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We're going to trounce your team to-morrow in handsome style. We won't leave you in shape to do any boasting for some time to come." "Yeou git aout!" shouted Gallup. "You couldn't beat us in a year with Frank Merriwell in the box. You ain't built right!" At this the ball players present joined Silence in a burst of laughter. "We'll rub it into ye, Mr. Gallup," said Mike McCann.
"I say, Merriwell!" he cried, "are you out for a little sport to-night?" "That depends on what sort of sport it is." "'Sh!" said Little, mysteriously. "Close the door, uncle." A fellow by the name of Silas Blossom, who was familiarly called "uncle," obeyed. Little looked at Rattleton and then stared hard at Jones, who had the face of a parson.
You are a better all-round man than Merriwell any day, and you can knock corners off him any time he has nerve enough to put on the mitts with you. He's a dandy to push himself to the front, but " That was a little more than Frank could stand.
Merriwell was playing off third, and pretended to make a break for home as the catcher made a short throw to the shortstop, who ran in behind Coulter, took the ball and lined it back to the plate. But Frank had whirled about and returned to third, so the play was wasted, and the runner reached second safely.
Snell hesitated, and then the hot blood mounted quickly to his face, which had been so pale a few moments before. "No, I will not take the money!" he grated. "I take the offer as an insult, Merriwell." "No insult is intended, I assure you."
"If I'd stuck to that fellow and done him up anyway he wouldn't have been able to carry out this trick. If he is given any kind of a show he is bound to take advantage of it." Bruce felt like fighting. "I'm going in there and lick him," he declared. "I will settle this matter with Merriwell right away." But some of his friends were more cautious. "It won't do," declared Puss Parker. "Won't do?"
Then Harry Rattleton sailed into Frank and met with the greatest surprise of his life, for he found he could not touch Merriwell, and he was beaten and hammered and battered about the room till he finally felt himself slugged under the ear and sent flying over a chair, to land in a heap in one corner of the room.
With the caution of a creeping panther Frank Merriwell had climbed the mountain side. He had waited patiently for the moon to rise, believing it would aid him on that unfamiliar ground. He was now in the vicinity of the top of the precipice over which the Irishman had plunged to his death. Suddenly a sound reached his ears, causing him to crouch on the alert, with his rifle ready for use.
Merry flung his blood-stained weapon aside and bent over the man, saying sincerely: "I hope your wound is not fatal, M. Montfort." "It makes no difference!" gasped the man. "You are ze victor, so I must stay here an' die jus' ze same." But Frank Merriwell was seized by a feeling of horror at the thought of leaving this man whom he had wounded.
A sigh escaped Lazaro's lips, and that sigh was precisely like many a one Hagan had heard Del Norte heave. "Ah, yes," said the man, with pathetic sadness; "I have looked in a mirror, and I know I am an old, old man. But Frank Merriwell shall not find me too old to wreak vengeance upon him!" The main dining room of the Waldorf-Astoria was well filled, almost every table being taken.
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