“Yes; but he’s the worst customer I ever tackled,” confessed Frank. “I thought he had me once.”
“I, too, was afraid he had you,” acknowledged Hodge. “He is a great wrestler. And to think that he is Brian Hawkins, of Fardale!”
“He has wonderful strength and skill,” said Frank. “His muscles feel like iron as they strain and play.”
“Don’t let him throw you once!” begged Bart. “If you down him the next time, that settles the wrestling-match.”
After a few minutes of rest the wrestlers faced each other once more. Fire seemed burning deep in the eyes of the scar-faced youth. Round and round they circled, ready, crouching, watching.
Then they closed! But Merriwell was the swifter, catching the other’s right wrist with his left hand and thrusting his right hand under Hawkins’ left arm, getting a hold on his neck.
“The half-nelson!” cried several of the witnesses.
It was, in truth, the famous hold of Olsen, the great wrestler, and Hawkins was in a dangerous position.
Merriwell quickly released the fellow’s right wrist, grasped him round the waist, following with the Cornish “heave,” which landed the scar-faced athlete on his back in a twinkling.
And Merriwell came down upon his chest with force enough to drive the fellow’s shoulders hardly and firmly down upon the mat.