"Whoop!" roared Bill Dyer, as he blazed away. "Who'll take care of me?"
"I will!"
Over the footlights Frank vaulted, striking in the aisle. Straight toward the desperado he bounded.
"Hold up!" shouted Dyer—"hold up, or by mighty, I'll perforate yer hide!"
But Frank did not hold up. He rushed upon the ruffian, clutched him, whirled him about, rushed him down the aisle.
Dyer tried to squirm round.
"I'll shoot ye full of holes!" he howled.
As Frank reached the rear of the hall, he found the man's clothes were beginning to give way. Dyer might twist about in a moment.
At one side was a window. Frank hustled the fellow toward it, lifted him off his feet, gave him a swing into the air, cast him headlong at it.