“All right,” said Dick, “we will do so. I fancy we’ll have no trouble in following the wagon road down the mountain.”
Young Merriwell told Rattleton of their decision, and asked him to inform Frank when Merry returned to the hotel.
A few moments later Dick and Brad set out, taking the wagon road. At intervals they passed through dark strips of timber, where the moonlight failed to penetrate. There were other spots where it shone through in patches upon the winding road.
“Don’t suppose there are any panthers or catamounts?” said the Texan.
“It’s quite improbable,” answered Dick. “There are few wild creatures in this vicinity.”
“Seems a whole lot strange to me. You know out in Texas we kind of reckon Maine as being made up of woods, and bears, and creatures of that sort. Down here I find lots of folks think Texas is all prairie, and cattle, and cowboys. I didn’t get back home this summer, but I’ve had a mighty fine vacation, Dick. I will never forget it. Pard, we certain did a big thing by landing the pennant in the Trolley League. When I think it over now, I don’t wonder any at all that the people in the league laughed at us a heap and fancied we would finish at the bottom. They didn’t know us, though. We were out for scalps, and we took ’em. Those last two games in Fairhaven were corkers. How old Hammerswell did fight to lug off one of those games! They say he went clean busted by losing them both.”
“That’s right,” said Dick. “I understand he didn’t have a dollar left in the world when the season was ended.”
“Money wouldn’t have been much good to him.”
“Possibly you’re right, Brad, for if Arlington told the truth, Hammerswell stood in the shadow of a murder charge. For he it was who hurled Sullivan into Rapid River and thus caused Sullivan’s death by drowning.”
“Don’t talk to me about Chet Arlington!” exclaimed Brad growlingly. “Don’t mention that coyote to me! The sound of his name makes my fur stand. Pard, do you reckon he’ll have the nerve to show his nose at Fardale after what he’s done this summer?”