Boys of Oakdale Academy

CHAPTER XI.

IN DOUBT

In the development of character defeat often plays an important part. The person who has never known the pangs following failure, whether deserved or otherwise, is poorly prepared to face such a misfortune when it comes to him, and at some time it must befall every one. Continued success is almost sure to breed over-confidence, self-conceit, underestimation of others, and, in many cases, downright caddishness. A certain amount of failure, a proportionate share of defeat, adds stamina and determination to a character that is naturally strong, and the experience thus obtained may be turned to profit in teaching the luckless one how to avoid future mistakes. It is only the weak and unfit who are ever totally crushed and disheartened by failure.

Hunk Rollins was one of the dejected members of the Oakdale eleven who whined after the Wyndham game was over, repeating his conviction that luck was against Oakdale and declaring she never could hope to defeat Wyndham.

Roger Eliot, hearing Rollins, had something to say:

“We lost the game in the last ten minutes of play, and we did so simply because you and one or two other fellows got cold feet. We made our touchdown and goal easier than we had dreamed we could, and that swelled our heads. We thought we were really going to have a snap; but when Wyndham woke up, got wise to our style and held us even play, our confidence began to ooze away. Those fellows fought for every point, and never let up once. After they tied us we went to pieces. If every man on the team had continued to do his level best, the game would have ended in a draw.”

“Perhaps you would have been satisfied with that?” sneered Hunk.

“At least, it would have been better than losing. It’s no use to cry over spilt milk. Everything considered, we have been amazingly successful this season, and the fact that we came so near downing Wyndham should spur us on to get after that bunch just twice as hard next year.”

“You’ll never beat them,” Rollins once more asserted.

“We’ll never do it with fellows on the team who think we can’t.”

“That’s a knock at me.”

“It’s the plain truth, Rollins. Considering the material we had to build on, we turned out a corking team. We owe a lot of gratitude to the coach.”

“Perhaps you’d won if you’d been able to strengthen your team with the feller from Texas.”

“Bah! We couldn’t have won anyhow,” put in Barker. “I wonder we made as good showing as we did.”

Roger turned on him. “You were one who let up toward the last of it, Barker. You surprised me by your lack of spirit. You were given one splendid chance to get through for a big gain, possibly for a touchdown, and you shirked.”

Berlin’s face turned white, and a resentful gleam of anger rose in his eyes.

“Look here, Mr. Eliot – the season is over and I no longer feel it necessary to call you captain – I want you to understand that I did my best, and if you say anything different you’re a – ”

“Stop, Barker! I wouldn’t use that word if I were in your place, for if you do you’ll find you’re not dealing with Rodney Grant. There was no excuse for your quitting. You weren’t used up, but you flinched at the critical moment. I didn’t intend to say this publicly, but you joined Rollins in the cry-baby act, and I couldn’t help speaking out. It’s not the first time, either, that you’ve shown a disposition to lie down and let others face the brunt of things. I think you know what I mean.”

Barker shivered with a sort of cold rage. Eliot had not lifted his voice, but, knowing him as he did, Berlin was seized by a sudden disinclination to provoke him further.

“All right,” he muttered. “I’m not going to quarrel with you now, Eliot, but I won’t forget this.”

The boys journeyed homeward through the gathering darkness and stinging cold of the November night in anything but a happy condition. No one cared to accept Tuttle’s offer to treat on peanuts, and Cooper’s efforts to jolly things up by springing some bad puns and cracking a few stale jokes fell lamentably flat.

Not a few of them fancied Rod Grant must be secretly rejoicing over the result of the game, and, naturally, this increased their dislike for the Texan. Grant found himself shunned and practically ostracized by all save Stone and Eliot, and even Roger made no particular effort to be friendly. Stone stuck by faithfully, regardless of the efforts of various fellows to lead him to do otherwise.

Cold weather deepening, the boys fell to watching Lake Woodrim with longing eagerness for the time when it should close over and the ice become sufficiently strong for skating. In due course this happened, and, with their skates polished and ground, the fellows flocked to the lake, accompanied by a few girls who likewise enjoyed the sport.

School over one day, Grant was standing alone on the academy steps gazing toward the lake when Stone, carrying his skates, came out.

“Hello, Rod,” said Ben. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Down to the lake. The ice is great.”

“I don’t skate.”

“Don’t? Why not?”

“Never learned.”

“That’s queer.”

“Not so queer when you consider that we have blessed little skating in the State of Texas.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. Well, now is your time to learn, and I know you’ll like it.”

“I haven’t any skates.”

“I’ll loan you mine.”

“That’s right good of you, Ben, old man; but I don’t think I’ll try it – now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, to tell you the plain truth, I’m not anxious to make an exhibition of myself before everybody. Sometime, perhaps, I’ll sneak off by my lonesome and have a go at it. Is the ice solid all over the lake?”

“Well, pretty nearly all over it. There are one or two weak spots, but we know where they are, and we keep away from them.”

“Do you swim?”

“Sure; don’t you?”

“Yes, but I fancy it would be right unpleasant to take a dip in that icy water.”

Ben was thinking of Grant’s words as he clamped on his skates at the edge of the lake down behind the gymnasium. There was something strangely contradictory about the boy from Texas, who had betrayed a disposition to swagger a bit and to boast in a joshing way, but who would not fight, who had refused to play football, and who now was plainly indisposed to make himself an object for jesting or ridicule by attempting to skate. Whether this backwardness came from a sensitive temperament, or whether Grant was actually lacking in courage, was a question Ben could not decide. There had seemed to be some timidity in the fellow’s desire to know whether or not the ice was sufficiently strong for skating all over the lake. Finally, swinging away to join some shouting lads who were engaged in an impromptu game of hockey, Stone dismissed the problem.

Even then Grant was on his way to Stickney’s store, where he purchased a pair of skates. Supper over that night, he set off alone toward the upper end of Lake Woodrim.

CHAPTER XII.

COLD WEATHER IN TEXAS

In the shelter of Bear Cove, the shore of which was heavily wooded with a growth of pine, Rodney Grant clamped on his skates. Through the still night air, at intervals, came the faint, faraway shouts of skaters who were enjoying themselves on the broad lower end of the lake. From a distance, while making his way to this secluded spot, Rod had seen the gleaming light of a bonfire which had been built on Crooked Island; and, pausing for a few moments, he had watched the flitting, darting figures of the skaters passing between himself and the light, which flared and rose with the application of fresh fuel brought from along the shores. And while he watched a feeling of loneliness crept over the young Texan.

“But I’ll keep away from them until I can skate some,” he muttered, as he resumed his journey across the frozen fields and pastures.

Having secured the skates to the stout soles of his heavy boots, Rod started to rise, but dropped back with a faint grunt of surprise as the irons shot out from beneath him.

“Right slippery things,” he half chuckled. “I reckon I’ll have to be careful how I get up.”

A sapling close by the shore aided him, but when he had reached an upright position he found to his perplexity that instinct led him to cling fast to that slender young tree, with the apprehension of a fall strong upon him in case he ventured to let go. His ankles were inclined to wobble weakly, and a queer, disconcerting sensation of uncertainty made him hold his breath.

“What’s the matter with me?” he growled fretfully. “I didn’t expect to skate right off in polished style, but I’ll be hanged if I believe I can even stand up on the things. I’ve watched the fellows at it, and it seems easy enough to go skimming around first on one foot and then on the other. They didn’t make any mess at all about it.”

His feet started backward beneath him, and he pulled himself up, causing the sapling to bend and crack.

“Maybe these new skates are too blamed slippery,” he thought. “If that’s right, I wonder why the man who sold them to me didn’t say something about it. Well, I don’t care a rap; I’m going to give them a try.”

With an effort, he swung round and let go his hold on the sapling. The sensation of suspense and uncertainty deepened swiftly as he found the skates slowly carrying him away from the shore, while at the same time he realized that his feet were spreading farther and farther apart, a thing he could not seem to prevent.

“Great smoke!” he gasped. “I’ll split plumb in two if this keeps up. Ugh!”

The final grunt was pounded from his lips as he came down sprawlingly upon the solid ice.

For at least thirty seconds he sat there, scratching his head in a state of doubt and chagrin.

“I’ve ridden buckers,” he said, “and I’ve even busted one or two bad ones; but I knew how to go at that job, while this business has got me stuck complete. I’m guessing some.”

His perplexity was rapidly changing to annoyance and vexation. Getting on his knees, he cautiously placed his right foot beneath him and attempted to rise. In a twinkling he was stretched at full length upon his stomach.

“Dash the things!” he cried savagely. “I don’t see how anybody ever stands on them, much less goes scooting around doing fancy tricks. Maybe if I could get Stone to give me some pointers I might catch onto the game. But I don’t want any one to give me pointers,” he continued warmly. “I’ll learn how to skate all by my lonesome, or I’ll break my wooden head.”

Aroused to this point, he continued his efforts with grim and unabated determination, in spite of repeated falls, some of which shook him up thoroughly and quite knocked the wind out of him. He was just beginning to fancy himself making slight progress when a burst of laughter caused him to twist his neck round to glance toward the nearby shore, which incautious movement again sent him flat upon the ice.

“Woosh!” he wheezed, sitting up.

“Oh! ho! ho! ho!” shouted some one, who seemed to be literally choking with merriment.

“Hee! hee! hee!” laughed another voice.

He could see them there at the edge of the ice, two dark figures faintly discernible in spite of the black background of pines.

“You seem to be plenty amused, gents,” he observed sarcastically. “I opine I’m providing a better entertainment than a real circus clown could hand out; but I want you to understand this is a strictly private show, and you’re not at all welcome unless you can show invitation cards.”

“Oh, say!” piped a high-pitched voice; “it’s the feller from Texas, I guess. He don’t seem to know much about skating.”

“How did you ever get that idea?” growled Rod. “I’m the champion skater of the Panhandle country. I’ll guarantee you can’t find a native son of Rogers County, Texas, who can show me any points at skating.”

One of the fellows came sliding out onto the ice, followed slowly by the other.

“Funny you should be all alone here,” said the chap in advance. “You know me – Spotty Davis.”

“Oh, Davis!” muttered Rod, not particularly mollified, recalling instantly that he had heard something about the fellow having been concerned in a particularly low and contemptible trick upon Stone, which had placed him in decided disfavor at Oakdale. “What are you doing here?”

“Me and my friend, Lander, came over here to skate,” explained Spotty.

“Why didn’t you skate down the lake with the rest of the fellows?”

“Oh, we’ve got our reasons. You see Lander he’s just come back to Oakdale after being away for a couple of years, and he don’t care much about the fellers ’round here.”

“They’re a lot of stiffs, the whole bunch of them,” said Lander. “Spotty is the only friend I have got in town that I care a rap about. He’s the only one who seemed glad to see me back. Some of ’em wouldn’t even say hullo.”

“I guess Grant knows what they are,” chuckled Davis. “They’ve handed him the frosty, too. That was some of Berlin Barker’s work, and the rest of the crowd fell into line.”

“Barker!” sneered Lander. “He thinks he’s somebody. I ain’t got no use for him, nor for Roger Eliot, either.”

“Eliot!” snapped Davis. “He threw me down; kicked me off the team. I won’t forget it, and some day, perhaps, I’ll have a chance to get even. Just learning to skate, Grant?”

“Just trying my hand at it – I mean my foot.”

“You certainly was making a mess,” snickered Spotty. “You need some one to give you a few pointers. Wait till we put on our skates, and we’ll show you. Eh, Bunk?”

“Sure,” agreed Lander cheerfully. “I don’t believe there’s anybody around Oakdale can skate better than me.”

“You seem to have a right good opinion of yourself,” said Rod, as the two boys seated themselves on the ice and began fastening on their skates.

“Oh, there ain’t much of anything I can’t do first-class,” boasted Bunk Lander. “I’m a ripping good swimmer, and I can play baseball and football as well as the next feller.”

“You remind me some of a gent who dropped into Rogers County, Texas, two years ago,” said Grant. “He was from the East, and his name was Jim Lander. Any relation, I wonder?”

“I don’t know; never bother any about my relatives. How was it this Jim Lander reminded you of me?”

“Why, he gave out the same generous flow of hot air; he was always telling how good he was. The punchers christened him Hot Air Jim. Why, his line of talk would melt ice in zero weather, and he proved it, too. You know we don’t have much ice down that way, but that year there came a big freeze. It seemed to strike Rogers County in particular, and it was the worst ever known. Why, gents, it actually froze the Canadian River stiff clean to the bottom in a single night.”

“What are you giving us?” exclaimed Lander.

“I was starting in to tell you how this yere gent we called Hot Air Jim saved us from a terrible calamity,” answered Rod soberly; “but if you don’t want to hear it – ”

“Go ahead,” urged Davis. “Spiel it off.”

“Well, as I was saying, that sudden freeze congealed the whole Canadian in those parts till the river was like an Alpine glacier. It was sure enough extraordinary, for such a thing never happened before. There wasn’t any snowfall accompanying the phenomenon, for I judge it was too cold to snow. What was more remarkable, the zone of that freeze didn’t seem to extend more than fifty miles or so into the mountains. Beyond that the river flowed on in the same old fashion, but when it hit the cold country it simply turned to ice and went to piling up higher and higher, choking its channel and overflowing in all directions. That dam of ice heaped itself up across the mouth of a huge valley, until the force of the water behind it began to push it along across Rogers County. We discovered the ice was moving slowly at first, but after a time you could see it creep along, groaning and cracking and complaining all the while. And don’t forget that it was spreading out over the country just as fast as the water behind it forced it down out of the mountains.

“You can perceive, I opine, that the whole Canadian country was threatened with devastation, for the irresistible force of that mass of ice was sure bound to sweep everything before it. People were in a panic when they came to realize this. The only thing that could save us was a sudden break in the cold spell, and we saw no signs of that. Then I thought of Jim Lander. It was a great thought, gents. I sent for him and brought him out there and set him to blowing off hot air about himself. Inside of half an hour the thermometer went up twenty points, and the temperature of the surrounding country for at least a hundred miles was modified amazingly.

“Pretty soon the ice began to melt and run, and this continued as long as we could keep that man Lander talking. Maybe you won’t believe it, but inside of two hours the ice was all melted and the river pouring down its bed in a perfect flood, while the surrounding country was a foot deep in water. Then we tried to shut Lander off; but he had started going, and he couldn’t seem to stop. Say! he kept on blowing until the water began to steam and get hot, and in his immediate vicinity it actually boiled. We had to capture the man and gag him in order to prevent the whole of Rogers County from being cooked then and there.”

“Gee!” said Bunk Lander. “That sounds me like a lie.”

“It is possible!” murmured Grant.

CHAPTER XIII.

A BOND OF SYMPATHY

With their assistance and advice, Rod finally found himself making some progress at learning to skate. Slow progress it seemed, indeed, yet he was genuinely elated when he finally found himself able to stand on the irons and stroke a little in an awkward way; for this was the promise of better things to come, and, despite black-and-blue spots and wearied, wobbly ankles, he was determined to acquire skill at that winter pastime which all the boys seemed to enjoy. At intervals, having labored back to the shore, he sat down to rest, watching his two companions skimming hither and thither over the surface of the frozen cove. Once they joined him.

“Pegged out?” questioned Spotty kindly.

“Not a bit of it,” replied Rod, with a touch of pride. “I’ve busted bronchos in my day, and learning to skate is a parlor pastime compared with that job. I’m going at it again directly.”

“You’ll learn all right,” assured Lander. “Every feller gets his bumps when he first tries it. Boo! it’s cold to-night. Wish we had a nip of something to warm us up.”

“Hot coffee wouldn’t be bad,” said Rod.

“Coffee!” laughed Bunk derisively. “I’d like something stronger than that, but you can’t get much of anything around this old town. Tell you what, I know where to find some slick old cider, and that would be better than nothing. ’Tain’t so easy to get it, though. My grandfather put it up, and he’s got it bottled and stowed away in his cellar. Guards it like a hawk, too.”

“Can’t you swipe a bottle or two?” asked Spotty eagerly. “I know what it is, for didn’t we have a high old time with some of it over at your camp in the swamp back of Turkey Hill?”

“I’d forgot about that,” laughed Lander. “We did have a racket, didn’t we, Spot?”

“Yes, and I had a headache the next day. Your old granddad’s cider is stout enough to lift a safe.”

“Oh, he knows how to fix it. He doctors it up with charred prunes and brown sugar and raisins, and mixes a little of the real corn juice in with it. A swig or two of that stuff is enough to make a feller feel frisky as a colt. Maybe I’ll be able to get hold of some to-morrow. Say, Spot, I wonder if my old camp is still standing?”

“Guess it is,” answered Davis, “though the log we used to cross over on is gone, and you can’t get to it very easy.”

“We can get to it all right now the swamp is froze up. That was a corking place, and I had some fun there till I got caught. We’ll have to take a look at it, me and you, the first chance we get. Maybe your friend Grant would like to come along.”

“Just now,” said Rod, “I’m particularly interested in acquiring the art of skating. What’s this camp you’re talking about?”

“A little old log cabin I built on sort of an island in the middle of the swamp back of Turkey Hill,” explained Lander. “It made a great place for fellers that was congenial to sneak off away from people and have fun. There was a sort of path through the swamp, and, by cutting down a tree and dropping it across the worst place, we could get over to the island slick. I had that old joint fixed-up fine, too, with bunks and blankets and an old stove; and you should have seen the stock of provisions I put in – everything a feller needed to live comfortable and feed well for a month or more.”

“Where did you get all that outfit?”

“Oh, I got it all right,” answered Bunk evasively, while Spotty smothered a chuckle. “If it hadn’t been for that sneak, Barker, who come prying around, I’d never had any trouble. Why, the great detective, Sleuth Piper, was fooled completely. He was all balled up on the big sensation that had everybody in Oakdale talking, and his deductions about it would have made a horse laugh.”

“Don’t talk to me about him!” snarled Davis suddenly. “He’s one of the bunch I’ve got it in for, all right. A detective! Why, he couldn’t detect anything.”

Rodney Grant could not help feeling a slight bond of sympathy between himself and these lads who bore a strong dislike for the very fellows who had accorded him such unfair and shabby treatment. True, there was something about them which gave him a sensation of distrust, yet they also were outcasts in a way, and he could not help thinking that their misfortune might not be wholly merited. Of a generous nature, he believed every person had redeeming qualities, and nothing irritated him more than the common impulse of the masses to jump on a fellow who was down.