The other leaped upon him, trying to crush him down.
Frank squirmed about, obtained a hold upon the man, and gave him a wrenching twist, jerking him off his feet.
Down upon his back went the fellow, and Merriwell knelt on his breast, dropping heavily to knock the wind out of the man.
The other was up, and he sprang upon Frank’s back. Frank ducked quick as a flash, and the fellow went flying over his head.
Merry felt for a stone. His blood was boiling, and he longed for a weapon with which he could avenge his friend. His hand found one, but it was not large enough. However, he arose with it, and flung it at one of the men who was coming at him.
The stone struck the man in the breast and stopped him for an instant. Then Frank found an opportunity to reach for his revolver. He snapped it out of his pocket, laughing loudly. That laugh had a deadly ring.
The man who had been struck by the stone rushed at him again.
“Keep off!” cried Frank. “I shall shoot!”
“Shoot, hang you!”
Snap!—the hammer fell, but there was no report. The revolver had missed fire.