“I will be crazy, Frank. When I think of you pitting yourself against such odds I will literally explode.”
Dick’s cheeks were flushed and he was panting with excitement. It seemed that even then the scent of battle was in his nostrils and he longed for the fray.
“Don’t let your hot blood run away with your judgment, boy,” half smiled Merriwell. “Colvin, do you know anybody in Prescott?”
“I reckons not, sir.”
“You don’t know a man you can depend upon—a good fighter who will stick by us if paid well?”
“Nary a one, sir.”
“Then that’s not to be reckoned on.”
Merriwell frowned as he walked the floor. Of a sudden there came a sound of heavy feet outside and the door burst open. Into the room strode Brad Buckhart, color in his cheeks and fire in his eyes.
“Waugh!” he cried. “Get out your artillery and prepare for action!”
“What’s up now, Brad?” demanded Frank.