“What’s this?” he howled, in fury. “Dang my hoofs! kin you hang on that way?”
“You’ll find I’m something of a sticker,” laughed Frank.
Now, the other did not know that when Frank Merriwell laughed in that peculiar manner he was the most dangerous, and he fancied the youth thought the affair not at all serious.
“I’ll git him in a minute,” the ruffian mentally decided, “an’ I’ll give him the length of this yar toad-sticker, which’ll convince him that this is a mighty sad world, I reckon.”
But though he made another furious attempt to get his hand free, the fingers of the youth were like riveted bands. Then the ruffian grew still more angry.
“Double dern yer!” he panted. “You kin hang on, so I reckon I’ll just have ter break yer back!”
Then he tried to fling Frank to the ground, but Merry used a wrestling-trip, and the man went down instead. In the fall the grip of the youth was almost broken, and, with a snarl of satisfaction, the ruffian twisted his wrist free.
Then he swung back his hand to drive that terrible knife to the hilt between Merry’s ribs. But Frank knew his danger, and, like a flash, he had the thick, hairy wrist again in his clutch.
The man swore and tried to fling his youthful antagonist off, but he found he could not do so and retain his hold on the knife. Then he relinquished the knife and put every effort into the struggle to hurl Merry aside.
The little girl, on her knees by the foot of a great tree, watched this fearful battle with distended eyes.