“Stop!”
It was the tall whitecap, and he was pointing straight at the leader.
“Stop!” he roared. “This job doesn’t go!”
CHAPTER XI.
FRANK’S STRANGE FRIEND.
There was no misunderstanding the big fellow’s meaning. It was plain enough that he intended to interfere.
“What’s that?” snarled the leader, glaring through the slits in the hood, the blazing brand shaking in his hand. “What do you mean by that?”
“Just what I say,” retorted the other, standing over Frank and returning the glare with interest. “This fellow’s all right. He’s got nerve and sand. I’m not goin’ to stand here and see him roasted in that style.”
Angry imprecations burst from the hidden lips of Merriwell’s would-be torturer.
“Stand back!” he shouted, shrilly, flourishing the brand at Frank’s defender.