The Dreadnought Boys' World Cruise

“This is Golden Gate Park, Herc.”

“Huh,” responded the red-headed lad, whom we know as Herc Taylor, gazing about him, “where are the Golden Gates?”

“Don’t be any thicker than you have to,” laughed Ned Strong. “The Golden Gate is the poetical Western name for the narrow entrance to San Francisco harbor, through which we passed on theManhattan two days ago. It was so called on account of the Argonauts of Forty-nine who came sailing into it in the old days expecting to find fortunes in the diggings. This park is ’Frisco’s show place, and it is a beautiful spot.”

“Well, so far they’ve done nothing but dig fortunes out of us,” complained Herc; “four dollars and ten cents for that breakfast at the St. Francis Hotel was as steep as the hill it stands on.”

“That is what two of Uncle Sam’s sailormen get for mingling with the swells, Herc.”

“Don’t sailors always mingle with the swells?” inquired Herc.

“Say, you deserve to be keel-hauled for springing anything like that,” chuckled Ned. “But seriously, Herc, the days of the old-time sailor, who sought his pleasures in low groggeries and such places, have vanished. At every place we’ve stopped since the fleet left Norfolk, haven’t the men of the squadron behaved themselves like men-o’-war’s-men and gentlemen, instead of the popular idea of a sailor ashore?” Warming to his subject the young Dreadnought Boy continued: “The navy of to-day is made up of ambitious, keen-witted young fellows. Clever, clean and enthusiastic——”

“Thank you,” spoke Herc, removing his service cap, for both boys wore their uniforms, of which they were justly proud, “I hope you include me in that catalogue?”

“Not if you make the breaks you did at the St. Francis this morning,” rejoined Ned. “I thought those folks at the next table would have died laughing at you.”

“What for I’d like to know?” demanded Herc belligerently, coloring up as red as his own hair.

“Why, for one thing, when the waiter asked you if you wanted to be served ‘a la carte,’ you said, ‘No, you’d rather have it on a plate’; and then when the finger bowls came on, you squeezed your bit of lemon into the water and then hollered for sugar for the lemonade, and——”

Herc doubled up his fists furiously.

“If you weren’t my chum and side partner, Ned Strong, I’d—I’d——”

But what Herc would have done was destined never to be known, for at that instant there came a thunder of hoofs from far down the magnificent, sweeping drive, on the edge of which they were standing, and high above the noise made by the distant galloping horses rose a woman’s shrill scream.

The sudden interruption to the Dreadnought Boys’ conversation had come from beyond a curve in the drive, where trees and flowering shrubs shut out from view its continuation.

“Look! Ned, look!” cried Herc suddenly, gripping his companion’s arm excitedly.

Ned’s heart gave a bound as around the curve there suddenly swept into view a stirring but alarming picture. On the back of a large, spirited chestnut horse, which was clearly beyond control, was seated a young woman whose white face and terrified cries indicated plainly that her mount was running away. Behind her, whirling in their upraised hands lassos of plaited rawhide, like those used by cowboys, came two mounted park policemen. But their horses, fast animals though they were, could not gain sufficiently on the runaway to enable them to throw their ropes and check his career.

Aroused by the screams of the young woman and the shouts of the policemen, people came running from all directions. Their cries only served, as did those of the pursuing officers, further to alarm the runaway. With glaring eyes and distended nostrils it thundered on with its rider clinging desperately to her saddle, from which she was threatened with being thrown any minute.

A low railing separated the drive from the pathway on which the boys stood, but Ned was over it in a bound. Before Herc realized what his chum and shipmate meant to do, Ned was standing in the middle of the drive crouched as if making ready for a supreme effort. The runaway, oblivious to all but its wild terror, came down on him like a whirlwind. But Ned, who had been brought up on a farm and knew no fear of horses, awaited its coming without betraying a sign of agitation.

In another second it was upon him. Concentrating every ounce of energy he possessed on the daring act he contemplated, Ned shot upward and grabbed for the bridle of the flying beast.