Читать книгу Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona; or, Clearing a Rival's Record - Burt L. Standish - Страница 12

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Merry, as well as Clancy, had heard the rush and roar of the bowlder. But Merry was not in a position to see it, and his first intimation of the real cause of the trouble came with Clancy’s jump, the sweeping of the canoe, and the splash of the bowlder in the water.

Bleeker and Hotchkiss, no less than the lads on the shore, were thunder-struck. The second canoe was far enough away to be out of danger, although it bobbed perilously in the swash of the waves.

The huge rock had dropped so unexpectedly, and had missed Merriwell and Clancy so narrowly, that all who watched it were paralyzed for a space. Then, when the first shock had worn away, a wild turmoil of voices went up from the bank and from the other canoe.

“A rock was loosened and dropped from the cliff!” called some one huskily.

“A bowlder was never known to drop from the Point!” protested another.

“An accident, that’s all!” asserted a third. “How could it have been anything else?”

Ballard, pale as death, was launching a canoe to the other bank. Dart and another lad crowded in with him.

The seething waters had quieted about the foot of the cliff, and Bleeker and Hotch were paddling close to Merriwell and Clancy, who were swimming to get around the Point.

“Are you all right, fellows?” Bleeker asked in a shaking voice.

“I am,” answered Merry. “How about you, Clan?”

“Physically, I’m all to the good, but mentally I’m badly disabled,” Clancy answered. “A fine course you laid out for us, Bleek,” he added.

“It’s Jode Lenning’s course,” said Bleeker. “I’ve been here a good many times, during the last six years, and I never knew a rock to fall from the cliff before. I can’t understand it.”

“It was an accident, Bleek,” said Frank, “and the bowlder missed us. A miss, you know, is as good as a mile. Better have somebody look after the canoe.”

“The fellows in one of the other canoes are towing it in,” said Hotch.

Merry and Clancy, reaching the sloping bank below the Point, walked up out of the water. Both were still a little dazed by the recent mishap.

Ballard, all a-tremble from the shock, landed and hurried to the side of his chums.

“You got out of that by the skin of your teeth,” said he. “Thunder! I thought you were gone, for sure. That bowlder wasn’t more than a second coming down, but it seemed to me like a year before it hit the water.”

“It must have been an accident,” commented Dart.

“No,” said Bleeker, and threw a significant look at Merriwell.

Bleeker had had a little time in which to collect his thoughts, and he was doing some reasoning, with Blunt’s warning for a background.

“I agree with Dart,” spoke up Merriwell. “I don’t see how it could have been anything but an accident.”

“I do,” muttered Bleeker darkly. “Some of you fellows get up on top of the Point. Hustle! See if you can find any one there. If you lose too much time, there isn’t a chance.”

Ballard led the rush up the steep slope, taking the roundabout way necessary for gaining the crest of the cliff. Several of the wondering lads followed Ballard. They were hardly started on their climb when a canoe from the opposite shore came nosing to the bank. It held two of the campers. As they arose, they got a bit of a glimpse of the water on the other side of the Point.

“Look!” one of them cried. “There’s our other canoe—and Lenning and Shoup!”

Owing to the bend in the river, nothing could be seen from the bank where Merry and the rest were standing. Merry, the instant he heard the shouted warning, started for the water’s edge and flung himself into the craft which Bleeker and Hotchkiss had used for the race.

“Come on, Clan!” Frank called. “Here’s something we’ve got to look into—and we must be quick about it.”

Clancy jumped for the canoe as though touched by a live wire. Through his befogged brain an inkling of his chum’s purpose had drifted.

In almost less time than it takes to tell it, the canoe was racing across the water, Merry in the bow and Clancy in the stern. Other canoes followed, for a feeling that something more of a portentous nature was about to happen ran through every lad’s nerves.

When well into the river, Frank could look ahead, as the vista opened out above the Point, and see the stolen canoe, with the two thieves aboard. Shoup was in the stern and Lenning at the bow. Both were using their paddles like mad, evidently trying to get across to the other bank.

“Get busy, Clan!” called Merriwell quietly, but compellingly. “I think we can overhaul those fellows before they land.”

“We’ll have to go some, if we do,” was the answer.

“I guess we’ve shown that we can do that, all right.”

Shoup, taking a survey over his shoulder, saw that he and Lenning were pursued. He spoke to Lenning, and both bent fiercely to their paddling.

They were awkward at the work, and the canoe zigzagged back and forth. But, in spite of the poor paddling, it looked as though the two might reach the bank before Merriwell and Clancy could get to them.

“Great guns!” cried Clancy, as an idea suddenly burst on his mind.

“What’s to pay, Clan?” asked Merry, keeping his keen, calculating eyes straight ahead.

“I’ve just thought of something, Chip. Those two hounds are trying to get away—they were on top of the Point—they dropped that rock down on us! By thunder, what do you think of that!”

“I wouldn’t say that until I had some proof,” counselled Merriwell. “Shut up, Clan, and dig in! We’ve got to if we get close enough to lay hands on them.”

Clancy smothered his desire for further talk and put all his vim into his paddle. He and Merry were gaining on the other craft, but nevertheless it seemed a foregone conclusion that Shoup and Lenning would reach shore before they could be stopped.

And then, just when the chase appeared most hopeless, Lenning’s paddle snapped. A shout of anger came from Shoup. He followed it by an act as surprising to those who looked on as it was desperate in its nature.

Rising to his feet, his own paddle in his hands, Shoup stepped forward and brought the paddle down viciously on the head of his companion. Lenning, who was still in a kneeling posture, pitched forward over the side of the frail craft and disappeared beneath the surface of the water. The canoe went gunwale under as he fell, and at the same moment, Shoup jumped and began swimming for the bank.

One astounding event after another was happening that afternoon, and this last tragic incident held the onlookers spellbound for a moment.

The first thought that drifted through each spectator’s mind must have been this: Why had Shoup dealt Lenning that blow? Was it anger because the paddle had broken? Or was there some other motive back of it?

Merriwell was first to recover his wits.

“Some of you fellows get ashore and try and head off Shoup!” he called. “I’ll see what I can do for Lenning. Quick with your paddle, Clan,” he added to his chum.

Lenning, stunned by the blow, had not reappeared at the surface of the water. And he might never reappear alive unless something was done for him at once.

These thoughts darted through Merriwell’s mind as he and Clancy drove the canoe onward to the place where the unfortunate youth had gone down. In less than a minute the craft was over the spot, and Merry had taken a long, clean dive into the river.

Ballard and Dart, and a few more were watching the progress of events from the top of the cliff. Bleeker and Hotch had more interest in Merriwell’s work than in trying to halt Shoup, and stood by in their canoe to be of what assistance they could. Clancy, hoping to be of some aid to his chum in effecting a rescue, had likewise taken to the water.

At such a time as that, bygones were bygones. Merriwell forgot all his old differences with Lenning—forgot also that Lenning might have been the one who had rolled the bowlder off the cliff—and plunged to the fellow’s relief just as he would have hastened to the aid of any one else in distress.

“That’s Chip Merriwell for you,” muttered Bleeker, kneeling and peering into the watery depths from the side of the canoe.

“Excitement is crowding us pretty hard this afternoon,” said Hotchkiss. “I’m fair dazed with it all. Why in Sam Hill did Shoup pound Lenning on the head with that paddle? I thought they were pards.”

“They were; but Shoup’s a dope fiend, and a fellow like that isn’t responsible for what he does. I suppose he was mad because Lenning’s paddle broke in his hands. Lenning couldn’t help that, and Shoup——”

Merry and Clancy had been under water for what seemed an inordinately long period. At that instant, however, they came to the surface—and between them was the white, dripping face of Jode Lenning.

“Bully for you, Merriwell!” shouted Bleeker enthusiastically. “Can we help with the canoe?”

“We’ll get him ashore,” sputtered Merry, shaking his head to get the water out of his eyes. “He’s unconscious and won’t make any trouble. How are you making it, Clan?” he asked of his chum.

“Well enough,” answered Clancy, blowing like a porpoise. “Let’s get solid ground under us as soon as we can, though. This is no easy job.”

Steadily, but surely, the two chums made their way shoreward. Fortunately, the bank was but a little distance away, and it was not long before they had dragged the limp form of Lenning high and dry on the sand.

While Merriwell and Clancy sprawled out in the sun to get their breath, Bleeker and Hotchkiss, and a few more of the campers, worked over Lenning. The lad was not in very bad shape, and the efforts at resuscitation speedily met with success.

“It was your quickness, Merriwell,” declared Bleeker, “that saved the fellow. If he had been under water a minute or two longer, it would have been all day with him.”

“He’s all right,” said Frank diffidently, “and that’s the main thing. Has he opened his eyes yet?”

“He’s opening them now.”

Frank got up and walked to Lenning’s side. “How do you feel, Jode?” he inquired, staring down into his bewildered eyes.

Lenning shivered, and closed his eyes again.