Frank Merriwell's Champions: or, All in the Game. Standish Burt L.
I should think you’d be just dancing with joy this morning to think how you slipped through that scrape down at Thornton’s. And if there is anything prettier than that mountain, with the morning mists creeping around it, I don’t know what it is.”
“Oh, it’s pretty enough – at a distance!” growled Bruce. “And, of course, I’m going with you, even if I haven’t got over that headache yet. You couldn’t get along without me.”
“Roight yez are in thot!” declared Barney Mulloy, coming, with a shining face, from a dip in the lake. “Indade, we couldn’t git on widout yez, an’ it’s moighty bad we filt whin we thought ye wur dead.”
After solemn consultation over the matter, it had been determined to keep Browning’s adventure a close secret. It would be difficult to prove anything against either Sam Turner, Ward Hammond or Bob Thornton, and the effort would necessarily involve Nell Thornton, whom they naturally wished to protect, and not injure.
Bob Thornton had not been seen, and it was reasonable to suppose that, Turner’s attempt having failed he was keeping himself out of sight, and would continue to do so until the supposed revenue officers had disappeared from the neighborhood.
The starting point of the climb was a glade at the foot of Bald Mountain, and the goal a flat rock beyond the mountain’s outthrust shoulder, both the shoulder and the rock being well-known landmarks.
A score of men from the summer cottages in the village were at the starting point when Merriwell’s party arrived, and two had been sent on some time before to station themselves at the rock, that the time occupied in the ascent and the victors in the contest might be accurately determined.
“Hammond’s fellows don’t seem to be here,” declared Rattleton, stabbing his alpinstock in the ground, and looking about.
“I don’t doubt they will come all right,” Merriwell hastened to say.
“Meebe dey ain’ got ober shoutin’ ’bout dat swim yit!” observed Toots, a smile of pleasurable recollection lighting his ebony face.
“Here they come, just the same,” announced Bart Hodge. “They’ve got sand, and that’s something to praise them for. It’s my opinion, too, that they’ll give us a hard climb, for most of them are familiar with these mountains and hardened to such work.”
Ward Hammond was diplomatic enough on his arrival to try to conceal the intense hatred he felt for Frank Merriwell. He recognized that Craig Carter had made a sad mess of it by striking at Frank with the oar. Even Hammond’s friends had denounced this as a criminal and cowardly piece of work.
As for Craig, he held himself aloof from the joking and conversation, and was not without a fear that Merriwell would seek to punish him yet for his contemptible conduct.
But Merriwell’s victory in the swimming match had been so complete that he chose to pass the matter by without comment, instead of dealing blow for blow.
The starter looked at his watch.
“The party, or any member of either party, that reaches the rock first is to be counted winner. The object is to reach the rock in the shortest possible time.”
Browning glanced up at the mountain, and groaned, as Merriwell grouped his party, and the boys broke into a hearty laugh.
“It is now nine o’clock,” said the starter, when all were ready. “You ought to do it in two hours, or less. I won’t attempt to give you any advice. You know what’s before you. Go!”
Ward Hammond led off at a sharp run, swinging his alpinstock and taking the path that led toward the right, while Sep Colson, who had been chosen to lead the Lake Lily Club, because of his greater familiarity with the ground to be covered, swung into the path that wound around the mountain on the left.
“It’s a little farther,” he said, “but the traveling is easier, and we’ll make better time.”
Frank Merriwell crowded close to Colson’s heels, and others fell in behind him, with Hans Dunnerwust bringing up the rear.
“Yes, this is what I call fun!” grunted Browning, as a bowlder slipped under him and he half fell.
“Be afther takin’ a little more quoinin’ to roise yer spairts,” advised Barney Mulloy, with a grin.
When more than half a mile had been passed over, and they were jogging down a declivity at a lively pace, Colson stopped so suddenly that Merriwell fairly tumbled over him.
“What is it?” Frank questioned.
“Look there! There’s Nell Thornton waving to us.”
“She wants to speak to us,” said Rattleton, looking in the direction indicated by Colson’s pointing finger.
Bruce straightened up and forgot to grumble, when he saw the slim form of the girl descending the rocks.
She was letting herself down a precipitous bluff, clinging to the vines and bushes.
“She can get over places I shouldn’t care to try,” declared Bruce, with an admiration that was akin to enthusiasm. “I wonder what she wants?”
“We shall find out very soon now,” said Merriwell. “It won’t take her long to reach us.”
Dropping to the level ground, Nell came shyly toward the party, with evident embarrassment.
“Do you uns want ter beat them thar other fellows bad?” she asked.
“The worst kind,” declared Rattleton.
“Thar’s a way it kin be done,” she said, with kindling glance, “ef so be ez you uns air good climbers. Thar’s a path which the mounting men foller when they air in a hurry, sech o’ them ez knows ’bout it. I kin show it ter ye, though ef dad knowed I done it he’d jes’ nacherly kill me!”
“You may show it to us with perfect safety,” promised Merriwell.
She gave a quick glance toward Browning, as if for confirmation of the promise.
Browning flushed.
“As Mr. Merriwell says, the secret will be perfectly safe with us, Miss Thornton,” touching his cap. “You may rely on it!”
“I kinder sorter wanted you uns ter beat ’em,” she confessed, “an’ it’ll pleasure me ter help you ter do it. You uns’ll hev ter shin up that thar bluff somehow er ’nuther ter git a start.”
She pointed to the precipice down which she had swung, and Browning gave an inward groan.
“Heavens!” he inaudibly grumbled. “She must want to see me killed. Those vines will come down like cotton strings when I put my weight on them.”
Merriwell nodded, and the girl led the way to the bluff.
“Take holt o’ that thar saplin’ an’ that’ll holp you ter reach the cedar. Then grab them vines an’ git along ez best ye kin. Them vines’ll bear a good heft, an’ ye needn’t be skeered uv ’em.”
Having said this, with pointing finger, she stepped aside. Frank Merriwell grasped the slim hickory and drew himself up to the scrubby cedar that here thrust its roots into a crack in the ledge.
He was followed by Colson and Rattleton. Then came Bart Hodge and Jack Diamond.
The climb was not so difficult as it looked. Some of the smaller vines broke under the weight of Browning, and of Ephraim Gallup, but in a comparatively short time all were at the top of the bluff.
The girl swung herself up after them, and pointed to a dim path leading through a thicket of laurel straight toward the frowning cap of the mountain.
“Thar’s yer way!” she whispered. “I see ye’ve got a rope fer ther bad places. Two or three uv ’em’ll maybe hump ye, but I’m sure you uns, by holpin’ each other, kin make it. An’ it’ll save ye nigh about half the distance.”
“Thank you,” said Frank, as she turned away. “You have placed us under great obligations.”
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