With interest she watched Frank whip the man whom she had called Kent, though she swayed and panted with every blow, her eyes glittering and her cheeks flushed.
As Merriwell flung the fellow into the corner, the girl straightened up and threw back her head, laughing:
“Well, he was a soft thing, and that is a fact! Think of being thrashed by a boy! Drew, is it possible this is our Carson City agent, whom you called ‘a good man,’ when you were speaking of him this evening? Such a chap would blow the whole game if he were pinched. I wouldn’t trust him.”
The old man stood rubbing his shaking hands together, greatly agitated and unable to say a word.
Then there came a thunderous knock on the door, and a hoarse voice demanded admittance.
[CHAPTER XXIV.—THE SHERIFF’S SHOT.]
Old Drew was greatly frightened, and Davis showed alarm.
“Hold that door—hold that door one minute!” cried Isa. “It will give us time to get out of the way!”
Bruce Browning’s shoulder went against the door, and he calmly drawled:
“Anybody won’t come in here in a hurry.”