CHAPTER XVIII
THE WRESTLING MATCH
For a second, Pete Colliver stared blankly at Dave, whose usually good-natured and smiling visage wore an expression which he had never seen upon it before.
Dick Travers was quick to take advantage of the opportunity. An energetic shove broke the lumberjack's hold, and he stepped aside.
"Wal, wal, fat un! An' what has you got ter say 'bout it, hey?" howled Pete.
"Nothing, now," answered Dave, calmly.
"Oh, ye ain't; but mebbe some one else has, hey? Ye can't bluff me none, feller."
"Quit it, Colliver!" commanded Jim Reynolds, sternly.
"Leave Pete alone, Jim," growled Smull.
"I'll show ye how I quit it, Big Jim," cried Pete, trembling with excitement. His right hand flew around, knocking Dave Brandon's sombrero into the bushes.
The Ramblers sprang forward. But Buck James interposed his big form.
"Git back, boys," he ordered, sharply. "Ye ain't got no call ter stop a squar', stan' up wrestlin' match. I'll see fair play."
"But we—" began Bob.
"Don't bother about me."
Dave spoke as quietly as though there was no one present but himself and his friends.
The boys looked at the literary youth in astonishment. All knew that Dave Brandon had plenty of courage, but they had never seen his easy, indolent air fall away from him more completely. He stood erect and alert, his eye keenly measuring his heavily-built antagonist.
Dave was inches taller than Pete, but the wide shoulders of the lumberjack indicated unusual strength. Pete's red face expressed all the joy and satisfaction he felt at having at last forced one of the boys to wrestle with him.
"I'll show ye plum quick, big un!" he cried, springing to the attack.
Dave was ready. He nimbly dodged the flail-like arms, and warily circled away, eluding another clumsy effort to seize him by the waist.
"Yer skeered ter stan' up ter me," scoffed Pete, "but I'll git ye good an' hard in a minute, feller."
"He's a-turnin' pale," said Griffin, with a hoarse laugh.
"His legs is weak a'ready, Pete," chimed in Tom Smull.
Dave was moving his arms like a skilled boxer, and, by nimble footwork, continually evaded Pete's bull-like rushes.
"He must think the movin' pictur' fellers are takin' a crack at the show, an' want him ter draw it out," commented Buck James. "Move in close, you Pete. Watch yerself, now—ah!"
Pete had at last succeeded in getting a hold, and the two were at it in deadly earnest, kicking up the turf, as they struggled back and forth over the clearing.
The boys shouted encouragement to Dave, while Smull and Griffin, highly excited, crowded so close to the contestants that Buck James felt called upon to interfere.
"Give 'em room!" he commanded. "Ah! Sarves ye jist right, Tom Smull!"
Dave, by a tremendous effort, had broken Pete's hold, and sent him spinning back, to bring up with great force against Tom Smull. The latter, swept off his balance, uttered a howl of anger, and fell in a heap upon the ground.
Pete Colliver had never dreamed of such resistance. It began to dawn upon him that his antagonist was of a different kind from any he had ever met in the lumber camp.
With a yell of rage, he dashed headlong toward Dave, intending to end the contest by one supreme effort.
Pete managed to plant an elbow under the stout boy's chin, forcing his head back. Then, putting forth all the power of his muscular body, he followed up the advantage.
A groan came from the Ramblers as they saw Dave yielding.
"Ye've got 'im a-goin' sure, Pete," yelled Smull, whose feelings had been considerably damaged by his tumble.
"Don't crowd 'em!" again warned Buck James, his flabby face shining with pleasure. "I didn't expect to see no sich a go as this 'n."
"Get out! Fatty only needs nuff room ter fall in," piped Jimmy of Sellade, hilariously. "Oh!"
By a dexterous twist, Dave had wriggled out of danger again, and dropped on all fours, with his opponent clinging to his back.
Pete Colliver, with disheveled hair wildly tossing in the breeze, paused, puffing heavily. A curious, dumfounded look, which all the rough shouts of encouragement flung toward him failed to remove, had settled over his brick-red face.
"Pete's lost his nerve," cried Jack.
"He couldn't throw you in a hundred years," shouted Tim, gleefully.
Dave unexpectedly fell flat on his face, his surprised opponent sprawling across his prostrate form. Then, with a swift movement of tremendous power, Dave began turning over, and a roar came from the boys when they saw Pete's shoulder rising high in the air.
The latter wildly attempted to loosen his hold—and succeeded. But the impetus of Dave Brandon's push kept him rolling over, and, like a flash, the stout boy had turned and pounced upon him.
The astounded Pete, frantically struggling to arise, found himself thrown backward with a force that fairly took his breath away. He struck the turf sideways, and, by the aid of a bush, pulled himself over on his stomach.
"None o' that, Colliver!" roared Buck James. "Ye ain't wrestlin' bushes. Next time ye do it I'll disqualify ye."
"Much you've got ter say 'bout it," puffed Pete.
"Don't waste no breath in talkin', Pete," counseled Jimmy, in worried tones. "Keep yer peepers open; he's a-layin' fur ye."
"An' I know whar he'll be layin' in another minute," snarled Pete, slowly rising.
Any one less stout-hearted than Dave Brandon might have quailed before the fierce looks and threatening attitude of the lumberjack. Pete's eyes blazed with fury. His big hands were opening and closing convulsively, and his massive chest heaved with physical and mental stress. He had counted upon an easy victory, and, so far, the advantage was all on the other side.
Only fitful gusts of wind and stamping of horses' hoofs broke the tense silence, as the two boys faced each other again.
Like boxers sparring for openings, they circled about, each wary and determined. Pete's reputation was at stake, while Dave, thoroughly aroused, felt that he, too, must prove his mettle. He quickly ducked and danced away as Colliver's arm swung toward him.
"You'd best take it on the run, feller," fumed Pete.
He had now thrown aside all caution. Spurred on by Tom Smull's loud yells, he hurled himself recklessly toward his cooler opponent.
It was a chance for which Dave had been waiting. Taking swift advantage of Pete's awkward lunge, he secured an arm and leg hold, jerking him around with a force that brought a shout from the excited boys. Even Pete Colliver's muscular shoulders were powerless to resist the fierceness of Dave Brandon's counter attack.
With the veins in his forehead bulging out, the Rambler, calling every ounce of strength to his aid, bore Pete backward, threw him heavily to the ground, and fell across his prostrate form.
Colliver tried in vain to squirm and twist away. Slowly, inexorably, his shoulders were forced back to the ground, and while a chorus of shouts from the boys swelled into a storm of applause, Pete was pinned down hard and fast—conquered.
The abrupt and decisive ending of the contest was viewed by the lumbermen almost in silence; their astonishment seemed too great for words. Jimmy, Alf Griffin and Tom Smull stood staring blankly, as though they were unable to believe that the heretofore invincible Pete was lying before their eyes vanquished at last, and by a mild-looking stout boy. Dismay was written on their bronzed faces, but there were gleams of satisfaction, however, on some of the others.
"Mebbe it won't stop that yawp o' hisn," remarked Buck James, complacently.
"Wal, I swan!" exclaimed Jimmy, violently. "If this hyar ain't a go! Bet five cents the big un dasn't try it ag'in."
"Five real cents! Oh, you reckless boy!" gurgled Jack.
Deeply crestfallen, Pete Colliver rose to his feet. The violence of his fall had taken all the fight out of him for the moment.
"I didn't have a fair chancet," he snarled. "Jist wait, feller; I ain't done with ye yit."
"Don't have any hard feelings, Pete." Dave, breathing hard, extended his hand. "Shake!"
"The only thin' that'll git shook is you, fat un; an' it'll be afore long, too."
Colliver's face reflected all the angry passions which surged within him, and his fists were clenched, as he stalked to and fro.
It was not in Dave's nature to crow over a victory. With a wave of his hand he stilled the comments of his enthusiastic friends.
Pete spoke again:
"Think nobody won't have none o' that gold mine but yerselves, do yer?" he sneered.
"Cut it out, Pete," stormed Jim Reynolds. "Boys," he added, turning toward the Ramblers, "as yer champeen wrastler says," he smiled in a conciliatory fashion—"we don't want no hard feelin's."
"That's a plum sure thing," agreed Bart Reeder.
"Now, we're a-wantin' to do the squar' thing by ye. If thar's a gold mine 'bout, 'tain't no more yourn 'n ours—see the p'int?"
"Of course it ain't," growled Alf Griffin.
"An' so, why not be frien'ly-like, an' jine in with us?" Jim spoke persuasively. "Eh, what d'ye say?"
"It'll save ye a heap o' trouble, I'm a-thinkin'; an' don't forgit it," mumbled Tom Smull, ominously, scratching his scratched-up face.
"Listen to reason, boys," pleaded Buck James.
"Well, this is a good one!" burst out Jack Conroy, hotly. "Here you fellows have been doggin' us like so many cats, sneakin' an' spyin' about our camp—an' now! Why, thunder, it beats the Dutch—never heard o' such nerve."
"Of course we won't do it!" cried Dick.
"Eh?" snarled Tom Smull, with a threatening gesture. "Ye'd best not get too chipper, young un."
"If ye don't—" began Alf Griffin.
"See here!" A snort from Jim Reynolds stopped him. "You fellers are sp'ilin' the hull business." Then, his voice becoming pleasant, he went on: "I feel sure the boys'll agree to our plan. Why not stay with us a spell, an' talk it over?"
"No, Jim; it wouldn't be a bit of use," answered Bob Somers, quietly. "We haven't the slightest intention of joining in with any one; so we'll say good-bye!"
Smull's eyes were blazing.
"Are ye a-goin' ter be sassed an' stood off by a parcel o' kids?" he demanded. "Ain't ye man nuff ter say to 'em, 'See here, you young shrimps, ye've simply got ter do what I tells ye,' hey?"
"Easy—easy," counseled Buck James.
"Yes; quit it," interposed Dan Woodle.
"That's right—everybody had better quit it!" Jack Conroy's voice drowned all others. "I can just tell you this: you chaps can't scare us; an' you might as well turn about, an' steer your way back to Cap Slater's lumber camp, where you belong."
"Well, I swan!" Jimmy stared at the speaker in open-mouthed wonder.
"Sich talk—bust it!" howled Pete, still choking with anger. "I'm ready fur wengeance, now; bust it! Look out!"
Turning, he made a sudden spring toward Dave Brandon.
Bob Somers, however, stepped between them.
"That will do, Pete," he said, quietly.
"I won't stan' no more o' sich nonsense, Colliver," added Jim Reynolds. "Git back!"
His huge hand grabbed Pete by the shoulder, and the stocky lad was hurled aside.
Bob and his companions seized the opportunity to take their departure, a proceeding to which Griffin and Smull voiced loud objections, while Jim Reynolds called out:
"Don't go 'way riled, boys; can't we talk over this thing a bit?"
"No!" answered Bob, firmly; "the last word's been said."
Sending a chorus of good-byes over their shoulders, they made toward their bronchos.
The seven quickly mounted, and rode out into the open. Quirts cracked, and the riders found themselves being carried down a gentle slope.
None drew rein until rise after rise had been passed, and the line of timber left far behind.
"Well, Dick Travers, what have you to say for yourself?" said Bob Somers, severely, as they finally halted. "Don't you know you took an awful risk in hanging around that camp?"
"You mean hanging on to a tree, I guess," grinned Dick.
"Tell us all about it."
The boys listened attentively to his story.
"Of course," concluded Dick, "I wasn't going to come away without my gun, and didn't dare go back for the longest time. Besides," he confessed, whimsically, "I forgot the number of the tree and couldn't find it till early morning. I got a glimpse of you from the woods, and walked right out, like a little major."
"Whew! You took a long chance," exclaimed Jack. "It's a mighty lucky thing you didn't stop a load of buckshot skulkin' 'round their camp in spooky hours."
"Or something worse," added Tom, with a shiver.
"Anyway it all turned out for the best," quoth Bob. "We know now what we have to buck up against. Dave Brandon," he added, "you're a positive wonder."
"Isn't he, though?" chirped Tim. "Great Scott! When Pete flopped over on his back I could hardly believe it—greatest sight I ever saw. Did me a lot of good, I can tell you."
"Let me echo that remark," laughed Sam. "Say, fellows, I got a chance to chin a bit with Jimmy; he told me how those men got their horses."
"Let's hear 'bout it; an' talk fast," said Jack.
"Buck James is a horse dealer at Rawdon, so they let him in on the thing provided he would supply the ponies. Pete and Jimmy traveled on foot—took them nearly all night—but they managed to reach Wild Oak, where they encountered Slater's men. And do you know—"
"What?" asked Tim, impatiently.
"They actually made Buck James pony up with a pair of ponies."
"Whew! There's nerve for you," commented Tim.
"Yes; and Jimmy was boasting about it to beat the band—said that Pete threatened to blow the whole thing to people in Rawdon, an' that scared 'em. They thought everybody in town 'ud be tagging at their heels."
"Well, I'm glad Pete got taken down a peg or two," growled Jack.
"Say, Dick, did you find out why they brought our packhorse back?" asked Tom, abruptly.
"That's an easy one, son; the jacks knew well enough that we had to have grub—thought perhaps we might get discouraged and skip back, if packy didn't turn up; see?"
"Guess that's the idea. Shows how much they have to depend 'pon following us."
"Sure thing, Tom."
"Well, Dick, you and Dave have had a lively time, all right," remarked Bob, reflectively. "Now, we have to think of a way to throw those fellows off the track; it won't be so easy. Smull and Griffin are pretty desperate men. Suppose we do as much traveling by night as we can, eh?"
"Bully idea," agreed Dick. "Cæsar, but this is an exciting life. Don't let's waste a minute."
The seven looked carefully around; but the country appeared absolutely deserted. There were many ridges and clumps of trees, however, which could easily have concealed their trackers.
By noon the gray expanse of cloud was rapidly sweeping away, and shafts of sunlight blazed through the openings. The boys took but little time to eat, pushing rapidly on toward the hills, and at sundown the rolling swells of the valley had been crossed and they were encamped in the midst of a wild-looking range.
A small fire was built in the shadow of an enormous boulder, and when dusk fell the glowing embers were stamped out. The group sat about in utter darkness, listening to the dismal howls of a pack of coyotes and the mysterious sounds from a near-by wood, strangely clear in the silence of the night.
With Bob Somers on guard, the others finally turned in and slept until the moon was rising above the hills. Then, aroused, they quickly saddled their ponies and vaulted upon their backs.
A clear, silvery radiance enveloped the landscape, but shadows in ravines were deep and gloomy. They soon reached a dreary, marshy stretch lying between two hills. Tall, tangled grasses and stagnant pools sent their rank odor floating over the air, while the clear, brilliant moon was mirrored in sharp, metallic dashes upon ooze and water. As they passed through, a long-legged water-bird rose before them with a startled cry.
On hard ground again, the travelers allowed the bronchos to choose their own pace.
"Hold up, thar!"
This startling command fell upon the boys' ears with a sharpness that fairly took their breath away. One moment they seemed to be absolutely alone, and the next found themselves facing two horsemen who had dashed from a thicket close by.
The summons came again:
"Hold up, thar!”
