Kitabı oku: «Dick Merriwell's Trap: or, The Chap Who Bungled», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XVIII – BUNOL HOLDS HIS GRIP
Dick turned like a flash. He saw a slender, dark-faced youth, who had stepped from behind the curtains and thrown the knife. He also saw that Chester Arlington had made a spring and clutched the arm of this youth, thus causing the knife to fly a trifle wild.
That quick move by Arlington had saved Dick. This Merriwell instantly understood.
“You crazy fellow!” Chester panted, giving Bunol a backward fling. “Do you want to ruin us both? What are you trying to do?”
“I keel him!” snarled the Spanish youth, his dark eyes glaring murderously. “I keel him!”
“That would ruin us! You ought to know that!”
Then Arlington turned to Dick.
“You can thank me,” he said, “that you did not get that knife between your shoulders.”
“That’s a nice, murderous whelp you have there!” said Dick, without a tremor in his voice. “I think he’s altogether too devilish for this school, and I’ll have to report this piece of business. A fellow who throws a knife at another fellow’s back will be fired out of Fardale in a hurry.”
“Hold on, Merriwell!” exclaimed Arlington. “Don’t forget that I saved you!”
“For your own sake,” returned Dick instantly.
“For my own sake?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you know the trouble you would get into. Because you were afraid of that. Not from any love of me.”
“Did you help me out of the fire from love of me?”
“No.”
Arlington forced a laugh.
“I knew you did not. Then we are quits. The score is evened up.”
“But that does not let your fine friend Bunol out. He is a treacherous snake, and – ”
“Yah!” snarled the Spanish boy, starting to advance toward Dick. “I make you take it back!”
Again Arlington grasped him.
“Keep still!” he commanded. “You are no match for him, so keep away.”
“He have you in bad feex,” said Bunol. “I feex him! You wait! You see!”
The eyes of the young Spaniard gleamed with a light that would have made a nervous fellow uneasy.
Dick jerked the knife from the door, turned about with it in his hand, and strode back at Miguel Bunol.
The young Spaniard cried out in excitement, thinking Merriwell meant to attack and stab him. He made a spring for a corner, where stood a pair of Indian clubs, and one of these he picked up as a weapon. He chattered something in Spanish as he faced about again, but Dick had paused by the table, and was talking to Chester.
“It will be a good thing for you, Arlington,” Merriwell was saying, “if this snake in the grass has to leave Fardale. If he remains, he will some day get you into a bad scrape, mark what I say.”
Chester flung back his head with a haughty pose.
“You have had things your own way since coming to this room, Merriwell,” he said. “But you cannot deny that I saved your life, for that knife would have struck you fairly had I not grasped Miguel’s arm. If you report this matter, it will bring about an investigation, which may mean no end of trouble for me, resulting in my expulsion, as well as Bunol’s. Of course, I have no way of preventing you from doing as you like, but I advise you to think it over before you carry it too far. And now, before there is further trouble, get out. Leave that knife here on the table.”
“No; I’ll take the knife as a trophy.”
“The knife belongs to me!” cried Bunol.
“No; it belongs to me,” declared Dick, as he slipped it into his pocket. “As parting advice to you, Arlington, take care that your snaky friend does not carry a knife, unless you wish him to land you in prison by murdering somebody when you are not around.”
Dick walked out, without once looking back. His manner was perfectly fearless.
When the door closed behind Merriwell, Bunol uttered a little exclamation of disappointment, dropping the Indian club to the floor. He sat down heavily on a chair.
“You fool!” said Chester scornfully. “Do you want to get us both hanged? If that knife had struck him – ”
“He would be dead now!”
“And we would be in a fine scrape! Merriwell is right; you must stop carrying a knife.”
“I – I stop? I – I no carry knife?”
“Well, if you do, I’ll have to cut clear of you.”
Bunol seemed thunderstruck.
“You – you do that? You cut clear of me? Why, you bring me here! You pay my way here! You say I must come to school at Fardale.”
“Because I found you handy before we came here. But now you are becoming a trouble to me. I am beginning to think I’d be better off without you.”
The young Spaniard showed still further amazement.
“You mean I had better go ’way?” he asked.
“I think you had,” answered Chester, plainly making an effort to summon the courage to say so. “I have been thinking about it for some time. You are not much interested in this school, and there is no particular reason why you should stay here.”
“And you I think is great friend to me!” returned Bunol wonderingly.
“Well, I have been a friend to you, haven’t I?”
“You seem so.”
“Seem so! Why, you have lived off me for more than a year! It was a snap for you.”
“But now,” said Miguel, “the snap he end, eh? Now you shake me off, eh? Now you say go, I go, eh? You have done with me? What for?”
“Because you are so hot-headed that you will get me into trouble here.”
“Bah! No! Because you ’fraid Dick Merriwell! That it! I know! First you come here you think you walk over him. Ha! You try it. Ha! You find it no work. Then you mean to beat him some way. You try it. It no work. Ha! You find he very much smart. He no ’fraid anything. When you try, try, try, you begin to get ’fraid of him an’ you – ”
“That’s a lie, Bunol!” exclaimed Chester harshly. “I am not afraid of anything. But I know now that Merriwell cannot be defeated by ordinary means. I acknowledge it. I remain his enemy, just the same. I shall defeat him in the end. I shall triumph. But I must begin differently. I must work in more subtle ways. Thus far, for the most part, I have tried to down him by main force. Now I have decided that I must use my brain – I must resort to strategy. From this day my fight against him shall be strategical. He may not even think me his enemy. He may fancy me defeated. He may even imagine me something of a friend. All the while I shall be working silently against him. When the time comes for me to strike the crushing blow I shall strike it. But not until I have triumphed shall I let him know that it was my hand that pulled him down. This is something new for an Arlington. We meet our enemies openly and defeat them. But I have found this enemy too strongly intrenched.
“As I have decided on such a course, I have also concluded that I shall be better off without you here. Therefore, Bunol, I think you had better make arrangements to leave Fardale. I will give you a hundred dollars, and you may go where you choose.”
The Spaniard walked excitedly up and down the floor. Of a sudden he stopped beyond the table, across which he glared at Chester, who had lighted a fresh cigarette.
“I shall not go!” he exclaimed.
“So?” said Chester, lifting his eyebrows. “You will remain here?”
“I remain.”
“Indeed! How will you get along?”
“Get ’long? Why, jest same.”
“You may have some trouble to pay your way.”
“But you – ”
Arlington snapped his yellow fingers.
“It’s all off,” he declared. “I’m done.”
“What? You mean you no help me some more?”
“You guessed it the first time.”
Arlington pretended the utmost coolness, whether he felt it or not. He inhaled a great whiff of smoke and breathed it out as he spoke. When he had finished he stifled a yawn with his hand.
Bunol was dazed, for this had come upon him suddenly and unexpectedly, and he was unprepared. He had not dreamed Arlington would think of throwing him over.
“So that is it?” he said, after a time. “You think you throw me over! You think you have done with me! Ha! I got a thing to say ’bout that!”
“You had better not be foolish, Bunol – better not make me any trouble. You’re too much of a load for me to carry.”
“Too much load?”
“That’s what I said. It was all right before I bucked up against Merriwell, but fighting him has cost me a pretty penny, and I’m in a bad hole. I dropped my last dollar and all I could rake on those Uniontown chumps. Thought they were dead sure to win, and gave the money to Kennedy to bet. I’m strapped, Bunol.”
“But you get more easy.”
“Not so easy. I’ve been working the old lady pretty hard of late, and she’s about ready to make a kick. I’ve even got money off sis.”
“You offer me one hundred dollars to go ’way.”
Chester glanced at his hand, on which sparkled a handsome diamond.
“I’ll have to stick this stone up for the sum,” he said. “You see just where I’m at, Miguel. I’m bumping on the rocks. You can’t blame me. If I had not been beaten at every turn by Merriwell I’d be ’way ahead now.”
“I keel him! You stop me! I know he make it trouble for you – for me.”
“Killing doesn’t go, Miguel. You’re too hot-headed for this place. Come, old man, there is no reason why we should fuss about this matter. The time has come for us to split, and that is all there is to do.”
But Miguel Bunol knew which side his bread was buttered on, and he did not fancy giving up a good thing like Arlington.
“I go,” he said.
“Good!” nodded Chester.
“For one thousan’ dollars,” added Miguel.
Chester had elevated his feet to the top of the table. Now he let them drop to the floor with a thud, flung the cigarette aside, and sat up.
“You go – ” he began.
Then he paused, with his lips curling, finally adding:
“ – to the devil!”
“I stay right here,” said the Spaniard, with unconscious wit.
“As you choose,” said Chester; “but you’ll stay on your own account, and not one dollar more will you ever get from me.”
Suddenly Bunol became cool.
“That is so, eh?” he asked.
“It is.”
“Ha! You think it. You change your mind. I make you change your mind.”
“You – you make me?” The idea that Bunol could make him do anything was amusing to Arlington.
“I make you,” reiterated the Spaniard.
“That’s a joke! Why, you poor fool, how will you go about it? What way have you to make me do anything?”
“Plenty way. You say ‘no’? Ha! How you like it if I tell few thing ’bout you?”
“Tell – tell what?”
“How you do some thing since you come here. Ha! How you do your best to beat Deek Merriwell. How you try to have football-team beat, so Deek Merriwell he is beat. How you want him scratch with the poison ring, so his arm it swell, and so he can play no more at the football. Oh, I can tell!”
“But you’ll get yourself into a worse scrape than I, for you have been the one to do most of the work against Merriwell. I shall swear that you lie.”
“I tell your seester! I tell your mother!”
“They’ll not believe you. My word will stand better than yours. You’ll simply get yourself into trouble.”
“I prove some thing.”
“You can’t; I’ve taken care of that. I have thought all along that the time would come when we would have to split. Of course, I had no intention of supporting you the rest of your natural life.”
Arlington was defying his former companion and tool, but no one knew better than he how dangerous Miguel Bunol was, and he was keenly on the alert for anything.
“I never be thrown over like this!” asserted the Spaniard. “I ruin you.”
“You will ruin yourself, that is all.”
“You say that. Ha! How we come to be friends in first place? I tell that! I will!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” exclaimed Chester, turning pale.
“You think that? You wait – you see! I tell how you have boy you hate, how you pay me to push him off bridge, how he sink, he drown! Ha!”
“But I didn’t mean for him to drown!” explained Chester.
“He drown,” said Bunol grimly.
“I meant to give him a ducking and a scare.”
“He drown!” again came from the lips of the Spaniard.
“I did everything I could to save him. I stripped off and plunged in. I tried to pull him out.”
“All the same, he drown. Then you say nothing. You no tell how it happen. You say think he fell in. You try to get him out. Somebody say you hero. Miguel Bunol say nothing.”
“It wasn’t best that you did! You didn’t fancy going to prison for murder in the second degree. That’s what would have happened to you.”
“We get great friend. Now you want me no more, you throw me down. Go ’head! I throw you down! I tell all!”
“But it will put you in just as bad a hole.”
“What do I care? I get even with you! Which hurt most – I go to jail, or you go to jail? You son of great man. All my relation dead ’cept mother. No can tell where she is now.”
Arlington rose, thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets, and began to pace up and down.
Bunol watched him with those beady eyes, and an expression of triumph came to his face. He knew that he had conquered, and he was right. At last, Chester turned, came back to the table, and said:
“We can’t afford to quarrel now, I think I was too hasty. We’ll stick together. I may need you some more.”
“I stick to you all right,” said the Spaniard, with keenest satisfaction. “Don’t you be ’fraid.”
CHAPTER XIX – A CRY IN THE NIGHT
The resignation of Chester Arlington from the athletic committee created no end of astonishment. He was overwhelmed with questions, but very little could be learned from him, as he refused to answer.
“I made up my mind to do it,” he said, “and I did it, that’s all. I’m not going to talk about it, so don’t worry me.”
It must be confessed that this action on his part lost him many supporters. The plebes were indignant, as they lost a representative on the committee, George Hardy, a first class man, being chosen to fill the vacancy.
Perhaps Mark Crauthers was the most disgusted fellow in Fardale. He sought Arlington and expressed himself in a flow of violent language, without giving Chester an opportunity to say a word. When he paused, Arlington sneeringly asked:
“Are you through?”
“Well, I haven’t said half I could!” snarled Crauthers, showing his dark teeth. “Why, we had things right in our own hands! With you on that committee, the Black Wolves could have run things as they chose. You lost the greatest opportunity you ever had to hurt Merriwell – the greatest you will ever have.”
“Perhaps I’m tired of this foolishness,” said Chester.
“What foolishness?”
“Trying to injure Merriwell.”
“What?” gasped Crauthers. “You? Why, he has insulted you in a dozen ways, and you are the last man to – ”
“Oh, I’ve forced it on him, and you know that Merriwell is not such a bad fellow after all.”
Crauthers seemed to be choking.
“Well,” he growled, “I’m blowed if I didn’t think all along that there was something of the squealer about you! You blowed too much about your father being the great D. Roscoe Arlington, and – ”
“That will do for you!” said Chester, with a pleasant smile. “It is just about the limit.”
“The limit! Why, you haven’t backbone enough to – ”
“If you think so,” said Arlington, “just walk down behind the cedars with me.”
“What would you do?”
“I’ll agree to give you a handsome thrashing.”
“You can’t do it! Why, I can wallop any squealer that ever – ”
“You’re a big stiff!” declared Chester. “You do not dare walk down behind the cedars.”
Immediately Crauthers started for the cedars, a little grove that stood within sight of the academy. Behind this grove, hidden from view of any one in or about the academy, many a fight had taken place. It was a favorite place for cadets to settle their differences when they had not time to get farther away.
“Come on – if you dare!” growled Crauthers.
“I’ll be right along,” promised Chester.
Five minutes later the two, who had seemed on friendly terms up to that day, met behind the cedars. Chester pulled off his coat and placed it on the ground, dropping his cap upon it. Then he sailed into Crauthers.
Three or four cadets had discovered that something was going to happen behind the cedars, and they were on hand to witness the encounter.
Arlington had taken boxing-lessons, and he was really skilful. True, he had found his skill outmatched by that of Dick Merriwell in a personal encounter, but now it did not take him long to demonstrate that he was Crauthers’ superior, and in less than ten minutes he had the fellow whipped to a finish.
“If any of your friends make the kind of talk you did to me,” he politely said, “I’ll cheerfully apply the same treatment.”
Crauthers, with his face bruised and one eye rapidly closing, made no reply, but he ground his dark teeth in impotent rage.
Arlington, however, had demonstrated that he would fight, and from that time there was little outspoken criticism of his change in bearing toward Dick Merriwell.
Brad Buckhart was heartily disgusted when he heard of the new position Arlington had taken.
“Wouldn’t that freeze your feet!” he exclaimed, as he finished telling Dick about it. “He’ll be trying to get chummy with you next. He will, I know!”
Dick smiled a bit, but said nothing.
“Say, pard,” came anxiously from the Texan, “I hope you won’t let that onery coyote come crawling round you any whatever. Not even for his sister’s sake. She’s all right, but you can’t trust Chet Arlington.”
“Don’t worry,” was all Dick said.
That afternoon Arlington was on hand to watch the practise of the football-team.
Unhampered by the orders of the committee, Dick had full charge of the men on the field, and he put them through their paces in a way that demonstrated what he could do with them if given full sway. The boys seemed to show up unusually well and take hold of the work with new interest.
Whenever a play was carried out with unusual adroitness Chester nodded and smiled.
“Great!” he said. “The team is in the finest possible shape, and Merriwell must be given credit for it all. I have doubted his ability in the past, but I acknowledge my mistake.”
“He makes me sick!” muttered Fred Stark, walking away.
Stark found Mark Crauthers talking to Sam Hogan over near the grand stand. Crauthers had been doctoring his eye, but he looked as if he had been “up against the real thing.”
“Look here,” said Fred, as he joined the others, “there’s Arlington over yonder clapping and cheering for Merriwell. I wanted to hit him, but – ”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Crauthers. “I know just how you felt. I did hit him! And he hit me! I hadn’t an idea a fellow who had been whipped by Merriwell could fight the way he can.”
“He’s a thorough cad!” declared Stark. “I see through his little game. He’s beaten by Merriwell, and he has given up. Now he hopes to get on by turning round and howling for that fellow – hopes to get taken into Merriwell’s set, perhaps.”
Hogan glanced round. Seeing there was no one near enough to hear what they were saying, he spoke in a low tone:
“The Wolves are broken up. He’s never been any use. We three are the only ones left.”
“And we may as well quit,” said Crauthers regretfully. “If he gets in with Merriwell, he’ll give the whole thing away.”
“One last meeting,” urged Stark.
“When?”
“To-night.”
They looked at one another, nodded, and Hogan said:
“I’ll be on hand. The Den, I suppose?”
“Yes. It’s not likely we’ll ever meet there again after to-night. It wouldn’t be safe. If Arlington blowed on us – ”
“But it will take him some time to get in with Merriwell. Dick Merriwell is not going to take up with that fellow at once. Arlington will have to get right down and crawl before Merriwell forgives him.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Stark. “There is a reason why Merriwell may be glad to take up with Arlington.”
“You mean – ”
“Arlington’s sister, of course. She’s smashed on Merriwell, and he is some smitten on her. That will make all the difference in the world. I’ll not be surprised to see Merriwell and Arlington chummy within a week or so.”
“It’s disgusting!” growled Crauthers. “Do you know, I have heard that these Merriwells always turn their enemies into friends.”
“I know one who will never become a friend to Dick Merriwell,” declared Stark.
Hogan said nothing, but down in his heart there was a guilty feeling, for in the past Dick Merriwell had befriended him, and he had once thought that never again could he lift a hand against Dick.
But Hogan was a coarse fellow, and he had found it impossible to get in with Dick’s friends. Dick treated him well enough, but Dick’s friends would have none of him. This had turned Hogan’s wavering soul to bitterness again.
These fellows were satisfied that it was only a matter of time when Merriwell and Arlington would become firm friends. That was because they had not sounded the depths of Arlington’s nature, had not realized that his hatred was of the sort that nearly always lived while life lasted.
Arlington had taken a fresh hand and was playing his cards in a new way. And he had resolved not to trust his most intimate friend. He, also, had learned that Dick Merriwell had a most wonderful faculty of turning enemies into friends without at all seeming to wish such a thing.
“The fellows here who pretend to be his enemies to-day may be fawning around him to-morrow,” Arlington had decided. “I must be careful and trust no one. I will fool them all.”
Be careful, Chester! There is such a thing as over-playing a part. You may fool many of them, but you will have to be very clever if you fool Dick Merriwell. You will find that those dark eyes of his have a way of reading secrets, of seeming to look straight through you, of piercing the dark corners of your heart and discovering your motives.
That night three dark figures stole away from the academy and made for a certain strip of woods in the heart of which lay a jungle of fallen trees that had been swept down by a tornado. Other trees had sprung up, bushes were thick, wild vines overran the mass in summer, fallen branches were strewn about; and still through this jungle a path had been made. It led to a secret retreat, where the Black Wolves had met many times to smoke and play cards and concoct plots. They knew the way well, and they followed it through the semi-darkness, for the moon was veiled by clouds.
At one place they were compelled to walk the trunk of a tree that had fallen against another tree. At an angle they walked upward along that often-trod tree trunk, coming to another fallen tree, lodged like the first against the one that remained standing. Down the second tree they made their way. Thus they passed over a thicket through which no path had been made, coming beyond it to what seemed almost like a tunnel, where the darkness was most intense. Creeping through this tunnel, they arrived in the Den, which had been formed originally by a number of trees that fell together, or were twisted together at their tops by the hurricane, in the form of an Indian wigwam. Inside, at the bottom the branches had been cleared away, boughs were spread on the ground, and in the center was a stone fireplace, about which the Wolves could sit in council.
Dry wood had been gathered and piled at hand, and some of this they soon arranged on the stones. Dry leaves served in the place of shavings. They were sheltered from the keen night air, but a fire would feel grateful enough, and one hastened to strike a match with numb fingers.
The leaves flamed up brightly, the wood caught fire with a pleasant crackling sound, and smoke began to roll upward. Then, of a sudden, one of the trio uttered a gasping exclamation of astonishment and startled terror, grasping the arm of another, and pointing toward one side of the Den. There, bolt upright and silent, sat a human figure, seeming to glare at them with glassy eyes.
So still was that figure that Crauthers, who had seen it first, thought it lifeless. It seemed like a person who had sought shelter there and had died, sitting straight up, with eyes wide open and staring. Was it a tramp?
No. As the fire rose still brighter they recognized the unbidden one. It was Miguel Bunol.
“The Spaniard!” exclaimed Stark.
“Spying on us!” burst from the lips of Crauthers, as he saw Bunol’s eyes move and realized the fellow was very much alive.
“Sure as fate!” agreed Hogan. “He is Arlington’s right-hand man, and he must be here as a spy.”
Bunol laughed softly, coldly.
“Don’t be fool all of you!” he said. “Bunol not a spy. Not much at all!”
“Confound you!” growled Crauthers, who seemed ready to leap on the Spanish lad. “What are you doing here, anyhow?”
“I belong to Wolves. I have right to be here.”
“You were not invited. You were not told we meant to meet here. Then – ”
“Bunol is no fool. He find out some things you do not tell him. But why you do not tell him? He is a Wolf, and he have right to know.”
“Oh, go to Arlington, your master!” exclaimed Fred Stark.
“Chester Arlington no master of Miguel Bunol!” returned the young Spaniard, with heat. “Some time he find Bunol be his master. You wait, you see.”
The young rascals looked at one another in doubt. Up to this time Bunol had seemed Arlington’s devoted servant, and it did not seem possible he had turned against Chester so soon and so unexpectedly.
“Trick!” muttered Hogan suspiciously.
Stark thought so, too. He believed Arlington had somehow learned they were to meet there, and had sent Bunol to act as a spy and to learn what happened.
“Better soak him!” said Crauthers, who longed to get revenge on Chester in some manner, and thought it would be partial revenge to give his trusted servant a good thumping.
Bunol had not stirred. He was watching them closely with his keen eyes, and his equally keen ears missed not a word they spoke. He understood, too.
“Don’t be fools!” he said, in the same soft voice. “You will not find it safe to soak Miguel Bunol.”
“He carries a knife,” said Stark.
Bunol’s lips curled in a bitter smile. They did not know what had become of his knife. Dick Merriwell had it, but some day he would get it back.
“Look here, you!” he said, “Let me tell you! I have done with Chester Arlington as friend. You think a long time he is my master. Bah! All the time I am his master! All the time he pay my way here at school. I make him give to me the money. How I do it? No matter. I have way. Now he have spend so much he get in bad hole. He try to throw me over. Ha! I say no. He think he is my master, and he say I have to go. He give me one hundred dollars to get me to go. I laugh at him. I say one thousand. He cannot give that. I know he cannot give it. I stay. But I know he mean to get done with me soon as he can. I have done many thing for him, and it make me sore. Ha! See? No longer am I his friend. I make him give me money, but no longer will I do anything for him. I like to see him get it some in the neck. Ha!”
Again the boys looked at each other, this time wondering if Bunol spoke the truth.
“What kind of a game is this?” muttered Stark.
But Bunol protested that it was no game at all, and he swore by all things good and bad that he spoke the truth. He began to convince them. He showed his feeling of hatred for Chester Arlington was intense as well as unreasoning. He seemed to feel that, after providing him with money so long, after accepting him as a companion, after introducing him as belonging to a noble family, that Chester had no right to cast him off and refuse to maintain him longer. He seemed to feel that Chester was doing him a great injury, and he was burning with a desire for revenge.
Crauthers, Hogan, and Stark put their heads together and whispered.
“What do you think?” asked Hogan.
“Fellow’s on the level,” said Stark.
“Believe that’s right,” agreed Crauthers.
“Shall we trust him?”
“He may come handy.”
“Just the one to get at Arlington.”
“He may betray us,” suggested Hogan.
“Put him to the test,” recommended Stark.
“How?” questioned Crauthers.
“Require him to make some move against Arlington.”
“Good idea!”
“First-class!”
“Let him make good by attacking Arlington,” grinned Hogan.
“Will he do it?” whispered Stark.
“Try him! try him!” sibilated Crauthers.
Crauthers was eager for the test. He told himself it would be great satisfaction to bring about a clash between Chester and Bunol. It would give him the keenest satisfaction to watch Bunol knock Chester out. But could Bunol do it? Surely not unless he attacked Arlington unawares and without warning.
The Spaniard, however, was just the one to make such an attack. It was like him to spring on the back of an unsuspecting enemy.
“How much do you hate Chet Arlington?” asked Stark, as he turned to Bunol, who was now coolly smoking a cigarette.
“How much? You wait, you see.”
“But you must prove that you hate him. We can’t trust you unless you convince us. You have been his friend. How can we be sure you are not so still?”
“How you want me to prove it?”
“You must jump him!” palpitated Crauthers. “You must give him a good thumping.”
“When?”
“First chance you get.”
“All right,” said Bunol. “I do that. I show you. Then you know I hate him same as I hate Deek Merriwell.”
Crauthers was filled with the greatest satisfaction. Was it possible Bunol would keep his word? Then it would be fine to turn the fellow against Chet Arlington. One thing that had brought Mark Crauthers to the Den that evening was a desire to induce the others to stand with him in a plan to humiliate and punish Arlington. And now they had stumbled on a way of accomplishing that purpose without taking the work in their own hands.
So Bunol was again admitted to the circle, and they sat about the fire, warming their fingers and smoking. The blaze flared fitfully, lighting their faces and filling the interior of the Den with a pleasant glow.
Like brigands were they there in that snug retreat of the tangled woods. The wind did not reach them, for the thicket broke it. At times it rose and roared above their heads. The trees creaked at intervals, but in all that strip of woods no living creature save themselves seemed present.
Winter was at hand. The breath of King Cold was sweeping across the world. Yet they were warm and comfortable in their sheltered retreat. With blankets and a fire they could have passed the night there in an agreeable manner.
“I’m getting sick of school,” said Crauthers, tenderly caressing his swollen eye. “I’d like to get away. I’d like to go West, or somewhere, and live in the woods, and just hunt and fish and do as I pleased. Wouldn’t it be great, fellows?”
“It might be all right for a while,” said Stark; “but you’d get sick of it pretty soon.”
