Dyke Conrad, for it was that worthless rascal, literally gnashed his teeth. With the cruelty of a savage, he had planned to torture Merriwell, whom he bitterly hated, and now he could not endure the thought of being robbed of his fiendish enjoyment by one of his hired tools.
He appealed to the others.
“Stand by me, fellows!” he cried. “I’ll double the amount paid you!”
He turned to make this appeal, and, in that moment, the big fellow reached down with one hand, grasped Frank and stood him on his feet. Then, with remarkable swiftness, he retreated to the wall, bearing Merry.
“I’ll have you free in a minute,” he declared.
“Thank you,” said Frank, quietly. “I’ll not forget it.”
“Oh, I’m not doing this for any reward. I’m naturally a mean cuss, but I couldn’t keep still and see a fellow with your grit roasted by that miserable sneak.”
He whipped out a jack-knife and opened it.
Seeing the revolter was about to set Frank free, Dyke Conrad uttered a howl of rage and rushed at him. There was a short struggle, and then, with a scream, Dyke staggered backward.
“I’m stabbed!” he gasped, and fell to the floor, blood spurting from a wound in his side.