“Within two hours you shall be with them. Some of my men, I regret to say, I cannot trust, and so I hastened to send your friends away. They are not far from here, and we will join them. Are you ready to go, child?”
“Quite ready,” she answered.
“Then give me your hand and trust me in everything.”
She placed her hand confidingly in his, and they turned toward the door. Then Black Joaquin found himself face to face with a great surprise, for in that doorway stood Frank Merriwell, a cocked pistol leveled straight toward the scoundrel’s heart.
“Up with your hands, Joaquin!” commanded Merry sharply. “One moment of hesitation on your part and I shall pull the trigger. I will send your black soul to the bar of judgment as true as my name is Frank Merriwell!”
The villain paled and was utterly dumfounded by the marvelous appearance of the man he believed secure in the dungeon.
“Put up your hands!” palpitated Frank, and in that second command there was something that caused Black Joaquin to quickly lift his hands above his head.
“One cry, one sound, even a murmur from your lips, will cause me to shoot you on the spot,” declared the young American.
Felicia had been spellbound, but now she started forward, uttering a cry.
“Be careful,” warned Frank, not taking his eyes off Joaquin for an instant. “Don’t touch me! Keep out of the way!”