“Keep still!” he commanded. “You are no match for him, so keep away.”
“He have you in bad feex,” said Bunol. “I feex him! You wait! You see!”
The eyes of the young Spaniard gleamed with a light that would have made a nervous fellow uneasy.
Dick jerked the knife from the door, turned about with it in his hand, and strode back at Miguel Bunol.
The young Spaniard cried out in excitement, thinking Merriwell meant to attack and stab him. He made a spring for a corner, where stood a pair of Indian clubs, and one of these he picked up as a weapon. He chattered something in Spanish as he faced about again, but Dick had paused by the table, and was talking to Chester.
“It will be a good thing for you, Arlington,” Merriwell was saying, “if this snake in the grass has to leave Fardale. If he remains, he will some day get you into a bad scrape, mark what I say.”
Chester flung back his head with a haughty pose.
“You have had things your own way since coming to this room, Merriwell,” he said. “But you cannot deny that I saved your life, for that knife would have struck you fairly had I not grasped Miguel’s arm. If you report this matter, it will bring about an investigation, which may mean no end of trouble for me, resulting in my expulsion, as well as Bunol’s. Of course, I have no way of preventing you from doing as you like, but I advise you to think it over before you carry it too far. And now, before there is further trouble, get out. Leave that knife here on the table.”
“No; I’ll take the knife as a trophy.”
“The knife belongs to me!” cried Bunol.