CHAPTER XVI.DICK AND OLD JOE.
Having been reared in that wild section, and permitted to have his own way in almost everything, Dick Merriwell had developed into a high-spirited lad who fretted like an unbroken mustang beneath the bit of restraint. To him the thought of giving in to the will of another was repugnant, even though the wishes and plans of that other might be for his own good.
Little did he know that, to a certain extent, the evidences of pride and spirit he had betrayed had given his brother considerable satisfaction. Little did he know that he had convinced Frank that there was in him the making of something out of the ordinary.
Such, however, was the case. Frank would have been keenly disappointed had he found his brother lacking in spirit and determination. Having found the boy as he was, Merry was studying him and seeking to discover the best manner to successfully lead Dick on to his own good. Merry realized that the task might prove rather difficult, but this gave it all the more fascination and interest for him.
Having left Frank, Dick passed out of the cabin and walked slowly away. When he had passed beneath the thick shadows of some trees he felt a touch on his shoulder, and turned to find Old Joe close behind him.
“Gracious!” exclaimed the boy. “I didn’t know you were following. I didn’t hear you.”
“Little Hurricane keep him ear open,” grunted the old fellow. “Joe teach him to hear.”
“I know, Joe, but I was thinking, and I forgot.”
“Must never forget if um want to be like red man.”
“But—but something happened to make me forget.”
“Heap bad!”
“You are right, Joe. It was careless of me.”
“Heap much,” nodded the Indian. “Joe him teach Little Hurricane to hear snake in grass, bird in air, panther on moss—everything.”
“Yes, yes, you have taught me all that, Joe; but it is Indian lore, and sometimes I forget myself and know no more than a white man.”
“Must never forget,” repeated Old Joe. “Heap bad! Some time enemy he ketch um when um have forget.”
“But it was enough to make anybody forget. My brother——”
“Joe know; him hear.”
“You heard?”
“Ugh!” was the affirmative grunt of the old fellow. “Me hear. Set under window; hear everything.”
“Well, what do you think of it, Joe? He means to boss me, Joe! He sha’n’t.”
“Him heap big boss.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The Indian squatted on the ground, with his back against a tree.
“Down,” he said.
The boy flung himself on the ground, resting his head on one elbow and looking into his companion’s wrinkled face. They were quite alone, where no one could see them, yet the eyes of the Indian turned swiftly from side to side, and his ears seemed to be lifted, like those of a listening catamount.
Dick remained perfectly quiet and waited.
“Him heap big boss,” repeated Old Joe, after some moments. “Him have way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Him have way to make all do as him say.”
“He can’t make me do as he says! I’ll never give up to him!”
The Indian shook his head.
“Little Hurricane him think so now.”
“I know it! I won’t let him be my boss!”
“Old Joe him see something in Steady Hand’s eye.”
“You call my brother Steady Hand?”
“Ugh! Him eye heap strong. Old Joe look into it. Heap strong to make everybody do way him want.”
“I don’t care! He can’t do it with me! I won’t let him!”
“Think so now; think not so bimeby.”
“Never!” panted the boy. “Why, Joe, he wants to take me away!”
“Joe know.”
“He wants to put me into school.”
“Joe know.”
“He would make me just like any other boy.”
“Little Hurricane have to go.”
“You’re crazy, Joe! I tell you I won’t, and he can’t make me! I shall stay here with you—and Felicia.”
Again the Indian shook his head.
“Steady Hand him strong mind; make you do way him want,” asserted the old fellow positively. “Him have strength to do so in him eye. Him know way to do it.”
The face of the boy paled now, for he placed implicit confidence in anything the old Indian said.
“Then I’ll kill myself!” he panted, springing up. “I won’t let him boss me! I’ll kill myself first!”
“Down,” said Old Joe, with a gesture, and, all unconsciousthat he was obeying a master, the boy dropped to the ground again.
For some moments the aged Indian was silent, looking fixedly at the lad.
“Mebbe it be better,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” demanded Dick. “Maybe what will be better?”
“For you to do same Steady Hand want.”
“You’re crazy!” again asserted the boy. “I can’t do it! I will not be shut up in any old school. I love the open air and the freedom of the mountains and plains! I love to wander alone in the deep forest and listen to its murmuring voice. The trees talk to me, Joe, and all the wild creatures know me. Do you think I am fool enough to give this up for a stifling schoolroom and the study of books that will make my head ache and make me weak? I tell you I will kill myself first!”
The face of the Indian remained grave and expressionless, but there was a twinkle of pride and satisfaction in his keen old eyes.
“You have Injun heart,” he said. “You skin white; heart Injun.”
“I’m not a fool, and I won’t let him make me one!”
“Then only one thing um can do.”
“What is it? Tell me, Joe!”
“Go ’way.”
Dick caught his breath.
“Go away?”
“Ugh!”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“You mean to run away?”
“Ugh!”
“And leave Felicia?”
“Some time um come back. Steady Hand take um, um never come back.”
“Run away—alone?”
“Old Joe him don’t have to stay.”
The face of the boy flushed, and he panted:
“You will go—you’ll go with me, Joe?”
“Ugh! Joe him ’bout ready to go. Him tired stay here.”
“And you will take me with you—where?”
“Prairie big, mountains deep,” was the answer.
“And they will not be able to find us?”
“Never find Old Joe.”
“I’ll do it!” the boy suddenly decided. “Joe, I’ll go with you anywhere to get away from him. And we’ll go this very night!”
Old Joe Crowfoot returned to his seat by the cabin wall and resumed his smoking, apparently perfectly contented.
Dick wandered away by himself, passing throughthe woods, which led down to the shore of Lake Sunshine.
The boy was happy again, believing that he was going to remain his own master and live the wild, free life that he loved, so he whistled as he passed through the woods. His whistling was like the warbling of a mocking-bird, full of liquid sweetness and trills, and soon he was answered from the branches overhead, where the flit of wings could be seen. He was calling the birds in their own language, and they were answering. The strange notes that came from his pursed lips were marvelous to hear, and the birds came flying after him, flitting from tree to tree.
By the shore of the lake he found a comfortable spot beneath a wide-spreading tree, and there he flung himself on the ground, continuing his birdlike calls. The birds gathered on the branches above him, looking down at him with fearless curiosity.
A squirrel chattered not far away, and immediately the sound was perfectly imitated by the boy, who added to it the call that the squirrel makes to its mate. Soon the handsome little fellow came leaping from limb to limb of the trees until he had reached the one beneath which the boy rested. Then, by fits and starts, he descended to the ground and approached the lad. In a few moments Dick had called the wild squirrel of the woods to his knee.
Then down from the tree dropped a bird, alighting on Dick’s shoulder. The other birds drew nearer and nearer until nearly all were gathered on the lower branches of the tree.
Behold Dick Merriwell, the wild, strange boy of this mountain valley, in all his glory, king of the birds. This is the life that appeals to him and to which he clings. This is what he declines to forsake for school or any of the advantages which Frank Merriwell has offered to give him.
Dick laughed and talked to the squirrel, his voice low, soft, and musical. The squirrel whisked his tail over his back and looked the lad fearlessly in the face. A jealous bird darted down at the squirrel and compelled the little animal to hop from the boy’s knee.
“Oh, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Dick softly. “Quarreling, are you? Stop it—stop it this minute! There’s room enough for you both. No need to be jealous. Frank tells about his friends. What are his friends compared to mine! I would not give up my friends for all of his.”
For some time he remained there, with his wild friends about him. At last, a voice was heard calling through the woods:
“Dick! Dick! Where are you, Dick?”
The squirrel started up in a listening attitude, while two or three of the birds flew away at once.
“Dick! Oh, Dick! Where are you?”
It was the voice of Felicia.
“She won’t hurt you,” said the boy, to the squirrel and the birds. “You need not be afraid of her.”
The little girl was heard coming through the woods, and more of the birds took alarm, quickly darting away on silent wings.
“Here, Felicia—here I am,” answered Dick.
The squirrel did not stop longer. With a flirt of its tail, it bounded to the trunk of the tree, up which it scampered.
Felicia came running toward the tree, but when she got there the squirrel was gone and not a bird remained.
This seemed strange enough, for surely Felicia was the more gentle of the two in appearance, and she was so tender-hearted that for the world she would not harm the weakest creature in all creation.
But about the boy there was a certain quality that few human beings possess—a magnetism that attracted the wild things of nature. He had listened to the voices of these creatures and learned their calls. He had watched them till he knew all their ways. And his heart went out to them in sympathy, for their wild, free life seemed to him the perfect life.
“I didn’t know where you were, Dick,” said littleFelicia, her dark eyes full of gladness because she had found him.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” said Dick.
“Care?” she cried, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him. “Why, how can you say that? What do you mean? You know, Dick—you know how much I love you!”
“After—after I did—that?”
“What?”
“You know—to Billy?”
“Oh, yes, Dick—yes! I know you didn’t mean to hurt Billy.”
“It didn’t hurt him, Felicia.”
“But it frightened him.”
“I couldn’t help it,” the boy declared. “He was standing there asleep. I found the old tin can, and I thought what fun it would be to hitch it to his tail. Then I got a string, tied it to the pail, made a loop, and slipped it onto Billy’s tail.”
“It’s a wonder Billy didn’t kick you.”
“He would if anybody else had tried the trick, but I don’t suppose he thought I’d do such a thing. I betrayed Billy’s confidence in me.”
“You won’t do it again, will you, Dick?”
“No. I wouldn’t have done it then if I’d stopped to think how much you would care.”
“Oh, you dear Dick!”
She gave him a loving hug.
“But it was awfully funny!” he cried, his laughter beginning to bubble up within him. “Oh, you should have seen Billy when I let the old thing bang against his heels! Oh, dear! how he did jump! Oh, my! how he did kick! Then he brayed and kicked, and the old pail came banging back against his heels every time. And he rolled his eyes round at it and looked so comical—so comical! Oh, ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!”
The elfish laughter of the strange lad filled the forest with its merry sound. Convulsed with merriment over the remembrance, Dick lay on the ground and clung to his sides, while Felicia stood near, compelled to laugh despite herself.
“Oh, you’re so happy, Dick!” she said.
Quick as a flash the laughter stopped and the merriment left his face.
“I’m not happy!” he said, sitting up.
“Not happy?” she gasped.
“No, I’m miserable!” he declared.
“Oh, dear!” cried Felicia. “Is it anything I have done?”
“No, no! It’s him!”
“Him?”
“My brother.”
“Frank?”
“Yes.”
“What has he done?”
“I hate him!”
“Did he punish you?”
“I guess not! You don’t think he’d dare? But I hate him!”
“Oh, Dick! you mustn’t forget that he is your brother!”
“I don’t care! What right has he to be my brother? I don’t want a brother! All I want is you, Felicia!”
“Oh, you mustn’t talk that way! It’s wrong!”
“I don’t care if it is! Do you know what he wants to do? Well, he wants to take me away—away from you!”
She gave a little cry and clung to him.
“He wants to put me in an old school. I’m not going to school, for I know enough of that kind of learning now.”
“You’ll have to do what he says.”
“Don’t you think so! He can’t make me do it! He’ll find that he can’t!”
“It was in your papa’s will.”
“That doesn’t make any difference; I won’t do it, just the same.”
“What can you do?”
“I am going to run away!” answered the boy promptly. “I’m going off where he can’t follow, and he’ll never get me—never, never, never!”