"The fiends must protect you, gringo!" hissed the wounded man.
"Fair fight!" muttered Red Ben. "Merriwell him win, he git gal."
For a few moments Del Norte's injury seemed to make him fiercer and more dangerous. A little while he kept Frank on the defensive, and then he was slashed in the forearm.
Clapping his free hand to the wound, he leaped backward, Spanish oaths flowing from his lips.
"Him beaten!" whispered the watching Indian. "Merriwell kill him soon now."
Frank followed Del Norte up.
"Stand up to it, greaser," he urged. "The fight has just begun. You have threatened to leave your knife in my heart. I could have split yours a dozen times, but I have spared you. When you are well cut up, I'll wring from your lips the secret of Inza's hiding place."
"Never!" vowed the Mexican. "If die I do, I'll tell nothing. But I'll not die! I'll yet kill you!"
Fancying he saw an opening, as Frank's hands were both hanging by his sides, Del Norte leaped in. He was sent reeling back with another wound, this time in the ribs.
Frank followed up his failing foe, forcing him to the edge of the cleared space. He kept close, fearing Del Norte might attempt to flee. Instead, the man danced round Merry till his back was toward the centre of the cleared space, while the dark shadows of the scraggy timber was behind Frank.