Frank Merriwell at Yale Part 14

"At last," shouted the orator--"at last we have arisen in our wrath and our war paint and we are out for scalps. We have decided that the joy of the red man is fleeting. To-night a flush mantles your dark cheeks, but to-morrow it will be a bobtail flush. What have we to live for but vengeance on the white man and a little booze now and then? Nothing! Our squaws once were beautiful as the wild flowers of the prairie, but now the prize beauty of our tribe is Malt Extract Maria, whose nose is out of joint, whose eyes are skewed, whose teeth are covered with fine-cut tobacco, and who lost one of her ears last week by accidentally getting it into the mouth of her husband.

"My brothers, we are not built to weep. It is not the way of the n.o.ble red man. A few more summers and we will be no more. We will have kicked the stuffing out of the bucket and wended our way up the golden stair.

But before we cough up the ghost it behooves us to strike one last blow at the hated paleface. When we get a chance at a paleface it is our duty to do him, and do him bad. Are you on?

"We have been successful in capturing a few of our hated foes, and they are bound and helpless near at hand. Shall they be frica.s.seed, broiled, fried, or made into a potpie? That is the question before the meeting, and I am ready to listen to others. Let us hear from Squint-eyed Sausageface."

"It doesn't make a dit of bifference--I mean a bit of difference to me how I have my paleface cooked," said the one indicated as Squint-eyed Sausageface. "Perhaps it would be well enough to cook them at the stake."

"I think that would be the proper mode," gravely declared another warrior; "for I have heard that they boast they are hot stuff. They should not boast in vain."

"Warriors," said Hole-in-his-Face, "you have heard. What have you to say?"

"So mote it be," came solemnly from one.

"Yah! yah! yah!" yelled the others.

"That settles it, as the sugar remarked to the egg dropped into the coffee. Prepare the torture stakes."

There was a great bustle, and in a short time the stakes were prepared and driven into the ground, one of the savages hammering them down with a huge stick of wood.

Then the captives were bound to the stakes and a lot of brush was brought and piled about their feet.

Some of the sophs actually looked scared, but Browning kept up a continual fire of sarcastic remarks.

"Ugh!" grunted Hole-in-his-Face. "This paleface talks heap much. Remove his outer garments, so the fire may reach his flesh without delay."

Then Browning was held and his clothes were stripped off till he stood in his under garments, barefooted, bareheaded, and still defiant.

"Oh, say!" he muttered, "won't there be an awful hour of reckoning!

Merriwell will regret the day he came to Yale!"

At this Hole-in-his-Face laughed heartily, and Browning cried:

"Oh, I know you, Merriwell! You can't fool me, though you have got the best makeup of them all."

When everything was ready, one of the savages actually touched a match to the various piles of brush about the feet of the unfortunate soph.o.m.ores.

As the tiny flames leaped up the painted band joined in a wild war dance about the stakes, flourishing their weapons and whooping as if they were real Indians. Some of their postures and steps were exact imitations of the poses and steps taken by savages in a war dance.

"Say, confound you fool freshmen!" howled one of the captives. "This fire is getting hot! Do you really mean to roast us?"

"Yah! yah! yah! Hough! hough! hough!"

Round and round the stake circled the disguised freshmen, and the fire kept getting higher and higher.

Puss Parker fell to coughing violently, having sucked down a large quant.i.ty of smoke. Some of the others raved and some begged. But still the wild dance went on.

"Merciful cats!" gasped Tad Horner. "I believe they actually mean to roast us!"

"Sure as fate!" agreed another. "They won't think to put out the fires till we are well cooked, if they do then!"

"This is awful!" gurgled Parker. "Browning, can't you do something?"

"Well, I hardly think so," confessed the king of the soph.o.m.ores. "But I will do something if I ever get out of this alive! You hear me murmur!"

"Say!" cried Tad Horner. "I can't stand this much longer. The fire is beginning to roast me."

"It's getting warm," confessed Parker. "But it seems to keep burning around the outside edge."

"Keep cool," advised Browning.

"What's that?" yelled Horner. "Who said 'keep cool?' Oh, say! That's too much!"

"Just look at the wood," directed the king of the soph.o.m.ores. "You will notice that all the wood about our feet is water soaked, and there's only a little dry wood out around the edges. That's all that is burning."

This they soon saw was true, and it gave them great relief, for it had begun to seem that the crazy freshmen actually meant to roast them.

At the very moment when the uproar was at its height there came a sudden loud cry, like a signal, and out of the darkness rushed at least twenty lads.

They were soph.o.m.ores who had somehow followed them out there to East Rock, having been aroused and told of the capture of Browning and his mates by the soph who escaped.

One fellow on a bicycle had followed them till he felt sure of their destination, and then he had turned back and told the others, who hastily secured teams and flew to the rescue.

"'Umpty-seven! 'Umpty-seven! 'Rah, 'rah! 'rah!" yelled the rescuers as they charged upon the freshmen.

"'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!" howled the painted lads in return.

Then for a few moments there was a pitched battle.

The battle did not last long, for the freshmen saw they were outnumbered, and at a signal from their leader they broke away and took to their heels.

By rare good luck every man was able to get away, for, not knowing anything about the water-soaked wood piled about the feet of the captives, the rescuers nearly all stopped to scatter the burning brush.

"Oh, say!" grated Browning, as he was released. "But this means gore and bloodshed! We'll never rest till we have squared for this roast, and we will square with interest! Merriwell's life will be one long, lingering torture from this night onward!"

"What's all this racket and cheering?" asked one of the rescuers.

"Listen, fellows! By Jove! it seems to come from the place where we left our carriages!"

"That's what it does, and it's the freshman yell," cried another. "Come on, fellows! If we don't get a move on we may have to walk back."

They started on a run, but when they arrived at the place where the teams had been left not a team was there.

The freshmen had captured the teams, drivers and all, together with the hack, and far along the road toward the city could be heard a cheering, singing crowd. As the disgusted and furious sophs stood and listened the singing and cheering grew fainter and fainter.

"Fellows," said Chop Harding, "I am sorry to leave Yale, but I am certain to be hanged for murder. After this, whenever I see a freshman I shall kill him instantly."

It was a doleful and weary crowd of sophs that came filing back into town and sneaked to their rooms that night.

Of course the sophs would have given a great deal could they have kept the story quiet, but on the following morning it seemed that every student in the college knew all about it.