon he’s tryin’ ter kerry off Rodney’s gal!”
“That’s it!” burst from Frank Merriwell. “He is kidnaping Miss Rodney! After the fellow, men! We must run him down!”
Frank was right. Charlie, driven desperate and maddened by several drinks he had taken, had quite lost his head. Again seeking Sadie Rodney, he had found an opportunity to catch her in his arms, carry her to the corral, where his horse was saddled and ready, and bear her away.
Ordinarily the man would not have attempted such a thing. Just now he was ready for any desperate deed.
He believed he had a horse that was the superior of anything on or about Rodney’s ranch, and so he had tried to kidnap Sadie, hoping to get a big start before he was discovered.
Inza had seen him, and she ran to tell Frank what had happened.
Away went the cowboys in pursuit of the kidnaper and his victim, and Frank, mounted on Fleetfoot, was leading them.
The boy remembered how Swiftwing had carried off Inza.
Frank coiled up the lariat as he rode.
There was great excitement about the ranch. Men and women ran in all directions, shouting and calling.
The cowboys, headed by Merriwell, swept past to the south.
Indian Charlie looked back and saw his pursuers. He recognized the boyish leader, and ground his teeth.
“That fellow has brought me nothing but bad luck!” he grated. “I don’t care now! Let them catch me if they can! I’d like to get a shot at Merriwell myself! I wouldn’t make such a bungle of it as that fool half-breed made. I was to give Cornmeal fifty dollars, but he failed to do the job.”
Sadie Rodney had not fainted, although it seemed so at first.
“Oh, you wretch!” she exclaimed, faintly, having overheard his words. “So you hired the half-breed to kill Frank Merriwell! You are more of a wretch than I thought!”
She shuddered with horror.
“Oh, shiver away!” brutally laughed the man. “I am a demon, and I know it! I’m proud of it! It was born in me, and I have not been able to get away from it. I vowed I would have you at any cost, and I mean to keep my word.”
“You will not succeed.”
“Oh, yes, I shall! They can’t run me down.”
“You do not know the stuff Fleetfoot is made of, and Frank Merriwell is mounted on Fleetfoot. You can’t get away from him.”
“So much the worse for him! I shall shoot him!”
Away they went, mile after mile being covered.
Charlie looked back again. Mounted on the black horse, Frank was drawing away from the cowboys. He was gaining on Charlie.
“Let him come!” snarled the desperate wretch. “He can’t save you!”
Frank continued to gain.
The kidnaper was riding recklessly, without considering the course he was taking. Soon he could hear the beating hoofs of the horse ridden by his persistent pursuer.
Closer and closer Frank crept. His face was set with determination. He was alone, but he would rescue Sadie Rodney.
Suddenly a scream of fear came from the girl.
“The bluffs!” she cried – “the bluffs! We are right upon them!”
Indian Charlie realized it for the first time. He saw before them the bluffs which arose two hundred feet from the bed of a dry gorge.
Then he hastily tried to rein about with his free hand.
Too late!
The horse took the bit in his teeth and charged straight at the gorge which lay in advance.
To go over the bluff meant a plunge to death, and yet he was unable to rein his horse about. Frantically he tried to turn the creature aside.
Frank realized the peril that threatened the man and girl. He freed the lariat he had brought all this distance and prepared to use it. Around and around his head the noose circled, and then, just before the horse in advance reached the brink of the bluff, he made the cast.
The noose sailed through the air and dropped over the head and shoulders of the man and girl. The trained horse Frank bestrode suddenly turned and braced itself.
Snap! – the rope tightened, and two human beings were jerked from the back of the horse, just as, with a wild shriek of fear, the animal plunged over the brink.
When the cowboys came up they found Frank talking reassuringly to Sadie Rodney, who had been stunned somewhat by the fall to the ground, but was not seriously hurt, while the body of Indian Charlie lay sprawled on the ground.
Charlie’s neck was broken when he fell, and his plotting and crookedness were over forever.
Great was the reception the party was given at Rodney’s ranch. Great were the honors bestowed on the “tenderfoot,” who, as Hank Kildare expressed it, “had shown the punchers he wuz jest as good as the best of them – an’ a sight better!”
William Rodney could not find words to express his thankfulness and admiration of Frank.
The tournament was over for that day, but the dance followed in the evening, and a jolly time it was.
Sadie Rodney waltzed twice with Frank, but he did not neglect Inza, who received full assurance that the rancher’s daughter had not won her place in Frank’s heart.
It was a jolly time, and for all of the misfortune which had befallen Frank, the boys felt they were fully repaid for the time spent in visiting Rodney’s ranch.
And in spite of all that had occurred there was not a grumbling spirit among “Frank Merriwell’s Athletes.”
