“I’d rather have a good lift at you than anybody else!” cried Merry.
He got what he wanted. The kick he gave Sam Hooker threw the fellow full upon the stove, and his head struck in the pan of hot tar. Over the stove to the floor went Sam, tar and all.
Then the most frightful howls of pain issued from the throat of the ruffian. He rolled about on the floor, clawing at his face and eyes, and roaring with pain.
“I’m killed!” he shouted. “Murder! Oh, wow! Throw some water on me!”
“He wouldn’t mind having the hose turned on him now!” laughed Frank.
Joe tried to get up, but he was kicked full against his brother. In his agony, Sam struck out and smote Joe full on the nose, causing the blood to flow.
“Why, this is a regular merry old spree of a time!” exclaimed Frank Merriwell, as he danced backward, still laughing. “You chaps seem to be having lots of fun with me! Aren’t you glad you brought me here? Isn’t it a real jolly time?”
Then he actually charged on the masked rascals, and they dodged to get out of his way. Then might have been seen the remarkable and ludicrous spectacle of three men making frantic endeavors to avoid one whose hands were tied behind his back—one whom a few moments before they had regarded as a helpless captive!
“Whar’s my guns?” roared Sam Hooker. “I’ll shoot ther critter full o’ lead! I’ll kill him! I’ll——”
“You seem to have a little tar on you, Sammy,” laughed Frank. “Why, you make a real laughable spectacle! If you could see yourself in a mirror you would be greatly amused. It will take you several days to comb the tar out of your hair.”