“No. We’ll do it in the Hornet. That old bone wagon of Bully’s couldn’t keep up with us for a mile.”
At this moment Brundage appeared at the door.
“Shall I let the other feller out——” he began, then stopped abruptly at sight of Billy covering the farm hand with the shotgun. “Hey! What you fellers up to?”
“You send Merriwell out here and do it in a hurry,” said Clancy, striding toward the door.
“All right, Brundage!” sang out the farm hand, with a grin. “I’ll ’tend to these fellers—that old gun ain’t loaded!”
He started for Billy on the jump. Brundage slammed the door and vanished.
At the man’s shout, Billy hastily examined the shotgun. He found that it was unloaded, and flung it to the ground. Clancy, flaming with anger and despair, returned hastily to the machine just as the farm hand leaped at Billy.
The red-haired chap was in no mood for argument. His fist shot out and caught the farm hand underneath the ear. The fellow gave a grunt, then slumped weakly to the dust, and lay quiet.
“We’re up against it, Clancy,” exclaimed Billy, looking at the house. “He would have fallen for it if he hadn’t seen me holding that chap up, or trying to.”
“It’s all my fault,” said Clancy, with a groan. “But we know that he’s got Merry in there, and that’s some comfort. We’ll have to get him out.”