“Perhaps to-morrow, or the next day,” he said, “I may have something to tell you.”
“If you are in danger——” began Jack.
“One never knows when danger may come,” interrupted Frank.
“You seldom carry a revolver. When you do——”
“It is liable to be needed.”
“And you needed it to-night?”
“Rather. I used it.”
Merry would make no further explanation, and Diamond went to bed that night much mystified and not a little troubled.
It was not at all remarkable that Frank Merriwell did not sleep very well that night. Surely, it would have been remarkable if he had. His slumbers were broken by dreams of blood-red stars, men in black, and a pair of large, sinewy, evil hands. In his dreams, he fought again and again to keep those hands from his throat.
In the morning, his friends noticed that he looked worn and unlike himself. Diamond, perhaps, thought most of it, and he decided that Merry must be in some serious trouble. Jack longed to urge Frank to unbosom himself, but felt that it might be better to wait till Merry should do so of his own accord. After breakfast, Merriwell began pegging away at his studies, much to the satisfaction of Tutor Maybe. Browning, Diamond, and Rattleton went out for an “airing.”