“Ba-a-aa!”
Its warning note sounded, as Hans lifted himself on his hands and knees. He was facing the goat, in what the goat thought a threatening attitude. Billy’s fighting instincts were aroused and he was ready for any and all comers, whether they were goats or men.
The comical pugilistic attitude of Hans and the goat was too much for Frank Merriwell’s risibilities. He shouted with laughter. And even Bart Hodge and Jack Diamond, who seldom laughed at anything, laughed at this. Bruce Browning dropped limply back on his stool, haw-hawing.
“Yaw!” snorted Hans. “Dot vos very funny, ain’d it? Maype you seen a shoke somevere, don’d id? You peen retty to laugh a-dyin’, ven I vos kilt. Oh! you gone to plazes! I vos——”
The boy dashed by him toward the goat and Hans lifted himself still higher on his hands and knees.
This was too much for the goat.
“Ba-a-aa!”
Whish! Whack!
He made for Hans with lowered head, passing the boy at a bound, and struck a blow that tumbled Hans down on the deck. But the fire and force were taken out of the goat’s rush, for the boy caught him by his short tail as he passed, and gave the tail such a yank that the goat was skewed round and struck Hans’ shoulder only a glancing blow.
Hans went down in a bellowing heap, and the goat squared for another rush.