Jack Ranger's Western Trip Part 1

Jack Ranger's Western Trip.

by Clarence Young.

CHAPTER I

FUN AT WAs.h.i.+NGTON HALL

"Now then, are you all ready?" inquired a voice in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

"Galloping gra.s.shoppers! We're as ready as we ever will be, Jack Ranger!" replied one from a crowd of boys gathered on the campus of Was.h.i.+ngton Hall that evening in June.

"Nat Anderson, if you speak again, above a whisper," said Jack Ranger, the leader, sternly, "you will have to play 'Marching Through Georgia' as a solo on a fine tooth comb seven times without stopping!"

"Sneezing snakes! 'Nuff said!" exclaimed Nat, this time in the required whisper. "Playing combs always makes my lips tickle."

"Now then, is every one ready?" asked Jack again. "If you are, come on, for it's getting late and we'll have to do this job quick and be back before Dr. Mead thinks it is time to send Martin the monitor after us. Forward march!"

Then the crowd of boys, from the boarding school of Dr. Henry Mead, known as Was.h.i.+ngton Hall, but sometimes called Lakeside Academy, from the fact that it was on Rudmore Lake, in the town of Rudmore, started forth on mischief bent.

It was Jack Ranger's idea,--any one could have told that. For Jack was always up to some trick or other. Most of the tricks were harmless, and ended in good-natured fun, for Jack was one of the best-hearted lads in the world. This time he had promised his chums at the academy something new, though the term, which was within a month of closing, had been anything but lacking in excitement.

"Fred Kaler, have you got your mouth organ with you?" asked Jack, turning to a lad just behind him.

"He always has his mouth-organ, or how could he speak?" asked an athletic looking lad walking beside Jack.

"That's a poor joke, Sam Palmer," commented Jack, and he ducked just in time to avoid a playful fist Sam shot out.

"Want me to play?" asked Fred.

"Play? You couldn't play in a hundred years," broke in Nat Anderson, Jack's best chum. "But make a noise like music."

"Play yourself, if you're so smart!" retorted Fred.

"Simultaneous Smithereens!" cried Nat, using one of his characteristic expressions. "Don't get mad. Go ahead and play."

"Yes, liven things up a bit," went on Jack. "Give us a good marching tune. We're far enough off now so none at the Hall can hear us."

Fred blew a lively air and the score of boys behind him began to march in step.

"What is it this time?" asked Sam in a low tone, of Jack. "You haven't let on a word."

"We're going to administer a deserved rebuke to a certain character in this town," Jack answered. "You've heard of Old Smelts, haven't you?"

"That fellow who's always beating his wife and hitting his little girl?"

"That's the old chap. Well, I heard he just got out of the lock-up for being too free with his fists on the little girl. Now if there's anything that makes me mad it's to see a kid hurt, girl or boy, it doesn't matter. I've got a surprise in store for Mr. Smelts."

"What is it?"

"You've heard of the Klu-Klux-Klan, I suppose?"

"You mean that southern society that made such a stir during the Civil War?"

"That's the one. We're going to be Klu-Klux-Klaners to-night."

"But we haven't got any uniforms."

"You'll find them in yonder wood!" exclaimed Jack in tragic tones, and he pointed to a clump of trees just ahead.

"What's this, amateur theatricals?" asked Nat, catching the last words.

"Maybe," replied Jack. "Now Fred you can pay off your orchestra," he added. "I want to do a little monologue."

The boys crowded around Jack, and he told them what he had related to Sam.

"I have provided the necessary uniforms to enable us to take the part of Klu-Klux-Klaners," he said. "Old Smelts is a southerner and knows the significance of the thing. We'll throw a good scare into him, and maybe he'll let his wife and daughter alone. Now we're to put on the sheets and the tall white helmets, and you leave the rest to me. Do just as I do when we get to Smelts's house."

"Hemispheres and hot handkerchiefs!" exclaimed Nat. "This is going some!"

Jack went to the foot of a big hollow tree, from which he pulled a large bundle. This he opened and showed a number of ghostly uniforms.

He distributed these among the boys, who at once donned them, making a weird looking band in the little glade.

"Every one stand still until I put the finis.h.i.+ng touches on,"

commanded Jack.

With a bottle of phosphorous he outlined waving flame lines around the holes cut for eyes, nose, and mouth on each white-shrouded figure,

"Now we're ready," announced the leader. "Smelts's house is just beyond this wood. Follow me, and, Fred, when you see me put my hand on my head that means I want slow tremulous music, like they have in the theater when, the heroine is dying."

"Your wishes shall be obeyed," spoke Fred, in hollow tones, whereat the others laughed.

"Silence!" commanded Jack.

It was a good thing those in charge of Was.h.i.+ngton Hall could not see the pupils just then. If they had the prank would have cost the partic.i.p.ators dear. But, after all, as Jack said, it was in a good cause. On they went until their leader held up a warning hand.

"Arrange yourselves in a circle about me," he whispered. "I am going to beard the lion in his den."

He walked up to a small cottage that stood some distance from any other dwellings on a lonely street in the village, and knocked loudly.

"Who's there?" came a voice, in answer, a few seconds later from an upper window.

"Tobias Smelts, come forth!" called Jack in deep tones. "We would hold speech with thee!"

The boys could see a man thrust his head further out of the cas.e.m.e.nt.

"Come forth and linger not!" called Jack.