ROUTING THE RUFFIANS.
Buckhart’s senses had been sent wool-gathering, but he recovered in time
to see the ruffian with the knife pinning Dick to the ground a short
distance away. Merriwell was fighting for his life, but the injury to
his shoulder had seemed to benumb his entire body and rob him of his
strength. Snarling, spluttering, swearing, the ruffian lifted the deadly
knife.
Within reach of his hand, Buckhart saw the pistol that Dick had wrenched
from the man’s grasp. Quick as thought, the Texan seized the weapon. The
double click of a hammer was followed an instant later by a sharp report
and a cry of pain.
Brad had fired at the uplifted hand of the thug. The bullet struck and
shattered two of the man’s fingers. The knife dropped harmlessly.
Holding up his injured hand, the slugger sprang to his feet.
“Stop—stop right where you are!” commanded Buckhart, leveling the
pistol. “If you don’t, I’ll sure run a tunnel through you! I’ll
ventilate you good and proper!”
But Shea turned and fled.
“I don’t want to kill him,” said the Texan, who was sitting up, “but I
think I’ll try for his legs.”
Crack! crack! crack! crack!
The weapon was emptied, but the fleeing wretch kept on and disappeared
into the darkness.
“Well, I sure am a rotten bad shot,” observed the Texan, in disgust.
“Reckon that’s because I got a bump on the head that made me see a few
stars and comets. I say, partner, how are you?”
“Alive, thanks to you,” answered Dick. “You chipped into the game at the
right moment. I believe that brute meant to knife me.”
“It certain seemed that he had some such intentions. Where are the rest
of the gents?”
“They’ve skipped—all but one. One of them should be here.”
But the little man Cully, who had been knocked down, had crawled off
into the darkness and could not be found.
“Evidently they’re all gone,” said Dick, rubbing his right shoulder with
his left hand. “I’m afraid that shoulder is hurt pretty bad.”
“And I’m a whole lot unsteady on my pins,” muttered the Texan. “That was
a joyous old scrimmage, but it didn’t seem to wake up the neighborhood
much.”
“Some one is coming now,” said Dick. “I can see a row of brass buttons
dancing this way.”
“Well, it’s about time!” said Brad, as a policeman came up panting.
“You’re rather late, officer.”
“What’s the matter here?” demanded the officer. “What are you doing with
that pistol? What do you mean by firing a pistol? You’re both drunk! I
think I’ll take you in.”
Dick gave his chum a whimsical look of disgust.
“What do you think of that, Brad?” he said. “He’s going to take us in.
We get held up and nearly murdered, and after it’s all over a gallant
policeman appears and arrests us.”
“What’s that you’re saying?” snapped the officer. “What kind of a
fairy-story have you invented? You’re a couple of students, and I’m onto
your game. You fellows are forever making trouble. Give me that pistol.”
“Sure,” growled Brad, handing over the weapon. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Perhaps you’d better take this knife, also, officer,” said Dick,
picking up the knife and holding it out to the policeman. “You may find
a little blood on the handle, and it strikes me that there’s a man’s
finger lying there on the ground. Perhaps you’ll want that.”
The cop bent over and stared in amazement at the bloody human digit
which lay on the ground.
“So help me, it’s a finger!” he gasped, as if unable to believe his
eyes. “What’s it mean? How—why—when——”
“As long as you’re determined to arrest us,” said Dick, “we’ll explain
to the sergeant at the station house. Of course, you won’t believe our
fairy-story about a holdup.”
“By Jupiter! I’ll believe anything now!” cried the policeman. “Tell me
about it.”
While they were telling him, several citizens from the neighboring
houses come out and surrounded them. One, a timid, nervous man,
substantiated their statements, shamefacedly acknowledging that he had
rushed out immediately after the first shot, and had witnessed the
encounter between the lads and their assailants.
“I didn’t feel like dipping in,” he said, “so I jest stood back and
looked on. It was the hottest fight I ever witnessed. By Jove, these
young fellers did put up a fearful scrap! There was four against them,
and I don’t know but more than that. I saw four myself. I tried to
holler ‘murder’ when one of the masked men got this young feller down
and lifted a knife to stab him. Couldn’t seem to make a sound. Then I
saw the other chap grab up a pistol and shoot. The fellow with the knife
gave a howl and then jumped to his feet. I could see blood running off
his hand when he held it up in the light. When he took to his heels, the
fellow with the pistol banged away at him, but he kept on running. I’m
ready to swear to every word of this statement.”
The policeman now sought to obtain a description of the holdup men from
the boys. Of course, this description was vague and unsatisfactory, as
the masks of the ruffians had prevented Dick and Brad from seeing their
faces.
The citizens crowded around the two lads and insisted on shaking hands
with them and congratulating them over their nerve and success in
beating off the holdup men.
“If you don’t mind, young gentlemen,” said the policeman, now addressing
them with the greatest respect, “I’d like to have you come to the
station and tell the sergeant all about it. This is my beat, but I was
down at the other end when I heard the shooting. I came as soon as I
could. I think we’ll take this along as a bit of evidence.”
He displayed the human finger, which he now held partly wrapped in a
handkerchief. The timid citizen who had witnessed the encounter gave his
name and address, stating that he was willing to tell what he knew of
the affair at any time.
It happened that there was a police reporter at the station house, and
the morning papers contained a complete account of the attempted holdup,
the courage of the boys being lavishly praised.
But, with the Manhattan College baseball game only one day away, Dick
found himself with a very lame shoulder and an almost useless right arm.