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Crauthers shook his head.

“Don’t you think it!” he exclaimed. “I used to think I’d go to sea, or run away and become a cowboy; but, of course, I’ve gotten over that, for I’ve found out going to sea isn’t such fun, and the cowboy business is getting played out. All the same, a fellow could be a nomad and just hunt and fish and – ”

“And tramp!” laughed Stark. “No, thank you! I have no desire to lead the life of a hobo.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to be a common hobo. I read the other day that there are lots of people in the country yet who make a good living by hunting. I’d like that. I like to hunt. I enjoy shooting squirrels and birds and things, and I know it would be great sport killing big game. I’d enjoy perforating a grizzly bear and then cutting its throat with my hunting-knife.”

“Oh, that would be fine!” came sarcastically from Stark. “But it would not be such sport if you happened to wound the bear and he got you in a corner. I believe grizzlies are somewhat dangerous under such circumstances.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind the danger!” asserted Crauthers. “That would be part of the sport. I’m not afraid – ”

Then he stopped short, for through the woods rang a long-drawn, lonely cry, like that of some prowling animal. Crauthers turned pale and showed symptoms of agitation.

“What was that?” he whispered.

The others were startled.

“Sounded like the cry of a wolf or a wildcat,” muttered Hogan.

The wind rose, rushed through the tree tops and died away. As they sat there listening, the doleful cry was repeated, and this time it sounded much nearer than before. The thing was approaching!

CHAPTER XX – DONE IN THE DARK

One who has never been in the woods at night and heard such a strange, awesome, blood-chilling sound cannot understand the shuddery feeling that creeps over the flesh of the listener.

In his veins Crauthers seemed to feel his blood turning to ice-water. His heart stood still when the second cry came, then leaped and pounded so violently that there was a pain in his breast.

“There’s one of your wild animals, Mark!” said Stark, who was not a little nervous himself, although he wished to hide the fact.

“For the Lord’s sake keep still!” breathed Crauthers, his dark teeth knocking together tremulously as he uttered the words. “What can it be?”

“Here’s your chance to hunt a wild animal,” said Hogan. “Go out and tackle it.”

“Why, you know I haven’t a weapon!”

“Bunol will lend you his knife.”

“No,” said the Spaniard. “The knife I have not.”

“Haven’t even a knife?” gasped Crauthers. “I’ve got a revolver, but I didn’t bring it. Great Scott! not one of us is armed! What if we are attacked?”

“Clubs, fellows!” said Hogan, as he began to pull over the little pile of wood.

“Out with the fire!” sibilated Crauthers, “That’s what has attracted the thing.”

Stark grasped him.

“Let the fire burn,” he said. “Haven’t you read how it will hold real wolves at bay?”

“That’s no wolf!” said Hogan. “It may be a wildcat, but there are no wolves in these parts.”

By this time the boys had each secured a club. The wind had lulled, and silence lay on the woods. Once more the cry came to their ears, and this time it was even nearer. But now there seemed something strangely human about it.

“Listen!” urged Bunol.

He placed his fingers to his lips and blew the signal of the Wolf Gang, a peculiar whistle that cut shrilly through the night.

“You fool!” snarled Crauthers. “Do you – ”

Then he stopped, for the signal was answered in a similar manner. Again the wondering boys looked at one another.

“Our signal!” they said.

“I thought I knew who yelled to us,” said Bunol, in satisfaction.

“There is only one fellow at Fardale who knows our signal,” said Stark.

“That’s Arlington!” declared Hogan.

“He comes,” declared Bunol.

“What? Chet Arlington coming here? Why – ”

“Somehow he think we may be here, and he comes,” said the Spaniard.

Immediately Stark’s suspicions were reawakened.

“It’s a put up job!” he declared. “He sent you here, Bunol, to listen to our plans, and now he is coming. Confound your treacherous skin, if you – ”

“Hold on!” spoke the Spanish lad, in a low tone. “Better go slow. I have nothing to do with him. I hate him. I prove it to you.”

“Prove it now!” urged Crauthers. “This is your chance!”

“How?”

“Go out there and lay for him in the darkness. When he comes along, soak him! That’s the way to do it! I dare you to do it – I dare you!”

“I’ll do it!” declared Miguel, at once, “Put out fire so he will not see. Quick!”

Crauthers dashed aside the brands with his foot and began to stamp them out.

“Hold on!” urged Stark. “I don’t know about this business. Better be careful, or we’ll all get into – ”

“He can’t prove a thing. If he’s alone, we are four to his one. If he is bringing any one here, it’s right to meet him and give it to him. Go on, Bunol.”

Crauthers ground the dying embers beneath his feet, and the interior of the Den was plunged into darkness, save for the faint glow of a few coals.

“You wait!” whispered Bunol, as he crouched to creep forth. “You see now how much friend I am to him! I prove it to you! I get even with him!”

He still retained the club he had caught up from the pile of wood.

Stark was apprehensive, but Crauthers was shaking with eagerness, being seized by an intense longing to join in the attack on Arlington.

As they waited, the approaching person whistled again.

“He’s crossing the tree-bridge!” palpitated Crauthers. “Bunol will be sure to be waiting for him when he reaches the ground on this side. Keep quiet!”

They did not have to wait long. Soon they heard the sound of a sudden struggle, a muffled, broken cry, and a heavy fall. Their hearts beat painfully after a period of shocked stillness, and it was not without difficulty that they breathed.

The night wind passed over the woods like a sigh.

Hogan started to say something in a whisper, but he was checked, and they waited yet a little longer. Then the voice of Miguel Bunol, soft and steady, called to them.

“Come out and see how I keep my word,” it said. “I prove to you I do not lie.”

Still they hesitated.

“What do you suppose the fool has done?” muttered Stark apprehensively. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

He was the first of the remaining trio to creep forth from the Den. The others followed him, and they found Bunol waiting in the path.

“Come,” he said, and they silently followed him to a little distance, pausing near the foot of the nearer tree that completed the bridge over the jungle.

“Here he is,” said the Spaniard.

“Where?” asked Stark.

“At your feet.” But they could see nothing.

Stark struck a match, sheltering it with his hollowed hands, as he cast the light downward. Hogan breathed forth an exclamation that betrayed the agitated state of his nerves.

For the flickering light fell on the pale face of Chester Arlington, who lay stretched on his back where he had fallen when struck down by the club in the hands of Miguel Bunol. Arlington’s eyes were closed, and near his left temple something red trickled down from his hair.

“Good heavens!” gasped Hogan, as he dropped on his knees. “Why, this is carrying the thing too far! I’m afraid he’s badly hurt!”

Crauthers said nothing, for in his heart there was a mingled sensation of satisfaction and fear.

“What in blazes have you done, Bunol?” demanded Stark, who was likewise alarmed.

“I soak him!” said the Spaniard. “That was what you say for me to do. I do it!”

The match fell from Stark’s fingers. In darkness they stood huddled about that silent form stretched on the ground. Fear had gripped their hearts. They longed to turn and hurry from the spot, but curiosity held them yet a little longer.

Stark struck another match and bent over Arlington. He thrust a hand inside Chester’s coat and felt for his heart. In his excitement he was quite unaware that he was feeling on the wrong side.

“My God!” he said huskily. “You have killed him, Bunol! His heart does not even flutter!”

“He should know better than to fool with Miguel Bunol,” said the Spaniard.

By the gleam of the expiring match they glanced at Miguel’s face and saw there no look of regret. The Spaniard was utterly pitiless, and remorse had not touched him. A little while before he had seemed the devoted friend of Chester Arlington, but his friendship had turned to the bitterest hatred, and his hatred had led to this terrible deed that might be – murder!

“Let’s get out of here!” whispered Crauthers, “We didn’t do it! We had nothing to do with it! We know nothing about it!”

Stark wanted them to stay a little longer, but panic seemed to clutch them. Crauthers went staggering up the tree trunk, with Hogan following close behind. They did not pause when Stark called to them.

“We better go, too,” said Bunol.

“You go to the devil!” burst from Stark, suddenly overcome by repulsion caused by the treachery of the fellow. But he did not care to be left there with the Spaniard and the fellow he had slain, so he hastened to cross over the trees and rush after his companions.

Like a cat, Bunol followed, and in the desolate woods was left the unfortunate lad who had been struck down by his erstwhile comrade.

The wind moaned through the trees with a dreary sound, dying away like a sigh. The woods were still. The trees and the thickets seemed to listen and wait for some sign of life in that motionless figure.

Stark called to Hogan and Crauthers as he stumbled along the path. He uttered exclamations of annoyance, pain, and anger when branches whipped him stingingly across the face. Three or four times he stumbled and fell, but he was up again and hurrying on in a twinkling.

“Where are those fools?” he grated. “What do they mean by running away and leaving me like this!”

He paused a moment to listen, and then he gave a great start, for right beside him a voice spoke:

“They run like cowards.”

“Bunol!” exclaimed Stark, far from pleased. “What in blazes do you mean by following me so closely? I didn’t hear you behind me.”

“You all run off,” said the Spanish lad. “Why you think I should stay?”

“You did the trick! You should have remained to make sure he was dead or alive, one or the other.”

“Bah!” said the other. “If he is dead, it do no good to stay. If he is ’live, he come out of it after while, and I care not to be round. He no see who hit him. If he is ’live, I no want him to have some proof.”

“You were a fool to strike so hard with that club!”

“When I hate, I hate hard. When I strike, I strike hard.”

“But you were a fool! Think of it! You killed him!”

“Perhaps so, perhaps not.”

“I know; I felt for his heart.”

Stark was in a terrible state of mind, for murder was a thing to shake his nerves, even though it had not been meditated upon in advance. His brain seemed confused, and he could not decide on the proper course to pursue. The horror of the tragedy in the woods was on him, and he could not shake it off.

Bunol managed to hold himself well in hand, and his nerve seemed wonderful, making him more repellent to Stark.

“You killed him!” repeated Fred. “You may be hanged for it!”

“Why? Nobody need know.”

“Such things are bound to come out. Besides, why should we put ourselves in a bad box by shielding you? You – you alone are to blame!”

“Ha!” cried Bunol derisively. “You say that? You? Why, you sent me to soak him! You dare to blow on me? Ha! You be in bad scrape, too!”

Stark drew off from the fellow. The shadow of the gloomy woods was close at hand, and he turned from it. Several times he looked back, fearing to see a ghostly figure in pursuit.

Bunol clung close to him. They had not proceeded far before two other forms rose from behind an old stone wall. Stark halted, his heart giving a leap, but one of the two called, and he recognized the voice of Hogan.

Hogan and Crauthers were shivering. The cold night wind seemed to cut them to the bone. Their teeth chattered, and Crauthers seemed almost on the verge of collapse.

“Fellows,” said Stark, “we were fools to run away like that. We should have stayed. Perhaps Arlington was not dead. He may lay there and die in the woods.”

“I wouldn’t go back there for a thousand dollars!” said Crauthers.

Hogan longed to go back, but he lacked the nerve.

They all turned on Bunol, whom they reviled for his act.

“Yah!” snarled the Spaniard. “You squeal! You just as bad! You send me to do it.”

“Get away from us!” said Hogan. “We want nothing more to do with you!”

“Perhaps you blow on me?”

They made no answer, seeking to hurry from him, but he followed them up.

“You blow, I swear I kill you!” he cried. “I swear to do it, and I keep my word! You see! you see!”

They had been ascending a hill. Now they turned on him, and, as they did so, a cry of surprise came from the lips of Hogan.

“Good Lord, boys!” he exclaimed; “just look there!”

They saw him fling his arm out in a gesture toward the distant strip of woods. They looked, and what they saw was startling in the extreme. In the midst of the woods there was a reddish glare which rose and glowed and grew stronger every minute.

“The woods are afire!” gasped Crauthers.

“Sure thing!” came from the lips of Stark.

“Why, how – ”

“It started from our fire in the Den! When the brands were scattered – that’s what did it!”

“Boys,” said Stark chokingly, “Arlington is there in the burning woods! If we had brought him out! Perhaps we can do it now! Come, fellows – come, let’s go back!”

They caught hold of him.

“Too late!” said Crauthers. “See how the fire is spreading! The wind is driving it. The whole strip of woods will be a mass of roaring flame in a few minutes!”

Miguel Bunol stood by, no words falling from his lips. In his heart there was a feeling of relief caused by sight of the rising fire.

“If the Spaniard had stayed away – ” began Crauthers.

Bunol whirled on him.

“You first to propose I soak him!” he sneered. “Now you lose nerve! Now you are coward! But fire will wipe all out. It burn so nobody ever prove he was struck. He was caught in fire and couldn’t get out. That is it.”

Bunol was too much for them. Bad though they had been, the nerve of the Spanish lad after such a dark deed made him repulsive to them all.

“We had better get back to the academy in a hurry,” said Stark. “We don’t want to be out when the excitement over this fire starts. Let’s hustle, fellows.”

So they ran over the hill and on toward the academy. Behind them the fire rose and waved gleaming pennants to the clouds, which reflected the red glow. The wind moaned through the night and sent the flames leaping from tree to tree.

“We are all murderers!” whispered Crauthers, thinking of the boy left lifeless in the burning woods.

CHAPTER XXI – ON THE ACADEMY STEPS

They approached the academy cautiously, yet in a hurried manner. Lights were in the barracks windows, suggesting warmth and comfort within. Outside the driving wind was cold and biting. Away to the southwest the burning woods flung a red glow against the clouds, and this light reached even to the academy. They feared the light would betray them as they approached, and they slipped up swiftly.

Sure enough, some one was sitting on the steps outside the door. Who was it? They halted beneath the leafless trees and held a consultation. What was to be done?

“We must get in somehow,” said Hogan.

“I’m sorry I came out to-night,” averred Crauthers.

“It’s been a bad night,” came dolefully from Stark.

Miguel Bunol had kept near them, but he did not venture to take part in the conversation.

They watched the figure on the steps for some time. Now and then they looked away toward the strip of burning woods, and the reflected light revealed the terror in their eyes.

They thought of the boy who had been stricken down and left for the flames, and it robbed them of strength and courage and manhood.

“If that fool would leave the steps!” muttered Stark. “But he sits there like a dummy.”

“I’m going in,” chattered Hogan. “I’m almost frozen.”

“You’ll be recognized.”

“I don’t care.”

When he started forward the others quickly decided to follow him, and in a body they advanced toward the steps where sat the motionless figure. They came up close to it, and then – they suddenly stopped. It was Bunol who uttered first an exclamation in Spanish, and then jabbered:

“Look! See! It is here!”

He was half-crouching, pointing at the figure, and his teeth rattled together like castanets, while his protruding eyes gleamed with terror.

Crauthers uttered a groan, and his legs nearly gave way beneath him.

“A ghost!” he whispered.

For the light of the burning woods seemed to show them sitting there on the steps, hatless, pale, a streak of red down across his temple, Chester Arlington. Never before had those boys been so startled. In fact, they seemed for a moment struck dumb and motionless with horror. Then one of them turned and ran, and the others followed, not uttering a word.

As they disappeared beneath the trees, Dick Merriwell stepped round a corner of the building and spoke to the lad who sat on the steps.

“I thought that you would give them a shock. You had better get up to your room now.”

Chester Arlington, for Chester it was, made no retort and no move. He sat there dumbly, not even looking at Dick.

“Come,” said young Merriwell, taking his arm.

Chester rose, and they entered the building. Dick assisted Arlington to his room.

“Are you sure you are all right?” asked young Merriwell.

Chester nodded.

“All right,” he said, in a mechanical manner. “Only my head hurts some.”

At the wash-bowl the blood was washed out of Chester’s hair and from his face.

“Perhaps you had better have the doctor,” suggested Dick, but Arlington objected, saying:

“I don’t want the doctor! He’ll ask too many questions. I’m going to take care of myself. Tell me again how it was you happened to find me there in the woods.”

“It was not a case of happening to find you,” said Dick. “I have been to the Den before. I had a fight on the tree-bridge once. I followed you to-night when I saw you striking out in that direction. You aroused my curiosity. But I was not familiar enough with the path through that jungle to keep very near you. So I was not on hand when you were tapped on the head, but I knew something had happened to you when those fellows rushed past my place of hiding. I crossed the bridge and stumbled over you. Then I discovered the fire, which was just starting. I shook some life into you, got you out and brought you here.”

Arlington was gently drying his hair with a towel. He made a despairing gesture and dropped on a chair.

“It’s fate!” he muttered. “I might have been burned to death in the woods but for you! Twice you have saved me from fire! It’s no use, I’ve got to leave Fardale!”

“Why?”

“I can’t stay here as your frie – ” Chester stopped himself abruptly, remembering the change of policy he had decided upon. A few more words would ruin everything.

Could he play the part now? Could he continue to pretend to be friendly toward Dick while really plotting to injure him? That was the plan he had decided upon, but fate seemed determined to baffle him, to make sport of him.

Then he thought of the fellows who, a short time before, had pretended to be his friends. They had struck him down in the woods and left him to be consumed by the flames. Were these the kind of friends he had made since coming to Fardale? And Dick Merriwell had friends who would fight for him, suffer for him, sacrifice anything for him. Chester was doubly disgusted.

“I’m going away,” he declared. “Merriwell, I’ got to do it!”

“I don’t see why.”

“I do! I can’t tell you. But one thing I am going to do before I go: I’m going to get even with those whelps who turned on me to-night!”

“You know them all?”

“Every one.”

Chester tied a handkerchief about his head. His manner was rather queer, and he kept glancing at Dick out of the corners of his eyes.

“There is no more I can do?” said Dick, rising.

“No; you have done too much!”

“Too much?”

“Yes. Frankly, Merriwell, I’d rather any one else in the world should have given me this last lift.”

Dick smiled. He realized that he had been able to pour hot coals on Arlington’s head, and it gave him a feeling of satisfaction.

“Too bad you feel that way about it!” he said, retreating to the door.

“Good night,” said Arlington shortly, and Dick went out.

“A thousand devils!” grated Arlington, when he was alone. “How am I going to keep it up? I hate him still, but he has made it almost impossible for me to again lift my hand against him. Yes, I believe I shall have to get out of Fardale. Mother wanted me to go, and I would not; but now it is different.”