“Stop him—Dick, do stop him!” gasped the professor. “He’ll get us into a broil!”
Dick’s good judgment told him that it was better to avoid an encounter at that time and place, and, therefore, he spoke a few words to Buckhart, seeking to quiet him.
“That’s right!” cried Marsh. “Better pull him away if you don’t want him hurt.”
“You’ll never harm any one,” said Dick, remembering Hector’s natural cowardice. “I don’t wish him to soil his hands on you, that’s all.”
“If the hot-air merchant wants ter fight,” said Durbin, “why don’t you give him all he’s lookin’ fer, Heck? We’ll jest step aside somewhere an’ you can knock the stuffin’ outer him. I’ll see that his frien’s don’t interfere.”
Marsh turned pale at the thought. He had not the slightest desire to meet Bradley Buckhart in a square fight, man to man.
“Oh, no!” he quickly said. “The fellow talks fight, but it’s all talk.”
“It is, eh?” cried Buckhart, attempting to free himself from Dick’s clutch and stride forward, a furious gleam in his eyes.
Suddenly the bold front Marsh had assumed disappeared. Knowing Merriwell’s disinclination to engage in a personal encounter unless forced to do so, and counting on the pacifying influence of Professor Gunn, the fellow had assumed an air of bravery that was entirely fictitious. Thinking the Texan might get free and come at him, he now dodged behind Durbin, crying:
“Keep your distance! I’ll have the law on you if you touch me! I can prove that we were going about our business when you stopped us.”