Harlow hesitated, and gasped. Reckless though he was, intensely though he hated Frank, he had not the nerve to shoot the cool lad down.
Through Harlow’s head flashed a thought. What if he should pull the trigger, and the revolver failed to go off? He knew Merriwell would be on him like a furious tiger. He knew Merriwell would have no mercy.
He dared not try to shoot. The eyes of the Yale athlete were fastened steadily upon him, and there was something in their depths that made him falter.
One, two, three seconds, and then Frank’s hand grasped the revolver and firmly turned it aside. Harlow seemed incapable of resistance, and, to his own astonishment, as well as to the unutterable amazement of the witnesses of the act, Frank took the revolver away without being resisted.
Diamond was paralyzed by the nerve of his friend. Although he had known Frank long, and thought he knew him fully, this act was a revelation to him.
Then it was, while Diamond was staring and muttering, that the spy suddenly struck him a terrific blow behind the ear, sending Jack to grass.
For an instant Diamond was stunned, and when he recovered, the spy was far away, running as if his very life depended on it.
Jack scrambled up as quickly as he could, and would have followed, but Frank called:
“Let him go! It’s useless to chase him.”
“Well, that was a fool trick of mine!” growled the Virginian, disgusted with himself. “I ought to have a leather medal!”