Old Joe had every advantage, for he had fastened one hand on Frank’s throat, and he was strong. The glare in his eyes as he raised the wrench was that of a maniac.
Merriwell knew his life was in danger, and it was a good thing for him that he was not stunned. Like a flash he squirmed aside, for all of the weight of the man.
Bang! the wrench struck the floor on the very spot where Frank’s head had been a moment before.
The blow would have crushed Frank’s skull like an eggshell had it landed.
“Drat ye!” shouted the engineer, again lifting the wrench. “I’ll do it this time!”
Frank could not speak, for the fingers of the man were crushing into his throat. He could not breathe, and a blur was beginning to come over his eyes. He knew that blur might prevent him from dodging the next blow, and a desperate sensation seemed to burst through his heart.
“Heaven help me!”
He did not utter the words aloud, for he could not, but it was an inward cry.
Then, succeeding in getting one hand free, he reached upward and clutched something.
It was old Joe’s wrist.