“That kid in town said yo’ could fight,” muttered the man; “but I didn’t believe it. He was right, but I swear I’ll down yo’ in the end!”
Now, however, Merriwell closed in on the man and gave him not a moment’s rest. He saw that the only way to put Cunningham out was to never let up until able to strike the knock-out blow.
The man had learned a very painful lesson, and he was not as careless as he had been; but the skill of the athletic young boxer was far too much for him.
Again and again Frank reached Cunningham’s face, which would bear the marks of that encounter for many days. One of the man’s eyes was swelling fast, threatening to close entirely.
Again Cunningham’s friends begged to be permitted to take a hand, plainly not daring to strike in without permission as long as he remained on his feet.
Frank gave the ruffian no chance to reply. He was pressing Cunningham hard. A blow that reached the fellow’s solar plexus caused his hands to fall.
Then Merriwell found the opening he wanted, and he struck Cunningham a fearful blow on the point of the jaw.
The ruffian went down—and “out.”
But as he fell one of his mates struck Frank over the head with a piece of lead pipe that was wrapped about with several folds of cloth.
Struck down in this cowardly manner from behind, the champion athlete of Yale fell limply across the body of the ruffian he had whipped.