After looking through the baths and the cozy little clubhouse, Bart and Berlin mounted the stairs to the observation cupola of the latter. From this point they could look down on the field or back toward Farnham Hall and Merry Home.
"Truly a most fascinating spot. That's a grand old house of Frank's. Makes me think of the fine old colonial mansions of the South."
"That was Merry's idea in remodeling it," nodded Hodge. "Although born in the North, Frank is a man of the whole country. He's cosmopolitan. He has absorbed the spirit of the South, the East, and the West. He's in every way what you may call a representative American. There's no question about the home atmosphere of those old colonial houses. They make one feel sorry for the dinky, finicky, filigree houses built by most people in these days."
There was a shout from the baseball field below, and, looking down there, they saw several boys scampering round the diamond.
"Somebody made a great hit then," observed Berlin. "It was a homer, and evidently the bases were full."
"That's the regular team at bat," exclaimed Hodge. "It's playing the second team."
"How many teams are there?"
"Four in all, although beyond the second team the other two are not particularly strong. The second team fancies it's as good as the regulars, and it has beaten the regulars once. Let's go down."
A few minutes later they walked onto the field, where a hot dispute seemed to be taking place. Guy Featherstone, the pitcher of the second team, was furiously arguing with the umpire, who threatened to put him out of the game.
"Put me out! put me out!" dared Feather. "You're robbing us, anyhow! You're giving Sparkfair's bunch everything! You passed Bemis when I had him fairly struck out, and that gave Sparkfair a chance to make that hit. Before that we had three to one and were trimming them in great shape. Now they're two runs ahead of us. I suppose you've fixed it up with Spark. He's bound to win, if he has to make a deal with the umpire to do it."
Dale Sparkfair, a handsome lad with blue eyes, broke into a merry laugh.
"Featherstone, your head is as light as the front part of your name and as thick as the rear end of it," he declared. "You know I'm not given to making deals with umpires. All I ever ask for is a square show, and I'll have that or take to the warpath."
"Well, what do I get, what do I get?" snarled Feather, showing his teeth. "You can't bully everybody, Dale Sparkfair! I demand a square show myself. I can tell when I strike a man out. I put the third strike over fairly, and Bemis never wiggled at it. Kilgore called it a ball and filled the bases."
The umpire was a boy with a queer, crooked mouth, one corner of which twisted up while the other drooped.
"You seem to think everybody's crooked, Featherstone," he said angrily. "I'm not umpiring this game for fun, but because you—you asked me to."
"I didn't suppose you were another of Sparkfair's sycophants!" flung back Featherstone. "You're as crooked as your mouth!"
An instant later, had not Sparkfair and others held them apart, Kilgore would have struck Featherstone.
"Stop where you are, both of you!" commanded Dale sternly. "We'll have no fighting here on this field."
"He'll have to swallow his words, or I'll punch him for them!"
"I'll play no further with that fellow umpiring!" declared Featherstone. "I am going to stop right here, and I think some of the rest feel the same. Come on, boys, let's quit."
"The quitters will quit," came from Sparkfair; "but I don't believe there are many quitters here, Feather."
Guy walked out and called for his men to follow him off the field.
"I'm with you," said one of them. "I think you're right, Feather, and I'm done."
"Yes, take Booby along with you, Feather," said Dale. "I thought likely he might hoist the white flag."
"We'll stop the game!" sneered Featherstone. "The team can't play without us. Kilgore can forfeit to you, and you may feel as proud as you like over your victory."
"Perhaps we'll be able to pick up a pitcher and a second baseman to fill the vacancies," said Sparkfair, looking around. "Who'll volunteer? Any one will do. We want to finish out this practice game."
"Come, Carson," urged Hodge, "let's you and I go into that game. I'll pitch, and you play second."
"I'm all out of practice," said Berlin.
"And I'm not a pitcher, you know," reminded Hodge. "We can limber up and have some amusement, anyhow."
He offered their services, and his offer was promptly accepted by the second team, not a little to the dissatisfaction and dismay of Featherstone.
"I'm the captain of that team," cried Guy, "and I order it off the field!"
Bart walked up to the angry boy, placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked straight into his eyes.
"I'm afraid you're just what Sparkfair has called you, my son—a quitter," said Hodge, in a low tone."The rest of the boys are going to play. You and your friend had better run over to the Hall. Trot along, now."
Muttering and growling, Featherstone turned away.
Hodge and Carson removed their coats, vests, collars, and neckties, and prepared for business.
"How does the game stand?" asked Bart, as he walked out to the pitcher's position.
"Score is five to three against you, and this is the sixth inning," answered Sparkfair. "You have your last turn at bat."
"How many men out?"
"Two."
"Come here, catcher," invited Bart. "I'll have to know your signals."
Walter Shackleton hurried to meet Hodge and explained his system of signals. Bart listened and nodded.
"Give me a few minutes to get the kinks out of my arm, Sparkfair?" he asked, as he again resumed the position at the pitching plate.
"Sure, sure," smiled Dale. "Go ahead and unbend your wing."
Hodge threw a dozen balls to Brooks at first. Then, with Lander, the next batter, standing back, he sent two or three over the plate to Shackleton.
"All right," he finally nodded.
"Play!" called Kilgore.
Jake Lander stepped into the batter's box and smashed the first ball pitched by Bart. He drove it whizzing past Hodge, who did not have time to touch it.
Carson trapped it cleanly, scooped it up, and threw it to Higgins at first.
"Out!" shouted Kilgore.
"Great support, Berlin, old boy!" laughed Bart, as the second team trotted in, and Sparkfair's nine took the field.
"Now we want to take a little fire out of this bright Spark, boys," said Bart. "We need a couple of runs right off the reel. Who's the first hitter?"
"I am," answered Sam Higgins.
"What's your position on the list?"
"Third."
"All right. Play your own game."
Higgins stepped out and swiped rather wildly at the first two balls, missing them both.
"Make him get it over, my boy!" urged Bart.
With Sam anxious to hit, Sparkfair did his best to "pull" him on wide ones, but Higgins let them pass, and three balls were called.
"Now you have him where you want him," came from Hodge. "If he doesn't cut the pan, you will saunter."
Sparkfair attempted to cut the pan with a swift one, but Higgins hit it. It was a hot grounder to Netterby, who fumbled it long enough for Hungry Sam to arrive at first in safety.
Tommy Chuckleson and Sam Scrogg were on the coaching lines.
"We're off again!" shouted Scrogg.
"Off again, on again, gone again!" piped Chuckleson. "It's up to you, Balloon! Don't take an ascension!"
Abe Bunderson, nicknamed "Balloon," was the next man to strike. Ere he left the bench, Hodge whispered in his ear:
"Bunt, my boy. You know what Joe Crowfoot can do throwing. Higgins can't steal. Sacrifice him to second."
Balloon nodded.
He obeyed instructions, bunting rather awkwardly, yet skillfully, and sacrificing himself at first, while Higgins took second.
"Hodge next!" called the scorer.
"You're up against it now, Sparkfair," came from Lawrence Graves, as Bart stood forth to the plate.
"I'm scared to death!" laughed Dale. "See me tremble! See me vibrate!"
The infielders crept in for a bunt, while Sparkfair pitched a swift, high ball.
Hodge attempted to drop the ball just inside the first-base line, but made a foul tip, and the sphere plunked into young Joe Crowfoot's mitt.
"Don't pick 'em right off the bat, Joseph," remonstrated Bart. "If you get so close, you'll catch the ball before I have time to hit it."
The Indian boy smiled grimly.
"Mebbe that keep you from tying score," he said.
Sparkfair worked cautiously with Hodge, and, as a result, two balls were called after this first strike.
"Walking is easier than running, Spark," reminded Bart.
"Then I think I'll let you chase," said Dale. "I hope you chase the ball instead of chasing round the bases."
Hodge was watching Dale's every movement. He saw Sparkfair hold the ball, covered by his hands, close to his mouth. Evidently the pitcher intended to use the spit ball. Nevertheless, something warned Bart that Dale had turned the ball over and grasped the dry side. His pretense of trying a spit ball was all a bluff.
Whiz! The ball came whistling from Spark's fingers.
Crack! Hodge met it fairly on the trade-mark.
Away, away, away sailed the sphere, passing far over the head of Thad Barking, the center fielder, who had turned and was running as fast as his legs would carry him.
Guy Featherstone and Booby Walker had paused at a distance to watch the game a few moments.
Featherstone uttered a furious exclamation of anger.
"I'm glad he hit that ball, and yet it makes me mad!" he grated. "I might have done the same myself. Just look at that—just look at it! It's a home run! It ties the score!"
He was right.
Sparkfair sat down on the pitcher's plate and watched Hodge circling the bases.
"Hereafter," he observed, with a doleful grin, "I'll put my fielders over in the next county when you come to bat."
Bart's hit reminded Dale of Dick Merriwell's first appearance at Fardale. He recalled the fact that Dick had come to bat in the ninth inning, with two men out, the bases full, and three runs needed to tie the score. Merriwell managed to connect with the ball after two strikes had been called. He drove it far over Barking's head, clearing the sacks and coming home himself, thus winning the game by a single run.
That recollection was decidedly unpleasant to Spark.
"If I get to ruminating on such things, I'll spring a leak and weep real tears," he muttered, as he rose to his feet.
From the distance, Guy Featherstone shouted:
"Yah! yah! You're not so much, Sparkfair! You're pie for a real batter!"
With this parting taunt, Feather took Booby Walker's arm and led him away, both disappearing into the bathhouse.
Tommy Chuckleson was the next hitter to face Dale. "Why can't I do something like that?" exclaimed Chuck. "If I could ever hit the ball hard enough, you'd see me making a record round the bases!"
"Just set a few mice after you and you'd make a record, all right," laughed Dale, in return.
Then he proceeded to strike Tommy out in short order.
Lawrence Graves, his face as expressionless as a doormat, came up and batted a weak one into the diamond, being thrown out with ease.
The sixth inning ended, with the score tied.
Hedge returned to the pitcher's slab.
"We're going to trim you to-day, Spark," asserted Walter Shackleton, as he crouched froglike behind the bat. "There are no quitters on the team now."
"Don't alarm me—please don't!" implored Dale. "It's most unkind, Shack."
Fred Hollis was the first one up. He batted a grounder through Bubbs and reached second. Then came Brooks, who romped to first on an error by Netterby, although Hollis was held at second.
"Joseph," said Hodge, as young Joe Crowfoot stepped out, "I know your noble grandsire, and for his sake I'm not going to work you very hard to-day. I'll let you go right back to the bench in a moment."
"Mebbe so," muttered young Joe. "We see."
Then he picked out a good one and lifted a long fly into the field.
"Hold your bases! hold your bases!" shouted the coachers at Hollis and Brooks.
Bunderson, really looking something like a balloon with his round body, made a hot run for the ball and pulled it down close to the foul flag.
A moment before the ball struck in the fielder's hands both coachers shrieked:
"Run!"
Even as the ball landed in Bunderson's grasp Hollis and Brooks were off.
Abe lost a little time in turning to throw toward second. This lost time enabled Brooks to reach the sack safely, while Hollis landed on third.
Crowfoot skipped down to first, hoping his fly might not be caught, but he turned back in disappointment.
"I told you I'd let you rest, Joseph, my boy," said Bart.
"You near make bad mistake," retorted the young redskin. "You near guess wrong that time."
"I confess it," nodded Hodge. "You gave me a heart throb when you smashed the sphere."
"We need these runs, Barking!" called Sparkfair, as the next batter walked out.
"It's a deuced poor game, don't you know," said Barking. "I'm really getting sore on it, by Jove! I wish they would take up cricket. Mr. Merriwell ought to introduce some good English game into this school."
"Hello!" said Hodge; "here's a pickle from Piccadilly. Here's a blooming Britisher—in his mind. What are you going to do to me, Johnny Bull?"
Barking was actually flattered. He enjoyed being mistaken for an Englishman.
"Aw," he drawled, "it's such a blooming bother to run bases. I rawther think I'll walk, don't you know."
He did. In spite of Bart's best efforts Thad waited undisturbed and was finally passed to first on four balls.
"If I had my hat with me, I'd take it off to you, Johnny Bull," said Hodge. "You're clever—altogether too clever for us poor unsophisticated Yanks. How long have you been over?"
"How long has he been over?" sneered Sim Scrogg from third. "Why, he never saw the Atlantic Ocean. He was born inland, and he has never yet been two hundred miles away from home."
"Play ball, fellows—play ball!" cried Sparkfair. "The sacks are charged! The pillows are peopled! Only one out! Now's our time to settle this game! The new pitcher is a mark! Bump him, Bubbs!"
Little Bob Bubbs was a clever hitter, and he connected with the ball all right this time. He smashed it out on a line, and the crack of ball and bat was followed almost instantly by the smack of ball and mitt as Hodge pulled the sphere down with his left hand.
Without losing a moment to transfer the ball from the left hand to his right, Bart snapped it over to Scrogg at third, catching Hollis off the sack, and completing a breathless double play.
For an instant the regulars seemed dazed. For once in his life Sparkfair could not find appropriate words, and, silently shaking his head, he started for the pitcher's position.
"Ho! ho! ho!" rumbled Sam Higgins, as he lumbered in from first. "Just fooling with you, that's all! Just getting your courage up to take some of the swelling out of your heads!"
At bat Slick now faced Sparkfair. Oliver pulled his cap down hard on his well-oiled hair, smiled a greasy smile, and then struck out.
Carson was the next man.
"I don't believe I can hit a balloon," he muttered to Bart, ere leaving the bench. "I'm all out of practice, you know."
"You didn't appear very rusty at the start off," said Bart.
Berlin walked out, fouled the ball twice, and then lined it into left for two bags.
"Oh, yes, you're all out of practice!" laughed Bart. "You can't hit a bit, Carson!"
He was glad to see Berlin laughing on second.
"The old game's making him forget his troubles,"thought Hodge. "That's the main reason why I wanted him to play."
"These back numbers seem to be onto your curves, Dale!" cried Bob Bubbs.
"Don't rub it in—please don't!" implored Sparkfair. "The way they slam me is simply awful! I did think I could pitch a little, but I'm afraid I was deceived."
He knew Scrogg's weakness, however, and, forced Sim to put up an easy infield fly, which Hollis handled.
Shackleton batted one into right field, and Carson attempted to reach home on it.
Sleepy Jake Lander was very wide awake, and he made a line throw to the plate.
Regardless of the fact that he was not in playing uniform, Carson slid. Crowfoot was there, however, and he promptly tagged Berlin. Kilgore declared it a put-out.
Hodge laughed at Carson and slapped him on the shoulder.
"These kids know how to play the game, old boy," he said. "We mustn't forget that Frank Merriwell is their instructor and coach."
Carson joined in the laugh.
"I thought I had that score recorded on the score sheet," he confessed.
In the eighth, with one out and the bases full, Brooks drove in a run.
Two men attempted to score, however, and the second runner was put out at the plate. A moment later another man was caught off his sack, making the third out.
But the regulars had the lead.
"As a pitcher I don't seem to be a howling success," laughed Hodge. "I thought they were going to make half a dozen that trip."
"We've got to get some now," said Carson. "If we don't I see our finish."
"There's another inning. We come to bat last."
"But we can't depend on winning out in the last of the ninth."
"That's right; we do need runs."
Once more Sam Higgins was up to lead off, and Bart spoke a few words of instruction in Sam's ear.
Higgins picked out an opening in the infield and drove a ball through it.
Bunderson bunted once more and was safe on Bubbs' bad throw to first.
"Look out, Spark—look out!" cried the boys. "Here comes Hodge again!"
Sparkfair used all his skill to deceive Bart, and the boy's shoots and curves were indeed enigmas. Hodge could not solve them, and a great shout went up from the boys as Dale finally struck him out.
Chuckleson lifted a foul that dropped into Shackleton's mitt.
"Two gone, Spark—two gone!" barked Bubbs. "Now you can hold 'em!"
Hodge whispered instructions to Graves. Graves walked out, held his bat on his shoulder, and stood like a post while Dale pitched. Somehow the very fact that Lawrence seemed so utterly unconcerned appeared to rattle Dale, who finally passed him to first, filling the bases.
"Too bad Slick is next," muttered Scrogg, as Oliver took his turn at bat.
Slick drove a sharp grounder at Netterby, who booted it into the diamond, and a run came in before the ball could be recovered.
Oliver was safe on first, and the sacks were still full.
The score was tied once more. Carson walked out and laced out a handsome single, which brought in two runs.
"How Featherstone would rejoice had he lingered!" muttered Sparkfair. "They're getting away with this game. I must stop it—I will!"
In spite of this determination, another error let in still another run, and Sim Scrogg reached first.
At last Sparkfair found a victim, and Shackleton fanned.
Still, to most of the boys the game seemed lost, for the second team had a lead of three runs.
"It's our last chance, fellows," said Dale gravely."No fooling now. No sacrificing. We've got to hit the ball."
Barely had he uttered these words when an inspiration came to him. He called his players about him.
"Fellows," he said, "neither Scrogg nor Higgins are swift in handling bunts. We won't try sacrificing, but we'll try bunting, with the idea of bothering them. Don't bunt the ball where Hodge can handle it. Drop it toward first or third. Lead off, Crowfoot."
Young Joe stepped out and bunted handsomely, dropping his bat and scooting down the base line like a flash. Scrogg was seconds too late in securing the ball and sending it to Higgins. Crowfoot was safe.
Thad Barking followed with an equally successful bunt.
Hodge called Higgins and Scrogg in a bit.
"Look out for those tricks," he warned.
Bubbs glanced toward Sparkfair inquiringly. Dale nodded.
Bubbs followed with the third bunt, while Crowfoot and Barking moved up. Nevertheless, Scrogg managed to secure the ball and throw Towser out.
Netterby attempted to bunt, but popped up a little fly to Hodge and followed Bubbs to the bench.
"I rather guess it's all over," said Higgins. "The bunting game didn't work."
Bemis looked doubtful, but Sparkfair still held tohis instructions. Hiram obeyed and laid down a bunt on the line toward first.
Unseen by any one, Scrogg hooked his fingers into Crowfoot's belt and held him at third. The Indian boy was angry and came near hitting Sim.
Hodge secured the ball too late to throw Bemis out, and the sacks were full once more. Crowfoot appealed to Kilgore, but the umpire had not seen Scrogg's trick and refused to penalize the second team on that account.
Sparkfair was given a hand as he walked out to the plate. Once more Dale thought of Dick Merriwell's feat on his first appearance at Fardale. The situation was nearly the same. Two men were out, the bases were full, three runs were needed to tie the score, and four to win.
"You'll have to check them, Bart," said Carson.
Hodge did his best with Sparkfair, and it began to look as if he would succeed in striking Dale out, for Spark missed two benders.
But Dale did not strike out. He finally found a ball that suited him and "found it good." It was a duplicate of Hodge's drive over center field. The regulars whooped with joy as runner after runner came galloping over the plate. They yelled like Indians as Sparkfair tore round the bases and came in from third. Four runs were secured, and once more the first team, had a lead of one tally.
"That's where you got even with me, Sparkfair!" called Hodge.
"I had to do it," laughed Dale. "You struck me out before."
With the sacks cleared, Hodge seemed invincible, for he quickly settled Lander's hash.
The game was not over, for the second team had another chance. Nevertheless, Sparkfair was at his best, and the three batters who faced him went down, one after another.
Hodge was the first to congratulate Spark.
"You're a good man in an emergency, and such men win games," he said.
"Thanks," smiled Dale. "Don't mind my blushes. I simply love to blush."
In truth, the game had livened Carson up and taken his thoughts from unpleasant things.
The remainder of the afternoon was fully occupied, for Merry showed Berlin through the buildings and explained the methods of the school.
At dinner Carson seemed much brighter and joined in the talk and laughter. After dinner he accompanied Frank and Inza to see the baby. Little Frank was sound asleep, and one of the maids was watching over him.
"Where's Lizette, Maggie?" asked Inza.
"Th' poor crather do have a headache," answered Maggie. "She axed me would Oi look afther th' choild whoile she rested a bit."
"A headache? That's strange. Lizette has told me she never had an ache or a pain in all her life."
"Did yez notice, ma'am, if she touched wood whin she said it?" asked Maggie.
"I didn't notice."
"Thot's it, thot's it," declared the maid, with conviction. "Oi'm not superstitious, but Oi nivver brag about mesilf thot Oi don't touch wood. Mark me worruds, whin a person boasts and fergits to touchwood, something happens to thot person. I nivver knew it to fail."
"A fine baby, Frank," said Berlin, as he stood looking at the child. "You ought to be proud of him."
"No peacock was ever prouder," laughed Merry. "We hope to make a star of him, eh, Inza?"
"Oh, the star—the birthmark!" exclaimed Inza. "Can't you show it to Mr. Carson without waking the baby, Maggie?"
"Oi kin try, ma'am."
The maid gently slipped the clothes from the baby's left shoulder and revealed the tiny, perfectly formed pink star.
"Wonderful! wonderful!" declared Berlin. "Why, one would think it stamped there. I never saw anything so perfect in all my life. Frank, Inza, that child is marked for something great."
"Let us hope you're right," said Merry.
That night, after retiring to his room, Carson sat a long time at the open window, gazing out through the whispering trees toward the fall moon that was rising in the east. The old feeling of sadness and disappointment stole over him and gave him a sensation of uncontrollable loneliness in the world.
"I suppose I was mistaken about Lizette," he finally muttered. "I shall be able to tell when I see her again. I hoped to see her when they took me to look at thebaby. Rather strange she wasn't there. Still, I presume it's true that she had a headache."
Finally he undressed, donned his pajamas, and got into bed.
Sleep did not come readily at his command. His brain was busy with many thoughts. He recalled the old days at college, when he first met Frank Merriwell. In those happy days ere meeting Bessie he was heart-free and care-free. It seemed so long ago—so long ago. It was something like a dream. Dimly he recalled the classroom, the campus, and the field. He saw his youthful comrades gathering about him at the old fence in the dusk of a soft spring evening. He heard their light talk and careless laughter. He heard them singing beneath the windows of the dormitories. He heard them cheering on the field as Old Eli battled for baseball honors or struggled to win new gridiron glory.
Ah, those were happy days, Carson, my boy! They were the happiest you have ever known. You did not appreciate those glorious days as they were passing, but you appreciate them now, and the memory is a precious one. Can such happy days as those ever again be yours?
Then he recalled old times on the ranch. He thrilled as he remembered his first meeting with dark-eyed Bessie. How she had bewitched him! How she had puzzled and fascinated him! At the very first he had felther fascination dangerous, yet it was so delightful that he did not mind the danger.
Thinking of Bessie, he finally fell asleep and dreamed of her. On the bed he tossed restlessly, murmuring her name. He seemed to see her near at hand, yet gliding away before him as he vainly sought to overtake her. She turned her bewitching face and smiled at him alluringly. Desperately he strove to reach her, but always she kept just beyond his grasp. Yet she beckoned him on with her smile and with her hypnotic eyes. Finally, in mad desperation, he made one last great leap and seized her. He had her now! She was his! She could not get away! In that moment of triumph a marvelous metamorphosis took place, and as his arm bound her to his side he beheld her transformed into a boy. She was no longer Bessie, but young Tom King, reckless, taunting, derisive, and mocking.
In that mysterious way of dreams, he now beheld himself gazing down upon a dying man, who lay stretched upon the ground, a bullet having passed through his body. He knew the man. It was Colonel King, the cattle rustler, who had carried on his criminal work disguised as Laramie Dave. There were other men standing about—armed men. The sheriff was there with his posse. At last, through the revelation and information furnished by Frank Merriwell, this cattle stealer had been captured and shot. Andnow he was gasping his life away, and soon his stain-spotted soul would stand naked before the judgment bar above.
Through his dream—if dream it was—a voice sounded, cutting him to the heart. That voice cried, "You have killed him, you devils!" Then young Tom King threw himself on his father's prostrate body, weeping bitterly. Carson attempted to lift the boy, but once more before his eyes a change took place, and Tom King became Lizette, the French nurse.
He awoke, shaking in every limb, with cold perspiration on his face.
"Did I dream," he hoarsely muttered, "or did I live the past over again?"
There was no more sleep for him. He rose and went to the window. The cool night beckoned to him. The soft moon smiled at him. The whispering leaves said, "Come out, come out."
Carson dressed, softly descended the stairs, and left the house.
He filled his lungs and stretched his arms. The moon had mounted into the eastern sky, and there were deep shadows beneath the trees. The restless young man walked amid those shadows.
Suddenly he paused, startled by the sound of voices. Near at hand two persons were talking. One voice, hoarse, harsh, suppressed, was that of a man. The other was a woman's voice.
"What does it mean?" thought Carson. "Who is here at this hour? I must know—I'll investigate."
Cautiously he stole forward, keeping deep within the shadows. He had not proceeded far before these words, spoken by the woman, came distinctly to his ears:
"I cannot—I will not do it!"
An instant later a shadowy figure came rustling toward him. It was the woman, and she was right upon him ere she discovered the silent man who stood there beneath the trees. With a little gasp, she turned and fled on. A patch of moonlight, shimmering through the branches, had shown him her face.
The face of Lizette!
His first impulse was to follow her. Then he stopped and stood waiting for the man. The man did not come.
"Where is he? who is he?" speculated Berlin.
After a time Carson turned toward the house.
"She's in her room long ere this," he thought.
But close by the wall a shadow lingered, and, as he approached, this shadow suddenly moved forward and confronted him.
"What is it you do here?" demanded the voice of Lizette. "I know you see me. I know you hear sometheeng. Why you watch me?Mon Dieu!would you hurt a poor girl?"
Carson took a firm grip on himself and was deliberate in speaking.
"Why should I wish to hurt you?" he asked. "You have done no harm, have you?"
"Oh, no, no, no! I haf done notheeng!"
"Then why do you fear?"
"You watch me. You follaire me."
"If you have done nothing wrong, you need not fear to be watched."
"But it is not honerable to play ze spy on a girl."
"I did not do so intentionally. I could not sleep,and I came out here to get the air. It was wholly by chance that I ran across you. Who was with you?"
"No one, monsieur."
"Tell me the truth," commanded Berlin, still in that calm, deliberate tone.
"It is ze truth."
"Think again. You place me in the awkward position of contradicting a lady. You were talking with a man."
"No."
"But I heard him."
"What deed you hear?" she fiercely demanded, as she clutched his arm. "Tell me what deed you hear heem say?"
"Then you acknowledge there was a man?"
"Oh, what is ze use to deny!Oui,oui, zere was ze man!"
"Who is he?"
"Perhap maybe he is my lovaire. Perhap he has promised me to marry."
For one instant Berlin seemed on the point of losing all his assumed self-control. His hands shook, and he made a move as if he would seize her roughly. He checked this movement just in time.
"Your lover, eh?" he said. "Well, what sort of a lover is he who meets you in this sort of a manner at night? Why doesn't he see you like a man, instead of sneaking around this way? Your lover, girl?What right have you to have a lover other than myself? You call yourself Lizette, and you speak with an accent, but I know you are Bessie King. I did think I might be mistaken, but now I'm positive there is no mistake. I am right. You are Bessie!"
She threw back her head and laughed softly.
"I hear ze madame say you are not well, monsieur," she said. "I theenk ze madame is right. It must be een your head. I am vary, vary sorree for you. You should not become so much excited."
"I knew you were a wonderful actress, Bessie, but you astonish me still. When you lived on the Flying Dollars Ranch you took delight in acting a part."
"What is ze Flying Dollairs Ranch?"
He paid no heed to the question.
"Yes, you were a great actress even then," he went on. "Colonel King had a beautiful daughter, and he was supposed to have a son—a harum-scarum, reckless lad, who went galloping over the ranges with the cowboys, roped cattle, took part in round-ups, and did all sorts of things like that. This boy was known as Tom King. Colonel King's foreman, Injun Jack, had a grudge against Frank Merriwell and swore to kill him. He found his opportunity and attempted to shoot Merriwell. In order to save Merriwell's life young Tom King shot Injun Jack. It was thought that Jack had been instantly killed. But while Colonel King lay dying a few hours later and Tom King wasweeping over his father, Injun Jack appeared and made a revelation that astounded every one. The boy who had been known by that name was Bessie King, the colonel's daughter. You are that girl."
Again Lizette tried to force a laugh.
"It is so strange a crazee notion," she said.
"Why keep it up?" demanded Berlin. "You must realize you cannot fool me, even though, by the change in your appearance, by doing your hair in a peculiar manner, penciling your eyebrows and staining your skin, you have deceived Merriwell himself. He did not know you as I knew you. Look at me, Bessie. Have your eyes shown you no change in me? Have you not seen how altered I have become since your disappearance? I never knew how much I loved you until you had vanished and I could not find you. I have searched everywhere, and every hour since your vanishing has been an hour of restless torture for me. It seems to me that I loved you, Bessie, as no man ever loved a girl before. You gave me no opportunity to declare my love, but I declare it now. It's as strong as it was then—and stronger. I swore I would find you some time. I vowed you should be mine. I have found you, and I intend to keep that vow. What's this, little girl—you're weeping? You won't deny me longer? You are Bessie—Bessie, my own!"
"Yes," she answered chokingly, "I am Bessie!"
It was the truth at last. His heart leaped madly. But when he reached for her she started back.
"Don't touch me!" came huskily from her lips. "You must not!"
"Mustn't?"
"No."
"Why, Bessie, I still——"
"You can't forget that I am the child of a cattle thief—a criminal!"
"That's not your fault, little girl. I can forget it. I have forgotten it."
"It's impossible," she declared, shaking her head.
"Such talk is folly, Bessie. Your father's misdeeds should not blight your life. I will not have it so! You were innocent."
She turned her face toward him, and those wonderful dark eyes looked sadly into his. There were tears trembling on the long lashes.
"You know I'm not foolish, Berlin Carson," she said, in a strangely hardened tone. "In the old days on the ranch I was no soft-hearted, light-headed girl."
"You were the most bewitching and fascinatingcreature the Colorado sun ever shone upon. There was always a mystery about you, and it bound me with a magic spell. The years since I saw you last have made that spell more potent and powerful."
"Still, I'm the daughter of a man who rustled cattle. He did not rustle them in the good old-fashioned way. Instead of that, he stole them after the manner that a sneak thief picks a pocket. He did his work by altering the brands. He posed as another man. He sought to lay all the blame on the shoulders of Laramie Dave, a known rustler."
"Why talk of that, Bessie?"
"I lived on the Flying Dollars Ranch. Dressed as a boy, I rode the range with my father's cattlemen, who helped him rustle. Do you think I knew nothing of what was taking place? Do you think I was silly enough and soft enough to be deceived? You must understand that I knew my father was a criminal."
Carson shivered a little, but it was not because of the cool night air. In all the weeks and months since her vanishing, in all his thoughts of her, this thing had never occurred to him. He had regarded her as the innocent, unfortunate daughter of a bad man.
Now, however, he sought an excuse for her.
"He was your father, and you had to protect him. You could not betray your own father. You must have suffered."
"You're too kind, too generous," she hoarsely explained. "It was no effort on my part to keep his secret. I knew what business he followed long years before I ever saw you. I knew it long before he purchased the Flying Dollars. Down in Texas he was a rustler, but, unlike other rustlers, he did not squander his money. He saved it and sent me to school. In a boarding school I was regarded as the daughter of a wealthy ranchman. I was popular with my girl schoolmates. No one of them ever suspected that my father was a cattle thief and that I knew it."
"For Heaven's sake, stop!" commanded Carson. "Don't seek to degrade yourself in my eyes! Don't try to turn me against you in this manner!"
"I'm simply telling you the truth, Berlin Carson. Do you wonder why I vanished after my father's death? Do you wonder why I never faced you again? You knew a part of the miserable truth. Had I been compelled to see you again, I knew I would tell you all, and I likewise knew what that meant."
"What it meant?"
"Yes."
"You thought——"
"I knew it would shock you beyond words. I knew the effect it must have upon you. I could not bring myself to meet you, well knowing that you would shudder and shrink from me."
He lifted his hand.
"No, no, never!" he declared. "You were wrong, Bessie. You were frightfully mistaken. The trouble was that you did not understand me—you did not know me."
"It cannot be that you——"
"I should have pitied you, and I should have loved you all the more, even as I do now," he asserted. "Why not? It was not your fault that your father was a criminal. Of course you had to keep his secret. It was a cruel fate that placed you in such a position."
"Wait a little longer," she urged. "You must know the truth, every bit of it. I admired my father. I loved the danger and the thrill of that wild life. Not only did I know what he did, but more than once, in the darkness of night, I aided him and his men in their work. I was dressed as a boy, and only Injun Jack and my father knew I was not a boy. Now you know what sort of girl you have fancied you loved. I mingled with those men, those desperadoes, who were profane as pirates—who were, in a sense, the pirates of the great plains. A fine life for an innocent girl! Have you forgotten that my hands are stained with human blood? Have you forgotten it was my bullet that killed Injun Jack?"
"That was one of the bravest deeds of your life. Only for that, Frank Merriwell would be dead. Only for your nerve and bravery in shooting that ruffian, one of God's grandest men would have been murdered in cold blood. Since my college days I have loved and admired him above all other men. When you saved his life by taking another worthless life you did a noble deed. Had you not fled, I would have married you at the earliest possible moment. I am ready now, Bessie."
Still it seemed impossible for her to believe. She put out her hand toward the near-by wall of the house, as if seeking support. When he offered to give her that support, she continued to hold him at bay.
"You're a noble boy, Berlin," she whispered. "You will make a noble husband for some girl."
"For you."
"No, not for me."
"Then you do not love me! You never loved me!" he panted. "You were toying with me! You were deceiving me! It was a part of your amusement! You knew you had fascinated me and bewitched me, and it gave you pleasure to toy with me! Ah, this hurts more than everything else!"
"I did care for you," she asserted faintly.
"You did care—in a way, perhaps."
"You never told me that you loved me."
"Because you would not give me a chance. I never told you in words, but my eyes told you so a hundred times."
"I've seen others who talked with their eyes and kept silent with their lips."
"And you thought me like them?"
"Well—no. You were different; I acknowledge that."
"But you thought me fit only to flirt with. That was it. You took delight in arousing the fire in my heart that you might see it glowing from my eyes. You're like them all. They love to play with fire. They love to lead a man on and then throw him down. But I didn't think you just like every other girl. I thought you different."
"You have learned that I was different, but in a way you did not suspect."
"Then you confess you were toying with me, deceiving me?" he bitterly exclaimed.
A little while before she had sought to turn him against her by telling all the truth. When that effort failed and he suddenly accused her in this manner, she had fancied she saw the way to accomplish her purpose with a falsehood. But now that she was face to face with it she faltered and could not lie.
"I tell you I did care for you—I cared for you more than words may express. My fear in those days—and it was the only fear I had ever known—was that you would learn the truth about me and despise me. Do you remember the day that you brought Frank Merriwell to the Flying Dollars? Do you remember that you were left alone in the little library and in a book you found some verse I had written? I used to write poetry in those days. Those verses were entitled 'My Secret.' I was angry when I found you had read them, and I tore them up. I can quote the first stanza."
In a low musical voice she repeated the following lines: