"Louder!" commanded several voices.
So Ephraim repeated the stanza, singing still louder.
"Dot vos petter," complimented Hans; "bud id don'd peen loudt enough to blease Lieudenant Cordan."
"Louder! louder!" ordered the yearlings. "Open your mouth and let the sound out. You can never expect to sing if you pen the words up in such a cavern as that."
This time Ephraim shouted the words at the tops of his lungs, and he was complimented on all sides, while Barney Mulloy hastily said:
"Kape roight at it, an' kape on singing till ye're towld t' stop by me. Ye know my voice, an' don't ye moind another thot spakes to yez. Av he kapes bothering av ye, tell him to let ye alone, ur you'll kick th' back-strap av his trousers clane out through th' top av his head. Oi'll shtand by yez. Now, let her go again, an' kape at it."
The country boy began once more, and this time he bellowed the words so they could be heard for a mile.
The grinning yearlings lost no time in slipping quietly away from that locality, and taking positions at a distance, where they could watch what followed.
All alone in the street in front of his tent stood the blindfolded plebe, bellowing the words at the full capacity of his voice, and repeating them over and over.
In a very few seconds Lieutenant Gordan, the regular army officer at the academy, came marching briskly down the street in the dusk, his face so red that it almost seemed to glow like a light. Stopping short in front of the lone plebe, he called:
"Sir!"
Ephraim kept on with
"An' there he saw the boys an' galsEz thick ez hasty poodin'."
"Sir!" came sharply from the lieutenant.
Ephraim began the stanza over again, roaring it louder than before, if possible:
"Yankee Dewdle came to taown'Long with Cap'n Goodwin——"
"Sir!" cried Lieutenant Gordan.
"Git aout!" snorted the boy from Vermont. "I'm here ter sing, an' I'm goin' ter fill ther bill, by gum!"
Then he began at the first of the stanza, and howled straight through it, for all that the lieutenant spoke to him twice.
In the dusky shadows not far away the cadets were convulsed with laughter they could not suppress.
"Sir!" thundered Lieutenant Gordan, "you are making a fool of yourself!"
"Ef you don't shut up an' stop interruptin' me, I'll be gol darned ef I don't kick you clean inter the middle uv next week! You ain't ther feller that sot me ter singin', fer your voice is of a diffrunt color than his. Naow you keep mum, ur I'll take this handkerchief off my eyes, spit on my hands, an' sail right into you, by thunder!"
Then Ephraim began once more:
"Yankee Dewdle came to taown'Long with——"
The exasperated lieutenant snatched the handkerchief from Ephraim's eyes, almost bursting with rage.
"If you don't quit this howling, I'll lodge you in the guardhouse!" he declared.
The boy came near smashing the lieutenant with his fist, and then, seeing who it was, he gave a gasp and nearly fainted on the spot.
"Where's them fellers?" he murmured, looking around for his tormentors. "By gum! they've slipped! I've bin fooled!"
After giving him some sharp advice, the lieutenant sent him into his tent, and departed.
The spirit of mischief seemed to break loose in the camp that night. A dozen times were some of the plebes hauled out of bed and slid around the streets enveloped in their own blankets, ridden on a tentpole, or an old wheelbarrow, tossed in tent flies, or nearly smothered with smoke that filled their tents from the burning of some vile-smelling stuff.
Time after time was the guard turned out to capture the perpetrators of these tricks, but still alarm followed alarm, and not one of the jokers was captured.
Every inspection seemed to show the older cadets all in their beds and sleeping with amazing soundness, considering the racket that was going on.
Lieutenant Gordan was at his wits' end, for never had there been such an outbreak in camp since his coming to Fardale, and he began to believe there was something radically wrong about the system as enforced at the academy.
The professors were driven from their tents and compelled to take refuge in the academy in order to get any sleep, and they all felt like resigning their positions and seeking occupations in other walks of life.
At West Point such things were once possible, but the introduction of long rows of gas lamps put an end to it by illuminating the camp so that the pranks could not be performed without the greatest danger of detection.
At Fardale the gas lamps were missing, and a dark night during the first weeks of each yearly encampment was certain to be a wild night.
It happened that Fred Davis had been assigned to guard duty on this particular night, and, for a long time, none of the disturbances took place on his post.
At length, however, when things had been quiet for an ominous length of time, Fred saw three figures coming swiftly toward him through the darkness.
"Halt!" he commanded, promptly. "Who comes there?"
"The corporal of the guard," was the reply, given in a muffled tone of voice.
"Advance, corporal of the guard, and give the countersign."
Then followed a suspicious hesitation. Fred fancied he heard a faint sound in his rear, but, before he could make a move, a blanket was thrown over his head, and he was hurled to the ground.
He struggled with surprising strength, but he was helpless in the hands of his assailants. His musket had been torn from his hands, and he seemed to feel something slitting and tearing his clothing. Once he was struck or kicked with great violence.
After a few moments of this treatment, Davis managed to get his head clear of the enfolding blanket and shout for help. His cries produced another alarm in camp, and his assailants quickly took to flight, leaving him in a badly battered condition.
Fred got upon his feet, and was standing dazed and bewildered when the corporal of the guard actually appeared, with the guard at his back.
Lieutenant Gordan, who had been on the alert for another outbreak, showed up at the same time; but Davis was so bewildered that it was several moments before he could answer their questions.
It was finally found that he had been robbed of his gun, his belt slashed, and his uniform cut in half a dozen different places, so it was quite ruined.
By this time Lieutenant Gordan was thoroughly angry, and he declared he would give his time and attention during the next week to the discovery and punishment of the perpetrators of the outrage.
"There is going to be an end to this hazing of sentries," he asserted. "Somebody shall be made an example of, and we'll see if that will do any good."
Fred was told to go to his tent and get to bed, and he was only too glad to do so.
Somehow, in the morning, the report got around that Davis had been stabbed or cut in the attack upon him. Frank lost no time in investigating, finding his fag attending to duties about his own tent.
In answer to Merriwell's questions, Fred said he had not been cut in any way, but his clothing had been mutilated, and he had been robbed of his gun, cartridge-box and bayonet-scabbard. He showed Frank his clothing, and the latter was scarcely less indignant than Lieutenant Gordan had been.
"This is not fun," Merriwell declared. "It is malicious and wanton brutality, and I fancy I can lay my hands on the fellow who was at the bottom of it."
The search for Fred's rifle had proved unsuccessful, and so he was given another from the armory, while a new uniform was ordered for him.
Lieutenant Gordan came around, and questioned the unlucky plebe again concerning the assault upon him; but it had been too dark for him to recognize any of his assailants, and the voice of the fellow who had announced himself as corporal of the guard had been muffled and disguised.
It now began to appear that the unusual activity during the night had been for the purpose of drawing the attention to the side of the camp opposite Davis' post, so that the attack upon him might be carried out successfully.
The boys found enough to think of and talk about during such opportunities as were given them.
At dinner the conversation was almost entirely about the tumultuous events of the night, and, by keeping eyes and ears open, Frank sought to discover who knew the most concerning those things which had taken place.
Bascomb seemed in high spirits. Over and over, in a sarcastic way, he repeated Lieutenant Gordan's assertion that such actions were outrageous, and must be stopped, appearing very grave as he did so, but winking slyly to some particular friend.
And Frank noted every fellow to whom Bascomb winked.
The big fellow could not keep his bullying propensities suppressed, and the sight of Fred Davis seemed to arouse him. Singling out the little plebe, he took a station at the opposite side of the table, observing:
"It is really too bad anybody should haze a pretty boy like him. Look at the tender blue in his eyes, and the delicate pink in his cheeks. Isn't he just too sweet to live! Oh, the fellows won't do a thing to him here—not a thing!"
Fred paid no attention to Bascomb, although the hot blood rushed to his face.
The bully continued:
"Before you, gentlemen, masticating his rations, sits a section edition of the late lamented George Washington. Those who are conversant with history are aware that little George found it impossible to tell a lie. Evidently Baby has heard of George, and seeks to emulate the Father of his Country, for he also finds it extremely difficult to tell a lie. Gentlemen, you may, at this very moment, be regarding a future president of the United States. The thought should overcome you with awe."
Bascomb's friends snickered, and the big yearling proceeded to address himself directly to Davis.
"Look here, Baby," he said, "I want you to tell us just what happened to you last night. We want to know the exact facts of the case."
With a trace of spirit, Davis looked up, and asked:
"Don't you, sir?"
"Don't I what?" demanded Bascomb, harshly.
"Don't you know?"
"What do you mean by that? How should I know?"
"I thought you might remember," said Fred, in a low tone.
That was enough to give the bully his opportunity to rave and bluster.
"That is an insult!" he fiercely declared, glaring at the little plebe as if he longed to devour him. "Such an insinuation is an insult! Do you mean to say that I had anything to do with the assault upon you?"
"I don't mean to say anything more about it."
"Oh, you don't? That is actually an open defiance. But I am going to put a question to you, and see if you will refuse to answer me. What do you know about it?"
"I know enough to mind my own business."
Frank laughed softly, and it was Bascomb's turn to flush angrily.
"You are very cool about it," grated the bully, reaching out and picking up a glass of water. "Perhaps this will make you still cooler."
He flung the water full and fair into Fred Davis' face.
In an instant every lad save Davis was on his feet, for all knew what naturally followed an act of this sort.
But the natural order of events did not take place. Davis slowly and carefully wiped the water from his face with the napkin. His hand trembled a little, and his cheeks were pale, the color having fled from them in a moment.
Frank had taken a quick step forward, ready to see fair play.
Although it was generally known that Davis was a peaceful sort of a fellow, who would not get into trouble if he could avoid it, still all expected he would show resentment at this open insult.
Bascomb stood with an insolent sneer on his face, waiting. As Davis made no move, he broke into a short laugh.
"There's courage for you, gentlemen!" he said, scornfully. "Why, the fellow hasn't as much spirit as a dead mouse!"
Frank was about to speak, when Davis slowly rose to his feet.
"I suppose I am expected to fight in a case like this," he said, his voice shaking.
Some of the cadets who were always eager to see a fight of any sort, no matter how unevenly the antagonists might be matched, quickly said:
"That's right. You must fight."
"I have never done such a thing in my life," declared Davis; "but I do feel like it now. You have laughed at me because I promised my mother that I would not lie, and I will give you a chance to laugh again. I promised her I would not fight, and I shall keep my word."
"Baby boy!"
"Mamma's petsie!"
"Softie!"
These terms of derision came from several sources, and Frank was swift to note every one.
Bascomb laughed again.
"You are altogether too good to live, Baby!" he said. "You make me sick!"
Frank had kept quiet as long as was possible. He saw that Davis did not mean to fight, and he made a resolve to save the plebe if possible by taking up his quarrel.
With two swift steps Merriwell confronted Bascomb.
"Sir," he said, speaking rapidly, and in a low tone, "I have been a witness to this entire affair."
"Well?" sneered the big yearling.
"I want to say that I think Davis perfectly right in refusing to fight you. You are larger and older than he is, you have nearly, if not quite, twice as much strength as he has, and your reputation is that of a slugger. He would not stand a show with you, and you know it, for which reason you have seemed to select him as an object of your bullying attentions."
Frank looked Bascomb straight in the eye, and the big fellow's face grew black with anger.
"What do you want?" he muttered.
"I want to tell you what I think of you, and I am going to do so. Davis has been reared like a gentleman, and it is but natural that he should recoil from contact with such as you."
"Do you mean to say I am no gentleman?"
"That is exactly what I mean to say, sir. No gentleman ever plays the bully, as you have done."
Bascomb made a move, as if he would do something desperate, and, on the instant, two of his particular friends caught hold of him, saying hastily:
"Not now, old man—not here! It would spoil everything."
Now Bascomb was not longing for a fight with Merriwell, and he would gladly have done something to cause the officers to interfere; but, to his regret, he saw that he had been too slow about it. So he sullenly muttered:
"All right, fellows; I won't smash him here."
"But you'll meet him later—you'll have to," eagerly said Rupert Reynolds, a fellow who made a pretension of being "sporty," and who was a great admirer of gamecocks and prize-fighters, for which reason he had grown very friendly with the slugger of the academy. "This affair must be settled in the regular manner."
"I didn't suppose I'd have to fight the whole academy," came sulkily from the bully. "If every sneak in school had somebody to step in and fight his battles, things would soon undergo a change."
As he said this, he cast a contemptuous glance at Davis, who was looking on, in a helpless way.
"You may fight or not, as you like," said Frank, serenely. "But you know what I think of a bully who is too cowardly to tackle a fellow he fears may be his match."
And then, unmindful that Bascomb made another move and was held back by his friends, Frank turned his back and walked round the table to Davis.
"Come," he said, "we will go."
There was a murmur of applause when he turned away, with Davis at his side.
Still Frank knew very well that he had taken an unpopular stand by espousing the cause of a plebe who did not seem to have nerve enough to stand up for his own rights, and he was breaking all precedent and traditions by a show of friendliness for his own fag.
However, Frank was a lad who firmly believed in standing by the right, no matter whether the cause were popular or not, and his sympathy was invariably with "the under dog in the fight." He could not bear to see the weak oppressed by the strong.
His generous heart had gone out to the lad who had been so tenderly and delicately reared, and who declined to lie or fight because he had promised his mother he would not do such things. Somehow Davis did not seem at all like a "sissy-boy" to Merriwell, who believed the plebe had a great deal of moral courage, if he were not physically brave. And Frank had come to believe that moral courage is a higher qualification than physical courage.
In this world there are two classes of heroes, and one class is likely to be grievously misunderstood. First comes the physical hero, the fellow who defiantly faces dangers that are sufficient to turn to ice the blood of another, and yet may succumb to some simple temptation that he knows will lead him into wrongdoing.
Then comes the moral hero, who resists the strongest temptations to do wrong, who fights and conquers in many a silent battle with his passions and desires, who bravely faces ridicule and scorn because he is confident that he is doing right, yet who quails, cowers, trembles, and flees in the face of physical danger.
Who will say which is the greater hero?
As soon as they were in the open air, Davis turned to Merriwell, his voice shaking, as he said:
"You must not fight with that fellow on my account."
"Why not?" asked Frank.
"Because you must not. It would not be right. He is big and strong——"
"But I am not afraid of him."
"That may be true, and still it is not right for you to fight in my place. That will not help me any. I can see that I will not be thought any better of if you fight in my place. You must not fight him!"
Fred was very agitated and excited.
"The matter rests entirely with Bascomb now," said Frank, calmly. "I have expressed my opinion of him in public, and I shall be forced to back up my words if he challenges me."
Reynolds and Bascomb came from dinner arm in arm.
"Your time has come to knock out this fellow Merriwell, Hugh," declared the big fellow's sporty companion. "You'll have to do it."
"It looks that way," admitted Bascomb, but there was something ludicrously dubious in both his face and voice.
"Looks that way!" exclaimed Rupert, in a fiery manner. "Of course it looks that way. There's nothing else to be done, and I should think you'd be well satisfied with the opportunity."
"But I am not sure I can do it," confessed the bully, hesitatingly.
"Do it! Why, you ought to do it with one hand tied behind your back."
But Bascomb was not so easily reassured.
"I have boxed with him," said the big fellow, "and I know he is not easy fruit for anybody."
"You boxed in the gym?"
"Yes."
"And there it was necessary to conform to certain rules."
"Of course."
"That wasn't much like a genuine fight."
"I know it; but I found it impossible to hit him a soaker with my left. He is up to all the tricks."
"That's all right. Fight him in the evening, where you are not liable to be interrupted till you have finished him. The darkness will be an advantage to you, for he cannot see to guard or avoid all your heavy blows, and you will soon do him up. If you work it right, you can get him into a straight fight from start to finish, so it will not be a matter of rounds, which would accrue to his advantage. Once you get at him, you can follow him up till he is done for."
Reynolds' words gave Bascomb new courage.
"I don't know but you are right," he said. "The darkness would be to my advantage, and I ought to be able to get in a knockout blow sooner or later. By Jupiter! I believe I can polish him off!"
"Of course you can!" exclaimed his delighted companion. "Merriwell has put on a big front, and succeeded in making everybody believe he is a terror, but the time has come to cook his goose. Give him a good licking, and he will not be so high and mighty. His popularity will mighty soon begin to wane."
"You do not seem to love him."
"Not much! The cad has called me down on parade several times."
"Me, too."
"I'd like to get a grip on him that would disgrace him and cause his dismissal."
"You are not the first fellow who has thought that way, but, somehow, the cad has the luck to get out of every trap set for him, and he turns the tables on anybody who tries to trap him."
"He can't be that lucky always."
"I should hope not."
"Shall I act for you?"
Bascomb hesitated. Something told him that Frank could fight quite as well with his bare fists as he could box with gloves. But how could he retreat? If he did not meet Merriwell he would be regarded with scorn by every one, and, like Wat Snell, who had refused to meet Bart Hodge, be ostracised in the school.
"Davis ought to fight me first," he muttered.
"Oh, hang that plebe!" cried Reynolds, contemptuously. "He doesn't count with Merriwell. You can attend to him when you have disposed of Merriwell. If you go into this business determined to finish the fellow, you'll be sure to do it. Knock him out some way, fair or foul."
"I suppose a fellow might get at him foul in the dark, and not be detected."
"Sure. Only he wants to be slick about it. Say, I can tell you a trick."
"'Sh! Don't speak too loud; Dunnerwust and Mulloy are a little distance behind, and they're both particular friends to Merriwell."
So Reynolds lowered his voice, and talked rapidly to Bascomb in a low tone. The bully listened eagerly, finally slapping his thigh and crying:
"That's the scheme! That will do it!"
"Shall I see him, and make arrangements for tonight?"
"Yes; but wait till the last minute—take him after supper."
"All right. It's settled then?"
"All settled; and Merriwell will have a dandy pair of eyes on him to-morrow!"
Dunnerwust and Mulloy had been watching Bascomb and Reynolds.
"Vot you pelief dose shneaks vos down to, ain'd id?" asked the Dutch boy.
"Well, Handy, me b'y," replied Barney, "it's me proivate opinion, which Oi don't moind publicly ixprissing, thot they're plannin' mischief."
"Yaw, I pets me your boots you vos righd. Dey don'd haf their headts togeder near vor nottings, py shimminy!"
"Oi'd loike to take th' spalpanes by th' ears an' rap their hids togither wance," declared the Irish lad. "Oi'd make thim see stars."
At this moment Bascomb clapped his thigh and cried:
"That's the scheme! That will do it!"
"Uf dot don'd mean somedings, Parney, you vos a liar!" exclaimed Hans.
"Av course it do."
"I pelief me dot means drouble vor Frankie."
"Oi wouldn't wonder, Handy."
"You und me hat pesser dell him to keep his vedder eye vide open tight, ain'd id?"
"Thot's pwhat we will, me b'y. An' Oi propose to watch thim spalpanes a bit mesilf. Oi moight catch 'em at something crooked, Oi belave."
So it came about that Frank was warned that Bascomb and Reynolds had apparently been plotting.
Frank acted as first sergeant, and that very afternoon both Bascomb and Reynolds appeared in ranks with their belts disarranged. This was an open defiance, and, of course, was something Merriwell could not overlook.
"Fall out, Bascomb, and arrange your belt," he commanded, sharply. "You, too, Reynolds. You know very well that you have no right in ranks in that shape. Fall out!"
Bascomb and Reynolds obeyed in a sullen way, the big fellow beginning to mutter.
Merriwell had started back to his post, but he whirled sharply, saying:
"Silence, sir! This is the third time I have been compelled to warn you against muttering in ranks. You will be severely dealt with in case you repeat the offense."
Once more he turned, but he had not taken five steps before he heard some one say:
"Who's playing the bully now!"
Frank turned again, but Bascomb did not appear to have spoken, and Reynolds looked innocent. Having fixed their belts, they were again in ranks, standing at ease.
Not a word did Frank say, but his face expressed a great deal. No further murmurs were heard, and the drill was soon in progress; but Frank knew his enemies had tried to place him in a false light before the corps.
That night, immediately after supper, Rupert Reynolds appeared at the door of Frank's tent.
"Mr. Merriwell," said Reynolds, stiffly, "I am here in the interest of my friend, Mr. Bascomb."
"I presumed as much," came quietly from Frank's lips.
"You have openly insulted Mr. Bascomb, and he demands an immediate apology."
Frank whistled.
"Is that all?" he exclaimed, with a queer twist of his face and a twinkle in his eyes.
"You will find this a very serious matter, sir," said Reynolds, with an assumption of great dignity.
"Mr. Bascomb may also find it serious."
"Will you apologize?"
"You may tell Mr. Bascomb that I will apologize to him when he is man enough to apologize to Fred Davis, and publicly acknowledge that he treated the little plebe in an unmanly and bullying manner."
Reynolds made a scornful gesture.
"Mr. Bascomb will not do anything of the kind!"
"Very well; I shall not apologize to him."
"Then you must fight him."
"I will do so with the greatest of pleasure."
"Oh, you won't find much fun in it," sneered Reynolds. "It isn't going to be that kind of a fight. Bascomb is thirsting for your life. It was with the greatest difficulty I persuaded him not to challenge you to fight a duel with deadly weapons. He said he would take satisfaction in meeting you in an affair of honor where he could run a blade through your body or perforate you with a bullet."
Frank whistled again.
"Why, he has become very courageous since he took to bullying boys! He is really bloodthirsty."
"He is determined to square accounts with you, sir. He says you have been boning military at his expense for some time, just to show your authority."
"Which he knows is absolutely false," Frank flashed back. "I have reprimanded him when compelled to do so by his utter disregard of what is right."
"That may be your opinion; Mr. Bascomb thinks differently. He demands that this fight take place without delay."
"The sooner the better."
"What do you say to making the time immediately after dark?"
"I am agreeable."
"As Lieutenant Gordan has been watching the old boathouse of late, it will be necessary to have the fight take place elsewhere."
"All right."
"It may be stopped if it is anywhere in this vicinity."
"Yes."
"Black Bluff is but a mile away."
"That's all."
"Why not go there?"
"The place is satisfactory to me."
"Then it is settled. Be on hand with your second as soon as possible after dark."
"I will."
Reynolds walked away with his head held very high and his neck very stiff.
Of course, the boys had been expecting Frank would receive a challenge, and no small number had been watching the two lads. Immediately on Rupert's departure, Frank's friends came swarming around him, asking scores of questions.
"Pwhat did th' b'y want wid yez, Frankie?" asked Barney Mulloy, eagerly.
"Oh, not much," smiled Frank, who did not believe in letting the entire gathering know exactly what had happened and what was going to take place. "He informed me that Bascomb demands an apology. Of course, I did not apologize, which may lead Bascomb to challenge me."
"An' he didn't challenge yez alridy? Wurra! wurra! Oi thought there moight be a foight on hand, so Oi did."
"Dot's vot's der madder mit me," sighed Hans Dunnerwust, in disappointment. "It vos peen so long alretty yet since I haf seen a scrap dot I don'd know vot it vos."
"G'wan wid yez, Dutch!" cried Barney, who was in ill-humor on account of the failure—as he supposed—of Bascomb to challenge Merriwell. "Thot Yankee from Vermont called yez a balloony sausage t'-day, an' ye nivver did a thing. Av ye wur dying fer a foight, ye'd challenge him. Ye're th' biggest coward on th' face av th' earth. Ye give me distriss!"
"Vos dot so!" retorted Hans. "Don'd you pelieve me! Vos id my blace to fight mit a blebe?"
"Of course it is yer place, ye ignoramus."
"Vell, I didn't know dot. Maype I fight him some dime pime-py right avay soon alretty yet."
"Oh, no ye won't."
"Von't I?"
"No, ye won't dare, ye Dutch coward. Av ye had a bit av spunk in yer body, ye'd challenge him to wance."
"Vell, you pet me my boots I don'd vos a coward," declared Hans, emphatically. "I'll vight dot feller!"
"Thot's th' shtuff, me b'y!" cried the delighted Barney. "Let me take th' challenge."
"Nod py a plamed sight! I don'd vant a pog-drotter to done some uf dot peesness for me, ain'd id? Uf I shoose mein second, I dakes Vrankie Merrivell alretty!"
For all that he had serious work on hand, Frank was ready for a frolic, and he instantly said:
"I will carry your challenge, Hans. You may depend on me."
"All righd, Vrankie, my poy; led her go."
"You wish me to hunt up Ephraim Gallup, and demand an apology or a fight?"
"Yaw."
"And you really mean it?"
"Yaw."
"Will you fight if he agrees to meet you?"
"Yaw."
"All right. There can't be any backing out now, understand that. You are in for a fight, if Gallup doesn't apologize."
"Yaw; but you mighd influence him to abologize uf you couldt, ain'd id?"
"It would not be proper to bring any undue influence to bear on him. I shall carry your challenge to him immediately."
As Frank started to find Ephraim Gallup, Barney Mulloy slipped from the crowd and joined him. The Irish lad's eyes were full of mischief.
"I say, Frankie, me b'y," he said, quickly, "can't we put up a job on thot Dutchman, an' hiv som' fun av this, Oi dunno?"
"Leave that to me," smiled Frank. "I fancy I will find a way to get plenty of sport out of this business. You know those two old horse-pistols that are hung up for relics in the armory?"
"Yis."
"Go for them yourself, or send somebody who can get them immediately."
"Pwhat do yez want wid thim?"
"I will show you, if I can make my scheme work."
"Oi belave Oi know," chuckled the fun-loving Irish lad. "Mursha! Won't thot be fun, Oi dunno! Oi'll hiv thim roight away," and off he darted.
As Frank expected, he found Ephraim once more surrounded by a mob who were having sport at his expense. Fortunately for Merriwell's scheme, the country boy was rather angry, and felt more like fighting than doing anything else.
"Mr. Gallup," said Frank, as he forced his way through the throng and confronted the Vermonter, "I am here in behalf of a friend whom you have sorely insulted."
"Git aout with yer nonsense!" retorted Ephraim. "I wish you'd quit yer foolin' an' let a feller alone."
"You will discover this is not fooling, sir," said Frank, sternly. "My friend demands that you fight him immediately. Will you do it?"
"Wal, I be twisted if I don't!" snorted Ephraim, as he spat on his hands and prepared to remove his coat. "Where is ther consarned critter? I'll bark his nose quicker'n a brindle caow kin kick over a pail of milk, by gum!"
Ephraim was in earnest.
"Hold on," said Frank, quickly, "what are you going to do?"
"Fight, by gum!"
"But you can't fight here."
"Why not?"
"You would be arrested and placed in the guard tent."
"Wal, ef a feller can't fight, whut ye makin' all this taowse abaout?"
"You can fight, but not within the limits of the camp. The duel must take place outside."
"Who is this consarned critter that says I've insulted him?"
"Mr. Dunnerwust."
"Wal, ef he wants to fight me, he'll find he never dun er wust thing."
Frank staggered and clutched at his heart.
"Don't!" he gasped. "I'm not particularly weak, but I'm not strong enough to stand many of those."
Ephraim grinned all over his long face.
"Oh, them things come natteral like with me," he said. "I kin reel 'em off by ther yard when I git started. Folks up aour away say I'm ther funniest critter that ever growed in them parts."
"Well, you have agreed to meet Mr. Dunnerwust?"
"Yep."
"The meeting must take place without delay, so there may be daylight enough for its consummation."
"Is that anything good to eat?"
"What?"
"Consummation."
"Not exactly."
"Didn't know but 'twas. Sally Golander up aour way she went to Boston, an' when she kern home she told abaout havin' consummation soup, ur something of that sort. Say, you'd oughter seen that air gal arter she got back from Boston! She put on more style than a prize pig at a caounty fair, by gum! Why, you couldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole! She walked as ef she'd fell daown an' stepped on the small of her back, and she ripped open ther sleeves on ev'ry one of her dresses, an' bought caliker an' stiffenin' an' stuff ter put inter 'em to make 'em swell aout like a blowed-up bladder. I tell you she did cut an amazin' fast pace in aour taown."
"You are wandering from the issue," said Frank. "I presume you will be ready to proceed to the scene of the duel in a few moments?"
"Ready any time."
"All right. Choose your second."
"Whut do you mean by that?"
"You have to have somebody to look out for you and see that you have fair play."
"By chaowder! Ephraim Gallup kin look aout for hisself, an' don't you fergit it!"
"But it is absolutely necessary that you have a second."
"I'll act for Mr. Gallup," said Sammy Smiles. "He may depend on me to stand behind him as long as he stands in front of me."
"You'll do well ez anyboddy."
"All right, Mr. Smiles," said Frank, with a wink at Sammy. "Come aside, and we will make all arrangements."
It did not take long to make arrangements; but, as every one who knew about it was anxious to see the fun, it was not a little difficult for them all to get out of camp without attracting too much attention. There was a strip of woods close by, however, and the boys succeeded in vanishing into this cover one by one, after which they soon hastened to the spot where the encounter between Dunnerwust and Gallup was to take place.
The seconds took good care to have the two principals on hand, and Barney Mulloy was there with the old horse-pistols, which he kept carefully concealed.
Frank took Hans aside and said:
"This affair has assumed a much more serious aspect than seemed possible at first."
"Vos dot Yankee abologized alretty yet?" asked Hans, anxiously.
"Far from it."
The Dutch boy gave a groan of dismay, but stiffened up to say:
"Dot seddles his coose! I knocks uf him der sduffins oudt."
"But he refused to fight that way, and, as he is the challenged party, I was forced to allow him to select the weapons. He chose pistols."
"Bistols?" gasped Hans, turning pale.
"Yes."
"Dot vos murter in der virst degree! I don't meed dot veller mit bistols!"
"But you will have to meet him now. If you refuse, you will be drummed out of school—you will be tarred and feathered."
"Bud I don'd like dot peesness uf sdanding oop to be shod ad mit a pullet oudt uf a bistol. Somepody mighd ged hurt, ain'd id?"
"Oh, there's no danger that you'll get hurt any more than to have a bullet through your head."
"Vot vos dot?" gurgled Hans. "A pullet drough mein headt. Shimminy Gristmas! Uf dot don'd vas pad enough, vot you vant? Oxcuse me!"
"Now, don't show the white feather," urged Frank. "That Yankee has done this to scare you. I don't believe he really thinks you will dare meet him with pistols, and so he is going to make a laughing stock of you."
"Vos dot his game? Vell, I pets you your life he makes der piggest misdake vot he nefer seen."
"That's the stuff! If you brace right up and pretend you are eager to fight with pistols, the chances are ten to one he'll back down before the word is given to fire."
"Vell, uf dot veller don'd dink I vos apout grazy for dot tuel, you can kick me mit der neck in."
Frank saw that he had fixed it all right with Hans, and he wondered what success Sammy Smiles was having with his second.
Sammy was not finding it very easy to convince Ephraim it was his duty to fight a genuine duel with pistols, and he was talking swiftly, for it was past sunset, and would become dark in a very short time.
"I be hanged ef this air ain't ther biggest scrape I was ever in!" gasped the lank country boy, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. "I wish I'd stayed away frum this thunderin' skewl, an' bin contented ter keep right on hoein' 'taturs an' cuttin' grass daown on dad's old farm. Say, ain't ther no way this air matter kin be settled up 'thout shewtin'?"
"It's too late for that now. You have accepted Dutchy's challenge, and you'll have to fight this duel."
"I never was so thunderin' scat in all my life, by gum! My knees don't feel strong enough to hold me up. Haow duz a feller feel when he's goin' ter faint away?"
"Oh, you're not going to faint. That's what the Dutchman's counting on. He wants to scare you out of it. He's even made his boasts that you Yankees haven't any courage, and that you'll run."
"Oh, he has, has he?" grated Ephraim. "Bust his skin!"
"He doesn't believe you'll dare fight him," continued. Sammy, concealing a grin with his hand. "That's what he's counting on. If you put on a bold front, you'll scare him out of his shoes. I'll bet he'll run away before the word is given to fire."
"Think so?" asked the Vermonter, eagerly. "Do ye really?"
"Of course. Look how much more of him there is than there is of you. Why, you'd be sure to hit him the first shot, while he has not one chance in a hundred of hitting you. He has been chuckling over the way your long legs will look when you run away."
"That settles it, by the jumping blizzards! Give me holt of that air hoss-pistil! I'll show him whuther a Yankee'll run ur not, by chaowder!"
"That's the stuff!" complimented the delighted Sammy, reaching up to pat the tall plebe on the back. "Stick to that, and you will scare him into convulsions. You must look as fierce and desperate as you can, so he'll think you are thirsting for his gore."
The preliminaries were soon over, and the valiant duelists were placed facing each other at a distance of fifteen paces. The old pistols, loaded with heavy charges of powder, but minus bullets, were thrust into their hands.