“I don’t knew nottings apout no vild hosses, but if dot vill fexe me so I peen aple to ride a log on I think berhaps I petter took him, ain’d id?”
“It would be a good thing for you,” declared the man, looking inquiringly toward Merriwell, who was recognized as the leader of the party. “Perhaps some of your friends wouldn’t want ye ter be initiated?”
Frank scented sport.
“They won’t hurt him,” said Forest, laughing, as he saw the men grinning at each other and indulging in sundry nudges. “If he wants to be initiated, let them run him through the mill.”
“Perhaps you had better take the degree, Hans,” laughed Frank. “Go ahead, if you want to.”
This was all the encouragement the Dutch boy needed. He jumped up immediately, crying:
“All right! Go aheadt mit dot kernishiated peesness.”
Frank nodded to the men, and then two or three of them suddenly hurried out of doors, while others seized the Dutch lad and stripped him to his thin underclothing. By the time Hans’ outer clothing was removed the men who had gone out returned with a spruce pole that had been stripped of the bark. This pole the cook quickly rubbed with grease, making it very slippery.
“Now,” said the leader, addressing Hans, “you must mount that pole straddle an’ hold on. You must keep right side up, no matter what happens. Till you can do that you’ll never be wuth a darn at river drivin’.”
The fat boy looked doubtful, but he would not back out then, and he immediately got astride the pole, which took his feet off the floor. He slipped and fell off, causing a shout of laughter to go up. But he jumped up, crying: