Cunningham recovered, but he was surprised when the beardless youth took the initiative and came at him, leaping aside and then diving in.
Once more Frank landed, and this time his hard knuckles cut the cheek of the man who had led him into the trap.
“Why don’t you smash him, Jack?” shouted the watching men.
“I’m goin’ to!” was the fierce retort. “Just you see!”
But he soon found it was not such an easy task to “smash” the young Yale athlete, who was a scientific boxer and knew all the tricks of the professional fighter. Just when Cunningham thought he had the youth cornered—biff! biff! biff!—he got it in such swift succession that he was dazed and the nimble-footed lad slipped away. It was not long before the ruffian began to lose his head and try to “rush.”
“Steady, Jack!” shouted one of the men. “Yo’ can’t do him that way!”
“I’ll kill him!” grated Cunningham. “I’ll smash him!”
“Smash him!” shouted the men again.
Not a word came from the youth, whose lips were pressed together, whose jaws were set, and whose eyes flashed.
Frank was determined to punish this man for the trick, and he soon had the fellow’s face bruised and bleeding in a dozen places. But Cunningham was hard as iron, and he possessed the “wind” and endurance of a mountaineer. It was not an easy thing to wear such a man out.