Frank Merriwell's Athletes Part 33

"I am Carver."

CHAPTER XVII-OFF FOR PUEBLO

Frank was astonished, but his face showed not the least sign of surprise. Carver was a Western sport and "bad man." It was said that, when aroused, he was more dangerous than a hundred rattlesnakes.

"Well, Mr. Carver," said Frank, "I have heard that it is your custom to do your shooting first and your palavering afterward; but I trust you will break the rule in this case. I have heard that you claim to be a gentleman, and, as a gentleman, I ask you not to do any shooting here in the presence of these ladies, who are already badly frightened, and would be horrified at the sight of blood."

"Oh, if you put it that way," said the man, slowly, "I presume I shall have to throw up my hand, although I feel it a duty to shoot some holes in that drunken redskin."

"As a favor to the ladies you will not shoot him?"

"As a favor to the ladies, I will not shoot him-here."

Merry instantly let go of Dan Carver's wrist, saying:

"I thank you, sir."

The Indian who had been knocked down had regained his feet by this time.

He paused, swaying a bit unsteadily, and glared in a drunken way at Inza and her rescuer, then he turned and staggered away, disappearing around the station.

"The horrid beast!" exclaimed Miss Abigail, who had lifted her parasol, as if to strike him, while she stiffly stood her ground. "Indians are not good for anything anyway. You never can make anything decent out of them, no matter how hard you try."

"I believe that is what all white folks think," said the young man who had knocked the drunken savage down. "They may be right."

There was a trace of bitterness in the words and the tone in which they were spoken.

Frank stared hard at the rescuer, and then, stepping forward, cried:

"I believe I know you! I am sure I do! Why, you are John Swiftwing, and I have played football against you!"

The youth with the swarthy face looked at Frank, and then bowed gravely.

"I am John Swiftwing," he acknowledged; "and I remember you. You are a Yale man, and your name is Merriwell."

Frank held out his hand.

"Shake, Swiftwing!" he cried. "I am delighted to see you, although you nearly killed me once on a tackle. Without question, you are the fiercest tackler and the best football player Carlisle has on her team.

If she had ten more men like you, she'd wipe up the earth with every Eastern college."

A gleam shot from the eyes of the other, and he accepted Frank's hand.

"You speak as if you mean it," he said, "and I thank you."

"I do mean it," declared Frank. "Why, all the Eastern papers said so!

You showed yourself a wonder. You play football as if your life depended on it."

"Yes. It is the only white man's game worth playing."

"I can't agree with you there. I consider baseball superior."

Swiftwing shook his head.

"No," he said; "it is too tame. Football is like a battle, and it makes one's blood tingle."

"Well, I wish to thank you for your ready intervention in behalf of this young lady, who is a friend of mine. Permit me to introduce you. Miss Burrage, this is Mr. Swiftwing, a Carlisle student."

The young man bowed with a grace that was natural and pleasing, lifting his hat as he did so.

Impulsively Inza held out her gloved hand.

"Mr. Swiftwing," she said, "I am awfully glad to know you, and, oh! I want to thank you so much for what you just did! That-that drunken-man nearly scared me to death."

"Why didn't you say that drunken Indian, as you started to, Miss Burrage?" asked Swiftwing, with something like a bitter smile. "White men never get drunk, I believe!"

"Goodness, yes they do!" exclaimed Miss Abigail; "but not all of them get drunk. All Indians get drunk."

"Not all of them, madam-I beg your pardon. I have never tasted a drop of liquor in my life."

"You-you? Why-why-you are-are not--"

"Miss Gale," said Frank, "allow me to introduce Mr. Swiftwing, who is a full-blooded Indian and a student at the school in Carlisle, Pennsylvania."

The spinster looked astonished, nearly dropping her parasol.

"Gracious me!" she fluttered. "Him an Indian? Why, he's dressed decent, and I'd never suspected it if you hadn't said so. My, my! what a surprise!"

She did not offer to shake hands, but Swiftwing bowed to her quite as courteously as he had to Inza.

The other boys crowded around, and Frank introduced them all to the Carlisle student, to whom he explained that they were on their way to the Pueblo of Taos.

"But how do you happen to be away out here, Swiftwing?" asked Frank. "Is your home near here?"

"My home is at the Pueblo of Taos, and I am on my way thither."

"That is remarkable! You are not done at Carlisle?"

"No, I have another year there. I became hungry for a sight of home, and that is how I happen to be here."

"How do you travel from here?"

"By horse. I suppose you will go by stage. Ramon Griego will carry you."

"Yes, we go that way; but we'll see you again at the Pueblo. I wish to have a talk with you."