The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport. Stratemeyer Edward
ice boat?” repeated Harry. “Where – Oh!”
He glanced up the lake, and saw the Silver Queen coming along as swiftly as the stiff breeze could drive the craft over the glassy surface. The ice boat was headed directly for the three boys, but now the course was shifted slightly, and the craft pointed fairly and squarely for the spot where Cora Runnell was skating along, all unconscious of her danger.
“By gracious, Dan Marcy will run Cora down!” ejaculated Fred. He raised his voice to a yell. “Stop! stop! you crazy fool! Do you want to kill somebody?”
“Save my girl!” came from the shore. “Cora! Cora! Look out for the ice boat!” But the girl did not heed the warning, and now the ice boat, coming as swiftly as ever, was almost on top of her. Then the girl happened to glance back. She gave a scream, tried to turn, but slipped, and then sank in a heap directly in the track of the oncoming danger.
CHAPTER V
A QUARREL ON THE ICE
It was a moment of extreme peril, and the heart of more than one onlooker seemed to stop beating. The ice boat was a heavy affair, with runners of steel, and a blow from that bow, coming at such a speed, would be like a blow from a rushing locomotive. It looked as if Cora Runnell was doomed.
But as all of the others stood helpless with surprise and consternation, Joe Westmore dashed forward with a speed that astonished even himself. He fairly flew over the ice, directly for Cora, and, reaching the fallen girl, caught her by the left hand.
“Quick! we must get out of the way!” he cried, and without waiting to raise her to her feet he dragged her over the smooth ice a distance of four or five yards. Then the Silver Queen whizzed past, sending a little drift of snow whirling over them.
“Git out of the way!” came rather indistinctly from Dan Marcy. “Can’t you see I’m trying to beat the record?” And then he passed out of hearing.
“Are you hurt?” questioned Joe, as he assisted the bewildered girl to her feet.
“I – I guess not, Joe,” she stammered. “But, oh! what a narrow escape!” And Cora shuddered.
“Dan Marcy ought to be locked up for such reckless sailing.”
“I think so myself.” Cora paused for a moment. “It was awfully good of you to help me as you did,” she went on, gratefully.
By this time the others were coming up, and the story of the peril and escape had to be told many times. Among the first to arrive was Joel Runnell, Cora’s father, who had shouted the warning from the shore. He had been out hunting, and carried an old-fashioned shotgun and a game bag full of birds.
“Not hurt, eh?” he said, anxiously. “Thank fortune for that! Who was sailing that boat?” And when told, he said he would settle with Marcy before the day was done. “Can’t none of ’em hurt my girl without hearing from me,” he added.
The excitement soon died down, and the skaters scattered in various directions. In the meantime, to avoid being questioned about the affair, Dan Marcy, who was a burly fellow of twenty, and a good deal of a bully, turned his ice boat about, and went sailing up the lake once more.
Some of the lads on the lake were out for a game of snap the whip, and Joe, Harry and Fred readily joined in this sport. At the third snap, Fred was placed on the end of the line.
“Oh, but we won’t do a thing to Fred,” whispered one of the boys, and word was sent along to make this snap an extra sharp one.
“You can’t rattle me!” sang out Fred, as the skating became faster and faster. “I’m here every time, I am. Let her go, everybody, whoop!” And then he had to stop talking, for he could no longer keep up. The line broke, and like a flash Fred spun around, lost his footing, and turned over and over, to bring up in a big snowbank on the shore.
“Hello, Fred, where are you bound?” sang out Harry.
“Where – where am I bound?” spluttered the stout youth, as he emerged and cleaned the snow from out of his collar and sleeves. “I don’t know.” He paused to catch his breath. “Reckon I’m in training for a trip to the North Pole.”
Half an hour later found the Westmore boys at home for dinner. There was something of a family gathering this Christmas day, mostly elderly people, so neither Joe nor Harry had a chance to speak to their father about the hunting trip they had in mind. Everybody was in the best of humor, and the table fairly bent beneath the load of good things placed upon it – turkey with cranberry sauce, potatoes, onions, squash, celery, and then followed pumpkin and mince pies, and nuts and raisins, until neither of the boys could eat a mouthful more. Both voted that Christmas dinner “just boss,” and the other folks agreed with them.
The middle of the afternoon found the lads at the lake again. It had clouded over once more, and they were afraid that another fall of snow might stop skating for several weeks, if not for the balance of the season.
“We want to take the good of it while it lasts,” said Harry.
Dan Marcy was again out on his ice boat, and Joe and Harry, accompanied by Fred, followed the craft to a cove on the west shore. There seemed to be something the matter with the sail of the Silver Queen, and Marcy ran the craft into a snowbank for repairs.
“Say, what do you want around here?” demanded Dan Marcy, as soon as he caught sight of the Westmore boys. His face wore an ugly look, and his tone of voice was far from pleasant.
“I don’t know as that is any of your business, Dan Marcy,” returned Joe.
“Ain’t it? We’ll see. I understand you’ve been telling folks that I tried to run into you and that Runnell girl on purpose.”
“You didn’t take much care to keep your ice boat out of the way.”
“It was your business to keep out of the way. You knew I was trying to beat the record?”
“Do you own the lake?” came from Harry.
“Maybe you’ve got a mortgage on the ice?” put in Fred.
Now the year before, Dan Marcy had been in the ice business, and had made a failure of it, and this remark caused him to look more ugly than ever.
“See here, for two pins I’d pitch into the lot of you, and give you a sound thrashing!” he roared.
“Would you?” came sharply from Joe. “Sorry I haven’t the pins.”
“I’ll give you an order on our servant girl for two clothespins, if they’ll do,” put in Fred.
“Then you want that thrashing, do you?” growled Dan Marcy; but as he looked at the three sturdy lads he made no movement to begin the encounter.
“If anybody needs a thrashing it is you, for trying to run down Cora Runnell,” said Joe. “It was a mean piece of business, and you know it as well as we do.”
“You shut up, Joe Westmore!” Marcy picked up a hammer with which he had been driving one of the blocks of the sail. “Say another word, and I’ll crack you with this!” He advanced so threateningly that Joe fell back a few steps. As he did this, a form appeared on the lake shore, and an instant later Dan Marcy felt himself caught by the collar and hurled flat on his back.
“I reckon as how this is my quarrel,” came in the high-pitched voice of Joel Runnell. “I’ve been looking for you for the past hour, Dan Marcy. I’ll teach you to run down my girl. If it hadn’t a-been for Joe Westmore she might have been killed.”
“Let go!” roared Marcy, and scrambled to his feet, red with rage. He rushed at the old hunter with the hammer raised as if to strike, but before he could land a blow, Joe caught hold of the tool and wrenched it from his grasp.
“Give me that hammer! Do you hear? I want that hammer!” went on the bully. Then he found himself on his back a second time, with his nose bleeding profusely from a blow Joel Runnell had delivered.
“Have you had enough?” demanded the old hunter, wrathfully. “Have