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    Frank Merriwell's Backers The Pride of His Friends
    Frank Merriwell's Backers The Pride of His Friends
    Frank Merriwell's Backers The Pride of His Friends
    Ebook410 pages4 hours

    Frank Merriwell's Backers The Pride of His Friends

    By Burt L. Standish

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Frank Merriwell's Backers The Pride of His Friends

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      Book preview

      Frank Merriwell's Backers The Pride of His Friends - Burt L. Standish

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, Frank Merriwell's Backers, by Burt L. Standish

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Frank Merriwell's Backers

      The Pride of His Friends

      Author: Burt L. Standish

      Release Date: April 12, 2012 [eBook #39433]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANK MERRIWELL'S BACKERS***

      E-text prepared by Roger Frank, Demian Katz,

      and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

      (http://www.pgdp.net)

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      STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK

      FRANK MERRIWELL'S BACKERS

      OR

      THE PRIDE OF HIS FRIENDS

      BY

      BURT L. STANDISH

      AUTHOR OF

      The Celebrated Merriwell Stories

      PUBLISHED EXCLUSIVELY IN THE MEDAL LIBRARY, IN PAPER-COVERED EDITION

      STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS

      79-89 SEVENTH AVE., NEW YORK CITY

      Copyright, 1903

      By STREET & SMITH

      Frank Merriwell's Backers

      All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages,

      including the Scandinavian.

      CONTENTS

      FRANK MERRIWELL'S BACKERS.

      CHAPTER I.

      IN THE TRAP.

      Millions of bright stars shone serenely through the clear Arizona night, shedding their soft white light on the great arid plains and the mysterious mesas and mighty mountains.

      Throughout the night Frank Merriwell lay ensconced behind some sheltering rocks in a deep ravine, where he had been trapped by the ruffians in the employ of the mining trust, who were determined to wrest from him the precious papers they believed to be in his possession.

      Old Joe Crowfoot, the aged Indian friend of Merriwell, who had been snared with him, had, shortly after nightfall, taken the precious oilskin package, containing the papers, and crept forth on his stomach, like a snake, from amid the rocks.

      Joe had promised to take the papers to the nearest registry post-office, in case he escaped, and send them, according to directions, to Richard Merriwell, Frank's brother, at Fardale.

      Frank had written a letter to Dick, and had securely tied up and directed the package. He trusted the aged redskin, who declared that he might find a method of escaping from the trap, yet could not take the white youth with him. He had made certain that Joe understood the matter of registering the package, in case he should reach the post-office with it in his possession.

      Merriwell had become satisfied that this was the best course to pursue. It was plain that he was in a very bad trap, and he knew those ruffians could soon starve him out. There was no water or food for himself or his horse. A day of thirst behind those rocks must surely do for him.

      If Joe carried out the plan successfully, the papers would be placed beyond the reach of the ruffians, even though Frank fell into their hands. And it was the papers they had been engaged to secure. Were they to kill him, Dick would have the precious papers and be able to continue the battle for his rights.

      Merry watched old Joe wiggle silently away, wondering that the Indian could slip along in that manner with so very little effort. The old redskin lay flat on the ground and took advantage of every little cover he could find, and soon he vanished amid the rocks and passed into the shadows, after which Merry saw him no more.

      Down the ravine a great mass of rocks and earth had been blown down by a mighty blast and blocked the passage.

      Up the ravine armed and murderous men were waiting and watching, ready to shoot down the youth they had trapped.

      There were also armed ruffians on the barrier to the southeast. They had trailed Merry with the persistence of bloodhounds.

      A full hour passed. The men above were making merry in a boisterous way. One of them began to sing. He had a musical voice, which rang out clearly on the soft night air. Strangely enough he sang Nearer My God to Thee.

      Could they be watching closely? It did not seem so.

      Frank rigged his coat on the barrel of his rifle. On the muzzle of the weapon he placed his hat. Then, he lifted coat and hat above the rocks.

      Crack! Ping!

      The ringing report of a rifle and the singing of a bullet. The hat and coat dropped. In the coat Merriwell found a bullet-hole. That settled it. There was no longer a doubt but that the desperadoes were watching like wolves.

      Yet old Joe had been able to slip forth from the protection of those rocks and creep away.

      More than ever Merriwell admired the skill of the Indian. Thinking that the old fellow had instructed Dick in the craft which he knew so well, Frank believed such knowledge had not been acquired in vain. Some time Dick might find it very valuable to him.

      There was a hoarse burst of laughter from the watching ruffians.

      Oh, Merriwell! called a voice.

      Well, sang back Frank, what do you want?

      Stick that thing up again. We'd like a leetle target practise.

      You'll have to provide your own target, Merry retorted.

      Oh, we reckons not! We'll stand you up fer one sooner or later, was the assurance.

      Still they had not discovered old Joe. It seemed marvelous.

      The night passed on. Another hour was gone when there came a sudden commotion far up the ravine, as if on the further outskirts of the ruffians. There were hoarse shouts, angry oaths, the rattle of shots, and then the clatter of iron-shod hoofs.

      The ring and echo of those clattering hoofs receded into the night, coming back clear and distinct at first, but growing fainter and fainter.

      Frank Merriwell laughed and lay still until the sound of the galloping horse had died out in the distance.

      Old Joe is on his way to the post-office, muttered Merry. He took a fancy to acquire one of their horses in order to make better time.

      The ruffians were filled with more or less consternation. They continued to wrangle angrily. At last, one cried:

      Oh, Merriwell!

      Frank lay perfectly still and made no answer.

      Oh, Merriwell!

      Peering forth from amid his rocky barrier, yet crouching where the shadows hid him, Frank cocked his rifle and pushed it forward for use.

      There was a time of silence, during which he fancied the men were consulting in whispers. Finally his keen eyes saw something move into the dim white light above some boulders. He laughed a little in a suppressed way and sent a bullet through the moving object.

      Put it up again! he called cheerfully. I don't mind a little target practise myself.

      He knew the thing had been thrust up there to draw his fire and settle the question if he still remained in the trap. But he had shown

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