“That won’t do. You are welcome to think what you like. I am not Dyke Conrad, but I’m willing you should think so.”
“Dyke Conrad is the only person in Bloomfield, with the exception of his estimable father, who could wish me harm. Whatever happens to me to-night, Dyke Conrad shall suffer for, and that is no bluff. You will find that I can strike when I am aroused.”
The leader of the ruffians ground his teeth together.
“When I am done with you, you will not be in condition to bother anybody for some time to come!” he hissed.
“Oh, but I do not forget easily. I have a splendid memory. If you wish to escape my vengeance for this night’s work, I advise you to kill me outright—then you will hang for it.”
“Oh, I’ll take chances! I am satisfied as long as you believe me Dyke Conrad. I don’t care what you do to him.”
The fellow looked toward the fire, which was beginning to blaze brightly. He nodded his head, with a gesture of satisfaction.
“It will soon be ready,” he muttered.
“Are you going to fry me, or broil me?” asked Frank.
“You will be well warmed,” was the answer. “Somebody sit on his legs and keep him still while his shoes are removed.”