Frank's mind was chaos. A wild and whirling fury at Bill, at himself for carelessly keeping the money in the envelope although its hiding place back of the photograph seemed absolutely safe, at fate for playing him such a trick, the thought of exposure—everything was mixed into a poisonous potion which filled his brain and of which his soul drank. He leaped upon Bill and tried to throttle him. He fought with the strength of ten. Somehow both boys seemed to feel the need for silence. Except for the quick intake of their labored breathing, there was no sound save the scuffle of Bill's shoes and the impact of their blows.
When Frank clinched and tried to gouge, Bill in self-defence dropped his sparring and resorted to the Indian tricks taught him by Lee. He took joy in the thought that the person who had taught him such clever modes of self-defence was now to be benefitted by them.
Frank went down like a rock, and Bill, still holding him helpless, said panting, "Will you give up?"
CHAPTER XII
"Let me up!" cried Frank, the veins standing out on his purple forehead as he struggled vainly under Bill's grasp. "You Injun fighter you, give me a white man's chance and I'll fight you square!"
"I don't intend to fight you at all," said Bill. "I don't fight with fellows like you. And I don't intend to let you beat me up. If you promise to sit there in that chair and make a clean breast of it, I will let you up."
"There is nothing to tell," said Frank. "Lee must have put that money and that envelope in my trunk. I don't see what you are going to do about it."
"Thank goodness there was a witness of the way you acted when I found it!" exclaimed Bill. He stood up, and Frank scrambled to his feet. He watched Bill furtively until he glanced aside, then he made a mad lunge toward him. Bill was too quick for him and once more Frank, sobbing with rage, went crashing to the floor.
As Bill stood over him, he glanced at Ernest, who had been an interested observer.