“suffering snakes!” exclaimed barzy blunt, coming to a halt in the trail, “what in blazes is that, fellows?”
“it might be a steam calliope breaking out in high c,” grinned owen clancy, “only this part of arizona runs more to cantaloupes than calliopes, so——”
billy ballard groaned heavily.
“pa-ro-no-masia,” he said, clearly and distinctly. “get that?”
“no,” said young merriwell decidedly, “i don’t get it, pink, and i don’t want to. sounds worse than the measles.”
“i reckon i’ve had it,” remarked blunt seriously. “if it’s catching, i know i have. when i was a kid i made it a rule to corral everything from mumps to meningitis. can you have it twice?”
“i’m vaccinated,” said clancy, “so i guess it wouldn’t be fatal even if i did catch it. what are the symptoms, pink?”
“in your case, red,” ballard explained, “the symptoms are ‘cantaloupe’ and ‘calliope.’ professor phineas borrodaile, who is long on polysyllables, explained the term to me.”
“well, come across. what sort of a silly-bull is this pa-ra-what-d’you-call-it?”
“slay him!” whispered ballard weakly. “there are more symptoms.”
feigning wrath, clancy bristled up to ballard.
“i’ll be slaying you, pink,” he growled, “if you don’t tell me what i’ve got so i can get rid of it.”
237
“keep your distance, clancy!” ordered ballard. “i can see another pun in your eye. if you make it, somebody will have to hold me or i’ll give you a jab with my powerful right.”
“that would be a pun-jab, and—— ouch! quit it, chip! let go!”
merry had grabbed his red-headed chum with both hands.
“will you let up of your own accord, clan,” hissed merry, “or have i got to strangle you?”
“i’ll quiet down if pink will kindly explain what he means,” said clancy.
“a fellow who puns has pa-ra-no-masia,” explained ballard.
“oh, that’s it!” murmured clancy, pretending a great relief. “a fellow who puns ought to be punished, i suppose.”
“he ought to be punched,” declared ballard; “and right here——”
but, just at this point, the sound which blunt had first heard, and which had aroused his curiosity, came suddenly closer. it was loud, and shrill, and ear-splitting. nor was it hard to determine the cause of it, now that it was so close.
“a pig, by thunder!” exclaimed the cowboy.
the words were still on his lips as a small and highly excited porker came plunging wildly into view around a turn in the trail. there was a rope tied to one of the pig’s hind legs, and attached to the end of the rope was a chinaman.
the chinaman’s silk kimono was split up the back, one of the sleeves had been torn away, and what remained of the garment was covered with dust and grime. his flapping
238
trousers were also considerably out of repair, and one of his sandals was gone.
“why,” cried merry, “it’s woo sing!”
woo sing was the chinese roustabout at the ophir house, the hotel at which merry and his chums had put up during the whole of their stay in ophir, arizona. ordinarily, woo sing was very bland and peaceable, but now it was evident that his oriental temper was getting the best of him.
“whoosh!” he shouted, on catching sight of the boys. “one piecee pig makee heap tlouble. woo sing no likee pig, by klismus! somebody give woo sing club, by gee clickets, him makee pig bologna sausage chop-chop.”
the pig, for the moment, had stopped struggling and stopped squealing. with his round, wicked little eyes he was surveying the four lads in the trail.
“where’d you get the porker, sing?” inquired ballard.
“pophagan he wantee. him sendee woo sing to gettee. i pay fi’ dol’ fo’ pig, and he makee fitty dol’ damage with tlouble. pophagan no sendee sing fo’ pig ally mo’. him tly sendee, sing quit job, by glacious!”
all the boys studied the angry chinaman for a moment, and then the humor of the situation broke over them, and they began to laugh.
“you makee laugh, huh?” chattered the chinaman wrathfully. “you ketchee heap plenty fun flom china boy’s tlouble! by jim’ klismus, i been so mad i likee make fight. mebbyso, you takee pig with stling bymby flom one place to some othel place. pig makee tlouble fo’ you, then china boy laugh allee same sam hill. now china boy no can laugh. whoosh! giddap,” he added, shaking the rope in an attempt to make the pig resume the journey townward.
the pig, however, seemed to have ideas of his own on
239
the subject of starting. planted firmly in the trail, he merely let out a protesting squeal every time woo sing jerked the rope.
“he makee squeal, no makee move!” cried the exasperated chinaman.
“he’s balky, sing,” observed blunt, tipping a humorous wink at the other lads. “you’ve got the rope around the wrong end of that pig. if you had it hitched in front, you know, you could pull him along.”
“in flont?” cried the chinaman, in horror. “me no gettee in flont of pig fo’ hunnerd dol’. it plenty bad to tlavel behind, where china boy makee watch pig do his devil tlicks. p’laps pig makee move if china boy givee kick.”
with that, sing hauled off with the foot which still wore a sandal. in less than a second the chinaman’s foot and the pig had a rear-end collision. the pig let out an angry squeal, and started—but not in the right direction. instead of striking out along the trail on the way to ophir, the pig began running circles around sing.
in just two rounds the chinaman’s feet were neatly lashed together by two coils of rope. another round, and the pull on the rope jerked the bound feet out from under their owner, and he sat down in the trail with more haste than grace.
by that time, the pig evidently came to the conclusion that he had done enough circling, and started off on the straightaway. he did not head toward ophir, however, but away from the town and in the direction of bitter root cañon.
for possibly two yards he dragged the helpless chinaman after him, then the chinaman’s weight, pulling against the loop around the pig’s leg, caused the rope
240
to slip off, and the unmanageable little porker found himself free to travel where he pleased.
frank and his friends had been attempting to do something to relieve the chinaman’s distress. woo sing was sputtering like a package of firecrackers, however, and the situation was so funny that the boys had to laugh in spite of themselves. their enjoyment interfered with their efforts to aid, and they had barely surrounded the pig and the chinaman when the pig broke loose.
ballard, as it happened, was right in the pig’s way. without taking the trouble to go around ballard, the pig charged for his legs, and knocked them out from under him. for about a second ballard was standing on his head.
“me losee fi’ dol’, him gettee ’way!” wailed woo sing, untangling himself from the rope and jumping to his feet. “whoa, pig! come, pig; come, pig!”
the chinaman was flying at speed after the escaped porker.
“help ketchee, help ketchee!” he flung over his shoulder, in an imploring voice, as he raced onward.
“that’s the darndest, most contrary pig i ever saw in my life!” fumed ballard.
“he’s not used to chinks,” laughed blunt, “and that’s all the trouble.”
“pink tried to hog all the chinaman’s trouble,” said clancy, “and now he’s sore because he got just a little of it.”
“gee!” exclaimed young merriwell; “the pig’s going like a streak, and he’ll be in the cañon in about two minutes. no chance of overhauling him so long as he sets a pace like that.”
the trail frank and his friends were traveling was the one leading from town to the clubhouse and athletic
241
field of the ophir athletic club. this was also the main trail to gold hill; and, at the point where the clubhouse road branched away, the pig had exercised considerable discrimination by keeping right on toward gold hill.
the frantic woo sing was leading the pursuit. his tattered garments were fluttering and snapping around him in the wind of his flight, and his long queue was standing straight out behind. the pig was a mere flurry of dust in the distance.
at the place where the trail forked to lead to the clubhouse, frank drew to a halt.
“we can’t all of us go on and help sing, fellows,” said he. “there’s work for us at the golf links, and we can’t waste time getting there. ballard, you and blunt go on and help recapture the pig. clan and i will hunt up mr. bradlaugh and colonel hawtrey and see what we can do for lenning.”
“there’s your chance, pink,” laughed clancy. “go ahead and stir yourself. but i’d advise you not to get too much in the pig’s way. if he makes a dead set at you, just swing around, get on his back, and ride. do that, and it won’t be long before you tire him out and get him so he’ll eat out of your hand.”
“you go to blazes!” growled ballard. “if you know so much about catching runaway pigs, maybe you’d better go with blunt and let me trail along with chip.”
“come on, bal,” cried the cowboy, and started off, running awkwardly in his feet-pinching, high-heeled boots.
without waiting for further talk, ballard took after blunt. merry and clancy watched until the little cloud of dust, representing the pig, had crossed the rim of the cañon and vanished down the steep slope; then, turning, they set their faces toward the clubhouse.
242
“that was more fun than a box of monkeys, chip,” chuckled clancy. “i wish i could be around to see how the chase comes out.”
“they’ll catch the pig, of course,” laughed merriwell. “it means five dollars to sing, and he’ll never give up until he lays the porker by the heels. ballard and blunt couldn’t very well give up the chase and leave the chinaman to go it alone.”
for a few moments the two chums walked onward, chuckling and snickering over recent events; then, as they drew near the clubhouse, merry’s face suddenly straightened.
“now, clan,” said he, “we’re right up to one of the hardest jobs we ever tackled. let’s get serious.”
