Merriwell dodged, caught the fellow’s wrist, gave it another wrench, and the blade fell clanging to the floor.
Both Inza and Sadie had screamed, but the danger was over before they could draw a second breath.
Then Frank laughed. It was the same old dangerous laugh that those who knew him best understood.
Smack!—with all the force he could command he struck the man.
Indian Charlie went down again, but came up like a ball on the rebound.
Frank followed him up, and was on hand to meet him when he arose.
A second blow landed, and the foreman of the Lone Star was sent spinning over the end rail of the veranda to the ground.
He struck on his head and shoulders and lay still.
Some cowboys who had seen the encounter came running up and bent over the fallen man.
One of them, a little bow-legged fellow, after taking a good look at Indian Charlie, arose, and, placing his hands on his hips, stared in profound amazement at Frank Merriwell.