Boys of Oakdale Academy

“Lander, my father sent me here to school because I have an aunt in this town with whom I can live, and unless he takes me away in opposition to my wishes you can safely bet I’m going to stay here and finish my course at Oakdale Academy. I’ll admit it’s not any too pleasant for me, but my blood is up, and I’m a Grant. I’ve never known a quitter by that name.”

Bunk peered admiringly at the speaker, even as he observed: “Funny the fellers ’round here should size you up as a quitter, but I cal’late you’re to blame for that by the way you sorter let Barker run over you to start with. Why you done it I can’t make out, for I’ve seen enough of ye to know that you ain’t no coward.”

“Thanks,” said Rod, with a short laugh. “Most persons have right good reasons for their acts, and this was true in my case. I’m going to look for Spotty at his home now. Will you come along?”

“Guess I will, though you’ve got me guessin’ why you want to see him so bad.”

“If I get a chance to talk with him to-night, perhaps you’ll find out.”

But at the home of Davis they were informed by the boy’s mother that he had not returned from the village. They waited a while outside the house, only to be disappointed by the failure of Spotty to put in an appearance. Finally Rod said:

“I’ll see him to-morrow; it will give me more time to think the matter over.”

Still wondering why Grant was so earnestly desirous to see Davis, Bunk bade him good night and they separated.

Ere Rod slept that night he spent a long time thinking the matter over and planning out a diplomatic method of handling Spotty and getting the exact truth from him; for somehow he felt strangely confident that the fellow could clear up the mystery connected with the shooting of Silver Tongue.

Shortly after nine o’clock Sunday morning the boy from Texas again knocked at the door of Davis’ home. Mrs. Davis, a thin, care-worn, slatternly woman, answered that knock and informed him that Spotty was still in bed.

“He ain’t very well this morning; he says he’s sick,” she explained. “He wouldn’t git up to eat no breakfast.”

“I’d like very much to see him for a few minutes, Mrs. Davis,” urged Rod. “Can’t I do so?”

“Well, I dunno. He won’t like to be disturbed; he gits awful cross and snappy when he is. Still, seein’s you and him is friendly, I guess you can go up to his room. It’s the open chamber straight ahead at the top of the stairs.”

Grant opened the door at the head of the stairs and walked into the barnlike, unfinished chamber beneath the roof. As he did so some one wrapped in several old quilts started up on a bed and looked at him. It was Spotty, who immediately sank down with a groan.

“What’s the matter, Spotty, old chap?” asked Rod kindly, as he stopped beside the bed. “Aren’t you feeling well this morning?”

“Oh, I’m sick – I’m sick!” moaned Davis. “Go ’way! I don’t want to see nobody.”

“What ails you?”

“I dunno, but I’m awful sick. My head aches terrible, and I feel rotten mean all over.”

“Perhaps you ought to have a doctor.”

“I don’t want no doctor. I guess I’ll be all right in a day or two. Don’t talk to me; it makes me worse.”

“But I want to talk to you a few minutes, Spotty,” said Rod, sitting down on a broken chair close by and putting out a hand to touch the fellow’s forehead, which caused him to shrink and grumble. “Your head doesn’t seem to be hot. Perhaps you’d feel better if you got up.”

“No, sir, I wouldn’t. Guess I know. How’d you git in, anyhow? I told the old lady I was feelin’ rotten and didn’t want nobody to bother me.”

“Your mother knew we were friends, and so she let me in to see you.”

“She’ll hear from me when I do get up. She ought to know better.”

“Oh, come, come, Spotty. Of course she reckoned I’d sympathize with you if you were sick. Have you heard about what happened to Barker’s dog?”

The body of the boy beneath the quilts twitched the least bit.

“Ain’t heard nothing,” he growled. “Don’t want to hear anything now.”

“Somebody shot Silver Tongue, and Berlin is pretty hot over it. You know how much I like Barker. It would do me good to find out who killed his dog.”

One of Davis’ hands crept up to the edge of the quilt, which he pulled down a bit, turning a foxy eye toward the visitor; but, immediately on meeting Rod’s gaze, he sank his head back beneath those quilts, like a turtle pulling into its shell.

“I don’t care,” he mumbled under the covers; “I don’t care about nothing now.”

“He thinks I shot Silver Tongue,” said Rod, as if it was something of a joke; “but I didn’t get the chance.”

No sound from Spotty.

“If I had,” Grant continued – “well, I won’t say what might have happened.”

Still the boy in the bed remained silent.

“You know he threatened to shoot old Rouser,” Rod pursued, “and there are some persons who might feel that he simply got a dose of his own medicine. Don’t you say so?”

“I’m sick,” persisted Spotty in a muffled tone. “I ain’t goin’ to talk.”

“I just thought I’d let you know about it, for I reckoned you’d be interested. Oh, here’s one of the neckties I gave you hanging on a hook. Do you know, I lost my red silk handkerchief. You didn’t borrow it, did you, Spotty?”

“Borrer it!” growled Davis. “You know I didn’t. What are you talkin’ about?”

“Oh, I didn’t know, seeing as we’re friends, but you took it for a joke, or something like that.”

“Well, I didn’t, and now I won’t talk no more if you set there and chin for a week.”

Nor could Rod get another word out of Spotty, and he was finally compelled to depart in some disappointment, although more than half satisfied that his suspicions concerning the fellow were well grounded.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

AROUSED AT LAST

On Monday morning Rod was early at the academy, waiting for Springer and Piper. He paid no apparent heed to the disdainful, contemptuous looks of the boys who saw him posted there on the steps; nevertheless, he took note of their manner and felt fierce, resentful wrath burning in his heart.

The girls likewise regarded him with open aversion. Sadie Springer and Lelia Barker, coming up the path together, beheld the defiant young Texan and exchanged words concerning him. It was natural enough that Lelia should espouse her brother’s cause and hold the same opinions regarding Grant; however, for some reason which he himself could not understand, her remark, distinctly heard as she mounted the steps, cut him keenly.

“Why, Sadie,” she said, evidently speaking for his ears as well as those of her companion, “he’s a perfect young ruffian. No one else would do things he has done.”

In many ways Lelia was unlike her brother. She was headstrong and impulsive, and, while Berlin was coldly cautious and calculating, she had often betrayed a daring and almost reckless disposition. He had never been pronouncedly popular, but Lelia was both liked and admired by nearly all the girls and boys of the school. They had never exchanged a word, but Rod, had he analyzed his true feelings, would have found that he also entertained a strong liking for Lelia.

He forgot her in a moment, however, as he saw Phil Springer and Roger Eliot turn in at the gate, with Piper and some other fellows a short distance behind.

“Springer,” said Rod, descending the steps to meet him, “I want to have a little talk with you. You, too, Piper; I’d like to ask you fellows some questions.”

They regarded him coldly, repellantly, Sleuth’s lips taking on a curl of disdain.

Rod continued quickly: “According to Barker, you fellows were with him when he found my silk handkerchief Saturday morning. Is that right?”

“Absolutely correct,” answered Piper, while Springer merely nodded.

“You were following the tracks of some one supposed to have shot Barker’s dog, were you?”

“We were hot on the trail of the scoundrel,” said Sleuth. “Only for the snowstorm, we’d tracked him to his lair.”

“Did you see Barker find my handkerchief?”

“You bet we did.”

“He claims to have found it hanging on a bush. Were you near at hand when he made the discovery?”

“Phil was about five feet behind him, and I was close behind Phil,” replied Sleuth.

“Are you positive Barker did not hang the handkerchief on the bush and then call your attention to it?”

Springer suddenly burst into derisive laughter.

“Now what do you think of that!” he cried. “If that isn’t about the poorest attempt I ever knew of to struggle out of a thing, I’ll eat my huh-hat! It won’t do, Mr. Grant – it won’t dud-do.”

“Not at all,” agreed Piper sternly. “Berlin called our attention to the handkerchief before he’d even reached it. He didn’t have a chance to hang it there.”

“That’s all I want to know,” said Rod quietly, “and I’m much obliged to you.”

“Don’t mention it,” returned Sleuth cuttingly.

Barker reached the academy barely in time to escape being late for the opening of the morning session. As he seated himself at his desk his eyes were turned in the direction of Rodney Grant some distance away, but already Rod had a book open before him and was apparently quite oblivious to his surroundings. And all through the forenoon the young Texan gave constant attention to his books and recitations, not even seeming aware of the fact that the other boys drew away from him in classes, leaving him alone and solitary. Even at intermission he succeeded in maintaining his demeanor undisturbed, although with half an eye and no ears at all he could not have failed to take note of the sneers and disdain of his schoolmates.

As the deep snow had obliterated the path across lots, it was necessary for him to take a roundabout course through the village in order to reach his aunt’s home; and, on his way for midday lunch, turning up Main Street from the square, he perceived several fellows blocking the sidewalk in front of Hyde’s livery stable. Instantly he knew there was trouble impending, but not even for an instant did he hesitate or slacken his steady stride. Rollins, Tuttle, Cooper, Piper, Springer – they were all there. Barker was there, too, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, his gaze fixed on the approaching lad, for whom he was plainly waiting, and Rod knew they had made haste to reach this spot ahead of him.

Within Grant’s heart a voice seemed calling warningly: “Steady! Be careful! You know what may happen if you lose your head.” But they had sneered at him as a coward, they had branded him as a braggart and a quitter, and now the time had come when his manhood would no longer permit him to betray the slightest wavering; so, with his face a trifle pale, but his eyes shining dangerously, and every nerve in his body keyed, he went forward.

Barker held his place in the middle of the sidewalk; unless he turned aside a bit Rod must brush against him. Their eyes met, and suddenly Berlin cried:

“Hold on a minute, you dog-killing whelp! I told you what I’d do if the law wasn’t sufficient to make you settle for that dirty piece of business, and now you can’t get away unless you turn your back and run for it.”

“Barker,” said Grant, and there was something in his voice that surprised those waiting, staring lads, “I turned my back on you once, and I’ve been mortally ashamed of it ever since, even though it was for your own good, as well as my own, that I did so. You’ve pushed me too far, and I’ll never turn again; but I warn you that you’d better step aside right lively and let me pass.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Berlin, in derisive contempt. “You’re as brave as a cornered rat.”

“Sometimes a cornered rat is dangerous. Get out of my way!”

“I will when I’m through with you – I’ll get out of your way and let you crawl home after you’ve had the thrashing of your life.” As he uttered this threat Berlin, having his coat already unbuttoned, suddenly snapped it off and flung it into the waiting hands of Sleuth Piper. “I’m going to smash your face!” he shouted. “I’ll teach you to shoot inoffensive dogs, you cheap cur!”

He sprang forward with the final insulting word on his lips and aimed a blow at Grant’s mouth. Quick as a flash the young Texan ducked and sidestepped, permitting Berlin’s fist to shoot over his shoulder. Untouched, he drove his own right fist with staggering force against the solar plexus of his assailant, stopping that rush in a twinkling; in another twinkling the knuckles of his left hand crashed full and fair on the point of Barker’s jaw, and the would-be avenger of Silver Tongue crumpled like a frost-struck autumn leaf and went down.

It was done so quickly that the boys who had gathered to see Berlin thrash the Texan scarcely had time to catch a breath before they beheld Grant, his fists clenched, his face ashen and terrible, his lips drawn back from his set teeth, standing over the fallen fellow as if ready to leap upon him as he lay and beat out of his body what breath of life might linger there. But it was Grant’s eyes that terrified them the most, for they were the eyes of a wild beast aroused to the most frightful fury; and Piper, dropping the coat and falling back, screamed aloud:

“Stop him, fellers – stop him, or he’ll kill Bern sure!”

Somehow it seemed as if that cry brought Rodney Grant to his senses, for slowly his fists unclenched and his hands dropped at his sides, while, with a hissing sound like the intake of steam, he drew a long breath that filled his chest to its utmost capacity.

“Don’t worry,” he said, and there was something of that same indescribable, awesome touch in his voice; “I won’t touch him again. The poor fool can’t fight, anyhow. I’ve tried to keep peaceable and decent; but, now that you’ve made it impossible for me to do so, if there are any friends of his present who want to take up his fight I sure hope they won’t be backward about it; for we may as well have the matter settled right now, to prevent any further uncertainty or annoyance.”

But there was no one who showed the slightest desire to take up this challenge, even Rollins, who had once browbeaten and insulted the boy from Texas, slinking behind Chub Tuttle’s roly-poly body in a way that plainly betokened an amazing respect for Grant’s fighting powers, at least. Seeing this, the faintest shadow of an inexpressibly contemptuous smile flitted across the defiant lad’s face.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll leave you to doctor up your indiscreet friend, who, I reckon, will come round all right in a few minutes.” He passed on, and they took care to give him room.

“Jinks!” breathed Piper, as Barker stirred slightly and uttered a faint sound which caused Springer to kneel hastily beside him. “I told you that feller was a perfect fiend to fight. I knew, for didn’t I see him handle Lander!”

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE INCRIMINATING LETTER

At the next street corner Rod hesitated a moment; then, instead of continuing toward his aunt’s house, he turned his steps in the opposite direction and soon arrived at the home of Spotty Davis. He saw and talked with Mr. Davis, who was over from the lower mill for the midday meal.

“My boy?” said Davis. “Oh, he’s gone to Belford.”

“Gone?” exclaimed Rod, surprised.

“Yes,” nodded the man; “I let him have the fare, and he took the mornin’ train.”

“When will he come back?”

“Dunno; mebbe he won’t come back. You see, he’s got some relatives over there, and his cousin Jim said he could git him a job in a machine shop. He ain’t never been much struck on work, but all of a sudden last night he took a notion he’d like to try it, and he wouldn’t let up on me till I give my consent. I guess mebbe ’twill do him good. He got into some kind of a fuss with the perfesser at the academy and was sent home. I cal’late he’s got about eddication enough, anyhow, for he never was no hand to study.”

“Belford,” muttered Grant. “How far is that?”

“Oh, ’bout sixty mile or so. Why, what’s the matter?”

“I would like to see Spotty and have a talk with him.”

“Ho! Well, that would be a master long distance to travel jest for a talk.”

“Spotty was sick yesterday morning when I called. He must have recovered right suddenly.”

“Oh, I guess he wa’n’t very sick; he jest wanted to lay in bed, that was all. I hope he’ll fall into good company in Belford, for the fellers he’s took up with ’round here ain’t done him no good.”

Rod shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile, bade the man good day, and turned away. So Spotty had left town suddenly and unexpectedly; this act seemed to confirm Grant in his suspicions regarding the fellow.

“He stole two dollars of my money,” muttered Rod, as he walked homeward, “and he stole my silk handkerchief also. It was Spotty who shot Barker’s dog, and either he lost the handkerchief afterward or became frightened and left it hanging on a bush in order to turn suspicion from himself. I sure hate to think that last, even of Spotty; but somehow I can’t help it, knowing he would reason it out that the condition of affairs between Barker and myself and the possible finding of the handkerchief would make it seem a sure thing that I did the shooting.”

Neither Barker nor Grant appeared at school that afternoon, Berlin remaining away because of his intense chagrin and shame, and Rod feeling himself too disturbed to study or appear in recitations. The boy from Texas knew his motives might be misconstrued, but he smiled grimly over the thought that any one should fancy that fear had anything to do with them.

School had closed for the day less than half an hour when Grant, chancing to look out, saw the sturdy figure of Ben Stone hurrying up the path toward Miss Kent’s house. The young Texan met Ben at the door.

“Come in,” he invited, and the invitation was readily accepted.

“You didn’t show up at the academy this afternoon,” said Ben when they were in Grant’s room.

“No; I had a reason for staying away, but you can reckon on it that I’ll be there to-morrow.”

“Something happened,” said Stone – “something I want to tell you about.”

“Go ahead; I’m listening.”

“Of course the fellows had lots to say about the way you did Barker up, but I didn’t come to talk about that.”

“For which I’m plenty thankful.”

“Something happened that gave a setback to the fellows who thought it was you that squealed about that hazing. Cooper, who is usually up to something, brought two live mice in a trap. Prof. Richardson is as scared of mice as any woman could be, and Chipper wanted to put them into the professor’s desk. Piper, who always seems to have a key to fit anything, had one that would unlock the desk. You know how Sleuth prides himself on his keen and searching eyes. Well, in the desk he discovered a letter that had been sent to the professor, and he recognized the handwriting on it. Of course he didn’t have any right to look at it, but he did just the same – he read it and kept it, too, to show to the fellows. It stirred up something sure enough, for it told all about that hazing and the breaking of the professor’s skeleton, giving the names of every fellow who took part in that piece of business. The writer of that letter reminded the professor of his promise to protect any one who should tell him the truth.”

“What a sneaking piece of business to do!” exclaimed Rod.

“It certainly was,” nodded Ben, “and I’ll guarantee Prof. Richardson regarded it in that light. Perhaps that’s one reason why he declined to pull all those fellows over the coals. You see, he’d been forced to jump on some that he plainly regards as his best scholars, and, as long as you made no complaint, he let it pass by handing out that lecture about hazing.”

“Which,” said Rod, “was sure enough straight dope. This hazing business, when it’s carried too far, as it is right often, certainly is all to the bad – as I have good reasons to know.”

“You haven’t asked who wrote that letter,” reminded Ben.

“I’m not right sure I want to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I never could regard the squealer with an atom of respect. I don’t quite understand why he wrote it, either.”

“You know the professor threatened to probe into the matter and do his best to find out and punish the guilty parties.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I suppose the fellow who blowed was afraid some one else would do the same thing, and simply tried to make himself immune from punishment.”

“Likely that’s right.”

“Don’t you want to know who it was? It isn’t probable you can help finding out, for all the fellows know now, and some of them have told the sneak a few things.”

“I don’t opine,” laughed Rod, “they’ll break their necks hurrying to tell me.”

“Oh, there’s been a decided change of opinion about you. If it wasn’t for that dog-shooting affair, I believe you’d be surprised to find a great many chaps ready to become friendly.”

“What do you think about that dog shooting, Stone?”

“I’m dead sure you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Thanks. But of late even you have apparently been influenced by the rising tide of popular prejudice against one Rodney Grant.”

“No,” denied Ben – “no, indeed; but of late you have held yourself away from everybody. Why, you scarcely spoke to me when we met.”

“Being plenty unpopular,” said Rod, “I allowed I wouldn’t involve you. I was independent enough to believe I could paddle my own canoe. I’ve observed that about nine times out of ten things work themselves out if you let them alone. I’ll guarantee the truth concerning the shooting of Barker’s hound will be known in time.”

“I hope so, Rod, as that would come pretty near putting you fully and squarely right in Oakdale. Hunk Rollins’ letter has – ”

“So it was Rollins,” said Rodney quietly. “Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“Yes, it was Rollins,” answered Stone, “and he’s certainly queered himself with everybody. He knows what the fellows think of him now, for nearly all of them have taken pains to tell him.”

CHAPTER XXX.

THE REASON WHY

“That matter never worried me a whole lot, anyhow,” said Rod, after a few moments of silence. “I turned the laugh on the bunch that started in to have a howling, gay old time with me, and I was satisfied. I knew I hadn’t squealed, and I knew the professor knew it. I will admit, however, that this dog-shooting business has stirred me up some, for it sure was a contemptible thing to do, and I hate to have anybody really think it of me. Have you heard that Spotty Davis has left town?”

“No,” cried Ben, surprised. “Has he?”

“Yes; gone to Belford. He went this morning, and his father says he may not come back. Between us, Stone, I’ll admit confidential that I’m regretful because he made his getaway before I could put the screws on him.”

“Oh!” said Ben, sitting up straight on his chair. “Then you think that Spotty – that Spotty – ”

“I have reasons,” nodded Rod, “to be right suspicious of him. I went to see him yesterday morning and tried to lead him into owning up to me, but he was in bed, pretending to be sick, and refused to talk. I was mightily tempted to put hands on him and choke him into telling the truth, but with my particular failing in mind, which is the one unfortunate failing of all Grants belonging to my family; I kept a tight hold on myself. I didn’t dare even to make a bluff at violence, for fear my anger would get the best of me and I would lose my head.”

“Didn’t dare!” muttered Ben.

“No, Stone, I didn’t dare. We had a confidential talk once before this, and I told you something about the Grants, but a sort of shame kept me from owning up to this special weakness I have just mentioned. It’s characteristic of us all that great excitement or acts of contention or physical violence in which we take part should arouse us to a sort of disgraceful frenzy. This was well known of my father, and in the old fighting days they used to say it was safer to stir up a man-killing lion than to provoke Hugh Grant of the Star D. I’ve told you how he fought his enemies to a standstill and won out, even though maimed for life. The Grants are all fighters, Ben.”

“I guess some fellows around here are beginning to believe that one Grant, at least, is a fighter.”

“My mother is a gentle, peaceful woman, who has suffered indescribably through anxiety and worriment produced by this fighting strain in the Grant blood. She has told me that more than a score of times she’s seen my father leave the ranch fully expecting that he would be brought back dead. In my own case, I have learned by experience that violent physical action on my part, coupled with opposition of the same sort, turns me into a raging creature, wholly lacking in restraint or any thought of consequences. You know what happened to the son of my father’s enemy at school in Houston. I nearly killed Jennings. When I came here to school I made a resolve to avoid anything that would be liable to stir me up and lead me into such folly. That’s why I refused to play football.”