What he saw chilled him to the core. With Dick Merriwell still pinned to the ground, Shea had lifted that gleaming knife to plunge it into the boy’s breast.
“Murder!” thought Duncan, turning again to run as if his life depended on it.
Behind him a pistol shot ruptured the night, followed by a scream of pain.
CHAPTER LII.
ROUTING THE RUFFIANS.
Buckhart’s senses had been sent wool-gathering, but he recovered in time to see the ruffian with the knife pinning Dick to the ground a short distance away. Merriwell was fighting for his life, but the injury to his shoulder had seemed to benumb his entire body and rob him of his strength. Snarling, spluttering, swearing, the ruffian lifted the deadly knife.
Within reach of his hand, Buckhart saw the pistol that Dick had wrenched from the man’s grasp. Quick as thought, the Texan seized the weapon. The double click of a hammer was followed an instant later by a sharp report and a cry of pain.
Brad had fired at the uplifted hand of the thug. The bullet struck and shattered two of the man’s fingers. The knife dropped harmlessly. Holding up his injured hand, the slugger sprang to his feet.
“Stop—stop right where you are!” commanded Buckhart, leveling the pistol. “If you don’t, I’ll sure run a tunnel through you! I’ll ventilate you good and proper!”
But Shea turned and fled.
“I don’t want to kill him,” said the Texan, who was sitting up, “but I think I’ll try for his legs.”