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Frank Merriwell at Yale; Or, Freshman Against Freshman

<h2> CHAPTER VIII. </h2> <h3> THE "ROAST" AT EAST ROCK. </h3>  A strange and remarkable scene was being enacted in the peaceable and civilized State of Connecticut—a scene which must have startled an accidental observer and caused him to fancy for a moment the hand of time had turned back two centuries. Near a bright fire that was burning on the ground squatted a band of hideously-painted fellows who seemed to be redskins, while close at hand, bound and helpless, were a number of palefaces, plainly the captives of the savages. That a council of war was taking place seemed apparent. And still the savages seemed waiting for something. At length, out of the darkness advanced a tall, well-built warrior, the trailing plumes of whose war bonnet reached quite to the ground. If anything, this fellow was more hideously painted than any of the others, and there was an air of distinction about him that proclaimed him a great chief. "Ugh!" he grunted. "I am here." The savages arose, and one of them said: "Fellow warriors, the mighty chief Fale-in-his-Hoce—I mean Hole-in-his-Face—has arrived." Then a wild yell of greeting went up to the twinkling stars, and every savage brandished a tomahawk, scalping knife, or some other kind of weapon. "Brothers," said Hole-in-his-Face, "I see that I am welcome in your midst, as any up-to-date country newspaper reporter would say. You have received me with great éclat—excuse my French; I was educated abroad—in New Jersey." "Go back to Princeton!" cried one of the captives. "Fellow warriors," continued Hole-in-his-Face, without noticing the interruption, "I am heap much proud to be with you on this momentous occasion." "Yah! yah! yah!" yelled the savages. "And now," the chief went on, "if you will proceed to squat on your haunches I will orate a trifle." Once more the redskins sat down on the ground, and then the late arrival struck an attitude and began his oration: "Warriors of my people, why are we assembled together to-night?" "Because we couldn't assemble apart," murmured a voice. "We are assembled to avenge our wrongs upon the hated paleface," the chief declared. "It was long ago that the proud and haughty paleface got the bulge on the red man, and we have not been in the game to any great extent since then. Every time we have held two pairs he has come in with one pair of sixes or a Winchester and raked the pot. He has not given us any kind of a show for our white alley. Whenever we seemed to be getting along fairly well and doing a little something, he has wrung in a cold deck on us and then shot us full of air holes, purely for the purpose of ventilation in case we objected. Warriors, we have grown tired of being soaked in the neck." "That's right," nodded a savage, "unless we are soaked in the neck with fire water." "At last," shouted the orator—"at last we have arisen in our wrath and our war paint and we are out for scalps. We have decided that the joy of the red man is fleeting. To-night a flush mantles your dark cheeks, but to-morrow it will be a bobtail flush. What have we to live for but vengeance on the white man and a little booze now and then? Nothing! Our squaws once were beautiful as the wild flowers of the prairie, but now the prize beauty of our tribe is Malt Extract Maria, whose nose is out of joint, whose eyes are skewed, whose teeth are covered with fine-cut tobacco, and who lost one of her ears last week by accidentally getting it into the mouth of her husband. "My brothers, we are not built to weep. It is not the way of the noble red man. A few more summers and we will be no more. We will have kicked the stuffing out of the bucket and wended our way up the golden stair. But before we cough up the ghost it behooves us to strike one last blow at the hated paleface. When we get a chance at a paleface it is our duty to do him, and do him bad. Are you on? "We have been successful in capturing a few of our hated foes, and they are bound and helpless near at hand. Shall they be fricasseed, broiled, fried, or made into a potpie? That is the question before the meeting, and I am ready to listen to others. Let us hear from Squint-eyed Sausageface." "It doesn't make a dit of bifference—I mean a bit of difference to me how I have my paleface cooked," said the one indicated as Squint-eyed Sausageface. "Perhaps it would be well enough to cook them at the stake." "I think that would be the proper mode," gravely declared another warrior; "for I have heard that they boast they are hot stuff. They should not boast in vain." "Warriors," said Hole-in-his-Face, "you have heard. What have you to say?" "So mote it be," came solemnly from one. "Yah! yah! yah!" yelled the others. "That settles it, as the sugar remarked to the egg dropped into the coffee. Prepare the torture stakes." There was a great bustle, and in a short time the stakes were prepared and driven into the ground, one of the savages hammering them down with a huge stick of wood. Then the captives were bound to the stakes and a lot of brush was brought and piled about their feet. Some of the sophs actually looked scared, but Browning kept up a continual fire of sarcastic remarks. "Ugh!" grunted Hole-in-his-Face. "This paleface talks heap much. Remove his outer garments, so the fire may reach his flesh without delay." Then Browning was held and his clothes were stripped off till he stood in his under garments, barefooted, bareheaded, and still defiant. "Oh, say!" he muttered, "won't there be an awful hour of reckoning! Merriwell will regret the day he came to Yale!" At this Hole-in-his-Face laughed heartily, and Browning cried: "Oh, I know you, Merriwell! You can't fool me, though you have got the best makeup of them all." When everything was ready, one of the savages actually touched a match to the various piles of brush about the feet of the unfortunate sophomores. As the tiny flames leaped up the painted band joined in a wild war dance about the stakes, flourishing their weapons and whooping as if they were real Indians. Some of their postures and steps were exact imitations of the poses and steps taken by savages in a war dance. "Say, confound you fool freshmen!" howled one of the captives. "This fire is getting hot! Do you really mean to roast us?" "Yah! yah! yah! Hough! hough! hough!" Round and round the stake circled the disguised freshmen, and the fire kept getting higher and higher. Puss Parker fell to coughing violently, having sucked down a large quantity of smoke. Some of the others raved and some begged. But still the wild dance went on. "Merciful cats!" gasped Tad Horner. "I believe they actually mean to roast us!" "Sure as fate!" agreed another. "They won't think to put out the fires till we are well cooked, if they do then!" "This is awful!" gurgled Parker. "Browning, can't you do something?" "Well, I hardly think so," confessed the king of the sophomores. "But I will do something if I ever get out of this alive! You hear me murmur!" "Say!" cried Tad Horner. "I can't stand this much longer. The fire is beginning to roast me." "It's getting warm," confessed Parker. "But it seems to keep burning around the outside edge." "Keep cool," advised Browning. "What's that?" yelled Horner. "Who said 'keep cool?' Oh, say! That's too much!" "Just look at the wood," directed the king of the sophomores. "You will notice that all the wood about our feet is water soaked, and there's only a little dry wood out around the edges. That's all that is burning." This they soon saw was true, and it gave them great relief, for it had begun to seem that the crazy freshmen actually meant to roast them. At the very moment when the uproar was at its height there came a sudden loud cry, like a signal, and out of the darkness rushed at least twenty lads. They were sophomores who had somehow followed them out there to East Rock, having been aroused and told of the capture of Browning and his mates by the soph who escaped. One fellow on a bicycle had followed them till he felt sure of their destination, and then he had turned back and told the others, who hastily secured teams and flew to the rescue. "'Umpty-seven! 'Umpty-seven! 'Rah, 'rah! 'rah!" yelled the rescuers as they charged upon the freshmen. "'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!" howled the painted lads in return. Then for a few moments there was a pitched battle. The battle did not last long, for the freshmen saw they were outnumbered, and at a signal from their leader they broke away and took to their heels. By rare good luck every man was able to get away, for, not knowing anything about the water-soaked wood piled about the feet of the captives, the rescuers nearly all stopped to scatter the burning brush. "Oh, say!" grated Browning, as he was released. "But this means gore and bloodshed! We'll never rest till we have squared for this roast, and we will square with interest! Merriwell's life will be one long, lingering torture from this night onward!" "What's all this racket and cheering?" asked one of the rescuers. "Listen, fellows! By Jove! it seems to come from the place where we left our carriages!" "That's what it does, and it's the freshman yell," cried another. "Come on, fellows! If we don't get a move on we may have to walk back." They started on a run, but when they arrived at the place where the teams had been left not a team was there. The freshmen had captured the teams, drivers and all, together with the hack, and far along the road toward the city could be heard a cheering, singing crowd. As the disgusted and furious sophs stood and listened the singing and cheering grew fainter and fainter. "Fellows," said Chop Harding, "I am sorry to leave Yale, but I am certain to be hanged for murder. After this, whenever I see a freshman I shall kill him instantly." It was a doleful and weary crowd of sophs that came filing back into town and sneaked to their rooms that night. Of course the sophs would have given a great deal could they have kept the story quiet, but on the following morning it seemed that every student in the college knew all about it. The juniors laughed and chaffed the sophomores, who were sullen and sulky and who muttered much about getting even. The freshmen were jubilant. They were on top for the time, and they all knew they might not have long to crow, so they did all the crowing they could in a short time. And still nobody seemed to know just who was concerned in the affair, save that Merriwell and Browning must have been. When Browning was questioned he was so blankly ignorant of everything that it seemed as if he had slept through the whole affair. He had a way of turning every question off with another question, and it was soon discovered that no information could be obtained from him. Still it was passed from lip to lip that the great and nighty king had been found by the rescuers, stripped to his underclothes, and tied to a stake, while the smoke arose thickly around him and nearly choked him. Some one suggested that Browning's complexion seemed to have changed in a remarkable manner, and then the students fell to asking him if he really enjoyed a smoke. Browning seemed subdued; but those who knew him best were telling everybody to hold on and see what would happen. "This is just the beginning," they said. However, several days passed and still nothing occurred. It began to look as if the sophs had decided that they were outgeneraled and were willing to let the matter drop. Frank Merriwell was not deceived. He knew the sophs were keeping still in order to deceive the freshmen into a belief that there was no danger, and he continued to warn all his friends to "watch out." In the meantime Diamond had recovered and was in evidence among the freshmen. It was said that he went down to Billy's, a favorite freshman resort, and spent money liberally there almost every night. The result of this soon became apparent. Diamond was surrounded by a crowd of hangers-on who seemed to regard him as a leader. He was working for popularity, and he was obtaining it in a certain way. Now, Frank Merriwell was no less generous than Jack Diamond, but he would not drink liquor of any kind—he would not touch beer. It did not take him long to discover that this peculiarity caused many of the students to regard him with scorn. He was called the Good Templar and was often derisively addressed as Worthy Chief. The very ones who were first to apply the name in derision afterward came to call him Worthy Chief in sincere admiration. Frank went around to Billy's occasionally, and although he would not drink, he treated frequently, paying for anything his companions wanted to take, from beer to champagne. One evening Frank, Harry and Dismal Jones went into Billy's and found Diamond and a large crowd there. Jack had been drinking something stronger than lemonade, and he was holding forth to a crowd of eager listeners. One look at Diamond's flushed face did Merriwell take, and then he knew the fellow was open for anything. The high color in the cheeks of the Virginian was a danger signal. Merriwell and his two friends ordered drinks, Frank taking ginger ale. Harry and Jones lighted cigarettes. Frank examined the pictures around the walls. There were ballet dancers who were standing on one toe, famous trotters, painted pictures of celebrated fighting cocks, hunters in red coats leaping five-barred fences, and so forth. As he looked over the pictures he became aware that Diamond was saying something that was intended for his ears. "Southerners never fight with their fists," the Virginian declared. "They consider it brutal and beastly, and so they do not learn the so-called 'art.' They are able to fight with some other weapons, though. There is a man in this college who is trying to be a high cock of the walk, but he will never succeed till he shows his right by meeting me face to face with weapons of which I have knowledge. I have met him with his weapons, and if he is not a coward he will give me a show. But I think he is a coward and a sneak, and I—" That was more than Frank could stand. He did not pause to think that Diamond had been drinking and was utterly reckless, but he whirled and advanced till he stood squarely in front of the Virginian. "I presume, Mr. Diamond, that you are referring to me," he said, coldly and steadily, although he could feel the hot blood leaping in his veins. Diamond looked up insolently, inhaled a whiff of his cigarette, and then deliberately blew the smoke toward Frank. "Yes, sir," he said, "I presume I did refer to you. What are you going to do about it?" "You called me a coward and a sneak." "Exactly, sir." "If I had not already left the marks of my knuckles on you I would slap your face. As it is, I will simply—pull your nose!" And Frank did so, giving Diamond's nose a sharp tweak. Up to his feet leaped the Virginian, his face white with wrath. He picked up a glass of champagne as he arose, and then he dashed it into Frank's face. In a twinkling friends were between them, keeping them apart.       <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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