CHAPTER XLV
THE DUEL
"Are you ready, gentlemen?"
The sun was just peeping over the horizon.
Beyond the city limits, near a strip of timber far down the Sound, five persons had met.
Two of them were Frank Merriwell and Robert Marline, who were to fight a deadly duel there that beautiful morning.
Two more were their seconds, Jack Diamond and Sport Harris.
The fifth was a young collegian named Morton, who was studying medicine and surgery. He had brought along a case of instruments, although he was not certain this was to be a duel in deadly earnest.
Merriwell and Marline, despite the fact that the morning air was keen and cold, had stripped off their coats and vests and were in their shirt sleeves.
Now they stood facing each other, weapons in hand.
Frank's face was calm and confident, as if he had not the least doubt concerning the outcome of the affair. His nerves were under admirable control. He was a trifle paler than usual.
Marline, on the other hand, was flushed and nervous. He had taken several drinks of whiskey to brace him, and Merriwell's calm confidence was something he could not understand. At that moment, Frank seemed like the duelist and Marline like the novice.
The sun shot a single lance of light across the world, and then Diamond, who had been chosen to give the signal, spoke the word that set the rivals at each other.
Clash! clash! clash! The bright blades clanged sharply on the morning air. The sunshine glittered coldly on their polished lengths.
At first the work was of a very scientific order, for each man seemed feeling of the other to discover just how much skill he possessed.
Marline was more than ever astonished, for he had scarcely fancied Frank could be an expert with such a weapon. Now, however, he saw by the manner in which Frank handled himself, by his every move, that he was a skillful swordsman.
The boy from the South attempted to force the fighting. The whiskey went to his head, and he fought savagely, his teeth set and his eyes gleaming. Deadly determination was in his every move. The seconds and the surgeon watched breathlessly.
Suddenly there was a cry. By a twisting movement of his wrist, Frank had disarmed his enemy, sending Marline's blade spinning into the air.
The sword fell with a clang on the frozen ground at Rob's feet, and he instantly snatched it up. Then he came at Frank with the fury of one driven mad.
Merriwell was forced to give ground before the fierce onslaught of his enemy. He knew well enough that Marline was exceedingly dangerous, for he had flung discretion to the winds and was exposing himself in all ways by his fierce desire to get at Frank.
Merriwell did not wish to wound Marline, but hoped to humble him. However, it began to look as if Frank would be forced to do his best in self-defense.
He had remarkable control of himself, and watched his chance. It came in a short time, and again he twisted the sword from Marline's hand.
Marline fell back before Merriwell's half-lifted sword.
"Kill me!" he passionately cried. "Kill me now, or I'll kill you!"
Merriwell lowered his blade.
In a moment Marline sprang to the spot where his sword had fallen, caught it up, and turned on Frank again.
"On guard!" he shouted.
Like a whirlwind, he came at Merriwell.
Clash! clash! clash! It was a terrific battle now. The young surgeon was excited and frightened.
"It must be stopped!" he cried. "Marline is determined to kill him! We must stop it!"
Snap! – Frank Merriwell's blade broke within a foot of the hilt!
With a hoarse shout of victorious fury, Marline thrust straight at Frank's breast!
Merriwell succeeded in foiling the thrust with the part of his weapon that remained in his hand, but Marline's sword passed through Frank's shirt sleeve at the shoulder.
The seconds and the surgeon had started forward to interfere, but, with a gasping curse, Marline flung his sword on the ground and covered his eyes with his hands, his whole body quivering.
Diamond caught up the weapon the Southerner had flung down, muttering:
"There's no telling what he may try to do next. I'll keep this out of his reach."
But Marline had no thought of resuming the duel. When he lowered his hand from his face, his shame was betrayed.
"Mr. Merriwell," he said, his voice quivering, "I wish to apologize to you."
All were astonished.
"For what?" asked Frank, calmly.
"You have shown yourself more honorable than I," said Marline, although every word cut him like the stroke of a knife. "Twice you disarmed me and took no advantage of it. But when my turn came, my hatred for you was so great I lost my head. I tried to kill you. I offer a humble apology, and say what I never expected to say to any living being – you have shown yourself more honorable than I."
That was enough to touch Frank, and all the past was forgotten in a moment. With an impulse of generosity, he held out his hand.
"Take it!" he cried. "Let's call the past buried."
Marline shook his head.
"I can't!" he exclaimed. "I can't be a hypocrite. You have shown yourself the more honorable, Merriwell, but I hate you still. I shall try to forget it, but, with my disposition, it will not be easy. If I conquer myself, some day, perhaps, I'll accept your hand – if you care to offer it then."
"When the time comes," said Frank, "my hand will be open to you."
Then the dueling party broke up.
When Frank reached his room, he found a letter from Inza awaiting him. This is what he read:
"Dear Frank: I have been a foolish girl, and I am ashamed. I can't say more this way, but will explain everything when I see you. Please come to me. Come as soon as possible.
"Inza."
Frank's heart gave a great bound as he read this communication. He could not go to see Inza at once, but he sent word that he would call that evening.
When he arrived, he found Inza awaiting him alone, the girl's aunt having wisely withdrawn.
"Oh, Frank – I – I – " she began, and then she could not go on, for he caught her in his arms and gave her a tight squeeze.
"Don't let's talk about it," he said, cheerily. "I guess it was all a mistake."
"I had no right to bind you down, Frank," said Inza, softly. "It has been a lesson to me. You know what is best, always, and after this you shall have your own way in everything."
"Are you quite sure of that?" he said, softly, looking into her clear eyes, which immediately dropped. "Then, I'm going to have my way now."
And a kiss followed, which seemed to be a complete forgiveness all around.
Then she told him of Marline, and he understood something of what had led to the duel.
But he did not tell Inza of that terrible encounter, and the girl did not learn of it until some time later.
CHAPTER XLVI
A STUDENTS' CONFAB
The days passed, and Frank turned again to his studies. He was anxious to prove to the professors that he could learn his lessons, as well as play football.
To be sure, he did not give up his sports entirely, nor his recreation at the gym.
As the days slipped by, many of the students became more or less interested in a big, burly freshman, who went by the name of Hock Mason.
Mason had proved himself a regular bruiser on more than one occasion, and he was such a thoroughly "bad man," that some of the boys grew afraid of him.
One night there was a crowd gathered in Frank's room, and it was not long before the conversation turned upon the "bad man," who was hardly known to our hero.
"He's a terror!"
It was plain Halliday thought so. The manner in which he uttered the words showed that he was fully satisfied on that point.
"Is he scientific?" asked Merriwell.
"No; but he is a bulldog," answered Halliday.
"And a brute!" exclaimed Harry Rattleton.
"That's right," nodded Danny Griswold. "Look at my eye. I hadn't an idea that he thought of hitting me till he let me have it. Knocked me flat. Felt as if I'd been kicked by a mule."
"What did you do to cause him to strike you?" asked Frank.
"Nothing. Just looked at him."
"If he keeps this up," grunted Bruce Browning, who was stretched on the couch, puffing away at a cigarette, "his career at Yale will be short."
"That's right!" cried Jack Diamond, showing his teeth. "Some one will kill him. If he struck me, I'd shoot him in a minute – in a minute!"
Diamond meant it. There was hot blood in his veins. Frank's example had taught him to control his fiery temper to a certain extent, but there were times when it would blaze forth and get the best of him for all of anything he could do.
"It's a pity some fellow can't get at him and lick the stuffing out of him," said Bandy Robinson. "That's what he needs."
"Well, who is there that can do it?" cried Griswold. "He's a perfect giant, over six feet tall, and must weigh nearly two hundred pounds, though there's not an ounce of fat on him. He's all bone and muscle. He strikes a regular prize-fighter blow, and he can't be hurt. I tell you, he is a good man to let alone."
"That's right," agreed Halliday. "I saw him do up those coppers the other night, four of them, and they all had their clubs out."
"Did they hit him?" asked Merriwell.
"Hit him! Well, I should guess yes. They cracked him eight or ten times over the head and shoulders."
"Somebody said it didn't have any effect on him," observed "Uncle" Blossom, who was chewing gum as if his life depended on it.
"Not a bit more than it would if they had hammered a block of wood," declared Halliday. "It made me sick the first time they cracked him on the head, and it sounded exactly as if they struck a piece of hard wood. I expected it would lay him out stiff."
"But he kept on his feet?"
"He never staggered! Cut his scalp open in three places, and he bled frightfully, but that only seemed to make him worse."
"Very interesting," commented Frank, his eyes sparkling. "It would be an honor to subdue such a fellow as that."
"Honor?" cried Halliday and Griswold. "It would be a miracle!"
"If he lives, he'll become a prize fighter," said Blossom. "He has their brutal instincts, and still he seems to have some brains."
"That's what makes him such a bad man – his brains," cried Halliday. "He fights with his head, as well as with his hands."
"I must say, you interest me greatly in this freshman," said Merriwell. "What did you call his name – Mason?"
"Yes, Hock Mason. You've seen him. He's that big, red-headed bruiser, who – "
"Yes, I've seen him," nodded Frank. "I know him by sight."
"It's a wonder he hasn't jumped on you yet. You must have attracted his notice, for you are the most popular man in college."
"Oh, he'll get at Merry in time," grinned Griswold. "All he is waiting for is the opportunity."
Frank laughed.
"I don't know as I care about having any trouble with this freshman bully," he confessed.
"I should say not!" cried the others.
"But I shall not run to get out of his way."
"You'd better."
"Perhaps some of you are aware that I can put up a good, stiff fight myself."
"Yes, but you can't lick a fellow you can't hurt."
"There is no man living that can't be hurt – if you find out his tender spot. If I were forced into trouble with this Hock Mason, I should try to find how I could hurt him."
"While you were finding it, Merry, he would kill you."
Frank laughed again, showing not the least annoyance.
"You think so, and you may be right. As I said before, I don't know as I care to have any trouble with him; but, at the same time, I am not going to run away from him. I never saw a genuine bully yet that was not a squealer when he knew he had met his master, and I'll wager something Mr. Hock Mason can be cowed, for all of his famous fight with the policemen."
"If you'd seen that fight, you might have a different opinion," put in Halliday. "All he had was his bare fists, and he knocked those four cops out. Why, when he struck one of them fairly, the man went down like a stricken ox, and lay quivering on the ground. He knocked out two of them, and then he grabbed the others by the collars. Both let him have it with their clubs, but he just thumped their heads together and dropped them. They were knocked out, and I wondered if their heads were cracked. That made him a king among the freshmen. They're so scared of him that they shiver when he looks at them. I don't believe there is a freshman who likes him, but they pretend to, and they got him to his room after the fight, washed him up, plastered up his head, and then went forth and swore they knew nothing about the affair. The cops couldn't spot their man when they tried, for Mason came out the next morning looking as if nothing had happened. He wears his hair long, and he's had it clipped away around the wounds on his head, plastered the cuts up, and then combed his hair over the plasters. I tell you, he is a bad man!"
"Every bad man meets his match some day," said Frank.
"Mason's match is not to be found in Yale."
"Perhaps not."
"He's bound to be cock of the walk."
"And are freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors going to allow this brutal bully to walk on their necks?"
"What else can they do?"
"Kill him!" cried Jack Diamond, fiercely – "kill him, by the eternal gods! He can't walk on my neck! If he tried it, I'd kill him, though I hung for it!"
"I don't think it is necessary to kill him," smiled Frank. "There's always some way of subduing a bully. That way must be discovered, and he must be subdued."
"We'll owe you a vote of thanks if you discover it and do the job," said Griswold.
"Well, you are liable to owe Merriwell a vote of thanks, then," grunted Browning. "I've traveled all over with him, and I never saw him take water for anything that stood on legs. There are a few bad men out West, but they didn't faze him."
"Merry is all right," said Halliday. "He's a corker, and athlete, and is built of pure sand, but he'd have to be built of iron to go up against a big ruffian like this Mason. About the only way to subdue that fellow is to kill him, as Diamond suggests."
"He is growing more and more insolent and aggressive every day," said Griswold. "If something isn't done to check him, he and his crowd of followers will run over us. They are all getting insolent, and we have received notice that they'll appear in a body to-night with tall hats and canes. Mason will lead them, and they don't think we'll dare tackle them."
"We'll rush them, if we're killed!" cried Diamond, springing to his feet and wildly pacing up and down the floor. "Are you in it, fellows? Hark – what's that? They're out now! They're singing! It's a challenge! Oh, there'll be a hot time around here to-night!"
CHAPTER XLVII
DIAMOND STRIKES A BLOW
Forty freshmen, with tall hats and canes, commanded by the giant, Hock Mason, were singing, "That Bully." In the most belligerent manner possible, they shouted the line:
"We're lookin' for that bully, and he must be found."
Behind them were more freshmen without silk hats and canes, but prepared to take a hand in the scrimmage, if the juniors tried a rush.
The freshmen had grown bold and saucy. Hock Mason bullied them, and they were afraid of him, but they knew the juniors were afraid of him, too.
They sang and shouted. They marched up and down with Mason leading. They began to express their fears that the juniors would not dare try a rush.
The juniors saw the freshmen were out in force, and they were not hasty about making an assault. They seemed to lack a leader. They kept gathering, but held aloof.
The freshmen grew bolder and bolder. They invaded the campus. The juniors were gathered at their fence. It was plain the freshmen meant to rush them, and attempt to take the fence. The juniors prepared to struggle to the bitter end.
On came the freshmen. The others were outnumbered. It looked as if many of them were afraid, and were keeping out of the mêlée that must come.
The freshmen marched past the line along the fence. They were insulting. They turned and marched back. Then, at a signal from their giant leader, they attempted to sweep the juniors from the fence, and take it by storm.
There was a charge, a clash, and the battle was on.
But it afterward developed that the juniors were far more crafty than the freshmen thought. They had not concentrated their entire force at the fence, but their main body were keeping out of sight and waiting for the onset to begin, knowing the freshmen were in a mood to try something desperate and unusual.
The moment the freshmen made a rush for the fence, the second body of their antagonists came with a wild charge.
Frank Merriwell led them!
In a moment such a battle was taking place there at the fence as had not been witnessed since the old days at Yale – the good old fighting days.
Almost immediately the freshmen were on the defensive, doing their best to retain their hats and canes.
Frank singled out Hock Mason, believing the best course was to engage his entire attention without delay. He was urging the freshmen on, and no one seemed to stand before him.
With all the nerve he could command, putting all his strength and skill into the effort, Merriwell went at Mason. He came upon the fellow like a tornado.
Frank did not try slugging tactics, but he caught Mason's cane with both hands, and, giving it a twist and a whirl, snapped the big freshman into the air and fairly flung him over his shoulder, tearing away the cane.
It is possible that never before in all his life had Hock Mason been handled in such a summary manner. He struck the ground with a thump, bewildered beyond measure by what had happened, for he had not dreamed any man at Yale could handle him that way, even if he were taken by surprise.
But Mason was not hurt in the least, and he was furious.
Laughing triumphantly, Frank Merriwell spun the cane into the air and caught it with the skill of a baton-thrower when it came down.
Roaring like an enraged lion, Hock Mason scrambled to his feet. Somebody gave Merriwell a push from behind, nearly throwing him down, and Mason struck him behind the ear.
It was one of the giant freshman's sledge-hammer blows, and Frank dropped like a log.
"Cuss ye!" snarled the bully. "I'll fix ye!"
The brute in his nature was aroused, and he kicked the fallen lad in the ribs with his toe.
"Shame! shame!" cried a score of voices.
Bruce Browning, with a roar of rage, tried to reach the brutal fellow, but Jack Diamond was quicker.
Jack had torn a heavy cane from a freshman, and now he wielded it, butt foremost, with all the strength he could command.
Whack!
The blow might have been heard anywhere on the campus. It fell just where the furious Virginian had intended it should – across the side of Mason's head and behind his ear!
The fellow who had stood on his feet before the blows of the policemen's clubs now fell as if he had been shot, pitching headlong over Frank Merriwell.
Frank sat up, still grasping the cane he had captured from the bully. Jack caught his hand and pulled him to his feet.
Hock Mason lay at full length on the ground, gasping for breath.
"He's dying!" cried somebody, horrified.
The rush was over, freshmen and juniors stopped struggling in a moment, and all gathered around the spot where the giant lay. His heavy rasping breathing was terrifying.
"He is dying, Diamond!" whispered Browning, in Jack's ear.
"I don't care!" returned the Virginian, passionately.
"But think – think what that means!"
"I don't care!" repeated Jack. "He struck Frank – kicked him when he was down! You know, Browning – you know how Merriwell stood by me on our trip when all the rest of you turned against me, because I was out of sorts. You know how he stood by me when I raved at him. Another fellow would have told me to go to the Old Nick. I haven't forgotten those things. I am ready to do anything for him!"
"But if it should happen that you have killed this freshman – "
"What then?"
"It will go hard with you. A little while ago, in Merriwell's room, you were saying you would kill him. It will look like a premeditated murder."
This hit Jack hard, but it did not stagger him.
"I can't help it. I did the trick to keep him from killing Merriwell. Merry was down, and that brute was kicking him. No one would dare try to stop Mason with bare hands. I used the best and only means to stop him. If he dies – Well, I'll take my chance with a jury of honest men."
Browning felt that Diamond had nerve, for all that he was hot-headed and passionate.
"Well, we'll hope the fellow isn't hurt much."
Some one was bending over Mason, fanning him, while others were pushing the crowd back.
"Get back – give him air! Do you want to smother him to death?"
"Smother time, perhaps," chirped Danny Griswold, who could not hold back the pun, for all of the gravity of the situation.
The rush had begun and ended so quickly that the faculty did not seem to be aroused. Some of the students were watching for the expected appearance of the professors, however.
Water was brought, and Mason's temples were bathed. He continued to breathe hoarsely for some time, plainly drawing his breath with the utmost difficulty, but the sound gradually lessened, and he finally struggled to sit up.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he growled, harshly. "Let me alone! Let me get up!"
Some one offered to help him.
"Get out!" he snarled, flinging the fellow off. "What do I want of help? What's the matter with my head? It is whirling."
He got up, although it was with the utmost difficulty he could do so, and there he stood in the midst of the crowd, swaying and putting his hands to his head.
Some could not believe their eyes. They had not thought it possible Hock Mason could betray weakness.
"Somebody struck me!" he harshly grated, glaring around. "Where is he? I'll wring his neck as if he were a chicken! Where is the fellow?"
All were silent.
"Oh, I'll find out who it is," declared the bully, "and when I do, I'll make him weep tears of blood. I'll make him wish he never had been born. I'll – What's the matter with my head? It's going around – around – around – "
He would have fallen, but some of the freshmen caught hold of him, and he was led from the campus toward his room.