"Run!--run!--run!--run!" said the Professor, when there was another report, and he exclaimed, falling to the earth, "Oh!--oh!--oh!--I am shot!--help!--help!--murder! murder!"

Pate and Wiggins fled through the forest with the murderers shouting and firing in their rear. As it happened, they soon became separated, and each got into a path which led him away from the other. After running with unexampled speed for some time, Pate suddenly found himself on the back of some huge horned monster, which rose from the earth with a loud roar and galloped off with him. How far he rode on the back of his terrible courser he never could tell; but at last the creature leaped over the trunk of a fallen tree, and Pate rolled off and sank to the earth in a comatose condition, induced by extreme terror.

When he became conscious, he got up and wandered for hours, through the forest, lost and bewildered, and in the utmost dread of falling into the hands of the desperadoes, who had slain poor Toney, Tom, and the Professor. At length the day broke; and as he wandered on he espied some one coming towards him who had a most hideous appearance. Pate was about to turn and fly, when the man called to him, and he recognized the voice of William Wiggins.

Wiggins had fled in headlong haste until he had emerged from the forest, and entered an inclosure surrounding a farm-house. Here he was so unfortunate as to overturn a bee-hive and was so badly stung by the infuriated insects that he rushed blindly around, and got among the poultry. Hearing the commotion among his fowls, the farmer came out with a club, and vigorously belabored the supposed thief, until the latter escaped, and fled back to the forest, with his face shockingly swollen by the stings of the bees, and his body terribly bruised by the blows from the farmer's cudgel.

When Wiggins had told his doleful story, Pate proceeded to relate how he had been carried off on the back of some horned monster, which had suddenly risen out of the earth, and must have been the devil. It now being broad daylight, they succeeded in finding the way to the town, where they told a tale of horror to the landlord at the hotel. But while they were describing the b.l.o.o.d.y murder in the forest, the landlord, with a smile, pointed out Toney, Tom, and the Professor standing on the opposite side of the street, in the midst of a group of young men, who were laughing immoderately at something which was being told. Pate and Wiggins were now informed that they had been made the victims of a singular custom, which was peculiar to that locality, and was termed, "running a greenhorn." Apprehensive of the ridicule which would be heaped upon them, they immediately took their departure from the beautiful town of Bella Vista.

CHAPTER XIX.

"The Funny Philosophers have caused the exodus of the Seven Sweethearts," said the Professor, as the three friends sat in Toney's room in the hotel the morning subsequent to the departure of Pate and Wiggins.

"Our sect must flourish," said Toney.

"And Pate's big bald head will not be seen bobbing about in Bella Vista," said Tom.

"Mr. Seddon, you should not speak irreverently of bald heads," said the Professor. "Remember the forty irreverent young lads and the she-bears, and learn that bald-headed people are under the especial protection of Providence. I am partially bald myself, and am under the impression that this calamity came upon me in consequence of my having once deprived an unfortunate individual of his hair."

"Did what?" exclaimed Toney.

"On one occasion I helped to scalp a man," said the Professor, gravely and mournfully.

"Helped to scalp a man!" exclaimed Seddon.

"I am sorry to say that I did, Mr. Seddon," said the Professor.

"How was it?" asked Toney.

"It is a strange story," said the Professor.

"Let us have it," said Seddon.

"Some years ago," said the Professor, "I was on a steamboat going down one of the large rivers in the South-west. The boat stopped at a landing and a big fellow came on board. He was a rough, unpolished individual, with long hair reaching down to his shoulders. He appeared to be in a bad humor with himself and with all mankind; being one of those peculiar specimens of humanity who believe that the whole duty of man is to fight. As soon as he came on board it was apparent to the pa.s.sengers that he was a bully in quest of a quarrel. But everybody avoided him, and for a long while he was unsuccessful in finding what he was seeking for. Finally, however, his perseverance was amply rewarded. The bell rang for dinner, and there was a rush for the saloon. The bully seated himself at the head of the table. At intervals, among the dishes, were a number of apple-pies. 'Waiter,' exclaimed the bully, 'bring me that pie.' It was placed before him. 'And that one,' said he. The waiter obeyed, and the bully reiterated his order until he had every apple-pie on the table directly under his nose."

"The glutton!" said Toney.

"Did he eat all the pies?" asked Tom.

"No, Mr. Seddon, he did not," said the Professor. "Having collected all the pies before him, he sternly glanced at the two rows of indignant faces along the table. He saw anger in every eye; a frown upon every brow; but not a word had been spoken. There was a dead silence, when the bully brought down his fist on the table with tremendous force, and fiercely shouted, 'I say that any man who don't like good apple-pie is a d--d rascal!' This was more than human nature could endure. In an instant every man was on his feet. The table was overturned, and hams, and turkeys, and roast-pigs rolled on the floor. There was a general fight. Pistols exploded, bowie-knives were brandished, and fists flourished!"

"All endeavoring to get at the daring monopolizer of the apple-pies, I suppose?" said Tom.

"By no means, Mr. Seddon," said the Professor. "There was promiscuous fighting. Many who had no opportunity of dealing a blow at the bully, fought and pommeled one another. I retreated to a corner."

"But what became of the bully?" asked Toney.

"I was about to tell you. As I stood on the defensive, warding off the blows which were occasionally aimed at me, I saw a huge head coming towards me like a battering-ram, the body to which it belonged being propelled by kicks in the rear. The head was about to come in contact with this portion of my anatomy--what do you call it?" said the Professor, placing his hand on the part designated.

"The bread-basket," said Toney.

"No, that is not it," said the Professor.

"The abdomen," said Tom.

"That's the scientific term," said the Professor. "In order to protect my abdomen from injury, I involuntarily reached out and convulsively grasped the head by its long hair. As I did so, a bowie-knife descended and shaved off the scalp, leaving it, with its long locks, in my grasp."

"What did you do with your trophy?" asked Toney.

"I rushed from the saloon, yelling like an Indian, with the scalp in my hand. It belonged to the bully. He soon came upon deck howling for his hair."

"Did you restore it to the owner?" asked Tom.

"No," said the Professor. "To the victor belong the spoils. I escaped into the cook's galley, and carefully wrapped the scalp in some loose sheets of the Terrific Register, and put it in my pocket, and afterwards transferred it to my trunk. It is now in the possession of the learned Professor Boneskull, who has been informed by his oracle that it was one of the trophies found by the Kentuckians in the possession of the celebrated Tec.u.mseh when he was slain in battle."

"But the bully?" said Toney. "I am interested in his fate."

"He was like Samson. The loss of his hair seemed to deprive him of strength and courage. His belligerency departed from him. He became quiet and orderly, and during the rest of the pa.s.sage never meddled with the apple-pies, but behaved with perfect decorum. He was soon afterwards seen on the anxious bench at a camp-meeting, and he is now a bald-headed Methodist preacher, remarkable for his piety and mild and dovelike disposition."

"The loss of his locks seems to have been of essential service to him,"

said Seddon.

"I wish, however, that I had given him back his hair," said the Professor. "I suffered severely in consequence of depriving him of it."

"In what way?" inquired Tom.

"It was retribution, I suppose," said the Professor. "As soon as I had pocketed the fellow's hair I began to lose my own. It fell out by handfuls, and in a few months I had a bald patch on the top of my head of ample area. It made me melancholy and poetical."

"I must confess that I cannot perceive any necessary connection between a bald head and poetry," said Toney.

"Why, Toney, my dear fellow," said the Professor, "you must know that when a man gets a bald pate he naturally begins to think of domestic bliss and connubial felicity, which are poetical subjects. If he meditates long on these subjects, versification will be the inevitable result. It was so in my case. As I t.i.tillated the top of my bald head with my forefinger, I plainly perceived that the time had come for me to marry. So, like a bird on Saint Valentine's day, I began to look around for a mate."

"You were like Dobbs, seeking for an angel and seven sweet little cherubs," said Tom.

"No, Mr. Seddon, I was seeking for a dovelike little woman, and I thought I had found one. In my imagination Dora was like a gentle white dove. I cooed around her, and courted for weeks, and wrote some verses in her alb.u.m. I remember them well."

"I would like to hear them," said Toney.

"They can be produced from the archives of my memory," said the Professor; and he recited the following verses:

When morn had sown her orient gems among the golden flowers That blushed upon their purple stalks in fairy-haunted bowers, Among the glowing throng around, a tender bud I spied, That meekly held its humble place the verdant walk beside.

No gaudy beauties decked its crest with variegated dyes, Like blinding splendors blazing o'er the summer's evening skies; With simple moss encircled round, it hung its head to earth, And yet in Flora's language it denotes superior worth.