Jack Ranger's Gun Club: or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail. Young Clarence
Anderson busy looking over some gun catalogues.
“Going in for hunting?” asked Sam.
“Maybe,” replied Jack. “Say, there are some dandy rifles in this book, and they’re cheap, too. I’d like to get one.”
“So would I,” added Sam.
“And go hunting,” put in Bony, cracking his finger knuckles, as if firing off an air-rifle.
“It would be sport to organize a gun club, and do some hunting,” went on Jack. “Only I’d like to shoot bigger game than there is around here. Maybe we can – ”
“Hark, some one’s coming! It’s Martin,” said Fred Kaler in a whisper.
Jack’s hand shot out and quickly turned down the light. Then he bounded into bed, dressed as he was. Nat followed his example. It was well that they did so, for a moment later there came a knock on their door, and the voice of Martin, the monitor, asked:
“Ranger, are you in bed?”
“Yes,” replied our hero.
“Anderson, are you in bed?”
“Yes, Martin.”
“Humph! I thought I heard voices in your room.”
Jack replied with a snore, and the monitor passed on.
“You fellows had better take a sneak,” whispered Jack, when Martin’s footsteps had died away. “He’s watching this room, and he may catch you.”
The outsiders thought this was good advice, and soon Nat and Jack were left alone.
“Did you mean that about a gun club?” asked Nat.
“Sure,” replied his chum, “but we’ll talk about it to-morrow. Better go to sleep. Martin will be sneaking around.”
Jack was up early the next morning, and went down to the lake for a row before breakfast. As he approached the float, where he kept his boat, he saw a student standing there.
“That looks like the new chap – Will Williams,” he mused. “I’ll ask him to go for a row.”
He approached the new lad, and was again struck by a peculiar look of sadness on his face.
“Good-morning,” said Jack pleasantly. “My name is Ranger. Wouldn’t you like to go for a row?”
Will Williams turned and looked at Jack for several seconds without speaking. He did not seem to have heard what was said.
“Perhaps he’s a trifle deaf,” thought Jack, and he asked again more loudly:
“Wouldn’t you like to go for a row?”
“I don’t row,” was the answer, rather snappily given.
“Well, I guess I can manage to row both of us,” was our hero’s reply.
“No, I’m not fond of the water.”
“Perhaps you like football or baseball better,” went on Jack, a little puzzled. “We have a good eleven.”
“I’m not allowed to play football.”
“Maybe you’d like to go for a walk,” persisted Jack, who had the kindest heart in the world, and who felt sorry for the lonely new boy. “I’ll show you around. I understand you just came.”
“Yes; I arrived yesterday morning.”
“Would you like to take a walk? I don’t know but what I’d just as soon do that as row.”
“No, I – I don’t care for walking.”
The lad turned aside and started away from the lake, without even so much as thanking Jack for his effort to make friends with him.
“Humph!” mused Jack as he got into his boat. “You certainly are a queer customer. Just like a snail, you go in your house and walk off with it. There’s something wrong about you, and I’m going to find out what it is. Don’t like rowing, don’t like walking, afraid of the water – you certainly are queer.”
CHAPTER IV
BULLY SNAITH
“Hello, Dock, I’m glad to see you out of the hospital,” remarked Jack one morning about a week later, when his boating rival was walking down the campus. “You had quite a time of it.”
“Yes,” admitted Snaith, “I got a nasty bump on the head. Say, Ranger, I haven’t had a chance to thank you for pulling me out. I’m much obliged to you.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Don’t mention it,” answered Jack. “If I hadn’t done it, some one else would.”
“Well, I’m glad you did. But say, I still think I can beat you rowing. Want to try it again?”
“I won’t mind, when you think you’re well enough.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right in a day or so.”
“Be careful. You don’t want to overdo yourself.”
“Oh, I’ll beat you next time. But I want to race for money. What do you say to twenty-five dollars as a side bet?”
“No, thanks, I don’t bet,” replied Jack quietly.
“Hu! Afraid of losing the money, I s’pose,” sneered Dock.
“No, but I don’t believe in betting on amateur sport.”
“Well, if you think you can beat me, why don’t you bet? It’s a chance to make twenty-five.”
“Because I don’t particularly need the money; and when I race I like to do it just for the fun that’s in it.”
“Aw, you’re no sport,” growled Snaith as he turned aside. “I thought you had some spunk.”
“So I have, but I don’t bet,” replied Jack quickly. He felt angry at the bully, but did not want to get into a dispute with him.
“Hello, Dock,” called Pud Armstrong, as, walking along with Glen Forker, he caught sight of his crony. “How you feeling?”
“Fine, but I’d feel better if there weren’t so many Sunday-school kids at this institution. I thought this was a swell place, but it’s a regular kindergarten,” and he looked meaningly at Jack.
“What’s up?” asked Pud.
“Why, I wanted to make a little wager with Ranger about rowing him again, but he’s afraid.”
“It isn’t that, and you know it,” retorted our hero quickly, for he overheard what Snaith said. “And I don’t want you to go about circulating such a report, either, Dock Snaith.”
With flashing eyes and clenched fists Jack took a step toward the bully.
“Oh, well, I didn’t mean anything,” stammered Snaith. “You needn’t be so all-fired touchy!”
“I’m not, but I won’t stand for having that said about me. I’ll race you for fun, and you know it. Say the word.”
“Well – some other time, maybe,” muttered Snaith, as he strolled off with his two cronies.
It was that afternoon when Jack, with Nat Anderson, walking down a path that led to the lake, came upon a scene that made them stop, and which, later, was productive of unexpected results.
The two friends saw Dock Snaith, together with Pud Armstrong and Glen Forker, facing the new boy, Will Williams. They had him in a corner of a fence, near the lake, and from the high words that came to Jack and Nat, it indicated that a quarrel was in progress.
“What’s up?” asked Nat.
“Oh, it’s that bully, Snaith, making trouble for the freshman,” replied Jack. “Isn’t it queer he can’t live one day without being mean? Snaith, I’m speaking of. He’s a worthy successor to Jerry Chowden.”
“Well, you polished off Chowden; maybe you can do the same to Snaith.”
“There’s