Frank Merriwell's Reward Part 21

"I like to hear you talk that way," said Agnew, linking his arm in the Kansan's.

The touch made Badger's flesh creep, but he held this feeling in check, too.

"Here's a saloon!" said Agnew, after they had walked a considerable distance without saying anything of moment. "Let's go in. We can talk in there. I never like to chatter much on the street."

Looking up, Badger saw that they were in front of a well-known resort, which he had entered more than once, but of which he had recently fought shy. Winnie's face rose reproachfully before him as he stopped and looked at the entrance. It almost drove him back.

"We can talk better inside," Agnew urged.

The Westerner glanced hesitatingly up and down the street.

"All right," he agreed, again feeling a fierce desire to get at whatever knowledge Agnew possessed about the exploding sh.e.l.l.

The proprietor nodded familiarly toward him as he walked in.

"Glad to see you. Nice evening!"

Badger, who was not good at acting what he did not feel, mumbled a reply.

"Have something?" suggested Morton, moving up to the bar.

Badger pushed Agnew's arm away and turned toward a side room.

"No! I don't need a drink to talk."

"It greases a fellow's tongue," said Morton, with one of his persuasive smiles. "You won't have anything?" as a waiter appeared.

"Not to-night."

"Some whisky," said Agnew, and the waiter went away, returning shortly with a bottle and some gla.s.ses.

"Some cards!" said Agnew, and the waiter brought two unopened packs.

The Westerner's brow grew black. He fancied he saw through Agnew's little game. He believed that Agnew, who was a card-sharp, hoped to get him to talking, then to drinking, and finally into a game, and fleece him out of what money he had. Agnew's funds were low, and he was probably ready for any expedient.

"We can talk better over a game," Agnew urged, deftly opening a pack.

The Kansan pushed back. His blood was boiling. He could hold in no longer.

"I allow you're a big fool, Agnew, if you think you can do me up in that way!" he hotly declared. "I've been told that you tried to kill me the other day. Do you want to rob me, because you failed in that?"

Agnew grew white.

"What are you talking about?" he gasped. "Tried to kill you? What nonsense is that? I don't know what you mean."

However, there was a certain tell-tale shrinking in his manner which Badger could not fail to notice. It convinced the Westerner that Merriwell was on the right track, and his anger burned into deep rage.

"I can see from your manner that you did. Agnew, you've got the heart of a wolf! That's whatever!"

Agnew was truly playing a game, but it was not a card-game. He had learned to hate Badger. To strike the Westerner pleased him now almost as well as a stroke against Merriwell. He dropped the cards and pushed back, as if he feared the Kansan would leap at his throat.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he demanded.

"On the gun-club grounds!" said Badger, rising from the table. "You slipped some dynamite sh.e.l.ls into Merriwell's box, and I got one of them. It came near tearing my hand and arm to pieces, and it might have killed me. No thanks to you that it didn't. Your intentions were good enough."

Agnew began to bl.u.s.ter, but in a low tone.

"I'm not used to being accused of such things. How do you know there was anything the matter with the sh.e.l.l? Are you hunting for trouble?"

"That was the trick of an Apache, Agnew!"

"Don't let the proprietor hear you," Agnew begged, and his voice was again as smooth as silk. "What is the use of rowing? I say that I did nothing of the kind, and you're a fool for thinking so. Whoever hinted that to you lied."

"I allow you might as well say that I lied!"

Agnew pushed toward the wall and put his hands into his pockets. Badger, thinking he meant to draw a weapon, gave him no further time, but leaped on him across the table with the rush of a cyclone. Agnew went down under that rush, but he clutched the Westerner, and began to struggle, at the same time sending up a sharp call for help. In a moment the proprietor and the bartender were on the scene.

"None of this!" cried the proprietor, grabbing Badger by the shoulders, and, with the bartender's a.s.sistance, bodily dragging him off the thres.h.i.+ng, writhing form of Agnew. Morton did not seem in any hurry to be released or rescued, however, and hung to Badger's coat and vest with the tenacity of the under dog that fails to appreciate the fact that it is overmatched.

"No fighting in here!" panted the proprietor. "This ain't no boxing-club! See! I'm glad to have gents come in and make themselves to home, but I can't allow any fighting!"

Agnew slid toward the door, seeming anxious to escape. The next moment he was out in the barroom, and then he vanished into the street.

"I'll pay for the damages," said Badger, choking down his wrath. "He went to draw a gun on me, and I jumped on him, that's all. A man is a fool to let another get the drop on him, and I allow I don't intend to.

You bet I don't. I'll see him again, and when I do I reckon we'll have a settlement."

CHAPTER XII.

AGNEW'S TRICK.

When the Westerner saw Agnew again they were in one of the college lecture-rooms and an examination was in progress. Of course, they did not speak to each other. Badger believed that Agnew had kept away from him since their warlike encounter of the night before. The fact that Agnew was also a soph.o.m.ore had long been a disturbing thought to the Westerner. Badger had cla.s.s pride. He sometimes declared that he was a soph.o.m.ore of the soph.o.m.ores, but there were a number of soph.o.m.ores with whom he could not and would not mix.

His seat was now close to the one occupied by Agnew, though somewhat in front of it, and he had the unpleasant feeling that a hole was being bored through the back of his head by Agnew's eyes. When the conductor of the examination looked down that way Badger could not tell whether the professor's gaze was fixed on him or on Agnew. Professor Barton had fiercely penetrating eyes, anyway, and the peculiar manner in which he looked at students in the cla.s.sroom had always been especially irritating to the Kansan.

Printed questions were used, and Badger found some of them pretty hard.

"I wish Barton wouldn't look me through and through!" he muttered, noticing again and again that the professor's eyes were fixed on him.

"It makes me feel like a cat under the paw of a mouse, or a calf watched by a coyote. I allow there are things pleasanter than Barton's eyes."

But Barton continued to look down that way.

"Is he watching me, or is he watching Agnew?" Badger grumbled, as he dug away at the work cut out for him. "Hanged if I can tell. Perhaps it's just a way he has. Maybe every poor devil in the room is feeling just as I do. Whoever got up these questions must have lain awake of nights trying to see how hard he could make them. I reckon the chances are about two to one that I'll flunk."

In an interval when Barton's attention was turned in another direction, Morton Agnew crumpled a piece of paper, and, with a deft toss, which he made sure was not seen by any one, he threw it beneath Badger's desk.

Badger did not know it was there, but the keen eyes of Barton saw it as soon as they were again turned in that direction.