“Drop that child, you whelps, or we’ll drop you.”
The man behind made a quick movement, and Frank flung himself from the saddle. It was well Merry did so, for the man had whipped out a revolver and fired over the shoulder of his companion, the bullet whistling past Frank’s ear as he dropped.
“Got him!” grated the man, evidently believing he had shot the youth. “Down goes the other one!”
Bart had a revolver in his grasp, but, in the gloom of the timber, he had refrained from firing, fearing to injure the girl, who now uttered another cry for help.
But Hodge knew he was in danger, and he feared Frank had been hit by the shot of the ruffian. He ducked beside the neck of his horse and was barely in time to save his life, for another flash of fire punctured the shadows, another report rang through the timber, and the second bullet cut a hole through the hat of the dark-faced youth.
Then Hodge saw Merriwell leaping straight at the ruffian in advance, and he knew Frank was not seriously hurt. With a shout of relief and satisfaction, Bart sprang to the ground and jumped after Frank.
“Give it to the dogs, Merry!” he exclaimed.
Merriwell was on the big ruffian in a moment. The man had swung the child under his arms, and he brought forth a revolver as Frank came up.
The young athlete ducked and struck out, and the revolver was sent spinning from the grasp of the wretch, being discharged as it flew through the air.
Then Merry was on the scoundrel and the ruffian was forced to drop the child and meet the attack of the fearless youth.