Like a leaping panther the young athlete went for the man.
“Help!” appealed Inza.
The sailor saw Frank coming, and prepared to meet the attack. He was a thick, muscular-appearing fellow, and he did not seem in the least afraid of Merriwell, for all that the latter had handled Lord Stanford with such ease.
“You won’t find a snap with me,” said the man, showing eagerness for the struggle. “I can handle two or three of you.”
He looked as if he fully believed it. Indeed, he had the appearance of a prize fighter, and ninety-nine boys out of a hundred would have hesitated about tackling him.
Not so with Frank. He was ready to tackle an army of giants in defense of Inza, and he grappled with the sailor.
But he was given no time to see what he could do.
It seemed that a thunderbolt from the clear sky descended and smote him on the head. There was a flash of light as if something had exploded in his head.
Darkness followed.