CHAPTER XIXINTO THE LAKE.
A curl of white smoke was rising above some water reeds, plainly showing where the gun had been fired.
Hodge held up his hand, and there was blood on his wrist. He wiped it away, and then picked a shot from under the skin.
Frank had felt several shot strike his clothes, but evidently they were too far spent to penetrate far.
“Of all infernal carelessness!” grated Hodge, his face dark with anger. “I never heard of anything like it.”
“It could not have been carelessness!” cried Frank. “Here we are in plain view out in the open water. The person who fired that shot must have seen us. If it was carelessness, it was criminal.”
“Are you hit, Merry?”
“Some of the shot struck my clothes, but none of them reached my body, I think. How much are you hurt, Bart?”
“Not much, but I’m mad enough to thump the chump who fired that shot! I’d like the job!”
Merriwell had reeled in his line, and now he swiftly drew in Bart’s. Then he caught up his paddle and sent the head of the canoe round toward the point where the puff of smoke had been seen rising above the water reeds.
“We’ll soon find out who did the shooting,” came grimly from his lips, as he sent the light craft forward.
Bart caught up his paddle, and soon the canoe was literally skimming along the silvery surface of the lake.
As they approached the rushes there were signs of commotion behind them. A head bobbed up and disappeared from view, and then a boat was thrust slowly out. It contained two persons, who seemed inclined to row away, but changed their minds when they beheld how close upon them the canoe was. They turned about and desperately faced the boys.
One was a man of middle age, roughly dressed, with a wide-brimmed hat set upon one side of his head and long-legged rubber boots on his feet. He wore a full beard, and his hair was long enough to fall on the collar of his coat. The face was that of a hard-drinking man, and his manner indicated that he was a reckless ruffian.
The other was a youth of eighteen or nineteen, with square shoulders and a sullen face. He, also, looked like a desperado, and yet, there was something about him that might prove attractive and fascinating for a thoughtless, romantic girl. He was dressed in a careless manner, in plain clothes, but somehow those clothes seemed to set upon him in a way that showed him to advantage. In fact, they actually made him look more attractive than better and more fashionable garments could.
As soon as Merriwell saw these two persons, he softly exclaimed:
“Hello! So those are the chaps?”
“Do you know them?” asked Hodge, quickly.
“I should guess yes!”
“Who are they?”
“Welch and his backer.”
“What—the fellow who wanted to thrash you over at Camp Benson?”
“Yes. And the man is the one who was looking for a chance to dip into the row. Now, I am beginning to think this shooting was not accidental.”
The man and the boy glared at Frank and Bart, but said not a word.
“Who fired that shot?” demanded Merriwell, holding his paddle in the water so that it would slacken the forward motion of the canoe.
“Who are you talkin’ to?” demanded Welch, surlily.
“I am talking to you, sir! Who fired that shot?”
“What shot?”
“The one a few moments ago.”
“Oh! what are you drivin’ at? We don’t know nothin’ about no shot. You make me tired!”
“That kind of bluff will not go. One of you fired a shot from behind these reeds a few minutes ago. Who did it?”
The man regarded the boys with the utmost contempt, seemingly quite indifferent, but Welch grew red with anger.
“Say!” he cried; “you’re too fresh, Mr. Frank Merriwell! I know you! Because you are a college chap and have had your name printed in the papers, you think you can come down here into Maine and run over the countrymen you find here. Well, you will find out the countrymen won’t be run over. I don’t believe you are such a much, anyway. What you really need is a good thumping, and I’d like the job to give it to you. I’d done it yesterday if it hadn’t been for that big lummuxing chum of yours who meddled in. I’ll do it yet when I get the chance! I promise you that I will thump you, and Jim Welch always keeps his promises. Now, you chaps had better git!”
Frank laughed outright.
“You are very amusing, Mr. Jim Welch,” he declared. “It is evident that you think yourself a dangerous sort of individual, but you are dangerous only when you have a shotgun in your hands and are hidden behind some reeds. It would be just like you to try to shoot somebody in the back. Your face shows that.”
“I didn’t shoot at all, and you don’t want to say I did.”
“Then your friend did!” cried Hodge, who was fairly quivering for trouble. “His face shows he wouldn’t hesitate to——”
“Look here, confound you!” growled the man, scowling at Hodge; “you want to go slow! Neither of us did any shooting, for we ain’t got anything to shoot with.”
“No guns?”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Well, it don’t make a bit of difference whether you believe it or not. You’re nothing but kids, and we can’t fool with you. Come, Welch, if we’re going to get any fishing this morning we must get started. Come on.”
He placed the oars in the rowlocks and got into position for rowing.
“What were you doing in there behind those reeds?” asked Frank.
“That is none of your business!” shouted Welch. “Now, you chaps want to get out of the way, or you’ll get into trouble, for we won’t fool with ye!”
He lifted an oar threateningly, but the canoe was beyond his reach, and so he sat down, after half rising to his feet.
“Take your paddle out of the water, Bart,” whispered Frank. “I’m going to have a look into their boat.”
Hodge obeyed, and then, with a single, long, quick stroke, Merriwell whirled the canoe up beside the boat.
“What are you doing?” growled the startled man.
“We want to see your guns,” said Hodge.
“To blazes with you! I told you we had no guns, and you can see for yourselves. Do you see any guns?”
To Bart’s surprise, not a gun was to be seen in the boat. In the bottom, at one end, however, lay a pile of rushes, such as are sometimes bound on the front end of a boat when it creeps upon water birds, for the occupants of the boat to obtain a shot. Of a sudden, Frank leaned over and gave those reeds a yank.
Two shotguns were exposed to view!
Hodge gave a cry of triumph and anger, and Frank, with another sudden twist of his paddle, tried to back the canoe away from the boat.
The man uttered a cry of anger, and Welch leaped to his feet, catching up an oar.
“Oh, I’ll fix you!” he shouted, swinging the oar over his head and striking straight at Frank’s head.
Merry saw he could not get out of reach, and so, in a moment, he swung his paddle out of water and used it to divert the oar.
Crack!—the oar struck the paddle and was turned aside. Frank had saved his skull from being cracked by his swift move.
With a great splash, the oar struck in the water, and Welch was given a yank that set him toppling, in a frantic effort not to plunge headlong out of the boat. He let go of the oar and flung up his hands, waving them wildly, and then, finding he must go over, he dropped and caught at the side of the boat, overturning that in a twinkling.
It happened in a moment. Both Welch and his companion were precipitated into the water. The man disappeared a few seconds, and then came up and grasped the end of the boat.
Welch went down, came to the surface, thrust his hands up into the air, cried out gurglingly, splashed a moment, and went down again.
The commotion in the water caused the canoe to rock, but Bart Hodge laughed shortly. His face showed triumph and satisfaction at the misfortune that had befallen the man and boy. With his paddle, he moved the canoe yet farther away.
Merriwell looked somewhat anxious and waited for Welch to come to the surface again.
The man, clinging to the overturned boat, poured forth a torrent of angry abuse at the boys in the canoe, neither of whom paid any attention to him. Had they done so, they would have observed that he felt of his beard and hair in a singular manner, as if doubtful about something.
Welch came up again, splashed about, strangled, coughed, cried out and sank.
Immediately Frank began to take off some of his clothing. He flung his cap into the bottom of the canoe, his coat followed it, and then he pulled off his shoes, keeping low down, so that he would not overturn the birch-bark craft.
“What are you going to do, Frank?” asked Bart, surprised.
“Save that fellow from drowning, if I can. He can’t swim.”
“But what is the use to jump into the water and get wet? We can get near him as he comes up, and one of us can catch hold of him.”
“It won’t do.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you see, he is drowning! He would clutch the canoe—try to drag himself out of the water—overturn it instantly! We’d both get a wetting, when one can——There he is!”
Welch came up again. His struggles were feebler, and he gasped for breath with a painful sound.
Merriwell half lifted himself. The canoe began to rock, and Bart exclaimed:
“You can’t dive over without upsetting me!”
Taking hold of the frail craft in a certain manner, Merry lifted himself with both hands, and swung himself fairly over the stern end. Had he gone over the side, he must have overturned the canoe, but he dropped into the water with a splash, and the light craft remained upright. It was a skillful trick, and it astonished Hodge, who was more than half expecting to be capsized.
As Frank struck the water, Welch sank again.
“He’s gone down, Merry!” cried Bart.
Frank struck out with powerful strokes, reached the spot where Welch had disappeared, and then dived beneath the surface.
The man who was clinging to the overturned boat had begun to swim, pushing it toward the shore, some distance below the mass of water reeds behind which they had been concealed.
Hodge paid no attention to boat or man, but he waited with the greatest anxiety for Frank to come to the surface. With the paddle, he moved the canoe somewhat nearer the spot where Merry had dived beneath the water.
Frank came up directly, and he had a hold upon the drowning lad, but Welch had twisted his legs about Frank with a grip that hampered Frank’s movements. In vain Merry tried to break away. It seemed that Welch had fastened upon him with a death grip.
“Can I help you?” asked Hodge, anxiously, as he saw Merry struggling in the water, sometimes sinking beneath the surface. “What’s the matter?”
“This fellow—has—his legs—twisted about mine!” panted Frank. “Confound him! He wants to drown us both!”
Bart worked nearer with the canoe.
“Hit him on the head, Frank!” he cried. “Hit him quick and hard! Don’t let him pull you under like that!”
But Merry fought till he broke away from the half-unconscious Welch, which caused him to utter an exclamation of satisfaction.
“I’m all right now,” he said.
“Can you get him ashore?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I will keep close, so that I can give you some help, if you need it. Don’t drown yourself trying to save him.”
“We must save him, Hodge,” said Frank, as he swam toward the distant beach, supporting Welch. “It would not do for us to let him drown after——”
“After he tried to shoot us!” grated Bart. “Oh, that is like you, Merriwell! You are ready to risk your own life for an enemy who has done you any kind of injury! I’m not built that way! My enemies can look out for themselves!”
Frank said nothing, for he was thoroughly occupied in the task of reaching the shore, and he could make but slow progress, burdened as he was.
Hodge paddled along, watching Frank anxiously.
“Let me hold the fellow’s head above the surface a few moments, while you rest, Frank,” he urged.
“No,” said Merry. “Can’t take chances of his overturning you. I’m all right. Keep on.”
The man with the boat was now so close to the shore that he could touch bottom. He stood up and waded out, pushing the boat along and dragging it up on the beach.
Having done this, the fellow turned and looked at the approaching lads. He seemed undecided for a moment, but suddenly wheeled about and plunged into the swampy woods, vanishing from view.
Hodge saw this movement, and wondered at it, but said nothing to Merriwell, feeling that Frank needed to give his entire attention to the task of getting ashore with Welch.
Nearer and nearer to the shore Merriwell struggled. He moved slower and slower, and it was plain that the task was a heavy drain upon his energy and endurance. Bart feared that Frank would give out, but this did not happen. Finally Hodge said:
“I think you can stand up here, Merry. Try it—see if your feet will touch bottom.”
Frank did so, and found he could touch the bottom and have his head out of the water, which enabled him to walk ashore.
Bart got out upon the beach and helped Frank drag Welch upon the sand. Merriwell was panting, but he regarded with the greatest anxiety the lad he had brought to land.
“He’s drowned!” cried Hodge. “He is done for, Frank!”
“Off with your coat!” exclaimed Merriwell, panting. “Give me my coat and shoes from the canoe. Quick! We must hustle if we bring him round!”
Taking the shoes, Frank wrapped the coat about them, making a hard roll or bundle. Then he placed the bundle on the beach, and, aided by Bart, lay Welch, face down, upon it so it pressed upon his stomach. Having placed the unconscious lad in this position, with the collar of his shirt ripped open, Merriwell began pressing upon his back just below his shoulder blades, and with each pressure water spurted from the lad’s mouth.
“If we can get him to breathing after we get this water out of him, he’ll come round,” said Frank, anxiously.
They did not work more than a minute before Welch choked and groaned, causing Frank to express relief.
“He’s coming round so quick,” said Merry. “We’ll have him all right in short order.”
Now Welch groaned and choked in a most distressing manner. The boys knew he was suffering fearful tortures, but they kept at work till he ceased to expel water. Then Frank placed him in a position to breathe easily, and they saw him staring up at them with wide-open eyes.
“You are all right,” said Merry; “but it was a close shave.”
“Oh!” groaned Welch; “I’d rather die than go through that again! How did I get here?”
“You got here by being brought by Frank Merriwell,” said Hodge, scowling at Welch. “He risked his life to save you from drowning, and you didn’t deserve it.”
Welch said nothing for some moments, but seemed trying to collect his scattered wits. At last he asked:
“Where is Bunker?”
“The man you were with?”
“Yes.”
“He skipped into the swamp somewhere.”
“And left me?”
“Yes. He got ashore first, and he——”
“That will do!” growled a hoarse voice, and there was a grating step on the sand. “Bunker is here. He don’t run away from kids like you.”
The man approached, carrying a heavy club in his hand. He looked ugly enough at that moment, and it was plain he was not in a pleasant mood.
“Look out for him, Frank!” whispered Hodge. “He is up to something.”