Once Merriwell found a good opening, went in, his fists flashed, and the man went down heavily. One of the ruffian’s companions assisted him to rise, saying:
“We’ll all jump on him, Jack! We’ll do him in short order!”
“Keep off!” roared the giant, his eyes gleaming fiercely, while blood began to trickle from his chin. “No whiskerless kid like that can whip Jack Cunningham!”
He swept his would-be assistant back with one arm and advanced on Merriwell again.
“Dern yo’!” he panted, his great breast heaving. “What right have yo’ to fight like this! You’re nothing but a boy!”
No reply. The college youth was standing there, his arms hanging by his sides, his bosom not seeming to heave to any great extent from the exertion. He was utterly fearless in his aspect, causing those men to wonder greatly, for never before had they encountered a lad just like this one.
If there was anything Frank Merriwell detested it was fighting; but he had perfected himself in the art of self-defense for such an occasion as this, and now, highly indignant at the deception practised upon him, he was resolved to teach this ruffian a lesson.
Had Merriwell not been a skilful boxer he must have fallen before the savage assaults of the ruffian long before this.
Could he defeat Cunningham, he felt that he would then be ready to meet the other men, even though they both came at him at once, for something told him they were no such savage fighters as the man with whom he was battling.
Frank did not wait for Cunningham, but suddenly his hands went up and he sprang forward. The ruffian was on guard, but Merry quickly retreated, without offering to strike a blow.