Then the door was torn open, and Hilda Dugan, flushed with excitement and exertion, sprang in. She was dressed in a short hunting skirt, with leggings of russet leather to her knees, and on her head a cap was jauntily set. In one hand she carried the rifle, while the other held the still smoking revolver.
With a bound she reached the barrel and knocked the bit of burning fuse off the end. A moment later she whipped out a knife and began to cut the rope that held Merriwell helpless.
Soon Merry was free, although it scarcely seemed possible to him that he had escaped death. And he owed his life to the daughter of Dugan the smuggler!
“I was waiting for you,” she said; “but I realized that father and Jones were watching for you also. I induced father to give me the rifle, and here it is. I told you I would help you recover it. I have kept my word.”
“And saved my life in the bargain!” cried Frank, clasping her hand. “I shall never be able to repay that!”
“I followed them across in my canoe,” she said; “and that is how I came to reach here in time.”
“You have been my good angel, Miss Dugan! Never as long as I live shall I forget what you have done this day!”
“We must get away. If they heard my shot——”
She stepped to the door, and then a cry of fear escaped her lips.
“They did hear it. They are coming. We must run.”