A look of disappointed rage contorted the cruel face of the murderous ruffian. The lips were pressed together until they appeared to make one straight line no wider than the thin blade of a knife. The eyelids closed to narrow slits, while that dark face turned to a bluish tinge.
Many times had Frank Merriwell stood in deadly peril of his life; but, looking at that man then, he well knew that never had his danger been greater. Still, if[Pg 28] he regretted his act in walking forth and surrendering himself into the hands of such a creature he effectually concealed it. He betrayed not a whit of trepidation or alarm, which was a masterly display of nerve.
The ruffians began to murmur fiercely, like the growling of so many wolves. Perhaps it was to this outbreak that Merry owed his life, for the leader suddenly bade them be silent, and the sounds ceased.
"So you sent those papers off by that old redskin, did you?" asked Bill.
"I did."
"And you have the nerve to come out here and tell me that! If you had known me better, you would have stayed, and choked and starved, or even shot yourself behind those rocks, before doing such a thing!"
Merriwell made no retort, for he felt that too many words would be indiscreet. This man was capable of any atrocity, and another straw might break the camel's back.
"Mr. Merriwell," said the ruffian, "I came here for them papers, and I'm goin' to have them!"
"You may take my life," said Merry; "but that will not give you the papers. In fact, it will utterly defeat the object of those men who have employed you to obtain them."
"How do you figger that out? With you out of the way, they'll have less trouble in takin' your mines."