THE STRUGGLE.
At times Professor Gunn became very garrulous, and on such occasions he
invariably insisted that either Dick or Brad should listen to him. If
both refused, he was mortally offended.
When Brad saw Dick had slipped away and left him with the old man he
feared what was coming, and tried to edge toward the door; but Zenas
promptly called him back, urged him to sit down, placed a chair before
the open fire, and sat down himself.
“Now we’re comfortable and cozy,” said the old man. “Now we can chat,
Bradley. I have a few things I wish to say to you. I have some advice I
wish to give you, my boy.”
Buckhart smothered a groan.
“Won’t it keep until after supper, professor?” he asked.
“No, sir. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you alone,
and this is the time. I have taken note that you are greatly interested
in Miss Budthorne. Now, you are young—far too young to fall seriously in
love. Wait, sir; let me speak. I am doing this as a father. Indeed, I
feel that while we are traveling together I must practically fill the
position of father to you. You have some faults. I had faults when I was
of your age. I wish to tell you a story, and at the end I will indicate
the lesson it teaches.”
Zenas then began a long-winded series of reminiscences about himself and
his boyish love affair, to which Brad was forced to listen, little
dreaming that in a room below Dick Merriwell and his enemy, Miguel
Bunol, were sitting face to face, watching each other with eyes that
never wavered.
Only for Professor Gunn’s determination to talk Buckhart would have
attempted to leave the room long before he did, and would have made a
surprising and annoying discovery that came to him later when he tried
the door.
“Whatever’s the matter with this old door?” exclaimed the Texan, when he
found it refused to open before his hand.
“Perhaps it sticks,” suggested Zenas.
“Sticks—nothing!” growled Brad.
“Then what——”
“It’s locked!”
“Locked?”
“Sure as shooting.”
“It can’t be.”
“I opine I know when a door is locked,” said the Texan; “and this yere
door is locked tight and fast.”
“How could it happen? I’m sure there is not a spring lock on the door.”
“Not at all, professor. I wonder some if this is one of Dick’s tricks. I
wonder if he locked us in here?”
“Why should he do that?”
Brad did not explain that he fancied it possible Dick had done so in
order to compel him to listen to the old man’s lecture.
“Wonder if there’s no other way to get out,” he growled. “Mebbe the door
to the next room is not locked.”
He hurried into the adjoining room, but found, to his further
disappointment and disgust, that the door leading from that room was
likewise locked.
When Brad returned he began hammering on the door in earnest.
“Look out!” cried Zenas. “You’ll knock a panel out!”
“That’s what I sure will do!” roared the Texan. “I’ll certain bu’st a
hinge off if Dick doesn’t hike this way and open things up.”
“Perhaps he didn’t lock the door.”
“Then whoever did? That’s what I’d like to know.”
A sudden thought flashed through Buckhart’s head. What if this locking
them in was a trick to keep them away while an attack of some sort was
made on Merriwell?
“I can pay for the door,” he muttered; “and I certain ain’t going to
keep still when there may be deviltry of some sort going on.”
Then he backed off a few steps and made a rush and a spring, flinging
his shoulder against the door, with the whole weight of his body behind.
The door burst open with a crash. Brad stumbled out into the hall,
nearly falling, but quickly recovering his feet.
As he did so a significant cry came to his ears, proceeding from the
lower part of the building.
In another moment he was bounding recklessly down the dark flight of
stairs.
In the meantime, Dick was having his hands full with the treacherous
Spaniard. Bunol had whipped out his knife with astonishing swiftness and
had struck a deadly blow at the boy’s throat.
Quick as he was, however, either Merriwell anticipated the movement or
he was quicker, for he dodged and clutched the wrist of his enemy at the
same time.
Bunol uttered a low exclamation of disappointed rage, attempting to
wrench his knife hand free.
“No you don’t!” exclaimed Dick, holding fast with a grip of iron. “You
murderous dog! This ought to be enough to put you behind bars, and I
think I’ll see that you go there for a while.”
“You’ll never put me there!” palpitated the Spanish youth.
In the struggle to break away from Dick he dragged the boy back and
struck against the chair on which he had been sitting, nearly falling to
the floor.
“Furies!” he panted.
For a few moments in the first heat of the encounter Bunol possessed
amazing strength, and he kept Dick busy on the defensive, but it was not
long before the boy tripped his antagonist and flung him heavily.
The knife flew from Bunol’s hand as he fell, clanging on the stone
hearth, to lie gleaming in the glow of the open grate.
Although Dick had thrown the Spaniard, he found Bunol much like an eel
to hold. The fellow slipped and squirmed, almost instantly writhing from
beneath the American lad.
As the two started up and Dick reached to again clutch his enemy, the
landlord came rushing into the room. His eyes falling on the combatants,
he paused a second, aghast.
“What does this mean?” he cried.
Brad Buckhart was not a second behind the landlord, and his eyes
recognized Miguel Bunol instantly.
A roar broke from his lips.
“Mig Bunol!” he shouted.
But when he sprang to take a hand in the conflict, the strong arm of the
landlord blocked him off and flung him back, while that worthy again
demanded to know what it all meant.
“Don’t stop me!” snarled the Texan, his face pale with excitement and
rage. “Let me get my paws on that varmint! I sure will have his scalp!”
“Keep him away!” cried Bunol to the landlord. “They are ruffians and
robbers! This one tried to rob me right here!”
Although Dick had again grasped the Spaniard, the latter once more
squirmed from his fingers and managed to recover his feet. Instantly he
sprang toward the hearth, on which his deadly knife lay shining brightly
in the light.
Dick had no thought of letting the fellow again get that weapon in his
hand. Knowing he had saved his life only by the narrowest possible
margin, he now launched himself from a half-crouching position at the
Spaniard, hurling the fellow aside and against the wall.
“Stand there!” thundered Buckhart.
In Glasgow Brad had purchased a revolver. This weapon he now had in his
hand, and its muzzle was turned toward Bunol.
“Stand there, or by the everlasting Rockies, I’ll bore you in your
tracks!” declared the Texan.
Dick quickly snatched up Bunol’s knife.
The Spaniard stood at bay, his black eyes gleaming and his breast rising
and falling with his panting breathing. He was like a ferocious wild
animal that had fallen into a trap.
“See, landlord!” he cried. “Now they are ready to murder me!”
“I’ll have none of this in my house!” grated the innkeeper, and he
unhesitatingly placed himself in front of Buckhart, who was thus
prevented from using his weapon in case he wished to do so.
Dick took a step toward Bunol.
The Spanish youth saw his opportunity. He did not wait for Merriwell to
again lay hands on him. Instead of that, with two pantherish bounds he
crossed the floor, and another bound carried him, doubled into a compact
ball, straight at a window.
There was a great crashing and jangling of glass as the desperate young
villain shot through the window, carrying out sash and panes.