Merry wheeled and strode to the door, his smoking revolver in his hand, a terrible look in his eyes.
The wretch was astounded by what had happened. Blood was streaming from his wounded hand. He saw Merriwell confront him with the ready pistol.
"You treacherous cur!" said Frank indignantly. "I think I'll finish you!"
He seemed about to shoot the man down, whereupon the ruffian dropped on his knees, begging for mercy.
"Don't—don't shoot!" he gasped, holding up his bleeding hand, "Don't kill me!"
"Why shouldn't I? You meant to kill me."
"No, no—I swear——"
"Don't lie! Your soul may start on its long trail in a moment! Don't lie when you may be on the brink of eternity!"
These stern words frightened the fellow more than ever.