Mazaro ground a curse through his white teeth, and leaped to his feet, but Frank was on his feet quite as quickly.
Smack! Frank's arm had shot out, and his hard fist struck the Spaniard under the ear, sending the fellow flying through the air and up against the wall with terrible force. From the wall Mazaro dropped, limp and groaning, to the floor.
Like a flash, the nervy youth flung the table against the downcast wretch's companions, making them reel.
Then Frank leaped toward the stairs, up which he bounded like a deer.
"Where are you?" he cried. "I am here to help you! Call again!"
No answer.
Near the head of the stairs a light shone out through a broken panel in a door, and on this door Frank knew the blows he had heard must have fallen.
Within this room the boy fancied he could hear sounds of a desperate struggle.
Behind him the desperadoes were rallying, cursing hoarsely, and crying to each other. They were coming, and the lad on the stairs knew they would come armed to the teeth.
All the chivalry in his nature was aroused. His blood was leaping and tingling in his veins, and he felt able to cope with a hundred foes.