“Oh, the Dutchman is all right. He’ll come round to-morrow. All the matter with him is that he tried to eat everything on the table at the hotel in Greenville.”
“He said he was trying to keep up with you,” smiled Merry.
As they entered the village they came upon Enos Dugan, who seemed to be waiting for them. Frank watched the man narrowly, not knowing what treachery he might attempt.
Dugan’s eyes lighted with an evil look as he saw the handsome rifle Merriwell was carrying; his face flushed, and he stepped toward the lads.
“So ye got it?” he growled, glaring at Frank. “All right! But I don’t fergit that you struck me.”
That was all he said, and then he wheeled squarely about and walked away with a swinging stride.
“I’m glad we’re going to get out of this town to-morrow, if Hans gets able,” said Bruce. “I believe that man would kill you, Frank, if we remained here.”
“He might do so in a fit of passion,” nodded Merry; “but I hardly think he would do such a thing in cold blood.”
“I don’t know. He has a bad face.”