The fellow clung desperately to the long, keen knife, but the big Texan seized his wrist with a grip of iron, and the next moment the weapon clattered to the floor, being at once secured by Tucker.
Merriwell sprang lightly to his feet, and his assailant followed his example more slowly and stood sullenly eying the three men.
It was Jim Hanlon.
“The miserable snake in the grass!” roared the Texan, his great fists clenched and his eyes flashing fire. “He ought to be thrashed within an inch of his life, and I’m going to do it!”
Dick put a detaining hand on his friend’s arm.
“Wait a minute, Brad,” he said quietly. “Don’t be in such a hurry. This fellow is only doing what he thinks is right. I want to talk to him.”
He took a step forward and stood for an instant looking steadily at Hanlon.
“You can understand what I am saying, can’t you?” he asked presently.
The other nodded sullenly.
“You came here to-night to kill me because you thought I was the one who ran over your sister?” Dick queried.