But Frank was not forgotten. Scores of witnesses of his brave act gathered about him. He was lifted by a young man who was six feet tall, and very muscular.
“If he’s hurt in the least, it’ll be a dear sacrifice for the life of that worthless dog!” declared the young man, and Frank recognized the voice.
“I—am—not—hurt—my—friend,” he said, faintly. “My lungs are full of smoke—that’s all.”
He had felt those strong arms about him before; he had heard that voice defying Dyke Conrad in the old house in the forest.
But when Frank fully recovered, that strange friend was gone.
Dyke Conrad had been saved, and Darius was asking for the rescuer of his son. They took him to Frank.
“You?” he cried, astounded, as the light of the conflagration showed Merry’s features.
“Yes,” was the quiet answer.
“How can I ever pay you for saving my boy?”
“You can’t!”