Sube Cane Part 5

"Nancy'll never love 'im if he looks like--" he began; but he never finished the remark.

For Sube's fist struck him squarely in the mouth in a maniacal effort to drive the cruel words back down his throat. And that was the way the fight started.

For a time Sube appeared to be possessed of the strength of a young Samson. He pounded his antagonist all over the place with an insane fury, drawing blood from lip and nose, and planting several blows where they were destined to leave a dark crescent "s.h.i.+ner." But judged from a purely physical standpoint Sube was no match for d.i.c.k Bissell; and as his mental demands for blood began to be satisfied his wonderful offensive began to flag. He allowed himself to be drawn into the clinch that d.i.c.k had from the first been trying to work.

An instant later the back of Sube's head b.u.mped the floor, and he began to stop d.i.c.k's blows with his face. Then it dawned on him for the first time that he was actually fighting d.i.c.k Bissell. He knew of course that he couldn't thrash d.i.c.k; he had known it for years; and he couldn't understand how he ever happened to undertake such a monumental task. The mere thought weakened him.

d.i.c.k must have felt Sube relax; for suddenly he seized both of Sube's wrists and pinioned his arms across his breast.

"You're--a fine--lookin' thing!" he panted. "Nancy oughta--see y'u NOW!"

d.i.c.k had unconsciously touched the magic spring that loosed the maniac, and Sube flung him aside as if he had been a new-born babe. The two boys gained their feet at almost the same instant. Then Sube launched an attack on the larger boy that far surpa.s.sed in fury his initial charge.

He hit, he scratched, he bit, and kicked; and again he exhausted his strength and went under in a clinch. And this time he couldn't come back. d.i.c.k hammered him roundly, and when he could spare the breath taunted him unfeelingly about Nancy, and threatened to lick him to a frazzle right before her loving eyes.

But Sube was too far gone to respond. He was very near that blissful country which prize-fighters call "Out."

The stablemen enjoyed the fight immensely. And the result was quite to their liking. d.i.c.k Bissell was their kind. They wanted him to win even if he was fighting a boy scarcely half his size. But they enjoyed the "little feller's bu'st o' speed" and taking their cue from d.i.c.k, interjected a few taunts from the sidelines about what Nancy would think of him if he got licked.

Sube had plenty of friends at the ringside, but they dared not interfere because of what might happen to them when d.i.c.k Bissell caught them alone. And doubtless if they had taken a hand the stablemen would have driven them off.

But there was one friend who did not falter. He was a little late in reaching the place of battle, but when he came, he came like a thunderbolt. He struck d.i.c.k amids.h.i.+ps with the full force of his seventy pounds, knocking the astonished boy halfway across the barn.

Then with a show of flas.h.i.+ng teeth and a few great guttural oaths he cleared the barn of human inc.u.mbrances, and then--he went humbly to his master craving indulgence for having again been guilty of disobedience.

Sube struggled to his feet, groggily murmuring, "Good boy, Sport." And with a boy's first instinct on emerging from a fight began to hunt for his cap. Sport quickly found it and brought it. Then Sube noticed for the first time that he was alone, and that the big barn door was closed.

But he had no idea that it had been barred in the interest of public policy to keep what the stablemen regarded as a mad dog from running at large.

The back door was open. And towards it he staggered, bleeding and disheveled. He made his way into the clump of willows, where he lay for a time and rested while Sport licked affectionately at his hand whenever it came near enough for his rosy tongue to reach.

As he took a circuitous route homeward a little later he became conscious of a dull ache in his ear. Then he discovered that his lip was swollen. In another moment he became painfully aware that something had happened to one of his cheeks. Next a skinned knuckle attracted his attention.

He considered these injuries too valuable to be wasted, and at once invented a new game to make use of them. He pretended that he was a wounded soldier returning from the wars, and gave himself up to such limps and groans as seemed to fit the fancy. He dragged himself up to the back door of his home, and after satisfying himself that the kitchen was empty, fell prostrate on the threshold, gasping:

"Water!--Water!--I must rinse these awful wounds!"

With an exaggerated effort he pulled himself to his feet and reeled across the kitchen, only to fall in an imaginary swoon at the foot of the back stairs. But hearing footsteps he revived sufficiently to crawl upstairs dragging a bullet-pierced leg lifelessly behind.

He had reached the room occupied jointly by himself and his brother Henry, where he had indulged in several additional swoons (in the performance of which he had now become quite an expert) when he was suddenly reminded of the accident to his clothes. He took them off and holding them at arm's length, sniffed at them judicially. Then he p.r.o.nounced them guilty, and dropped them on the floor pending sentence.

He at once began to put on his best suit, but before he had finished he heard Henry coming. He kicked the offending garments under the bed and stepped into the hallway, pulling on his jacket as he went. He intercepted his brother at the head of the stairs.

"Hey, Cathead!" he called affably, addressing Henry by his nickname.

"Know some'pm?"

"What?" grunted Cathead, who was fourteen, studiously inclined, and suspicious of anything Sube knew and he didn't, because it was usually inaccurate and often led into mischief.

"There's a new batch of cookies down in the pantry!"

Cathead's interest was aroused, but he tried to conceal it. "What you all dressed up for?" he demanded.

Sube had hoped to preclude any such inquiry, and made something of a mess of his reply. "Why--now--now, I'm--I'm goin' somewheres," he stammered.

"Where?"

"Never you mind where!" cried Sube with affected gayety. "Don't you wish't you knew! But let's go and get a cookie."

Cathead had half turned to go when he stopped abruptly and began to look around him. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "What in the d.i.c.kens smells so?"

"It does smell kind o' funny, don't it?" Sube agreed.

"Funny? I should say it is funny! What is it?"

"I guess the air must be a little bad," mumbled Sube.

"A little? Say! It's awful in here!"

"But you ought to smell it out in the back yard," suggested Sube. "It's a lot worse out there!"

With a disdainful grimace Cathead turned towards the stairs. "You said some'pm about cookies," he remembered. "Lead me to 'em."

"They're in the pantry," said Sube as he started to follow Cathead down the stairs. But when he was halfway down he turned back. "Dern the luck!" he exclaimed with affected disgust. "I forgot some'pm. Got to go back. Now don't eat 'em all up before I get there!"

CHAPTER V.

OUT OF WHOLE CLOTH

As Cathead reached the bottom of the stairs, Sube dived under the bed.

And as Cathead entered the pantry, Sube darted up the attic stairs and threw the tainted clothes far into the darkness. From the splash that followed he feared they might have landed in the rain water tank, but that could not be helped now. As he rapidly slid down the attic stairs he was thoroughly in sympathy with those who shed their brothers' blood so far as disposing of the _corpus delicti_ was concerned.

Sube had reached his room in safety when he heard Cathead angrily scuffing up the stairs; and, wis.h.i.+ng to have the appearance of doing something, he stepped over to the bureau and picked up a hairbrush. But when he took off his cap the hairbrush dropped from his nerveless fingers. His mutilated scalp fairly screamed at him!

In the excitement of the fight he had forgotten all about it. But there was no time to lose. Cathead was at the door. Sube mechanically pulled his cap far on his head, and sank limply down on the bed as Cathead came into the room peevishly charging him with being the biggest fibber out of captivity.

"There wasn't a cookie there, and you know it!" he cried.

"Annie must've hid 'em," returned Sube feebly.

Cathead's anger subsided as he caught sight of his brother's livid countenance. "What's the matter of you?" he asked.

"Nuthin'."

"You're as white as paper," declared Cathead. Then catching sight of his brother's swollen lip which in the semi-darkness of the hallway had escaped his notice, he asked, "How'd you hurt your lip?"

The natural thing would have been to tell Cathead the truth, all the truth, and nothing _but_ the truth. But Sube did not care to do this.

Not that he was afraid Cathead would tell; he had no thought of that. In regard to their joint delinquencies Cathead had always been absolutely leak-proof. Sube simply did not wish to put himself in Cathead's power; so he took what he considered to be the easiest way.