CHAPTER XXI.SOLVING THE MYSTERY.

“Fellows,” growled Jack Ready, “we’ve got to retake that fence if we do it with the aid of Gatling guns! I am willing to shed my heart’s blood, but I am not willing to listen to the insulting howling of those freshies.”

But the sophomores were sore and discouraged. The heart and life had been taken out of them. They had lost confidence in Ready and Bingham. They had lost confidence in themselves. They remembered with terror the stalking wonder of the freshmen, the new leader, Rolf Boltwood.

“That’s all right to say,” muttered one; “but we’re no match for them as long as they have that fellow.”

“And that fellow should be safe under lock and key now!” growled Bingham, rubbing his lame shoulder.

Jack Ready begged them to follow him. Do it then, he urged, and they might take the freshmen by surprise. The freshmen thought they had driven them off for good and all. But it is not at all certain he could have induced them to follow him had not Frank Merriwell suddenly appeared and put in a word.

“You fellows will never hear the last of it if you let the freshmen keep your fence,” he said. “You can’t dothat, and you know it. Try a rush, locked together, and see if you can’t sweep them back. Go at them in earnest while they are singing and whooping over their triumph.”

“If we had you for a leader,” said some one. “If you would meet that holy terror Boltwood.”

“Oh, he’s a mark!” said Frank. “Anybody can handle that chap.”

“My, my!” murmured Ready. “How wise you are! Bet a cabbage you can’t handle him so easy!”

Frank laughed.

“I’m ashamed of you, Ready,” he said. “He’s no athlete.”

“Maybe not,” growled Bingham; “but he’s the devil let loose!”

But Frank led the sophomores into forming quietly and quickly for a rush. When they were ready, Frank saw that they started and got under way without any yelling to give the freshmen warning that they were coming.

Thus it happened that the first the freshmen knew the sophomores were sweeping down on them in a compact mass, ready to make another fierce struggle. Starbright and Morgan cried for the freshmen to fall in and get ready to meet the rush, but there was not enough time to prepare properly before the rushers were on them.

Somehow, Boltwood had disappeared. This hadbeen noticed a short time before, and now they called to him in vain. He was not there to give them courage to withstand that furious rush of the sophs.

The sophomores plowed into the freshmen in an irresistible surge, and they could not be checked. As they found the freshmen melting before them, their spirits rose and they grew fiercer and more determined. The result was that the freshmen were swept away like chaff, and the sophomores retook the fence with so little trouble that they were almost bewildered.

“Where is Boltwood?” was the question asked on all sides as the freshmen were put to rout.

“He’s sneaked!” declared somebody resentfully. “He’s a coward, anyhow. It was only when excited that he had any courage. The moment the excitement was over, his courage left him and he got out of the way.”

But neither Starbright nor Morgan made any such remark. Both of them knew what had become of Boltwood, and they held their peace.

Some of the freshmen were for making another attempt to recapture the fence, but the most of them had had enough and were well satisfied. They had defeated the sophs in the pass and captured and held the fence for a while, which was glory indeed, and that seemed sufficient. So they began to disperse at once, and to the sophomores was left the satisfaction of holding what was their own.

As soon as it was seen that the rioting was over for the night, the students betook themselves to other parts. The sophomores lingered the longest at their fence, growling over what had happened. Jack Ready found himself regarded with considerable disfavor, many seeming to think he should have foreseen the trick at the pass and been prepared for it.

“Alas!” he sighed. “I did foresee it to the extent of capturing that devil Boltwood, but somehow he broke forth, or fifth, from his dungeon cell, and was right in the midst of the prayer-meeting.”

“But where did he go to?” growled Bingham. “He disappeared mighty suddenly.”

“That was strange,” put in Carker.

“Strange!” exploded Ready. “Will you tell me something that happened to-night that was not strange? This poet works in wondrous ways his marvels to perform. I’ll never get over it. Think of being held up for ridicule by a wall-eyed he-goat like that! Yow!”

“And he slammed me round as if I never cost a cent in my life,” said Bingham.

“He had the strength of—of——” began Carker.

“An earthquake,” finished Ready.

“Let’s shake the earthquake for a while,” begged Greg.

“We look as if it had shaken us,” muttered Bingham.

“There’s a mystery about that man Boltwood,” declared the sophomore socialist.

“I believe you!” grunted the big man.

“Where did he get those muscles?” demanded Greg.

“That’s what I’d like to have you explain,” said Ready.

“I’m another,” nodded Bing, rubbing his lame shoulder.

“No man ever gets strength like that unless he trains for it,” persisted Carker.

“You’re right,” agreed Bingham.

“Well, when has this doggerel writer trained, may I ask?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“He hasn’t.”

“Then how comes it that he is so thundering strong?”

“There is the mystery.”

“And it’s deep and dark,” said Ready. “If he’d been any stronger he might have wiped us all off the face of the earth. I’ve been up against Merriwell before now, and it seems to me that this man was fully the match for Merriwell. Somehow, he had the same careless way of slamming a fellow round.”

“If we’d just had Merriwell in disguise to run against him,” said Carker. “Oh, but the fur would have filled the air!”

“Merriwell in disguise!” exclaimed Ready, suddenlystarting and giving his own head a punch. “Why didn’t I think of that before! Oh, lud!”

“It would have been a great trick,” said Carker; “but it’s too late to think about it now.”

“Merriwell in disguise!” repeated Ready, as if in a trance.

“Come out of it!” growled Bingham.

“Oh, lud! Oh, lud!” murmured Jack, again smiting himself back of the ear with his clenched fist. “What chumps we have been! If we’d just ripped off his wig, he would have stood exposed! And I lost the chance to do the trick! I must find a good soft place to lie down and expire!”

“What the dickens are you talking about?” snapped Carker.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Bingham.

“Fellows,” said Ready, “we have played right into the hands of Merriwell. We gave him the chance to be the principal figure in the affair to-night.”

“Are you daffy?” asked Carker. “What do you mean?”

“He lured us into catching Boltwood and confining the fellow so that he could get into this game,” said Jack.

Still both Carker and Bingham were in the dark.

“Why, hang it all!” exploded Jack; “can’t you see through a ladder? Boltwood wasn’t here at all!”

“What?” gasped Carker.

“What?” roared Bingham.

“Then who in blazes——” began Greg.

“Merriwell,” said Jack quietly.

“Merriwell—Boltwood?” gurgled Bingham. “You can’t mean——”

“That Merriwell got us to kidnap Boltwood so that he might disguise himself as that freak and take part in the fun. He did it, while Boltwood languished in the dark hole where we have stowed him. You both know Merriwell’s ability to make up. He is a great actor. He fooled everybody into thinking he was Knight at the regatta. This Boltwood is about Merriwell’s height, and——”

“Merciful heavens!” gasped Carker. “I believe you are right!”

“I believe so, too!” admitted Bingham reluctantly. “Now that I think of it, it seems to me that Boltwood to-night was too well built for the poet. And it also seems that I observed in his movements some of Merriwell’s ways.”

“He did it to get even with me,” said Ready.

“And you must confess that he has about made the score even,” said Carker.

Ready actually seemed relieved.

“Well, I’m glad I wasn’t tossed round like that by that freak of a freshman poet!” he exclaimed.

“Tell you what,” said Bingham, “let’s go see ifBoltwood is still in the basement of the old storage-house. If that was Merriwell, he must be there.”

“I’m with you!” cried Jack. “Come on, Carker!”

Away they went. They found a cab and piled into it in a hurry, having given the driver directions.

“He’ll be there,” said Bingham confidently. “I haven’t a doubt of it now.”

“Nor I,” said Carker.

“I hope he is,” said Ready. “I feel like slamming him round a few, just to relieve my feelings.”

They stopped at last near the old warehouse. Leaving the cab to wait, they jumped out and approached the dark and gloomy building. A watchman stopped them.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“It’s all right, Bill,” assured Jack. “Here’s your pay for watching. We’ve come for the captive. Is he safe?”

“Sure thing,” said the man, taking the money from Jack. “You’ll find him right there.”

“Had to drive anybody away from the building?”

“Not a soul.”

“That settles it!” growled Bingham. “Now we know who did the trick! Ready, Merriwell is more than even with you!”

“Don’t say a word!” muttered Jack. “I believe I shall have to slam Boltwood round a little, just to ease the strain on my nervous system.”

They entered the old building and descended into the basement. It was dark down there, but they found a candle and lighted it. Then they proceeded to a heavy door, on which there was a padlock, and against which was a heavy bar.

Jack took out a key and unlocked the padlock, while Bingham removed the bar, Carker holding the candle.

Then the door was yanked open, and the light of the candle shone into the room beyond. It showed them, sitting on a box and calmly waiting, the well-known figure of the long-haired freshman poet!

“Yah!” snarled Jack Ready, jumping in and pouncing on Boltwood. “So you are here, are you?”

“Well, where in thunder did you think I’d be?” growled the freshman sulkily. “I hope you are satisfied with your scurvy trick!”

“Scurvy trick, hey?” cried Jack, growing warm. “Be careful! Your language is offensive, sir!”

“Well, you haven’t done anything to me that was offensive, have you? You think you can do just as you hanged please without anybody saying a word. But I’ll fix you! I’ll write a poem about you!”

“I don’t believe you will,” said Jack.

“Yes, I will. I’ve made up my mind to that, and I’ve been composing some of the stanzas while you’ve kept me locked up here.”

“Oh, you have? Well, you want to get them right out of your head.”

They led the freshman forth and made their way from the old building. As they departed, the man they had paid for watching stood at a distance and chuckled.

“Well, this has been a great night’s work,” he muttered. “Both chaps paid me a fiver. Ten dollars for doing nothing! I’d like to make a strike like that every night.”

The sophomores led Boltwood to the cab, into which they thrust him. Then they piled in, the door slammed, and the cab rolled away.

“Now,” said Ready, when they were all in the cab, “I want you to repeat some of the poetry you have composed about me.”

“You won’t like it,” said Boltwood, with a chuckle.

“I don’t expect I will. But begin.”

“All right. It begins like this:

“There was a little Jack,And it came to passThat this poor little JackBecame a jackass.”

“There was a little Jack,And it came to passThat this poor little JackBecame a jackass.”

“There was a little Jack,

And it came to pass

That this poor little Jack

Became a jackass.”

Bingham snorted, and Carker made some sort of a gurgling sound.

“I don’t think I’ll repeat any more of it,” said Boltwood, in a tone of voice that seemed to tremble with apprehension.

“Perhaps you hadn’t better!” said Ready coldly. “That is quite enough.”

“I should say so!” muttered Carker.

“It’s not poetry,” asserted Ready.

“I admit,” said Boltwood, “that it contains more truth than poetry.”

Then Bingham snorted again.

“You’re altogether too gay, my fresh young friend!” cried Jack, getting hold of Boltwood and giving him a shake.

“Oh, I think you are mistaken!” exclaimed Boltwood, getting hold of Jack and giving him a fiercer shake.

“What the deuce are you doing?” cried Ready.

“What the deuce are you doing?” asked Boltwood.

Then Jack got mad and smacked the freshman with his open hand. But quick as a flash Boltwood came back with his open hand, nearly knocking Jack’s head off.

“Give it to him, fellows!” cried Ready angrily. “Let’s teach the chump a lesson!”

“Do!” urged Boltwood, as he suddenly biffed Bingham. “I shall enjoy it so much!”

That made the big fellow mad.

“You are a chump!” he growled.

But somehow Boltwood managed to yank Carker round so that Greg received the blow Bingham intended for Boltwood.

The freshman laughed.

“Isn’t this fun!” he said. “It’s far better than being shut up in that dark hole.”

“Oh, wow!” howled Carker. “That nearly knocked my head off!”

“It wouldn’t have been any great loss,” said Boltwood.

By this time the three sophomores were angry in earnest, and they proceeded to pitch into the freshman.

“We’ll have to spank him again, Bing,” said Ready.

But when they tried to yank the freshman down and get him into position for spanking, they found it could not be done very easily, and he managed to rap their heads together till they saw stars and heard bells ringing.

“Aren’t you having lots of fun with me?” inquired Boltwood.

“Oh, lud!” groaned Ready. “My head, my head!”

“Never mind,” said the freshman. “It’s hard to crack solid wood.”

“Now, that’s too much!” exploded Jack.

“Is it?” asked Boltwood. “Then it may not be solid; perhaps it’s hollow.”

“Jump on him!” urged Carker, whose “dander” was up. “Let’s kill him!”

“That’s right!” urged the fellow; “go ahead and kill me. I’ll see how you do it.”

Ready thought he had the range of Boltwood, and he struck out. His knuckles, however, encountered something hard, knocking the skin off them.

“Too bad!” said the voice of the freshman. “Try it again, please.”

“Slam him down in the bottom of the cab!” roared Bingham.

“Won’t that be nice!” laughed the freshman. “You can use me for a foot-mat. He, he!”

But he got hold of Bingham by the back of the neck, and gave the big fellow a twisting flop that threw him to the bottom of the cab.

“Steady,” said the poet, as he held the big soph down with his knees. “Lie still and take things easy.”

Both Carker and Ready tried to grapple with the fellow, but they got hold of each other by mistake, and he proceeded to slam them down on top of Bingham, filling the space between the two seats with their bodies. Then he sat on them and held them down.

The cab rumbled on, and the freshman began to sing, “Throw Him Down, McClusky.”

Bingham howled, Carker squawked, and Ready squealed.

In this manner the cab rattled up to the corner of College and Chapel Streets, where it stopped. The freshman wrenched open the door, jumped out, bade the discomfited and disgusted sophomores good night, and ran into Osborn Hall.

The events of that night completely mystified Ready,Bingham, and Carker. They were certain that one of the “Boltwoods” was Merriwell, but which one was the question that troubled them. After a while Jack Ready figured it out.

“They were both Merriwells!” he declared.

“How could that be?” asked Bingham.

“Merriwell somehow found out where we had taken Boltwood. He left the fellow there, while he made up and led the freshmen. When the fight for the fence was over, he hastened to set Boltwood free and take his place, again in disguise. So it was Merriwell we encountered both times.”

It seemed marvelous, but it was the real explanation, Jack felt confident. However, when they accused Frank, Merry lifted his eyebrows, seemed greatly astonished, and told them they must be going daffy. Nor could they get him to admit that he had taken any part in the rush or had been in the cab with them.

“But to my dying day I shall believe it was Merriwell!” said Jack.

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