CHAPTER XXXIV--FRANK SHOWS HIS SKILL
"He'll do it!"
"He can't do it!"
"He'll miss the next one!"
"Don'd you pelief me! Dot poy nefer vos known to miss!"
Hans was confident, as were all of Frank's friends. Those who did notknow him were the ones who were doubtful.
Twenty balls were broken in a deliberate, confident manner. It seemedthat Frank did not think it was possible to miss.
Twenty-five! He was getting close to the Star and Bar man, and theexcitement increased.
Indian Charlie laughed loud enough for Frank to hear, scornfully saying:
"It's a case of luck--nothing more. He'll slip up in a minute. Why, he'sgetting nervous now!"
Frank paid not the least attention to this, apparently not hearing it.
Thirty balls were broken! Two more would tie the Star and Bar man.
Every spectator was standing. Inza Burrage was confident, while SadieRodney was almost quivering with excitement. Miss Abigail looked calmand confident.
"Ther youngster is a wonder," said Pecos Pete. "I'll allow he kin shootas well as ride, an' that's a right smart bit."
Thirty-one!
Another to tie!
Thirty-two!
The tie was made!
Charlie carefully cleaned his gun and prepared for the trial.
Frank was congratulated by his friends.
It was agreed that the shoot-off should be to see who could make themost points out of a possible hundred.
In the choice to see who should shoot last Frank felt that he wasfortunate, as he had secured that privilege.
Indian Charlie was ready, and he took his stand. Then he proceeded tobreak fifty balls without a miss.
Then, to the astonishment of all, Charlie missed the next ball.
That angered him, and he uttered a smothered exclamation. His anger didhim harm, for he missed again.
The foreman of the Lone Star stopped to swab out his gun and cool off.He realized that it would not do to continue shooting till his nerveswere perfectly steady.
When he started in once more he seemed to smash the balls with greaterease than before, and he made seventy-eight out of a possible eighty.
"That is more than enough to win," he laughed.
Then he seemed to grow careless, for he missed again.
He finished by making ninety-six out of one hundred shots.
"There," he said, "that is pretty bad, but it is good enough to beat thetenderfoot and have twenty to spare."
"We shall see," thought Frank.
Merriwell took the position Charlie had vacated, and then, to theamazement and disappointment of every one, missed the second ball.
No one was more surprised than Frank by the miss, but it did not rattlehim in the least. He remembered the gun in his hands shot "close," andresolved to take unusual care.
Then he went on shooting, and for the next fifty shots he did not make asingle miss.
Frank followed up his success with twenty-five more without a break, andthen missed one.
When eighty was reached, Frank was tied, having made seventy-eight.
Now the excitement was greater than it had been at any time during theday, for it was seen that the tenderfoot stood an even chance ofwinning.
"He shall not win!" cried Indian Charlie, deep in his burning heart. "Hemust not win!"
Then for a moment he turned toward the nearest corral and lifted hishand to his hat in a peculiar manner.
No one observed this movement, for the attention of all seemedconcentrated on the handsome youth who was doing the shooting.
Frank had made ninety-three out of ninety-five. With his next two shotshe broke two more balls.
If he broke another he would tie Indian Charlie.
Once more the foreman of the Lone Star faced toward the corral and madea rapid gesture. His face was pale and his hands shook. He felt that hewould be eternally disgraced if beaten by this boy.
Bang!
Frank fired again and another ball was broken.
Charlie was tied!
Merriwell's friends got together, prepared to cheer when the next ballwas broken.
Frank stood in readiness for the next ball.
"A thousand demons!" huskily whispered the foreman of the Lone Star. "Ifthat half-breed----"
Snap!--a white ball sailed into the air.
Bang!--Frank tossed the gun to his shoulder and fired.
At the same instant he was seen to reel, drop the gun and fall forwardon his face, as if death-stricken.
But he had smashed the ninety-seventh ball and won the shoot-off!
Frank Merriwell's Athletes; Or, The Boys Who Won Page 34
