The audience, whose sympathy was entirely with Merry, gave him a hearty round of applause.
Dunton: “Your craven feet must have faltered slowly on the way.”
Frank: “It was not the fault of our feet, sir; we lost the way, and were forced to seek directions. I assure you that we made all haste, and, now we are here, no time shall be lost.”
Then arrangements were swiftly made for the duel, and soon the two young men stood face to face, stripped of coats and vests, their swords in their hands.
The duel began, and, at the very first, it seemed evident that Dunton was the most skillful swordsman. But Dunton himself soon discovered that Merriwell had lost much of his apparent awkwardness displayed at the rehearsal, and it called out the fellow’s best efforts to beat Frank back and make a display of superiority.
Dunton’s rage increased with every passing moment. He was failing to make such a display of Merriwell as he had hoped, and his anger drove him temporarily insane. With terrible fury he beat Merry back and back.
Frank retreated, watching his antagonist closely. All at once, he saw a deadly glare in Dunton’s eyes, and the fellow hissed:
“Now you die!”
Then he lunged straight at Frank’s heart!
It was no false movement, but it was a savage thrust with murderous intent.