THE day for the game with the "Maroons" broke dark and lowering. Clouds chased each other across the sky, the air was saturated with moisture and, although rain had not yet fallen, there was every prospect that it would before the day was over.
The team had been "tuned to the hour." There was not a man on it that was not fit to put up the game of his life. Each one had brought himself down to the weight at which he was most effective, their flesh was "hard as nails," and their lean bronzed faces betokened the pink of condition. If they were doomed to be beaten there could be no excuse put forth that they were not at the top of their form.
Not that they anticipated any necessity of making excuses. An air of quiet confidence was everywhere apparent. The old indomitable Blue spirit was as much in evidence as their splendid physical condition. Not that they underestimated their opponents. The "Maroons," despite their defeat of the week before by the "Greys," were formidable opponents and still full of fight. In fact, theirloss of that game might be counted on to put them in a savage mood of retaliation, and nothing was more certain than that they would fight like demons to down the Blues. But the latter welcomed the prospect of a bitter fight, and were fully convinced of their ability to give harder blows than they would have to take.
"We've simply got to win to-day, fellows," said Tom as they strolled back to their rooms after breakfast.
"It's the only way we can have a clear title to the championship," remarked Bert. "It won't do us much good to lick the 'Greys' next week if we fall down to-day. In that case it will be 'even Steven.' Each team will have won and lost one and we'll be as much at sea as ever as to which has the best team."
"Then, too," added Dick, "we're fighting to-day on our own grounds and next week we'll have to play the 'Greys' on a neutral field. If we can't win now with that advantage it will be doubly hard to win then."
"We'll cop them both," said Bert with an air of finality. And this solution received the hearty approval and implicit faith of his companions. In one form or another every man on the team was swearing to himself that the prediction should come true, if it lay in human power to compass it.
As the day wore on the town took on a festal air. Flags and bunting fluttered everywhere. Special trains drew in from every point of the compass and disgorged their thousands to swell the crowds. The streets resounded with the raucous cries of the fakirs, and their wares of canes and flags were soon sold out. Groups of college boys accompanied by pretty girls wandered over the campus, and the walks under the elms resounded with song and laughter. From every city in the country "old grads" came down to renew their youth and shout themselves hoarse for their favorites. The clouded sky and threatening rain daunted them not at all. They were there to make holiday, and serenely ignored everything else. Only an earthquake or a cyclone could have kept them from coming. It might rain "cats and dogs," rheumatism and pneumonia might hang out danger signals, but they cared not a whit. They were out for the time of their lives and bound to get it.
The game was to begin at two o'clock, and after cleaning out all the restaurants in town, put to their utmost to feed the ravening horde of locusts that had swarmed down upon them, the throngs set out for the stadium. That gigantic structure could hold forty thousand people and, long before the time for the game to begin, it was crowded to repletion. On one side were the stands for the Bluesand directly facing them were those reserved for the "Maroons." The occupants yelled and shouted and waved their flags at each other in good-natured defiance. At the upper end a band played popular airs that nobody cared for, and half the time in the din and tumult did not even hear. In front of the stands the cheermasters jumped up and down and went through their weird contortions, as they led the cheers and gave the signal for the songs.
The Blues were gathered in their training quarters, ready and anxious for the fight. They were like a pack of hounds straining at the leash. Reddy and his assistants had gone over every detail of their equipment, and the coach had spoken his last word of appeal and encouragement. This he had purposely made short. There was little dwelling on the game to be played, nor any attempt to rehearse signals. The time for that was past. If they were not ready now, they never would be. He had done his utmost and now the result must be left to the team and to fate.
At half past one a slight drizzle set in. Old Jupiter Pluvius had lost patience and refused to hold off until the game was over. But the general hilarity abated not a particle. It would take more than rain to drive that crowd to cover. The field had been strewn with straw to keep the ground beneath as dry as possible. Now, however, it wastime for practice, and a crowd of assistants appeared and raked the straw away, showing the glistening newly-marked yard lines underneath.
Then a gate at the end of the one of the stands opened and the "Maroons," in their gaily colored jerseys, trotted on the field. The "Maroon" stands rose en masse and a torrent of cheers swept over the field as they gave the team a greeting that must have "warmed the cockles of their heart."
The boys peeled off their jerseys and commenced punting and falling on the ball. They kept this up for ten minutes and then gave way to their rivals.
Out from the other side of the field scampered the Blues. Then Pandemonium broke loose. The yells were simply deafening, and, as the home crowd let itself go, the fellows grinned happily at each other and their muscles stiffened with ardor for the fight.
"Seems as though they were glad to see us," laughed Tom, as he sent the ball whirling in a spiral pass to Bert.
"You bet," answered Bert, "and we must make them yell louder yet at the finish."
The practice was short and snappy. There was ginger in every movement and Bert's tries for goal elicited the unwilling admiration at the same timethat it awakened the fear of the "Maroon" supporters.
Then the signal was given and the captains of the two teams clasped hands cordially in the middle of the field and tossed a coin for position. The "Maroons" won and, as there was not enough wind stirring to favor either goal, elected to take the kick off. The teams lined up on the "Maroon's" forty yard line. Miller kicked the ball thirty yards down the field and the game was on.
Martin made a fair catch, but before he could run back was downed in his tracks. The teams lined up for the scrimmage. Dick plunged through left guard and tackle for a gain of five yards. Axtell went through right for two more. Then the ball was given to Bert, and he went through the hole opened up by Drake and Boyd for eight more. They had gained their distance and the ball was still in their possession on the fifty yard line.
Their bucking had been so successful that they were still inclined to try the plunging game. But the "Maroons" had braced. Three successive downs failed to yield the coveted ten yards and Bert dropped back for a kick. The ball was handled with superb precision by Tom and Dick, who made a perfect pass to Bert. It was off from his toe like a flash, just escaping the "Maroon" forwards as they broke through to block. Millermade a great jumping catch, but Axtell's savage tackle downed him where he stood. The ball was now in "Maroon" territory on their twenty yard line.
It was altogether too close for comfort, and the "Maroons" made a gallant and desperate effort to get it further down the field. The Blues, however, were no less determined. Against the bull-like plunges of the enemy they held like a stone wall. Three times in succession they refused to let their foes gain an inch. It was clear that other tactics would have to be resorted to. Halliday, the "Maroon" quarter, tried a forward pass. Richmond at right end caught it and started down the field. Warren tackled him, but slipped in the mud and Richmond shook him off. His interference was good and he was off like a frightened rabbit. He had made twenty yards before Bert caught and threw him heavily. But he held on to the ball and the "Maroons" breathed more freely. The ball was still theirs, forty yards from their goal line.
"Never mind, old man," called Bert cheerfully to Warren. "A bit of hard luck, but don't let it get your goat. Any one might have slipped in such muddy going."
The narrow escape heartened the "Maroons" and they fought like wildcats. They were on thedefensive and the ball stayed in their territory. But the utmost efforts of the Blues failed to make substantial gains, and when the whistle blew at the end of the quarter neither side had scored.
By this time the rain was coming down in torrents. The stands were a mass of glistening umbrellas and shining raincoats. The flags and decorations no longer waved defiantly, but hung dank and dripping. The field beneath the rushing feet of the players had been churned into a sea of mud, and this was plastered liberally on the uniforms of the teams. In the minute's interval between quarters a host of trainers' assistants rushed from the side lines with sponges and towels and tried to get their charges in some kind of shape.
When the next quarter started the play was fast and furious. The teams had sized each other up and got a line on their respective line of play. Each side realized that the battle was for blood, and that it had in the other a worthy foeman. There would be no walkover for anybody that day.
Floundering and slipping in the mud, the Blues steadily pounded their way down to the "Maroon's" goal. Morley made a successful dash around left end, netting twenty yards. On a forward pass Caldwell fumbled, but Tom made a dazzling recovery before the enemy could pounce upon the ball. Bert found a gap between left and tackleand went through with lowered head for twelve yards before the "Maroons" fell on him in a mass. Then the Blues uncovered the "Minnesota shift"—one of "Bull" Hendrick's pet tricks—and they went through the bewildered "Maroons" for twenty yards. Another trial of the same shift was smothered and a daring end run by Hudson of the "Maroons" brought the ball to the middle of the field. Four unsuccessful attempts failed to advance it and it went to the Blues on downs.
The ball was now on the "Maroons'" forty yard line and there were only two minutes left of playing time. The "Maroon" defence had stiffened and it was a practical certainty that line bucking could not avail in that limited time, so Bert dropped back for a kick. Tom snapped it back to Dick, who with the same motion made a beautiful pass to Bert. With all the power of his mighty leg he swung on it and lifted it far and high. Straight as an arrow it winged its way toward the "Maroons'" goal.
A tremendous shout had gone up as the ball left his toe, but then followed a deadly silence as they watched its towering flight. Would it go over the posts and score three points for the Blues or would it go to one side just enough to give the "Maroons" a new lease of life?
Now the ball had reached its highest point andwas falling in a swift curve toward the goal. As it neared the posts it seemed for a moment to hesitate. Then, as though it had made up its mind, it swooped suddenly downward and crossed the goal bar, just grazing it. The goal had counted and a groan went up from the "Maroon" stands, while those in the Blues leaped to their feet waving their flags and cheering like madmen.
Tom danced a jig on the field and threw his arms about Bert, and the other fellows coming up swarmed around him with frantic congratulations. And just then the second half ended and both teams went to their quarters for the fifteen minutes' rest that marks the half of the game. Here they changed quickly into fresh uniforms and braced themselves for the second and decisive half. Naturally the confidence was on the side of the Blues, but the lead was not large, and as yet it was anybody's game.
"You've got them started," exhorted Hendricks. "Now keep them on the run. Don't let up for a minute. Hit them, hammer them, tear their line in pieces. I want you to roll up a score that will scare the 'Greys' before we tackle them."
The advice was good in theory and the will was not lacking to carry it out in practice. But the "Maroons" had other views and from the moment they came on the field it was evident that they hadtaken a brace. They were yet a long way from giving up the ghost. After all, the field goal had only counted three points, and a touchdown would not only even this up but put the Maroons in the lead.
To get that touchdown they worked like fiends. Berriman kicked the ball out of bounds and Flynn fell upon it, sliding along in the mud and water as he did so. The ball was brought in at the Blues' forty yard line and the teams lined up for the scrimmage. Adams slammed through left tackle for five yards. Gibbons with lowered head butted into center, but Dick threw him back for a loss of two. Hudson skirted left end, cleverly dodging Caldwell and making twelve yards, before Tom leaped upon him and downed him heavily. But the ball was under him and the "Maroons" had more than made their distance on the four downs.
Once more they lined up, and now the Blues were on the defensive. Boyd had hurt his knee and Chamberlain came running out to take his place. Instead of reporting to the referee, he spoke first to one of his comrades, and for this violation of the rules the Blues were penalized five yards. A moment later they lost five more through off-side play by Warren. Ten precious yards thrown away when every one was beyond price! And now the jubilant "Maroons" were within fifteen yardsof the goal, and their partisans were on their feet yelling like wild men.
Panting, crouching, glaring, the two teams faced each other. The "Maroons" consulted for a moment. Should they try a kick for goal, yielding three points if successful and tieing the score, or buck the line for a touchdown which would put them in the lead? The first was easier, but the latter more profitable if they could "put it over." They might never be so near the line again, and they thought that they saw signs of wavering among the Blues. They decided then to try for the greater prize and buck the line.
Berriman, their halfback, bowled over Chamberlain for a gain of four yards. Richmond tried to make a hole between Dick and Tom, but was nailed without a gain. Once more Berriman ploughed in between Warren and Chamberlain, which seemed to be the weakest part of the defense, but, anticipating the move, Bert had posted himself there and, meeting the rush halfway, dumped Berriman on his head. As he fell, the ball slipped from his hands and Tom, quick as a cat, picked it up and twisting, dodging, squirming, scuttled down along the southern line. Burke flung himself at him in a flying tackle and grabbed one leg, but the runner shook him off and, with his momentum scarcely checked flew down the field,aided by superb interference on the part of Drake and Axtell, who bowled over the "Maroon" tacklers like so many ninepins. He had made thirty-five yards and was going like the wind when, in eluding the outstretched arms of Miller, he slipped in a pool of mud and water and went down, skating along on his nose for several yards, while the whole "Maroon" team piled over him. But his nose guard had saved him from injury and, when the wriggling mass was disentangled, it was found that he still had the ball. He wiped the mud from his face and grinned happily while his mates gathered round him and billows of cheers swept down from the Blue stands, frantic with delight at the brilliant run.
"Splendid, old boy!" cried Bert, slapping Tom on the back. "That was classy stuff. You went down the line like a shot from a gun."
"It saved the goal line all right," panted Dick. "Jove! They were close. It looked for a minute as though they had us going."
The ball was put into play again but just as the teams lined up time was called. The game was three-quarters over and the remaining fifteen minutes would tell the tale of victory or defeat. The boys stood around in groups scraping the mud from their uniforms and rubbing rosin on their hands to get a better grip in tackling.
Just as the breathing spell was over the sun suddenly burst forth in a blaze of glory. Umbrellas went down like magic and even the "Maroon" supporters, chagrined as they were, joined in the cheer that rose from the drenched spectators. It put new life into the players also.
"Look!" cried Bert as the teams took their places. "The rainbow!"
All eyes were turned in the direction he pointed, where in a magnificent arch of shifting colors the bow of promise curved over the field.
"It's our rainbow," shouted Tom. "We saw it first."
"Come off, you dubs," sang out Halliday. "Don't you see that it's over our goal?"
"Sure," retorted Tom. "That's to show us where we've got to go."
"It is, eh?" said Halliday grimly. "You'll only get there over our dead bodies."
"You're dead ones already," taunted Drake good-naturedly. "You're only walking round to save funeral expenses."
But in the furious battle that developed from the kick-off, it was evident that the "Maroons" were very lively corpses. It was no use to play on the defensive. If they did that, they were beaten already by the three points that now loomed up in such tremendous proportions. Nor wasthere any reason to keep any of their plays up their sleeves. For them it was the last game of the season and now was the time to uncover their whole "bag of tricks."
So they threw caution to the winds and played with utter recklessness and abandon. Their "Wheel shift" was a new one on the Blues, and the "Maroons" had used it twice for a gain of thirty yards before the Blues solved and checkmated it. Then the forward pass was tried, usually without advancing the ball, though one clever skirting of the end gained fifteen yards. The ball was getting pretty well down into Blue territory when a magnificent drop kick by Bert sent it sailing to the middle of the field. In the momentary silence that succeeded the cheering, some wag from the Blue stands piped out:
"It's too bad that fellow Wilson is lame." And everybody laughed.
But the laugh of the "Maroons" had a pang behind it. Only five minutes of playing time were left, and the ball was in the hands of their enemies. They ranged up for the scrimmage with the desperation of men faced by advancing doom but bound to go down fighting.
And go down they did before the savage and exulting onslaught of the Blues. Fighting, raging, blocking, charging, they were forced back towardtheir goal. Drake and Dick and Axtell went ploughing through big holes opened up by their comrades in both sides of the line until, with two downs yet to go, the ball was in the hands of the Blues twelve yards from the enemy's goal.
Everybody was standing now. Flags were waving, voices yelling and the tumult was indescribable.
It was the supreme moment, and Bert was called on for the final plunge.
"Go to it, old man, the instant I snap it back," whispered Tom.
"For the sake of the old college," urged Dick.
Bert stiffened.
"Watch me," he said.
It was a perfect snap from Tom to Dick, who passed it to Bert so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow it. At the same instant Drake and Axtell opened up a hole between left guard and tackle and Bert ploughed through it like an unchained cyclone. The whole "Maroon" team was on him in an instant, but the fearful headway of his charge had carried him through nine of the coveted twelve yards and the goal post loomed almost directly overhead.
"Buck up, fellows, buck up," screamed Halliday wildly. "For heaven's sake, brace!"
Bert's head was buzzing with the impact of thatmighty plunge, but his eyes blazed with the light of coming triumph.
"Not an inch, boys, not an inch," yelled Halliday. "Throw them back. It's their last down."
But their hour had struck. Once more the ball was passed and, charging hard and low, Bert went into the line. The "Maroons" hurled themselves savagely against him, but a regiment could not have stopped him. He crumpled them up and carried the fragments of the broken line on his head and shoulders, coming at last to the ground five yards over the goal for the touchdown. And the Blue stands promptly went stark raving mad.
Bruised and dizzy but smiling, Bert rose to his feet. At that moment he would not have changed places with an emperor.
The ball was carried out to the twenty-five yard line and Dick, lying flat on the ground, steadied it for the kick. Bert took careful aim and lifted it unerringly over the goal. It had scarcely touched the ground when the whistle blew and the game was over. The Blues had triumphed, ten to nothing, but only after a desperate battle that left the "Maroons" vanquished, but not disgraced. Their gallant foes gave them a rousing cheer that was returned by the victors with interest.
Then the crowds swept down like a tidal wave from the stands and submerged the doughty fighters.The Blues, all muddy and disheveled as they were, were hoisted on the shoulders of their exulting comrades and carried from the field. And it was all they could do to get away from them and repair to their shower and rubdown, never before so needed or so welcome.
The campus blazed that night with bonfires and resounded with noises that "murdered sleep." But all the pleading that the team might take part in the festivities fell unheeded on the ears of the two inexorable tyrants, Hendricks and Reddy. Happy and exulting tyrants just then, but tyrants none the less.
"Not until they lick the 'Greys,'" was "Bull's" decree. "If they do that they can split the town wide open. Until then the lid is on."
There was no appeal from his decision, and by nine o'clock the weary warriors were tucked away in bed to dream of past and hope for coming victory.
Dick was just dropping off when a voice came from Bert's bed:
"Say, Dick, what's the greatest game in the world?"
"Football," was the prompt reply.
"And, Dick, what's the greatest team in the world?"
"The Blues," averred Dick stoutly.
"Right," assented Bert. "Now go to sleep."
ONE morning Bert received a letter that caused him to emit a wild whoop of joy, and then set off post haste to find Tom and Dick. He discovered them at last on the campus, kicking a ball around, and rushed toward them waving the open letter over his head.
"Say, fellows," he shouted when he got within speaking distance of them, "whom do you suppose this letter is from? Bet you a million you can't guess right in three guesses."
"From the way you seem to feel about it," grinned Dick, "it must contain money from home. I don't know what else could make you feel as happy as you appear to be."
"No, it isn't money," replied Bert, "but it's something better."
"Come off," chaffed Tom, "there 'ain't no such thing.' But tell us what it is and get it out of your system."
"It's a letter from Mr. Melton," explained Bert, "saying he's on his way East, and is going to visit us here. What do you know about that, eh?"
"Great!" exclaimed Dick and Tom in chorus, and Dick asked, "When does he say he'll get here?"
"Monday or Tuesday of next week," replied Bert, consulting the letter. "Either Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning. He's going to stop at the 'Royal,' and wants us to be on hand to meet him. He says in all probability he'll arrive on the 7:45 Monday evening. And just make out we won't be on hand to give him a rousing welcome, what?"
"I rather guess we will," said Tom, "and then some. I move that we hire a brass band and do the thing up right."
"That's a good idea all right," laughed Bert, "but I rather think Mr. Melton would prefer to dispense with the brass band. But we'll manage to make him know he's welcome, I have no doubt of that."
"I'd deserve to be hung, drawn, and quartered ifIdidn't," said Dick with feeling. "He was certainly a friend in need if there ever was one."
Dick alluded to a never-to-be-forgotten time when Mr. Melton had, at the risk of his own life, rendered timely aid to Bert and Tom in rescuing Dick from a band of Mexican outlaws. The three comrades were not ones to forget such a service, and from that time on Mr. Melton had always occupieda warm place in their regard. In addition to his personal bravery he was genial and good natured, with a heart as big as himself. He had taken part in many enterprises, but was now a prosperous rancher in the Northwest, calling many a fertile acre his own.
He had traveled extensively and knew much of the world. His stock of experiences and anecdote seemed inexhaustible, and he was never at a loss for some tale of adventure when called upon to tell one. His bluff, hearty manner gained him friends wherever he went, and it was with feelings of the keenest anticipation that the three comrades looked forward to his coming. It was only Wednesday when Bert received the letter announcing his coming, so they had several days of inevitable waiting.
However, "all things come to him who waits," and the day to which the boys looked forward with so much anticipation was no exception to the rule. They were at the station long before the train was due, and it seemed hours to them before they heard its whistle in the distance.
"The chances are though," said Tom pessimistically, "that something has happened to delay him and he won't be on this train at all, but on the one that comes in to-morrow morning."
"That's the way it usually works out," agreedBert with a grin, "but somehow I have a hunch that Mr. Melton is going to be on this train. He said in the letter you know, that in all probability he would be on the earlier train."
"Yes, I know," said Tom, "and I only hope that my fears are groundless. But we won't have to wait long now to find out at any rate."
He had hardly ceased speaking when the train puffed into the station. They scanned the long line of cars carefully, and it was Dick who first discerned the burly form descending the narrow steps of one of the rear Pullmans.
"There he is, fellows," he shouted and made a dash in the direction of the approaching figure, followed closely by Bert and Tom. Mr. Melton saw them coming and stretched out his hand. "Well, well!" he exclaimed, after shaking hands all around. "I'm certainly glad to see you once more, my boys. You don't look as though the grind of college work has interfered much with your health," with a twinkle in his eyes.
"No," laughed Bert, "we're not actually wasting away under the strain. But as far as that goes," he continued, "you look pretty fit yourself."
"Yes, and I feel it, too," replied Mr. Melton. "I'm not quite as spry as I used to be, but I never felt better in my life. There's nothing like an open air life to keep a man young."
While this talk was going on, the little party was making its way toward the hotel at which Mr. Melton had said he was going to put up, and were not long in reaching it.
"Well, boys," said Mr. Melton as they ascended the handsome flight of steps leading up to the entrance, "I don't suppose you've had supper yet, have you? If not I want you all to keep me company. It's on me, and the best in the house is none too good for us."
"Well," replied Bert, "speaking for myself, nothing would give me greater pleasure. But we're all three slaves of the training table, you know, so I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us this time."
"That's right!" exclaimed Mr. Melton in a disappointed tone, "for the moment I had forgotten all about that. But duty is duty, and far be it from me to put temptation in your path."
"What I think we had better do," said Bert, "is to see you safely installed here, and then hustle back to college and eat. Then we can come back here and spend the evening with you."
"I guess that will be the best plan," agreed Mr. Melton, "but you must promise me to get back soon."
Of course they all promised, and after leavingtheir friend to the tender mercies of the hotel clerk, hastened back to their Alma Mater.
They were just in time for dinner, but in their excitement and hurry to get back to the hotel ate less than usual. In reply to Reddy's query as to "what was up," they told him of Mr. Melton's arrival. Reddy had heard of the Mexican adventure and spoke accordingly. "He must be a good man to know," he opined, "and I'd like to meet him. Go ahead an' make your call now, but don't get back late. I guess, from what I hear of this Melton that he'll see that you leave in time anyway."
"No, he's not the kind to persuade people to forget their obligations," said Dick. "In fact, he's just the opposite. But of course our own well-known principles would make it impossible for us to be late," with a grin.
"Yes, I know all about that sort of stuff," said Reddy. "See if for once you can live up to your own 'rep.'"
"All you got to do is keep your eyes peeled, and you'll see us piking in here right on the dot," laughed Tom. "Come on, fellows. The sooner we get started the sooner we'll get back."
"Right you are," agreed Bert, and the three comrades swung into a brisk stride. A twenty-minute walk brought them to the "Royal," andthey were immediately ushered up to Mr. Melton's room. In answer to their knock a hearty voice bade them "come in," and as they opened the door Mr. Melton met them with outstretched hand.
"Come in and make yourselves at home," he said genially. "If you want anything and don't see it, ask for it."
"You seem to be pretty well fixed with about everything that anybody could want, now," commented Bert, glancing about the luxuriously appointed room. "This place certainly looks as though it had had some thought and money expended on it."
"Yes," admitted the Westerner, "it reminds me of the so-called 'hotels' we used to have out West in the early days—it's so different. The height of luxury there was in having a room all to yourself. As a rule you had to bunk in with at least two or three others. O yes, this is quite an improvement on one of those old shacks. I remember one of the pioneer towns where there was a fierce rivalry between the proprietors of the only two hotels in town. They were each trying to get the better of the other by adding some improvement, real or fancied. First the owner of the 'Palace' had his shack painted a vivid white and green. Then the owner of the 'Lone Star' hostelry,not to be outdone, had his place painted also, and had a couple of extra windows cut in the wall. So it went, and if they had kept it up long enough, probably in the end people stopping at one of the places would have been fairly comfortable. But before matters reached that unbelievable pitch, O'Day, owner of the 'Palace,' was killed in a shooting fracas. The man who plugged him claimed he was playing 'crooked' poker, and I think that in all probability he was. If he wasn't, it was about the only time in his life that he ever played straight."
"What happened to the man who did the shooting?" asked Bert.
"Well, O'Day wasn't what you'd call a very popular character," replied Mr. Melton, "and nobody felt very much cut up over his sudden exit from this vale of tears. They got up an impromptu jury, but the twelve 'good men and true' failed to find the defendant guilty."
"But how did they get around it?" asked Tom. "There was no doubt about who did the killing, was there?"
"Not the least in the world," replied Mr. Melton with a laugh; "but as I say, popular sentiment was with the man who did the shooting, so the jury turned in a verdict that ran something in this fashion, if I remember rightly: 'We find that thedeceased met death while inadvisably attempting to stop a revolver bullet in motion' or words to that effect. I thought at the time it was a masterpiece of legal fiction."
"I should say it was," commented Dick. "The quibbles and technicalities that make our laws a good deal of a joke to-day have nothing much on that."
"That's a fact," agreed Mr. Melton; "some of the results of our modern 'justice,' so called, are certainly laughable. It's all very well to give a man every chance and the benefit of every doubt, but when a conviction is set aside because the court clerk was an hour behind time getting to court on the day of the trial, it begins to look as though things were being carried too far. Mere technicalities and lawyers' quibbles should not have the weight with judges that for some reason they seem to possess."
"I've no doubt," remarked Bert, "that some of the rough and ready courts such as you were just telling us about meted out a pretty fair brand of justice at that."
"Yes, they did," replied Mr. Melton. "They got right down to the core of the argument, and cut out all confusing side issues. If, for instance, three witnesses all swore they saw a man steal a horse, and yet were unable to agree on the exacttime of the stealing, the chances were ten to one that the horse thief would be strung up without further loss of time. And there was no appeal from the findings of a frontier jury."
"It must have been an exciting life, that of the old frontier days," commented Bert. "I guess nobody had to complain much of the monotony of it."
"Not so you could notice," replied Mr. Melton with a smile, "but there wasn't half as much shooting going on all the time as you might believe from reading the current stories in the magazines dealing with the 'wild and woolly West.' Most everybody carried a gun, of course, but they weren't used so very often. Every man knew that his neighbor was probably an expert in the use of his 'shooting irons,' too, so there wasn't much percentage in starting an argument. Most of the scraps that did occur would never have been started, if it hadn't been for the influence of 'red-eye,' as the boys used to call the vile brands of whiskey served out in the frontier saloons. That whiskey bit like vitriol, and a few glasses of it were enough to make any man take to the war path."
"I suppose you carried a gun in those days, too, didn't you, Mr. Melton?" questioned Dick.
"Yes, I carried a pair of Colt's .45s with mefor years," replied the Westerner, with a reminiscent look in his eyes. "Why, a couple of guns were as much a part of a man's dress in those days as a pair of shoes. Every one carried them as a matter of course."
"Did you ever have to use them?" asked Bert.
"Only once," replied Mr. Melton. "I never went looking for trouble, and it has been my experience, when you don't look for trouble, trouble seldom looks for you. But the one time I did have use for my arsenal made up for lost time."
"Tell us about it, please," chorused the boys, and Mr. Melton smiled at their eagerness as he lit another perfecto.
"Well," he began, "it was back in the old days before the time of the railroads, when stage coaches were the only carriers known. I was traveling to Fort Worth on business, and was finding the journey anything but a pleasant one. The coach was old and rickety, and the way it lurched and rolled reminded me of a small boat in a rough sea. It was a terrifically hot day, too, and the stinging alkali dust got down your throat and in your eyes until life seemed an unbearable burden. We had traveled steadily all the morning, and along toward afternoon most of the passengers began to feel pretty sleepy, and dozed off. I was among the number. Suddenly I was awakened by a shoutof 'hands up!' and found myself looking full into the muzzle of a blue barreled Colt, held in the hand of a masked man.
"There was nothing for it but to obey, seeing he had the drop on us, so up went our hands over our heads. There were six other passengers in the coach, but if we had been sixteen we would have been no better off.
"As we gazed in a sort of fascination at the ugly-looking revolver, another masked man entered the coach and commenced systematically to relieve the passengers of their valuables. I happened to be nearest the front of the coach, and so did not receive the benefit of his attentions at first. He had almost reached me when there was a commotion outside, and he straightened up to listen, all his senses on the alert.
"He was between me and the door in which his companion was standing. For the moment the man in the door could not get at me except through his comrade, and I resolved to grasp the opportunity. In a flash I had reached down into the breast of my coat and grasped the butt of my revolver. Before the desperado in front of me could get his gun in action, I had fired. At the first shot he dropped to the ground and, as he fell, a bullet from the man in the doorway took my hat off. I pulled the trigger as fast as my fingers could work,and he did the same. I have only a confused recollection of smoke, flashes of flame, shouts and a dull shock in my left arm. In what must have been but a few seconds it was all over. With my own gun empty, I waited to see what would happen. I knew that if by that time I hadn't killed the bandit, he had me at his mercy. And even with him disposed of, I fully expected to be plugged by the man outside who was holding the driver under guard.
"But he must have had a streak of yellow in him, for when he failed to see either of his comrades come out of the coach he concluded that they were either dead or prisoners, and made off as fast as his pony could carry him. By that time we passengers had rushed out of the coach, and some of us began firing at the fugitive. But a revolver is not very accurate over two or three hundred feet, and I doubt if the desperado was even grazed. I was unable to shoot for, as I had realized by this time, my left arm was broken just above the elbow, and I was unable to load my gun.
"Well, finding that we could not hope to harm the fugitive, we returned to the coach. An examination of the two hold-ups showed that one, the man I had shot first, was dead. The other, who had guarded the door, was badly wounded and unconscious. One of the passengers had been boredthrough the shoulder by a stray bullet, but was not hurt seriously.
"The driver bound up my arm after a fashion, and whipped up his horses. It was after dark before we reached Fort Worth though, and by that time my arm was giving me a foretaste of what Hades must be. But there was a good doctor in the town, fortunately for me, and he fixed the arm up in fine fashion. And, believe me, I felt lucky to get off as easy as that."
"I should think you would," said Bert admiringly. "It must have taken nerve to pull a gun under those conditions."
"Well," replied Mr. Melton, "it was all on account of a watch I carried at that time. It was one I had had for years, and thought a lot of. The idea of losing that watch just made me desperate. I think if it hadn't been for that I would never have taken the chance."
"And what happened to the man you wounded?" asked Dick.
"He gradually recovered," replied Mr. Melton. "The boys were going to hang him when he got well enough, but one night he broke jail and got away. They made up a posse and chased him through three counties, but never caught him. I imagine, though, that his liking for hold-ups suffered a severe check."
"Very likely," agreed Bert, "but I'm glad you saved the watch, anyway."
"So am I," said Mr. Melton with a smile. "Here it is now, if you'd care to see it."
He passed a handsome gold timepiece over to the boys, who admired it greatly. Then the talk turned to other subjects, and before they realized it, it was time for them to go.
Before leaving, however, they made Mr. Melton promise to visit the college the following afternoon. This he readily did, and the boys took their departure after saying a hearty good night to their Western friend.
TRUE to his promise, Mr. Melton made his appearance at the south end of the campus a little after three o'clock of the following day. The three friends were there to meet him, and they exchanged hearty greetings.
"There's so much we want to show you that we hardly know where to begin," said Bert. "What shall we show him first, fellows?"
"Let's start with the library," suggested Dick, "that's one of the handsomest buildings. When he sees all the books he'll get the idea that we're very literary, and first impressions are lasting, you know."
"I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good," said Bert. "He'd just be getting that impression, and then Tom would pull some of his low comedy stuff and queer the whole thing. We can never palm ourselves off as highbrows while he's around."
"Just because you're unable to appreciate the little gems of wit I offer you from time to time, you have to go and run them down," protested Tom. "It isn't my fault that you haven't senseenough to laugh at them. It's your misfortune, that's all."
"Well, I'll do my best to bear up under the deprivation," laughed Bert. "But here we are, Mr. Melton. What do you think of the outside?"
While he and Tom had been exchanging thrusts the little group had been strolling toward the library building, and by this time had reached the broad flight of steps that led up to it. There they halted while Mr. Melton examined the front of the building.
"It is very handsome," he commented; "if its interior answers to its outer appearance it must be a beautiful place."
"I think you'll find that it does," said Bert; "but the best way to tell is to go inside."
Accordingly, they ascended the stone steps and, entering the massive doors, found themselves in a lofty hall, from which branched the various reading rooms. Everything was in perfect harmony and taste, and Mr. Melton was outspoken in his expressions of admiration.
Leaving the library, the boys showed their friend all the college buildings—the recitation hall, the dormitories, the chapel and the gymnasium. Mr. Melton seemed attracted most of all by the latter, and examined the different athletic apparatus with the greatest interest.
"You certainly have everything that modern science can furnish," commented Mr. Melton enthusiastically. He lingered long by the swimming tank, in which a number of athletic young fellows were disporting themselves.
"How would you like to visit the engine room?" asked Dick. "To my mind that's the most interesting place in the college."
"I'd like it first rate," said Mr. Melton; "anything in the way of machinery can always be sure of getting a respectful hearing from me."
The three friends accordingly guided him down into the engine and boiler rooms, sacred ground to which few visitors ever penetrated. Here was machinery of the latest and most up-to-date patterns, and Mr. Melton listened attentively while the boys explained to him the uses of the various mechanisms. They were familiar with everything in the place, and their listener knew enough about machinery to readily understand everything that they told him. They spent over an hour altogether in the engine room, and when at last they emerged into the upper regions again Mr. Melton drew a long breath.
"It's certainly a wonderful place," he said with enthusiasm; "and I envy you boys the chance you have of getting an education in a such a college. It's a privilege that you'll probably appreciate tenyears from now even more than you do at the present time."
"Possibly," said Bert with a note of doubt in his voice. "But I don't think we'll ever take any more pride in the old college than we do right now."
"Nope, can't be done," said Tom flippantly; "any place that can give Bert three such meals a day as he gets at the training table is sure to make a hit with him."
"I'llmake a hit with a brick if you make any more comments of that kind," threatened Bert; "and what's more, you'll beit."
"I call you to witness, Mr. Melton," said Tom, turning to that gentleman, who by now was laughing heartily, "this low person has threatened to land me with a brick if I make any further criticism of his bad habits. Now, what I want to know is, is this, or is it not, a land of free speech? Is a freeborn American citizen to be threatened and bullied by a——" but here his protest ended in a muffled roar, as Dick and Bert pounced on him and wrapped their coats tightly about his head.
"It's the only way to make him quit," apologized Bert to Mr. Melton. Then, addressing the muffled Tom, "Will you promise to be good if we let you out?"
The only answer was a series of wild plungings, that ended by landing the three in a tangled heapon the grass. At last Tom managed to get his head free, and struggled to his feet.
His laughing comrades also scrambled to theirs, and they stood facing each other.
"Well," said Tom, smoothing down his rumpled mop of hair, "you knew you were tackling something, anyway."
"It was quite exciting," laughed Mr. Melton. "If you boys play football in the same fashion you employed then, I don't see how your opponents ever have a chance."
"They don't when they have me to deal with," said Tom unblushingly; "it's only when the rival teams come up against Dick or Bert that they have an easy time of it."
Bert and Dick passed this remark over with the silent contempt they felt it warranted, and asked Mr. Melton what he would like to do next.
"Anything you suggest will suit me," replied that individual. "I place myself entirely in the hands of my friends."
"Well, then," suggested Dick, "why not go over and watch the boys practising football? There's always a few kicking the ball around, even when there's no regular practice on the programme, and sometimes they play sides. It won't hurt to go over and see what's doing, anyway."
As Mr. Melton expressed himself as agreeableto this plan, they strolled over toward the campus, and were soon standing on the sidelines watching the practice. There was a goodly number out, and the air resounded with the smack of leather against leather as the pigskin was sent soaring high into the air, to be caught expertly as it descended swiftly toward the earth. A few of the regulars were out, and it was easy even for a stranger to distinguish them by the deftness and quick sureness of their actions. The others sometimes missed hard catches, but these veterans, with clocklike precision, were always in position to make the most difficult catches without even the appearance of effort.
"Looks easy, doesn't it?" said Bert to Mr. Melton.
"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly," said Mr. Melton, "but I've no doubt it looks a good deal easier than it really is. I have had enough experience of life to realize that nothing is as easy as it looks. Many people never realize that though, and the result is they never try hard enough, or at least, when they do realize it, find it too late to do anything."
They watched the practice a short time longer, and then as the afternoon was getting well along, Mr. Melton looked at his watch and said he would have to get back to his hotel. They were just turning away when they came face to face withHendricks, who was hurrying toward the scene of activities. He and Mr. Melton had hardly glanced at each other when they each gave a shout and rushed forward with outstretched hands.
"'Bull,' you old reprobate, is it really you!" exclaimed Mr. Melton, pumping the coach's hand up and down like a pumphandle.
"It certainly is, old timer," replied Hendricks, "and you sure are a welcome sight to me. But how in the name of all that's good did you happen to get here?"
"I came as a guest of our young friends here," replied Mr. Melton; "they mentioned your name, but I didn't think that it might be you. It's some years now since we were together last."
While all this had been going on, the three boys had looked on wonderingly, but it did not take long to explain matters. It seemed that Hendricks and Mr. Melton had once been members of a hunting party, and had scoured the Rockies together in search of game. They had formed a friendship then that had never grown cold. Through the years that had elapsed since their last meeting it had lain dormant, but now, at sight of each other, blazed up again brightly.
After a little further talk, Mr. Melton insisted that the coach and the three boys come to his hotel for dinner and spend the evening there. "You cantell me what to order now," he said, cutting short Hendrick's objections, which, to tell the truth, were not very strong. "I'll order exactly what you say, and it will be just the same as though you were eating dinner at the training table. That's satisfactory, isn't it?"
"Why, I suppose it will have to be," laughed the coach; "if you'll follow out that programme I'll consent. But you can bet your boots I wouldn't do it for everybody."
"All right then that's settled," said Mr. Melton; "so make out your menu, and I'll hustle back to my hotel and make arrangements."
Hendricks fished out an old envelope and jotted down a list of edibles, starting with "beefsteak." This he gave to Mr. Melton, and then they shook hands and after saying good-by to the boys, Mr. Melton hurried away in the direction of his hotel.
Not long afterward the three comrades, accompanied by the coach, set out for the same destination. When they arrived they were greeted by a cordial welcome, and shortly afterwards dinner was served.
It consisted of nothing but the plainest and most nourishing foods, and Hendricks expressed himself as feeling perfectly satisfied. After the meal they repaired to Mr. Melton's rooms, and for a couple of hours the two old friends swapped yarns, whileTom and Bert and Dick listened with the greatest interest. They told tales of adventure by field and forest, and the time passed like magic. But "Bull" Hendricks was not to be beguiled into forgetting the time, and shortly after ten o'clock he glanced at his watch and rose.
"Time to be going, boys," he announced crisply. "I'm sure it would be a pleasure to stay all night, but rules are rules, you know."
"Well, I'd like to have you stay," said Mr. Melton, "but far be it from me to try to urge you against your judgment. I hope, though, that there won't be as much time between our next meeting as there was between the last, old fellow."
"So do I," responded Hendricks heartily as they shook hands, "but so long till then, anyway."
"Good-by," said Mr. Melton, and then shook hands with the boys. "I'm afraid I won't see you fellows again this trip, although I'm going to make a desperate effort to stay East until the big game comes off," he said. "I've got to get a very early train for New York to-morrow, so I guess we'd better say good-by now until the next time."
The boys shook hands with him warmly, and then started downstairs. Mr. Melton followed them to the door, and the last thing they saw as they looked back was his sturdy bulk outlined in the square of light formed by the open doorway.