Frank Merriwell's Athletes Part 59

Charlie twisted one end of his black mustache into his mouth and began to chew it in a savage manner.

"Frank Merriwell is something surprising for a tenderfoot," he admitted; "but you had better keep away from him."

"Oh, really!"

"Yes, really. It will be better for him."

"It strikes me that your words are insulting, sir!"

"Wait!" he exclaimed, putting out one hand and barring her way as she sought to pa.s.s him. "Please don't go so soon, Sadie! Listen! Frank Merriwell has a sweetheart, and she is your friend. It would not be just for you to try to cut her out. You know that, and I do not believe you would think of such a thing."

"Thank you for your good opinion of me!" laughed the girl in a way that caused him to scowl and shrink a bit.

"I am in earnest," he went on, quickly. "Am I right in thinking so. I know you can win him from her if you try, but you shall not do it!"

He hissed the words through his teeth, and she started back, an expression of fear flitting across her face. Then she became angry to think that he should speak to her in such a manner.

"Stand aside!" she exclaimed. "You are not my master! It is well for you that Frank Merriwell is not here."

"It is well for him that he is not here," declared Charlie, his face pale and his lips cold and blue, while there was a deadly glitter in his eyes. "I see you care for him! That is enough! You shall be mine! I have sworn it a thousand times and I swear it again!"

CHAPTER x.x.xIII-SHOOTING

Immediately after dinner there was an exhibition of trick and fancy shooting, in which Frank resolved to take part.

Rodney had provided a trap and plenty of gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s for the occasion, and it was said that Indian Charlie was certain to carry off the honors of the day, as he was a wonderful shot with rifle, revolver or shotgun.

Charlie had a splendid black horse, and he started the shoot off by shooting from horseback, breaking a dozen b.a.l.l.s in rapid succession without a miss, while the horse was at full gallop.

The watching cowboys uttered a yell of applause.

"Certainly that fellow is a peach with a shooting iron," nodded Frank Merriwell. "There are not many who can beat that sort of work."

Hank Kildare followed Indian Charlie, but he rang the bell only three times out of the six shots.

Pecos Pete, mounted on a wiry little broncho, went scooting across the gra.s.sy plain, flung his hat into the air, and shot six holes through it before it could touch the ground.

Then Indian Charlie showed the spectators another trick. As he rode along a revolver in his right hand, he snapped six quarters into the air with the thumb of his left hand and knocked each one out of sight with a bullet as it spun above his head.

This brought another yell of applause from the watching cowboys, and Frank began to understand how it came about that Charlie had been regarded with no small amount of respect by those who knew him best.

"A fellow with a hot temper and the ability to shoot like that is dangerous," thought Merriwell. "I can see how it is that no one cared to anger him. It was lucky for me that he did not get out a gun when we had that little trouble."

With a revolver in either hand, and hanging head downward on the right side of his horse, clinging there face outward in some marvelous manner, one of the cowboys tore past the target, at which he sent a dozen bullets, shooting with one revolver and then with the other.

This was most remarkable as an exhibition of horsemans.h.i.+p, for he did not succeed in ringing the bell once, although nearly every bullet hit the target.

"Wait till they come down to straight shooting," said Frank. "Then I will get into the game."

One after another, the cowboys gave an exhibition of some sort of trick shooting; but it was noticeable that, although several of them were fully more skillful as hors.e.m.e.n, none could make such a record as Indian Charlie for hitting whatever he fired at.

Frank watched his style of shooting with no small amount of interest, and saw him break ball after ball till he had smashed fifty-one. On the fifty-second ball he missed, but Merry saw he did so from pure carelessness.

"There is no telling when he would stop if he felt he was on his mettle," thought Frank.

A bow-legged chap from the Star and Bar Ranch made thirty-two straight, and created no small amount of excitement.

The fifth man made twenty-four and then failed.

Frank was next and last.

If he did not beat the Star and Bar man he could not get into the "shoot off."

"Now, Frankie, me b'y," said Barney Mulloy, anxiously, "show th'

punchers what ye're made av."

Frank nodded quietly and took his position.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV-FRANK SHOWS HIS SKILL

"He'll do it!"

"He can't do it!"

"He'll miss the next one!"

"Don'd you pelief me! Dot poy nefer vos known to miss!"

Hans was confident, as were all of Frank's friends. Those who did not know him were the ones who were doubtful.

Twenty b.a.l.l.s were broken in a deliberate, confident manner. It seemed that Frank did not think it was possible to miss.

Twenty-five! He was getting close to the Star and Bar man, and the excitement increased.

Indian Charlie laughed loud enough for Frank to hear, scornfully saying:

"It's a case of luck-nothing more. He'll slip up in a minute. Why, he's getting nervous now!"

Frank paid not the least attention to this, apparently not hearing it.