It was Stephen Fenton!
The hostler seemed suddenly sobered by his act.
“Gosh!” he muttered. “It were Steve I hit! Hope I didn’t kill him!”
Frank was keeping watch of Wade, but saw the man was appalled by the result of his angry act, and so ventured to turn about and hasten to Fenton’s side.
“Bring some water!” he ordered. “He may be seriously injured!”
Fenton’s face was purple, and he was gasping for breath, but, as Merriwell stooped to lift his head, he feebly but savagely motioned him back.
“Hands off!” gasped the man. “Keep away from me!”
Toots came running up with some water.
“Heah, boss!” he cried; “heah’s yo’ watah!”
“What do I want of water! Anybody—got some—whiskey?”