Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 19

"Then sing of Fardale, fair Fardale!

Your voices raise in joyous praise Of Fardale--fair Fardale!

Forevermore 'twixt hill and sh.o.r.e, Oh, may she stand with open hand To welcome those who come to her-- Our Fardale--fair Fardale!"

It was plain that, for some reason, Dulzura and his band of a.s.sa.s.sins had not wished to use firearms in their dreadful work. Now, however, the leader seemed to feel that there was but one course left for him. Merry saw him reach into a pocket and felt certain the scoundrel was in search of a pistol.

He was right. Even as Dulzura brought the weapon forth, Frank made two pantherish bounds, knocking the others aside, and smote the chief rascal a terrible blow over the ear. Dulzura was sent whirling out between two of the heavy pillars to crash down into the shrubbery of the yard.

That blow seemed to settle everything, for with the fall of their master the wretches who had been urged on by him took flight. Like frightened deer they scudded, disappearing silently. Merry stood there unharmed, left alone with the old monk, who was still breathing his agitated prayers. From beyond the gate came a call, and the sound of that voice made Frank laugh softly with satisfaction.

He leaped down from the corridor and ran along the path to the gate, outside which, in the shadows, were two young hors.e.m.e.n.

"d.i.c.k--my brother!" exclaimed Merry.

"Frank!" was the cry, as one of the two leaped from the horse and sprang to meet him.

CHAPTER IX.

WHAT THE MONK TOLD THEM.

"By all that's wonderful!" exclaimed Merry, as he beheld his brother. "I thought I must be dreaming when I heard you singing. d.i.c.k, how did you come here?"

"I heard nothing from you, Frank," was the reply. "I didn't know for sure that you had received my message. I did know that Felicia was in trouble and in danger, and so I resolved to hasten to her at once. When I reached San Diego I found she was gone and that you had been there ahead of me. I have been seeking to overtake you ever since. This afternoon we saw you far away in the valley, although we could not be certain it was you. You had a companion. We thought it might be Bart Hodge."

d.i.c.k had made this explanation hastily, after the affectionate meeting between the brothers.

"It was not Hodge," said Frank; "far from it! It was a man I fell in with on the trail, and a most treacherous individual he proved to be."

Then he told of the encounter with Dulzura's ruffianly crew, upon hearing which d.i.c.k's companion of the trail uttered a cry.

"Whoop!" he shouted. "That certain was a hot old scrimmage. Great tarantulas! Why didn't we come up in time to get into the fracas!

Howling tomcats! but that certain would have been the real stuff! And you beat the whole bunch off, did you, Mr. Merriwell? That's the kind of timber the Merriwells are made of! You hear me gently warble!"

"h.e.l.lo, Buckhart!" exclaimed Frank, as the chap swung down from the saddle. Brad Buckhart and d.i.c.k Merriwell were chums at the Fardale Military Academy, and Frank knew him for one of the pluckiest young fellows he had ever met. Buckhart was a Texan through and through.

"Put her there, Mr. Merriwell," said Brad, as he extended his hand--"put her there for ninety days! It does my optics a heap of good to rest them on your phiz. But I'll never get over our late arrival on the scene of action."

"We knew you were here somewhere, Frank, when we heard you join in 'Fair Fardale,'" said d.i.c.k.

"And by that sound the greasers knew I had friends coming," added Merry.

"It stopped them and sent them scurrying off in a hurry."

"Where are they now?" asked Brad. "Why don't they sail right out here and light into us? Oh, great horn spoon! I haven't taken in a red-hot fight for so long that I am all rusty in the joints."

"Where is Felicia, Frank?" anxiously asked d.i.c.k.

Merry shook his head.

"I can't answer that question yet," he confessed. "I have followed her thus far; of that I am satisfied, for otherwise I don't believe these men would have attacked me."

Through the shadows a dark figure came slowly toward them from the direction of the mission building.

"Whoever is this yere?" exclaimed Buckhart.

"It's the old priest," said Merry, as he saw the cloaked and hooded figure.

The old man was once more leaning on his crooked staff, which Merry had dropped as he hastened to meet his brother. Even in the gathering darkness there was about him an air of agitation and excitement.

"My son," he said, in a trembling voice, still speaking in Spanish, "I hope you are not harmed."

"Whatever is this he is shooting at you?" inquired Buckhart. "Is it Choctaw or Chinese?"

Paying no attention to Brad, Merry questioned the monk, also speaking in Spanish.

"Father," he said, "who were those men, and how came they to be here?"

"My son, I knew not that there were so many of them. Two came to me to pray in the mission. The others, who were hidden outside, I saw not until they appeared. Why did they attack you?"

"Because they are wicked men, father, who have stolen from her home a little girl. I am seeking her, hoping to restore her to her friends."

"This is a strange story you tell me, my son. Who is the child, and why did they take her from her home?"

"There's much mystery about it, father. She's the daughter of a Spanish gentleman, who became an exile from his own country. There are reasons to suppose she may be an heiress. Indeed, that seems the only explanation of her singular abduction. I have traced her hither, father.

Can you tell me anything to a.s.sist in my search?"

The old man shook his hooded head, his face hidden by deep shadows.

"Nothing, my son--nothing," he declared, drawing a little nearer, as if to lay his hand upon Frank. "I would I could aid you."

Suddenly, to the astonishment of both d.i.c.k and Brad, Merry flung himself upon the monk, grasping his wrist and dropping him in a twinkling. He hurled the agitated recluse flat upon his back and knelt upon his chest.

"Frank! Frank!" palpitated d.i.c.k. "What are you doing? Don't hurt him!"

"Strike a match, one of you," commanded Merry. "Give us a look at his face."

The man struggled violently, but Frank's strength was too much for him, and he was pinned fast.

d.i.c.k quickly struck a match and bent over, shading it with his hands, flinging the light downward upon the face of the man Merry held.

"Just as I thought!" Merry exclaimed, in satisfaction, as the light showed him, not the features of the old monk, but those of a much younger man, with dark complexion and a prominent triangular scar on his right cheek. "This is not the holy father. He couldn't deceive me with his attempt to imitate the father's voice. I have seen this gentleman on a previous occasion. He dogged my steps in San Diego after I left Rufus Staples' house."

It was, in truth, the same man Merry had warned on the street corner in San Diego. The little wretch swore savagely in Spanish and glared at his captors.

"Spare your breath, my fine fellow," said Frank. "Profanity will not help you."

"Well, whatever was the varmint trying to do?" cried Buckhart. "I certain thought he was going to bless you."