Frank Merriwell's Champions Part 40

Harden was making a hard push for the ball, and Fenton, who was following it up, tried to crowd him. They came along side by side, with their knees jammed together as the ponies raced.

Then-how was it done? Liner seemed to stop suddenly, as if turned to stone, and Harden was torn from the saddle of his pony, which shot on without him. He fell heavily to the ground in the very track of the whole ma.s.s of onrushing ponies.

A scream of fear broke from Iva St. Ives, who was watching it all, for it seemed that Harden was doomed to be severely injured beneath the hoofs of the ponies-perhaps killed.

Frank was slightly in advance of the others, and, quick as thought, he leaned far over to one side, like a cowboy, and his hand fastened on the belt of the fallen player.

Harden was too heavy for Merriwell to swing back into the saddle, but he carried the young man along till the other players could swerve aside, and he did not drop him till he could stop Coffin Head.

In a moment Harden was on his feet, and, as he sprang up, the spectators broke into loud cheers.

"Thank you, Merriwell!" exclaimed the man Frank had thus cleverly saved by a cowboy trick. "I won't forget that."

Then he darted away after his pony, apparently uninjured.

"I know it was a foul trick that flung him from the saddle," thought Frank. "I wonder why the referee doesn't declare a foul? Is there some kind of a job in this?"

Then a shout came from his lips as he awoke to the fact that the game was still on, and Diamond had cleverly prevented Fenton from making a goal.

Coffin Head was away after the ball almost before the shout came from Frank's lips. As if nothing of an unusual nature had happened, the game continued.

Hawley tried to cut Merriwell off from the ball, but old Coffin Head would not have it, and Frank got in a crack that made the spectators shout with delight. Then Kimball shot across ahead of Frank, and Kenneth St. Ives found a chance to carry the ball down the field, but broke his stick trying to strike a goal, and was forced to ride out of bounds for another mallet.

Luckily for Springbrook, Diamond was playing the game of his life. He came down and drove the ball from under the nose of Kimball's pony, making another goal just as the first half closed.

Then came a rest of ten minutes, during which the ponies were rubbed down and the perspiring but enthusiastic players secured a respite.

Frank was quickly surrounded by an admiring throng. Pretty girls crowded about him, and sought an introduction, and men came up and felt of his arms, expressing their amazement that he should have been able to rescue Harden from beneath the feet of the charging ponies.

This was all very embarra.s.sing for him, and he sought to get away. As soon as possible, he joined his friends, but they were ready with congratulations.

"It must have been tough, don't you know," yawned Browning; "but it was clever, Merriwell-confounded clever."

"It was a dandy trick!" cried Harry Rattleton, bubbling with enthusiasm and admiration. "What'll the fellows at Old Yale say when they hear of your cowboy trick, Merry?"

"For Heaven's sake, don't tell them about it!" exclaimed Frank. "What is there to make such a fuss over?"

"Gol darned if I don't think that feller was throwed off his hoss by Fenton!" put in Ephraim. "I couldn't see just haow the trick was done, but I bet four dozen aigs it was done somehow."

On this point Frank was silent.

Soon the gong sounded again, and the play was on once more. The Meadowfair men seemed desperate, and they fought like tigers. Three times within as many minutes the ball was forced down so near the Springbrook goal posts that a clever strike would have made a goal, and three times, mounted on old Coffin Head, Frank Merriwell sent it back into the center of the field.

On the third trip, Kenneth St. Ives got in a clever stroke and pa.s.sed it to Diamond, who had been playing a waiting game. Jack saw his chance, and he rushed it for the Meadowfair posts.

Fenton charged on Jack like a whirlwind, but made a miss stroke, and the Virginian rushed the white sphere down through the posts, making another goal for Springbrook.

Two minutes' rest followed, and then the ball was put in again.

The face of Stephen Fenton was dark with anger, and he played as if possessed by a fiend. But all his work was vain, for Springbrook made three goals in the last half, and the game closed with a complete whitewash for Meadowfair.

CHAPTER XXVI-BEFORE THE HUNT

"I believe there will be a frost to-morrow morning," declared Kenneth St. Ives, as the boys were gathered in the summerhouse that evening. "It has turned very cold within an hour, and there is not a breath of wind.

If there is a frost look out for sport."

"What sort of sport?" eagerly asked Harry Rattleton. "Something we can all take part in?"

"Sure."

"Name it."

"Fox hunt."

"Jupiter! That will be great."

"We've got as fine a pack of hounds as can be found in this part of the country, although it is not a large pack," said Kenneth; "and we have the foxes. Every one of you fellows who can ride may take part in the hunt."

"I'm pretty sure I shall have another chill to-morrow." mumbled Browning. "I wouldn't dare start out on a hunt."

"Rats!" cried Rattleton. "The trouble with you is--"

"Let Browning stay behind and take things easy," said Hodge, quickly.

"The rest of us can go. For real sport, give me a fox hunt."

"Yaw!" nodded Hans; "dot peen der sbort vor you, hoch. I peen britty coot at dot."

"Hev yeou got guns for ther hull on us?" asked Ephraim.

"Guns?" cried Kenneth, astonished.

"Yeh."

"What do you want of guns?"

"Why, to shoot the gol darn fox with, of course!"

"But what do you want to shoot him for?"

"Hey!" gasped the astonished Vermonter. "Haow be yeou goin' to hunt him if yeou don't shoot him?"

"Why, we hunt foxes on horses, and let the dogs run them down."

"An' don't do nary bit of shootin'?"