Jack Ranger's Western Trip Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range

Excerpt

CHAPTER I

FUN AT WASHINGTON HALL

"Now then, are you all ready?" inquired a voice in a hoarse whisper.

"Galloping grasshoppers! We're as ready as we ever will be, Jack
Ranger!" replied one from a crowd of boys gathered on the campus of
Washington 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 Washington 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....