Читать книгу Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona; or, Clearing a Rival's Record - Burt L. Standish - Страница 7

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“Don’t be in a rush with your suspicions, Barzy,” Merriwell advised. “Accusing a man of robbing an old lady like Mrs. Boorland is pretty serious business. From what I heard her say to you, she thinks she may have lost the money.”

“Not on your life, she doesn’t think that!” returned Blunt. “That’s her way—always trying to screen everybody. She didn’t lose the money. It was stolen from the hand bag, and Shoup and Lenning are the ones that did it. I’m going after them, and I’ll get the money and wring their necks into the bargain. I can’t remember when anything has happened that has worked me up like this.”

Blunt was a cowboy, and, as Frank knew very well, inclined to be rough and reckless whenever he thought he was dealing with guilt or injustice. If he found Shoup and Lenning and recovered the money, there was no doubt but that he would attempt to give them a lesson they’d long remember.

“When are you going to start on this warpath of yours, Blunt?” Merriwell asked.

“Right now, just as quick as I can do it. I’ve told mam that I had to go back to the ranch, but that was only to ease her mind. Instead of loping for the Bar Z I’m going to hunt the trail of Shoup and Lenning, and run it out. If I don’t they’ll be apt to have all that money spent. I know their caliber, all right. For the last week they’ve been gambling in Gold Hill, I’ve heard, getting rid of the thousand Colonel Hawtrey gave Lenning when he kicked the fellow out of his house.”

“I guess,” said Frank, “that I’ll go with you, Barzy.”

The sloe-black eyes of the cowboy softened a little, then flamed.

“No, you won’t, Chip!” he declared. “This is my business and you’ll keep out of it. I know what’s on your mind. You think there are two of them, and that they’ll be one too many for me.” He flung back his head and laughed derisively. “Why,” he finished, “they’re both cowards from the ground up. They’ll be scared to death just at the sight of me. I can handle ’em.”

“I’d like to go along, anyhow,” insisted Frank. “A little excitement wouldn’t come amiss, just now. We’re going to leave Arizona pretty soon, and we’d like to keep keyed up with something or other until we go.”

“That’s you!” grinned Blunt, “but you can’t drive such palaver down my throat. You’re afraid I’ll get into trouble, and you’re making excuses to go along, but this is a single-handed expedition, and I’m going to see it through all by my lonesome. Mam is feeling pretty chipper, and she won’t need me for a while. It isn’t that I wouldn’t be glad of your company, Chip, but I just want to nail these fellows myself, and do it good and proper. You’re a crack hand at everything—get it from your dad, of course—but Barzy Blunt is pretty good at a thing like this. Buenos!”

Merry had not another word to say. He watched Blunt run down the steps, pull the reins over his saddle-horn, and spring to the back of his horse. A moment later he had vanished in the direction of the cañon trail.

“That’s three times in one afternoon,” grumbled Merry. “And the last time it comes from Blunt, who ought to know better.”

“Chip’s hearing funny noises, Pink,” remarked Clancy to Ballard. “What do you suppose has got into him? He’s breaking out in an unexpected place.”

“Three times!” mused Ballard. “What has happened three times, Chip? Maybe I’m thick, but I can’t follow you.”

“Blunt said that I’m a crack hand at everything, which is coming it rather strong, and that I get it from my dad, of course. Everybody has suddenly begun throwing that handicap at me.”

“Not much of a handicap,” said the red-headed chap. “If my governor was the best all-round athlete in the country, I’d be tickled to death over it.”

“You’re not getting me right, Clan,” returned Merry earnestly. “I’m proud of dad, but the things he has done he did himself, and against a whole lot of discouraging circumstances at the outset. I want to make the same sort of a record, see? But how can I when everybody insists that what dad has done makes my imitation easy? If a fellow goes wrong because his father went wrong, he’s a pretty poor stick; and if he goes right just because his father went right, what credit is it to him? Anyhow, there’s nothing in that theory. If a fellow wins or loses, it’s his own doing—his own, mind you.”

Frank was nettled. It was unusual for him to show his feelings so plainly, but he was human, and there were a few things that struck pretty hard at his self-restraint.

“I’m glad you didn’t run off with Blunt,” said Ballard, after a moment, “for that would have knocked our trip to the gulch in the head. We’re going?”

“Yes,” Frank nodded. “Early in the morning we’ll ride for the gulch.”

“Hooray!” jubilated Clancy. “What you need, Chip, is a little outdoor exercise—a little of the summer ozone which we’re getting, in this part of the country, in the middle of November. Let’s make the most of it. When we leave southern Arizona, we’ll probably land somewhere in the ice and snow.”

The boys saw little of Mrs. Boorland until evening. At supper, she came down from her room and Frank introduced her to Professor Borrodaile, who was tutoring the three lads, getting his health back in the splendid climate, and incidentally waiting to claim the half of fifty thousand dollars, which he and Mrs. Boorland were to receive for the mining claim.

The more the lads saw of the little old lady the more they liked her. It was plain that she was all wrapped up in Barzy Blunt; and that, when she got through with her half of the fifty thousand, it would be passed on to Barzy. Nor would this be long, Merriwell thought, as he saw how frail and worn she was through years of misfortune.

Frank and his chums were in bed early, that night, and next morning they were up and on the road to the gulch before either Mrs. Boorland or the professor was stirring.

It was a crisp, bright morning. The air, pure and clean from the wide deserts, acted like a tonic. Ballard, in spite of himself, burst into song, and Clancy had a time of it smothering the ragtime airs that Ballard insisted on trying to sing.

The trail was wide and fine for the fifteen miles that lay between Ophir and Dolliver’s. Dolliver, the ranchman, was well known to the boys.

“What d’you reckon,” he asked of the boys, as they halted to water their mounts, “Lenning and that white-faced feller trailin’ along with him is doin’ in these parts?”

The boys were startled.

“Do you mean to say they’ve been around here, Dolliver?” Frank asked.

“That’s what,” was the reply. “They was here late yesterday arternoon, ridin’ a couple o’ hosses. The white-faced feller had a roll of bills enough to choke a dog. They’re up to somethin’ crooked, I’ll bet you.”

“Which way did they go when they left here?”

“Quién sabe?” answered Dolliver. “They jest went, an’ I didn’t see ’em when they shacked away.”

“You know Barzy Blunt?” went on Frank, casting a look at his chums that kept them silent.

“Well, I reckon. I’ve knowed Barzy ever since he was gopher-high.”

“Did you see him yesterday afternoon?”

“Nary I didn’t. He ain’t around in these parts. If he was, ye can gamble he wouldn’t pass without sayin’ how-de-do to Dolliver.”

At Dolliver’s, the boys turned from the wide trail and started into Mohave Cañon. Here the road narrowed, and angled back and forth until the mouth of the gulch was reached, and the riders turned to follow the dammed-up waters that sparkled in the late forenoon’s sun.

“I’ve a hunch,” Frank remarked, “that Blunt will get into trouble with Lenning and Shoup.”

“Chances are, Chip,” cried Clancy, “Blunt will never find them. They’re a foxy pair, and if they really stole that money, then they’ll be mighty careful to keep out of sight.”

“Maybe Shoup didn’t take the money, after all,” suggested Ballard.

“He’s a thief, Pink,” said Frank, “and I wouldn’t put it past him. The fellow’s not in his right mind for very much of the time.”

“That’s so. Do you think Lenning would stand for thieving of that sort on Shoup’s part?”

“Sure he would,” asserted Clancy. “That cub would stand for anything that didn’t call for any particular nerve on his part. He’s as crooked as Shoup; or, if he isn’t, he’ll be as crooked as Shoup before he’s been with him very long.”

“They say Lenning’s father was wild, and was killed in a brawl somewhere in Alaska,” remarked Ballard. “I suppose we couldn’t expect much better things of Lenning.”

“There you go, Pink!” exclaimed Merry. “What Lenning’s father did isn’t any excuse for Lenning.”

“Right!” laughed Ballard. “Lenning’s handicap is a bit different from yours, Chip, but I spoke before I thought.”

The walls of the gulch widened out, and as the boys rode along the border of the pent-up waters, they came presently into view of three white tents, pitched on a strip of clean, sandy beach.

Dinner was being made ready. A fire had been started, and the campers could be seen moving about, each doing his allotted part of the work.

Half a dozen canoes were drawn up on the sand, a little way from the tent, and off shore a float was anchored for the use of swimmers. It was a pleasant scene for the three lads, just a little tired from their long morning’s ride.

A moment after the travelers sighted the camp, the campers sighted them. Instantly all work among the tents came to a standstill.

“Here’s the Merriwell crowd!” whooped one of the Gold Hill fellows.

“Good old Merry!”

“Just in time for grub pile!”

A rush was made for the newcomers, and they were dragged from their horses, pounded on the back, and punched in the ribs with all the delight and good feeling imaginable.

Hotchkiss, another lad whom Frank and his chums knew pretty well, took charge of the three horses, and led them away to be picketed with the rest of the live stock. Bleeker, who seemed to be in charge of the camping party, led the visitors into the camp and showed them their quarters.

“We’re all mighty glad you’ve come,” said Bleeker heartily. “We’re going to have great times while you’re here. Didn’t see anything of Lenning and Shoup on the road, did you?”

“Lenning and Shoup?” returned Merriwell, startled. “No, we didn’t see them, but we hear they were at Dolliver’s late yesterday. Have they been here?”

“They were here last night, and I ordered them out of camp. Nearly had a fight getting them to go, but we got rid of them. Last night, though, one of our canoes was stolen. Of course,” he finished, “it’s not much of a guess who took it. Shoup’s a thief, and Lenning isn’t much better. We’ll get that canoe back, though, you can bet on that.”