It seemed to Merry that his windpipe would be torn out by those iron fingers, but he did not give up, for that meant certain death. He dragged the hand away, and breathed again with a horrible gasping sound, as if he were dying.
But now he held both hands of the man for a moment, and, when Joe wrenched one of them away, Frank fought to keep it from getting his throat again.
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” the man kept snarling.
Then, with a sudden change, he tore free the hand that held the wrench. A second later he struck again at Frank’s head.
With his arm Frank warded off that blow. He gave a squirm and a twist that threw the man partly off, but he was unable to get on top as he desired.
Around over the bottom of the cab squirmed the two, the man trying to end it with one blow, while the boy fought for his life.
Onward thundered the engine, dragging the long train of cars. There was no warning whistle as a crossing was approached, and the bell remained silent.
An old farmer was about to drive over the crossing when the train thundered down on him.
“Whoa, Betsey!” he shouted, yanking his horse back on its haunches, much to the surprise of the docile old creature. “Waal, gol darn that train! Why didn’t it toot? There’s a law fer——”
He stopped short as the locomotive thundered past, and then he rose up in his wagon, his eyes as large as saucers, and his jaw dropping on his breast.