Kitabı oku: «Frank Merriwell's Champions: or, All in the Game», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XIX – A RESCUE ON THE ROAD
Frank and Barney rode along leisurely.
“The mouth of a horse, until it is spoiled by bad usage, is a very delicate thing,” declared Frank. “As a common thing the mouth of a horse is ruined before the creature is seven years old. In order to preserve its natural delicacy, the right sort of a bit must be used and the reins must be handled gingerly. A heavy hand will ruin a good mouth in a short time, but not one man in fifty can drive with a light hand. The man who saws on the reins has no business in the saddle. If I owned that black horse it would take the price of the animal to induce me to let such a rider mount him for a ten-mile canter.”
“But whin a crayther runs away, thin phwat’re yez goin’ to do?” asked the Irish lad. “Ye’ve got ter yank him up, me b’y.”
“Not at all, Barney. Yanking and sawing are vile practices.”
“Thin how do yez be afther holdin’ the b’aste?”
“There is a trick in holding a horse with a light hand. Proof of this is that some of the most famous jockeys, although slight and weak, can control and hold horses which would run away with strong men, and could not be sawed or yanked into submission. The best jockeys are never seen leaning back in the saddle, pulling and sawing to hold their horses.”
“Oi belave it’s roight ye are, me b’y,” nodded the Irish youth, after a moment, “although Oi niver thought av it before.”
“Take notice of it on race tracks hereafter. Horses are apt to behave better with women, if they are skillful, for women commonly have lighter hands than men. That fellow did not know how to ride, for all that the horse did not throw him when it jumped sideways or started ahead. It’s ten to one he thinks himself an expert rider, but he is a bungler, for, besides having a bad hand, he did not sit well in the saddle. When the horse started suddenly he was forced to support himself somewhat by a hard pull on the reins, a thing that never should be done. A good rider has a seat low in the saddle, which he grips with his knees and thighs, keeps his back straight, keeps his elbows, and hands down, and varies the force on the reins only for the purpose of controlling his horse, and not for steadying himself.”
Barney gave Frank a glance of wonder. He saw that Merriwell was warming to his subject and growing enthusiastic.
“Oi don’t understhand it!” muttered the son of the Emerald Isle.
Frank gave him a quick glance of surprise.
“Don’t understand what?” he asked. “I thought I was talking plain enough.”
“Ye wur, me b’y – ye wur! It’s how ye know so much about iverything thot puzzles Barney Mulloy. If there’s iver a thing ye’re not posted on Oi dunno pwhat it is. Ye can talk about iverything, an’ ye can tell me more in a minute thin Oi iver knew. How do ye foind it all out, Frankie?”
Frank laughed.
“I’ll tell you, Barney,” he said. “Some years ago I made up my mind that I couldn’t know too much, and I resolved to find out all about everything that came beneath my notice. Since then I have practiced the art of observation and investigation. That is the way I have found out about things. It is one way of obtaining an education. Lots of fellows are not able to go to college, but they can keep their eyes and ears open and lay up a store of practical knowledge that will be of the greatest use to them in all probability. Of course many of the things I have investigated and found out about may not be of value to me at any time during my life; but there is no telling what will be of value and what will not. All my life I have taken an interest in horses, and it is but natural that I should find out as much as possible concerning them. If this had not been the case, I could not have astonished the cowboys by my horsemanship during this trip. They regarded me as the most remarkable tenderfoot they had ever seen, and it all came from the fact that I had found and improved an opportunity to ride, shoot and throw the lasso. I didn’t learn those things without some trouble, but trouble doesn’t cut any ice with me when I set out to do a thing.”
“Well, it’s not ivery fellow can put hissilf out to learn all about th’ things he says.”
“He can if he will. The trouble is that he sees things without thinking of learning anything about them. If he begins to cultivate the habit of investigation it will grow on him, and it will not be long before he will discover the value of some of the knowledge thus obtained. Try it, Barney.”
“Begobs, Oi will! Oi niver thought av it before, but it’s mesilf thot’ll be after trying it. Did yez notice th’ girrul wid thot horse-bater, Frankie?”
“Yes. Rather pretty, I thought.”
“It’s a p’ache she wur, me b’y!” enthusiastically declared the Irish lad. “It’s not plazed she wur wid th’ way th’ spalpane wur b’atin’ th’ poor b’aste.”
They came out of the wood to the open country, and a beautiful stretch of country lay before them.
Of a sudden, Barney gave an exclamation:
“Look there, Frankie!” he cried, pointing.
Along the road from a distance, coming toward them at a mad and furious gallop, was a horse, bearing a girl, who was vainly trying to hold the frightened animal.
In pursuit of the runaway was a man who was fiercely lashing another horse, and Frank recognized this animal even before he did the rider.
It was the handsome black horse that the stranger had been maltreating in the wood, and its rider was the same hot-tempered young man.
The girl on the runaway was his companion.
Instantly Frank seemed to understand what had happened.
“The fool!” burst from his lips. “He has kept at his own horse till the one the girl is riding has been frightened and is running away with her. She may be thrown and killed!”
Without loss of time, Frank turned about, so he was heading in the same direction as the runaway horse, which was coming behind him.
“Pwhat are yez goin’ to do?” cried Barney.
“I am going to stop that runaway horse if I am built right!” returned Frank, with grim determination.
“Look out – look out, there!”
The man in pursuit of the runaway shouted to the boys.
Barney was not given time to turn about. He tried to do so, but in his haste and confusion, ran out of the road into the ditch, and was forced to dismount. Before he could get into the saddle again the frightened horse was bearing the girl past.
The Irish boy caught a glimpse of her face, from which the warm color had fled. Her lips were pressed firmly together, and there was a look of fear in her dark eyes; but she was doing her very best to check the frightened horse, although the animal had the bit in his teeth, and her gloved hands seemed unable to do but little to restrain him.
A thought of Frank’s theories concerning a “light hand” for driving flashed through Barney’s head, but he instantly realized that this was an exceptional occasion. Even brute strength might not avail now.
Then how did Merry expect to check the runaway?
The Irish youth saw his friend, who was pedaling swiftly along the road, glance over his shoulder at the approaching runaway. Then Barney held his breath, wondering what Frank would do, but feeling that he was bound to make some desperate attempt to stop the horse.
Frank was pedaling along at high speed when the runaway reached his side. He swerved toward the horse, crying to the girl:
“Hold fast, if he swings sideways suddenly! Don’t let him pitch you out of the saddle.”
She nodded that she understood. She realized that this daring young cyclist was going to try to check the horse.
Frank was close to the animal’s head, and then Barney saw him reach out swiftly and grasp the bit. A moment later Merriwell was torn from the saddle and carried along, dangling at the head of the runaway.
“Hurro!” shouted Barney. “It’s just loike th’ b’y! It’s niver a bit is he afraid av anything at all, at all!”
With a death grip, Frank clung to the bit, knowing he might receive fatal injuries beneath the feet of the horse if his hold was broken. With his other hand he reached up and obtained a hold. He lifted his feet so they did not touch the ground, and, within three seconds, the speed of the runaway slackened.
Then, still clinging, Frank talked to the horse softly, soothingly, reassuringly. His words were snatched out sometimes, sometimes broken, but there was nothing in the sound of his voice to add to the fears of the frightened animal. Instead, there was something to calm and quiet the frantic creature.
“Hold fast!” he again called to the girl.
Then the horse was turned from the road, was swept about in a complete circle, and by the time it again faced in the direction it had been running, it was brought to a stop.
“Jump down quickly,” directed Frank, as he saw the pursuing man come thundering nearer and nearer. “This horse will act bad when he comes up.”
The girl obeyed. Down from the saddle she slipped to the ground, losing no time in getting away from the prancing horse.
Up came the man, flushed of face and shaking with excitement. He gave a yank at the bit that fairly flung the black gelding upon its haunches, and he hoarsely cried:
“That confounded beast ought to be shot through the head!”
At the sound of the man’s voice the horse Frank was holding showed every symptom of fear, making a sudden attempt to break away.
Merriwell spoke soothingly to the creature, holding fast to the bit with a firm, steady hand, and patting its neck.
“It’s not the horse,” was his thought, “it’s the man who ought to be shot!”
“You are not harmed, are you, Iva?” somewhat anxiously asked the man, addressing the girl.
“No,” she answered, her voice showing the least trace of agitation; “thanks to the brave action of this young stranger, I am not.”
At this the horseman scowled fiercely on Frank.
“Thanks to nothing!” he muttered. “I should have overtaken and stopped the skittish brute. If it hadn’t been for these smart youngsters on their confounded bicycles, the horses would not have been frightened.”
“I think you are mistaken about that, sir,” said Frank, promptly. “When we came in sight of you both horses were frightened, and you were abusing your own mount. I think you are entirely responsible for this runaway, and, if I were this young lady, I should be cautious about riding out with you again.”
“Insolent puppy,” grated the man. “How dare you talk to me like this! Why, I – I’ve a mind to – ”
“I wouldn’t try it, sir!” came sharply from Merriwell, as the fellow lifted his whip. “You touched me with that back in the woods, and I do not care to have you repeat it.”
There was something in Frank’s manner that caused the man to lower the whip, boy in years though it was who faced him so boldly.
The girl stepped forward quickly.
“Stop, Cousin Stephen!” she cried. “This brave young man stopped Rex, and it may be that he saved my life. You should thank him instead of quarreling with him.”
“Thank him for nothing!” growled the man. “It’s a wonder he didn’t pitch you out of the saddle and kill you when he caught the horse by the bit and yanked its head around.”
Barney came riding up, and both horses pricked up their ears and regarded the bicycle with signs of mingled doubt and alarm.
“Get off – get off from that, you fool!” cried the man. “What do you want to do – scare the blooming beasts into running away again? Don’t you know anything?”
That was enough to start Barney’s temper.
“Av ye’ll shtep down a minute, Oi’ll be afther showin’ yez a few things Oi know,” he flung back.
Other horsemen were seen approaching swiftly. There were three in the party, and they headed straight toward the little group in the road.
“Why, it is father and Kenneth!” exclaimed the girl, as she observed them. “And the other is – is Mr. Harden!”
Something like a curse came from beneath the black mustache of the man she had called “cousin.” He glared at the approaching horsemen, and Frank heard him mutter:
“What in Satan’s name is Harden doing here? I believe he saw the runaway! Hang the fellow! he’s always around!”
Up came the horsemen, with a clatter of hoofs. The youngest of the party was not older than Frank, and he was a fine-looking youth, with dark eyes and curling hair. Next to him was a young man of twenty-two or three, with a blond mustache, and the third was a man of fifty, with an iron-gray beard.
The youngest of the strangers leaped from the saddle, and was at the girl’s side in a moment, exclaiming:
“Are you all right, sister mine? You are not harmed?”
“Not a bit!” she half laughed; “but there is no telling what might have happened but for the brave young man there who stopped Rex. The horse had the bit in his teeth, and I could do nothing with him.”
“We saw it – saw it all,” declared the youth. “We reached the top of the hill yonder in time to witness his act, and I must say it was as nervy and skillful as anything I ever beheld. Sir” – speaking to Frank – “I wish to thank you for your gallant rescue of my sister.”
He held out his hand, and Frank accepted it. Each felt a thrill as they crossed palms, and their eyes met, and it seemed that a bond of friendship was cemented between them.
“My name is Kenneth St. Ives,” explained the strange lad.
“And mine is Frank Merriwell,” said our hero.
“Mr. Merriwell, I am happy to know you,” declared Kenneth. “Permit me to properly present my sister.”
Smiling, Frank lifted his cap and bowed gracefully, but the girl held out her hand, her full lips parting to show her fine white teeth, as she smilingly said:
“Let me shake hands, also, Mr. Merriwell. Pardon the glove.”
On his horse, “Cousin Stephen” glared and ground his teeth.
CHAPTER XX – AT SPRINGBROOK FARM
Then Kenneth St. Ives introduced his father and Mr. Harry Harden. To avoid an introduction, Stephen Fenton had turned his horse about, and was staring sullenly in the opposite direction.
“Mr. Merriwell,” said Preston St. Ives, dismounting to take Frank’s hand, “I owe you much for your daring service to my daughter. I shall always feel that I am indebted to you.”
Harden dismounted, and talked with Iva, while Fenton glared at them in a side-long manner, chewing the ends of his black mustache and scowling fiercely.
Within a very few moments Preston St. Ives found out that Frank and Barney were on their way to New York, and that they were closely followed by a party of friends.
“New York is a long distance away,” smiled the father of the girl Frank had rescued. “At most, you would not think of proceeding farther than Philadelphia to-night.”
“We intended to stop there,” said Frank.
“But there is no reason why you should be in a great hurry,” said St. Ives, “and so you must stop at Springbrook Farm to-night.”
“Springbrook Farm?”
“That is our country place,” Kenneth hastily explained. “It is a roomy, old-fashioned place, and there will be plenty of room for you all. You can’t refuse, Mr. Merriwell!”
At first Frank attempted to decline the invitation, but Iva added her invitation to that of her father and brother, and Kenneth promised a jolly time, so that Merry was really inclined to go. A look at Barney’s face showed he was eager to have Frank accept the invitation.
“Well, Barney,” said Frank, “if we stop at Springbrook Farm to-night, you’ll have to watch out for the fellows and let them know about it.”
“Thot Oi’ll do, Frankie,” immediately agreed the Irish lad. “But pwhere is Springbrook Farrum!”
“The farm may be seen from the top of the hill yonder,” said Kenneth. “Come along with us, and we will point it out to you.”
At this juncture, Stephen Fenton suddenly yanked the head of his horse about, gave the creature a cut with the whip, and went tearing along the road in a cloud of dust, having left the others without a word.
“What is the matter with him?” cried Preston St. Ives, watching the fellow with a look of displeasure. “It’s a wonder that horse doesn’t run away with him and kill him!”
“Oh, he has been in a cross mood all the afternoon, papa,” said Iva. “He is out of sorts with everything and everybody, and it was because he accidently struck Rex with his whip that the dear old fellow ran away with me.”
She caressed the muzzle of the horse as she spoke, and the creature seemed pleased with such attention.
“It would serve him right if Firefoot should run away with him!” exclaimed Kenneth, also watching the retreating form of Fenton. “He is hard on a horse, and it’s a wonder to me that he hasn’t been killed before this. He seems to stick in the saddle some way, although he is anything but an easy rider.”
“If that horse’s mouth is not already spoiled, he will spoil it in a week,” declared Frank.
Mr. St. Ives gave Merry a quick look, as if wondering what he knew about horses.
“I think you are right, young man,” he said. “I didn’t want to let him have Firefoot, but he seemed to take a fancy to the creature, and not another horse out of the stableful would satisfy him. He’ll not get the animal again.”
Then there was a mounting of horses, while Frank went back along the road to look for his wheel He found the bicycle all right as it lay beside the road, Barney having stopped to get it out of the highway.
The Irish lad accompanied Frank, and he was enthusiastic over the prospect of sport at Springbrook Farm.
“It’s no tellin’ pwhat we’ll stroike there, me b’y!” he chuckled. “It’s the last chance for a bit av fun before we get inther New York.”
“I didn’t intend to stop again for anything, for we spent far too much time at Blue Cove. Virginia was not easy to break away from.”
“Roight ye are, Frankie. It’s a great Shtate Vir-ginny do be. An’ the b’ys down there are all roight.”
“As fine a set of fellows as I have met anywhere in the whole country,” declared Merry, with a touch of enthusiasm. “They are chivalrous, hospitable and sporty. Jack Diamond is a representative Virginian. He is all right.”
“Yis, he seems to be since he got back inther this parrut av th’ country, but it’s a growler Oi thought he wur at firrust.”
“He did not seem like himself while we were in the West,” confessed Frank. “I was surprised at the change in him, but I knew it was not natural, and I bore with him.”
The others came up, Frank mounted his wheel, and they all rode along together, chatting pleasantly. Frank was questioned, and he told of his trip across the continent and back, arousing Kenneth St. Ives’ interest.
“Well, you must have had sport!” Kenneth exclaimed. “I should have enjoyed that. Say, father, we must get up something in the way of sport while they are at Springbrook. Can’t we have a hunt?”
“It’s too early in the season, my son,” smiled Mr. St. Ives.
“I don’t know about that,” declared Kenneth. “We’re liable to have a frost any morning now. It is chilly at times for this season. Perhaps to-morrow morning – ”
“The Meadowfair Club visits us to-morrow, you know.”
“I had forgotten that. So much the better! If Mr. Merriwell and his friends will stay, we’ll find some sort of sport to amuse them.”
The top of the hill was reached, and then Springbrook Farm was pointed out, lying on a hillside two miles distant. It was a beautiful place. The great stables seemed modern, but the house was an immense colonial mansion, surrounded by tall trees. The farming land was a broad prospect of cleared land, upon which were great meadows and small groves. Cattle and horses were to be seen, and it had the appearance of a stock or dairy farm.
“There is the place, Mr. Merriwell!” cried Kenneth St. Ives; “and a more beautiful spot is not to be found in all Pennsylvania.”
Frank did not wonder at Kenneth’s enthusiasm.
Not far from the old mansion was a small lake, with a boathouse on the shore, and some boats lying near.
Frank felt sure that the rest of the party could not be far behind, so Barney would not be compelled to wait long; but it was necessary that some one should meet them, as Springbrook Farm lay off from the main highway, being reached by means of a private drive, and the bicyclists, unless notified, would not know Frank contemplated stopping there.
Barney was willing to wait for them, and so the others rode onward, Frank wheeling along and chatting with them all.
Stephen Fenton was seen riding up the last incline toward the distant mansion, still forcing his horse.
When the place was reached a hostler was at work over Firefoot in one of the stables, and the animal showed the abuse it had received.
Mr. St. Ives dismounted and looked Firefoot over, observing:
“That’s fine shape for a horse to be in after a canter along the road. The creature could not look worse if it had been following the hounds across country. I think Stephen will have to take another horse the next time he goes out.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” said the hostler, with gruff respect; “but he says as how he were not to blame. You knows, sir, as how this beast is onruly, sir, an’ Mr. Fenton says it were skeered by some saucy chaps on bisuckles that paid no attention to its snortin’ an’ rearin’. You know yerself, sir, as how most of the bisuckle riders are sassy villains, sir.”
This was said regardless of the fact that Frank had trundled his wheel into the stable, and the hostler could not help knowing a cyclist was hearing every word he spoke.
Preston St. Ives did not deign to make any reply to the hostler’s words, but said:
“See that Firefoot is well rubbed down and cared for, Wade. You need not let Stephen have him again. Remember.”
“All right, sir – all right,” muttered the hostler, glancing at Frank in a side-long manner. “You knows your business, sir, an’ I’m here to take your orders, sir.”
The hostler had several assistants, and they were on hand to care for the animals just brought in.
Kenneth showed Frank where to leave his wheel, and then Merry followed the youth into the house.
