“Yes!” shouted Merry, as he fastened his hands upon the fellow. “I believed fate would bring us together here! Now I shall recover the message you stole from me!”
“Never! You’ll have to kill me first!”
“Then I shall kill you!” came the cold, hard words from Frank’s lips.
“Bill! Bill!” cried Mescal. “Help, Bill!”
“Bill is having his hands full,” said Merry. “Old Joe Crowfoot is attending to him.”
“He can kill that old dog in a minute!”
“Perhaps, but Old Joe may get in a few licks while he is doing it.”
A fierce struggle between Frank and Mescal ensued. Mescal was no match for the young athlete, but he felt that he was fighting for all that he desired and held dear, so he put up a stiff struggle for a while. At last Merry forced the fellow to his knees, fastening a clutch on his throat.
“Give up?”
“Curse you—no!” hoarsely breathed Mescal.