“Bah! You speak boldly now, for you have conquered by your brute strength. It’s not the strength of the brute that wins in the end; it’s the brains of the wise man. You think you’re wise and crafty, but in the end you shall know that Porfias del Norte is a thousand times your superior.”
With an exclamation of scorn and disdain, Frank rose to his feet.
He turned to move away, but as he did so Del Norte, who had risen to his knees, suddenly clutched Merry by both legs and once more sought to hurl him over the cliff.
Only by dropping, quickly doubling himself at the hips and clutching the Mexican about the shoulders, did Frank prevent the treacherous scoundrel from accomplishing his dastardly design.
Taken thus at a disadvantage, it was not strange Merry could not prevent his enemy from rising to an upright position. Then once more the Mexican exerted all his strength to hurl Merry over the brink. To the right and to the left they swayed. Once they staggered to within a foot of the edge.
Frank sought to break the other man’s hold, and this he finally accomplished just as Del Norte made an upward surge and thrust out a foot in an effort to trip the American.
The Mexican’s heel struck something, and a moment later, with a shrill cry of horror, he found himself tottering at the edge of the bluff.
Merry leaped forward with one hand outstretched in an effort to grasp the fellow and save him from that fall.
Too late!
Beneath Porfias del Norte’s feet the ledge crumbled, and, with another cry of despair, the miserable wretch dropped from view, turning over and over as he fell.