Marline, on the other hand, was flushed and nervous. He had taken several drinks of whiskey to brace him, and Merriwell's calm confidence was something he could not understand. At that moment, Frank seemed like the duelist and Marline like the novice.
The sun shot a single lance of light across the world, and then Diamond, who had been chosen to give the signal, spoke the word that set the rivals at each other.
Clash! clash! clash! The bright blades clanged sharply on the morning air. The sunshine glittered coldly on their polished lengths.
At first the work was of a very scientific order, for each man seemed feeling of the other to discover just how much skill he possessed.
Marline was more than ever astonished, for he had scarcely fancied Frank could be an expert with such a weapon. Now, however, he saw by the manner in which Frank handled himself, by his every move, that he was a skillful swordsman.
The boy from the South attempted to force the fighting. The whiskey went to his head, and he fought savagely, his teeth set and his eyes gleaming. Deadly determination was in his every move. The seconds and the surgeon watched breathlessly.
Suddenly there was a cry. By a twisting movement of his wrist, Frank had disarmed his enemy, sending Marline's blade spinning into the air.
The sword fell with a clang on the frozen ground at Rob's feet, and he instantly snatched it up. Then he came at Frank with the fury of one driven mad.
Merriwell was forced to give ground before the fierce onslaught of his enemy. He knew well enough that Marline was exceedingly dangerous, for he had flung discretion to the winds and was exposing himself in all ways by his fierce desire to get at Frank.
Merriwell did not wish to wound Marline, but hoped to humble him. However, it began to look as if Frank would be forced to do his best in self-defense.