CHAPTER XXIV
During the summer Bart had met several college men who were members of their 'varsity teams, and from them he received many valuable ideas, among which was the formation of a scrub eleven to play against the school team.
Eagerly falling in with the plan, the candidates asked that Fred be placed in charge.
Reluctantly, Bart agreed, for he feared that his rival would out-general him, but the others were so insistent that he could not refuse. But to lessen the possibility, he gave Fred only the poorest players, with the exception of the unknown Bronson.
Understanding this action, Fred made no objection, however, and set to work to develop his players, and so well did he succeed that by the middle of the season the scrub eleven was able to keep the School Team from scoring, whenever it felt inclined.
This success served to rouse all Bart's old hatred of his rival, and so viciously did he always tackle Fred, that, fearing the star left back would be seriously injured, Buttons, Bronson and Soda finally prevailed upon him to feign a sprained ligament and keep out of the game, except to run through signals.
But it was not until a week before the game with Landon, when Sandow and Hal, who had been appealed to by Buttons, added their solicitations to the others' that Fred consented.
When he reported his supposed injury, Bart tried to appear sorry, but in his eyes there was a light of joy.
When the assembled crowds of Baxter and Landon supporters arrived for the game, they were amazed to see that Buttons' name was down to play left half-back, while Fred was listed among the substitutes.
At the discovery, the Baxter students and grads were furious, and in no gentle manner they told Bart what they thought.
But he quoted Fred's own statement, that he had sprained a ligament, in his defense, declaring that under the circumstances it would be foolhardy to start him in the game rather than hold him in reserve. And as the captain's word is absolute, the protestants were forced to be content, though many secretly hoped that Buttons would be laid out at an early stage of the game.
But had the grads prevailed upon Bart, they would have found another obstacle.
When Buttons and Sandow went to Fred's house during the forenoon to commiserate him, he was not there.
Early that morning he had been called to the long-distance telephone, in the village central.
Wondering who could wish to talk with him, he was amazed to hear his father's voice.
"Mr. Bronson will arrive in Baxter at ten this morning," Mr. Markham said. "You are to get a buggy from the livery stable and meet him. He will tell you what he wants you to do. I am sorry it is the day of the game, but your being on hand means everything to me, to your mother and to yourself."
"I'll be there, don't worry," replied Fred.
Hastening back to his mother, Fred imparted the news, and then whiled away the morning as best he could until it was time to get the buggy and drive to the train to meet Mr. Bronson.
Quickly jumping into the buggy, the lawyer told Fred to drive fast until he was out of the village, as he desired his presence to remain unknown.
In order the better to accomplish this object, the boy turned off Main Street.
"That was a wise move," complimented Mr. Bronson. "I want you to drive me to Mr. James Newcomb's. Your father told me he lived out of the village."
"About a mile," replied Fred.
"What sort of a man is he?"
"Hard as nails."
"H'm. Is he fond of money?"
"Yes."
"Good." And, as he noticed the look of entreaty in the boy's eyes, Mr. Bronson continued: "A very good friend of your father's has almost secured control of the stock of Montgomery's bank. I have the power to vote this stock. But I want five more shares, which I hope to get from Newcomb. If I do, I shall call a meeting of the directors, oust Montgomery, elect myself president, and start an investigation of the bank's books—which I am convinced will give us the evidence we need to proceed against Montgomery and Gibbs."
"But how will that help father?"
"The books will show when the money on your father's check was paid. I hope also to find the check—which Montgomery refused to surrender—to be compared with Gibbs' writing. By the way, Gibbs was in Manchester trying to borrow money under an assumed name."
"Oh, I hope Marg's at home!" exclaimed Fred.
"Why?" asked the lawyer, smiling.
"Because she can make her father do anything."
"She's a good friend of yours?"
"Very."
"Then perhaps you had better explain matters to her before I talk with Mr. Newcomb."
This plan agreed upon, Fred went into the house alone, and, to his delight, found Margie, to whom he made things clear.
"Of course father'll do it!" she cried. "Come, we'll ask him together."
But although he listened intently, Mr. Newcomb refused to commit himself, saying he would talk with the lawyer.
Briefly Mr. Bronson stated his purpose, offering two hundred dollars apiece for the shares, just double their market price. And, shrewdly judging the old man, he produced ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills as he spoke.
An instant Mr. Newcomb gazed at the money.
"Margie, get them shares of stock," he finally said.
Jubilant, Mr. Bronson saw to the transfer of the certificates, and invited Mr. Newcomb to be at the bank at half-past two o'clock, saying Fred's father had suggested his name as a director, an honor which delighted the old man greatly.
Promising to meet Margie after the game, Fred and the lawyer reëntered the buggy, arriving by a roundabout way at the boy's home.
On the way back from the stable, Fred saw Mr. Montgomery and Charlie Gibbs ahead of him, talking excitedly as they walked along.
"I tell you, youmustgo to the cave and destroy that check," declared the bank president.
"Not without you," returned Gibbs. "I'm no fool."
"Come on, then," growled the millionaire, and they abruptly turned from Main Street, setting their course toward Spy mountain.
Scarcely able to contain himself, Fred rushed into a nearby store and asked for pen and paper.
"Mr. Bronson," he wrote. "Get a horse quick, and a man, and drive to the cave at the foot of Spy mountain. Gibbs and Montgomery have gone there to tear up the check and other papers. I'm following them. Fred."
It was several minutes before he could find a boy to deliver the note. When he did, he set out in pursuit of his father's enemies, whom he kept in sight, creeping behind stone walls and fences, that he himself might not be seen.
Handing the note to Mrs. Markham, the lawyer bade the messenger boy guide him to the livery stable, where he hired a two-seated wagon and a driver.
"Take me to the nearest justice of the peace," he directed.
"Si Newcomb's the only justice in Baxter," replied the man.
"Then get out to his house as fast as possible."
"What brings you back?" asked the old man, as he saw the lawyer enter the house.
"Come into your office." And as the justice led him into a side room, Mr. Bronson continued: "I want to swear out a warrant charging Charles Gibbs with forgery."
Amazed, Mr. Newcomb asked for evidence, which the lawyer quickly outlined, ending up by relating the conversation Fred had overheard.
"Always said Charlie was too all-fired cute," commented the justice, as he made out the warrant. "Shall you want me at the bank?"
"Surely. Only as it's two now, we'd better say at three. Where is the nearest constable?"
"Hen Jenkins, right side of the bank. He's——"
But Mr. Bronson was out of the house and in the carriage before the justice could finish the sentence.
Fortunately, the constable was at home, and, after looking at the warrant, he readily accompanied the lawyer.
"Now, let's see what good those horses are," said Mr. Bronson to the driver, as he and Jenkins seated themselves in the carriage. "How long will it take you to reach the cave at Spy mountain?"
"Twenty minutes."
"Make it fifteen, and I'll give you five dollars," exclaimed the lawyer.
Eager to win the bonus, the driver urged his horses to the utmost, and in just fourteen minutes he drew rein at the end of the road leading to the cave.
"They're only just inside the rocks! They're quarrelling!" exclaimed Fred, emerging from the bushes where he had been hiding.
With the constable in front, Mr. Bronson, Fred and the driver hastened along the path.
At the sound of footsteps, the president of the bank and Gibbs looked up.
"Charlie Gibbs, I arrest you in the name of the law!" shouted Jenkins, melodramatically.
Bitterly the man protested, but before the cold facts uttered by Mr. Bronson, he grew silent.
"What time is it?" asked Fred.
"Two forty-five," replied the lawyer.
"Can—can I go to the game?"
"Yes, I'll drive you."
"You needn't. I can get a horse from Farmer Brown, and ride in quicker." And like a flash, the boy was away.