CHAPTER XII.

THE HUMILIATION OF SCUDDER.

The Fardale football-team, returning to the academy after a period of sharp practise, were surprised to hear feeble cries for help. Upon investigation they found Uric Scudder still hanging from the limb of the tree, as he had been left by the revengeful youngster.

"What it is?" grunted Big Bob Singleton, placing his hands on his hips and staring in astonishment at the egg-bespattered chap.

"Whoop!" cried Brad Buckhart. "From the smell I should say it’s something that has died."

Although not on the team, Teddy Smart had been permitted to witness the practise.

"My! my! what a delightful odor!" he chirped. "Talk about your attar of roses! This has any old attar skinned to death!"

"For Heaven’s sake help me!" whined Uric. "I’m almost dead!"

"Blowed if I didn’t think you’d been dead a long time!" said Buckhart. "Whatever has happened to you, anyhow?"

"I’ll tell you after you take me down," promised Scudder. "Oh, somebody shall pay for this!"

Like a shadow a strange figure came out of the woods near at hand. It was an Indian, whose footfalls seemed to make absolutely no sound.

"Joe!" exclaimed Dick Merriwell, instantly recognizing Old Joe Crowfoot.

"Ugh!" grunted the redskin, a strange twinkle in his small black eyes.

"Perhaps he knows something about this," said Steve Nunn, captain of the eleven, with a motion toward Scudder.

"Joe know," nodded the old fellow. "Joe him been near in woods. Him know."

"Then how did it happen?" asked Frank Merriwell himself.

"Him come with odder one to watch football," explained Joe. "When um git here, him climb tree to see. Odder one him stay on ground. They hear somebody. Odder one he run. This one try to git down heap quick. Him fall; git ketched. See?"

"So he was playing the spy on us?" exclaimed Dick Merriwell, his eyes beginning to flash.

"Heap so," said the Indian. "Joe him watch um play spy. When odder one run boy come with gun an’ dog. This one him fall, git ketched so. He ask boy to help. Boy him say, ‘Ha! ha!’"

"The boy felt bad," chuckled Teddy Smart. "He shed tears."

"Some time this one him kick boy, knock him in water. Boy him say ’bout that. This one him say it joke. This one him tell boy give ten cent to help um down."

"Ah! such boundless generosity!" burst from Teddy. "Such open-hearted munificence."

"Boy he say him go git ladder," Joe went on. "Him go off, leave dog here to watch. He come back with hat full of egg. Ugh! Then him git square for kick."

"Cruel boy!" sobbed Teddy. "Oh, how I hate that boy!"

"Boy he throw heap straight," said the old Indian. "Spy he kick an’ yell! Boy him laugh. Say it joke."

"Oh, what a bad, bad boy!" sighed Smart, with such a comical look of grief that nearly every one burst into laughter. "After this generous chap had kicked him, once on a time, he was heartless enough to return the kindness by pelting him with rotten eggs. That boy should be severely punished."

"Oh, for the love of goodness, help me down!" begged Scudder weakly. "I’m nearly dead."

"I don’t wonder," guffawed Brad Buckhart. "And you offered to give that boy ten cents to help you down?"

"And he gave you more than ten scents, and let you stay," said Ted Smart. "What a horrid boy!"

Of a sudden, Dick Merriwell burst into a peal of laughter, struck by the comical side of the affair.

"Oh, ha! ha! ha! ha!" he shouted. "I can’t help laughing! Ha! ha! ha! ha! What a sight he is!"

"I am surprised at you!" said Ted Smart severely. "Such levity is most reprehensible! Stop it this minute! Go ’way back and sit down!"

But Dick’s laughter was so infectious that all the others present, excepting Old Joe, Smart, and Scudder were compelled to join him. In that moment not a few of them who had regarded him as silent and lacking in humor suddenly understood that bottled in this peculiar lad was a streak of merriment that might, burst forth on provocation and prove decidedly catching.

"Stop it! stop it!" cried Smart, holding in with difficulty. "I’m ashamed of you! You make me want to shed tears. Oh, dear! I know I’m going to cry in a minute!"

Then, unable to restrain himself longer, he joined in the outburst.

"Laugh at me!" screamed Scudder, beginning to kick. "Oh, you’ll all be sorry some time! Oh, you’ll——"

There came a tearing sound, and then the unlucky youth suddenly dropped, his trousers having given way beneath the continued strain. Fortunately, he fell sprawling and was not much hurt. He sat up, wiping the sticky, yellow mass from his eyes, and shaking his clenched fist at the ring of hilarious lads.

"Laugh!" he snarled furiously. "I hate you all—I hate you! I hate you!"

His aspect was so ludicrous that the merriment of the party was augmented.

"Somebody ought to shoot it and put it out of its misery," said Buckhart.

"That’s what you get, Scudder, for playing the spy, and it serves you right," said Steve Nunn. "Perhaps this will teach you a lesson. You were trying to watch our private practise for no good reason. I haven’t a doubt that you would give away our plays if you could. You’re so mean that you’d like to see Fardale beaten, just because you happen to dislike somebody on the team, and that prevents anybody from having sympathy with you now."

"Oh, how can you talk to him so!" exclaimed Teddy Smart.

"Hereafter," grunted Bob Singleton, "we’ll have to call him the Scented Plebe."

"Eggscellent!" said Smart. "But I think it too harsh. Hen Fruit would be an eggstry fine name for him. I think no one can take eggsceptions to that."

"I suggest Eggs as terse and applicable," put in Dick Merriwell, "and I hereby christen him Eggs."

"That’s perfectly rotten!" from Smart.

"Let me take him," urged Old Joe.

"Take him," said Buckhart. "I don’t think anybody else wants him."

"Ugh!" grunted the Indian. "Joe take care of him. He play no more spy."

Scudder shook with fear.

"Don’t let that old devil touch me!" he whined, crawling toward Dick Merriwell. "He’ll mind you. Don’t let him touch me!"

Dick drew aside in disgust.

"Back up!" rumbled Singleton.

"Keep away from me!" commanded Dick. "You brought it on yourself."

"Don’t let that Indian touch me!" entreated Scudder.

"He won’t touch you. He won’t dirty his hands on you."

"But we all ought to take a kick at the onery galoot," said the Texan Maverick. "If I had a gun I’d enjoy shooting it full of holes."

"You’re all a set of brutes!" burst from Uric, in sudden anger. "I won’t forget this!"

"I hope not," said Nunn. "It will be a good thing for you to remember. Come on, fellows; let’s leave him."

"But the Indian!" gasped Scudder. "He will——"

"He oughter take your scalp," declared Brad, as he started away.

Then the others turned to leave Uric, who uttered a cry of fear, sprang up, and ran wildly into the woods. Old Joe made a move to follow, but Dick touched his arm, saying:

"Let him go."