Had Merriwell not been as tough as sole leather, that ugly fall might have had serious consequences. As it was, he was merely stunned, and in a minute or two he was sitting up on the ground, rubbing the side of his head and trying to guess what had happened.
Although he could not remember it, yet at the moment he was seized and thrown sideways, a startled cry had escaped his lips. Ears accustomed to hearing sounds through the clamor of the mill had caught that cry, and Merriwell was conscious of a dark form hastening in his direction.
“What’s the matter here?” demanded a voice, as the form halted at Merriwell’s side. “That you, Lenning?”
“No, Burke, it’s not Lenning,” Merry answered, recognizing the man as the recently appointed superintendent at the mine, “it’s Merriwell.”
“Merriwell! What the blazes are you doing here, at this time o’ night?”
“Looking for Lenning.”
“Well, he ought to be around the tanks somewhere.”
“I couldn’t find him,” said Frank, and jumped to his feet. He was dizzy for a moment and leaned back against the wall of the building. “He wasn’t anywhere around the tanks,” he went on, “and I started for the laboratory. When I got this far I stopped and looked through the window. Somebody grabbed me from behind, all at once, and jammed my head against the window sill. When I came to I was sitting up on the ground, and you were hustling toward me. I haven’t the least idea how long my wits were woolgathering, but it couldn’t have been long.”
“It wasn’t,” answered Burke, his voice showing his concern. “You yelled, and I was prowling around and happened to hear. I wasn’t more than a minute in getting here.”
“What the mischief is going on, Burke?”