“Good-by, Frank Merriwell!” repeated the man who leaned over the stern, holding the painter of the small boat in his hands. “You’ll go out to sea, and that boat will swamp long before morning. This is the last of you.”
“You think so,” said Frank, his voice steady and firm, “but I tell you again that I’ll live to see you punished for this dastardly work. If you want to make a sure job of this, you had better finish me now before you set the boat adrift.”
Flynn seemed to hesitate. At that moment a fear entered his heart that Merriwell would escape in some manner and keep his vow.
“It would be easy to finish you,” said the ruffian, reaching into his hip pocket and pulling out a revolver. “I could fill you full of lead. Perhaps I’d better!”
He lifted the weapon, but Steve caught his arm with a furious exclamation.
“None of that!” shouted the sailor, hoarsely. “You can set the boy adrift, but you can’t murder him before my eyes!”
“It’s murder, anyway,” came huskily from Walter Wallace, who, reckless fellow though he was, was now sick at heart. “I am against it. I didn’t agree to take a hand in anything like this.”
“Shut up!” howled Flynn, who seemed half demented by his fierce desire to destroy Frank Merriwell. “You came along of your own free will, and it won’t be good for you if you squawk now!”
“I didn’t come along to have any hand in such business as this. I wash my hands of it. When the time comes, I’ll swear who did the job. That’s what I’ll do!”
“You will, eh?” shouted the man with the revolver, now raging like a maniac. “What do you think of that, Steve? This young fool will give us away! He threatens us! He was ready enough to come with us——”