The thug stepped in, suddenly shooting out his left fist toward Merry’s solar plexus, hoping to get in a knockout blow.
Merriwell sidestepped in a manner that caused the bruiser to miss entirely. With his right hand Frank caught the fellow’s left wrist, giving the middle of his arm a sharp rap with the side of his left hand, thus causing it to bend. Instantly twisting the man’s arm outward and bending it backward, Frank placed his left hand against Madison’s elbow and pushed toward the thug’s right side. In the meantime, Merry had placed his right foot squarely behind Madison’s left. Madison found himself utterly unable to resist, and, almost before he realized that he was helpless, he was hurled over backward with great violence.
“Maype dot blatform vill lay sdill on you a vile,” observed Dunnerwurst, as Madison fell with a terrible thud.
“Three times and out,” murmured Jack Ready.
“It ain’t no use!” exclaimed one of Madison’s backers. “Mat can’t do this chap on ther level. He’s up against a better man.”
Madison thought so, too. He was beginning to realize that he had encountered his master, although the thought filled him with rage he could not express. For some time he had been the bully of Cartersville, universally feared by the younger set of hoodlums, and in that period he had not encountered any one who could give him anything like an argument in a fight. He had expected to handle Merriwell with ease, and the ease with which he was defeated made the whole affair seem like an unreal and unpleasant dream. Furthermore, he knew that never after this would he be regarded with the same degree of respect and awe by the young ruffians of the town. Having seen him handled in such a simple manner by a calm, smiling stranger, they would never again look on him as invincible.
The encounter had been witnessed by others besides those immediately interested. Madison was well known and feared in Cartersville, and the loafers about the station, as well as those who had business there, saw him defeated for the first time in his career of terrorism. Although some of them rejoiced over it, yet nearly all were still too much awed by his record to express themselves.
The treatment he had received at the hands of Merriwell had wrenched and bruised the ruffian, whose arms and shoulders felt as if they had been twisted nearly out of their joints. The fellow got up slowly after the third fall.
Some fancied he would attempt to get at Merriwell again, but he had been checked and cowed most effectively. He stood beyond Frank’s reach and glared, his face showing his fury, while his huge hands twitched convulsively.
The language that flowed from the lips of the ruffian was of a character to make any hearer shudder in case he possessed any degree of decency.