DIAMOND STRIKES A BLOW.
Forty freshmen, with tall hats and canes, commanded by the giant, Hock
Mason, were singing, "That Bully." In the most belligerent manner
possible, they shouted the line:
"We're lookin' for that bully, and he must be found."
Behind them were more freshmen without silk hats and canes, but prepared
to take a hand in the scrimmage, if the juniors tried a rush.
The freshmen had grown bold and saucy. Hock Mason bullied them, and they
were afraid of him, but they knew the juniors were afraid of him, too.
They sang and shouted. They marched up and down with Mason leading. They
began to express their fears that the juniors would not dare try a rush.
The juniors saw the freshmen were out in force, and they were not hasty
about making an assault. They seemed to lack a leader. They kept
gathering, but held aloof.
The freshmen grew bolder and bolder. They invaded the campus. The
juniors were gathered at their fence. It was plain the freshmen meant to
rush them, and attempt to take the fence. The juniors prepared to
struggle to the bitter end.
On came the freshmen. The others were outnumbered. It looked as if many
of them were afraid, and were keeping out of the _melee_ that must come.
The freshmen marched past the line along the fence. They were insulting.
They turned and marched back. Then, at a signal from their giant leader,
they attempted to sweep the juniors from the fence, and take it by
storm.
There was a charge, a clash, and the battle was on.
But it afterward developed that the juniors were far more crafty than
the freshmen thought. They had not concentrated their entire force at
the fence, but their main body were keeping out of sight and waiting for
the onset to begin, knowing the freshmen were in a mood to try something
desperate and unusual.
The moment the freshmen made a rush for the fence, the second body of
their antagonists came with a wild charge.
Frank Merriwell led them!
In a moment such a battle was taking place there at the fence as had not
been witnessed since the old days at Yale--the good old fighting days.
Almost immediately the freshmen were on the defensive, doing their best
to retain their hats and canes.
Frank singled out Hock Mason, believing the best course was to engage
his entire attention without delay. He was urging the freshmen on, and
no one seemed to stand before him.
With all the nerve he could command, putting all his strength and skill
into the effort, Merriwell went at Mason. He came upon the fellow like a
tornado.
Frank did not try slugging tactics, but he caught Mason's cane with both
hands, and, giving it a twist and a whirl, snapped the big freshman into
the air and fairly flung him over his shoulder, tearing away the cane.
It is possible that never before in all his life had Hock Mason been
handled in such a summary manner. He struck the ground with a thump,
bewildered beyond measure by what had happened, for he had not dreamed
any man at Yale could handle him that way, even if he were taken by
surprise.
But Mason was not hurt in the least, and he was furious.
Laughing triumphantly, Frank Merriwell spun the cane into the air and
caught it with the skill of a baton-thrower when it came down.
Roaring like an enraged lion, Hock Mason scrambled to his feet. Somebody
gave Merriwell a push from behind, nearly throwing him down, and Mason
struck him behind the ear.
It was one of the giant freshman's sledge-hammer blows, and Frank
dropped like a log.
"Cuss ye!" snarled the bully. "I'll fix ye!"
The brute in his nature was aroused, and he kicked the fallen lad in the
ribs with his toe.
"Shame! shame!" cried a score of voices.
Bruce Browning, with a roar of rage, tried to reach the brutal fellow,
but Jack Diamond was quicker.
Jack had torn a heavy cane from a freshman, and now he wielded it, butt
foremost, with all the strength he could command.
Whack!
The blow might have been heard anywhere on the campus. It fell just
where the furious Virginian had intended it should--across the side of
Mason's head and behind his ear!
The fellow who had stood on his feet before the blows of the policemen's
clubs now fell as if he had been shot, pitching headlong over Frank
Merriwell.
Frank sat up, still grasping the cane he had captured from the bully.
Jack caught his hand and pulled him to his feet.
Hock Mason lay at full length on the ground, gasping for breath.
"He's dying!" cried somebody, horrified.
The rush was over, freshmen and juniors stopped struggling in a moment,
and all gathered around the spot where the giant lay. His heavy rasping
breathing was terrifying.
"He is dying, Diamond!" whispered Browning, in Jack's ear.
"I don't care!" returned the Virginian, passionately.
"But think--think what that means!"
"I don't care!" repeated Jack. "He struck Frank--kicked him when he was
down! You know, Browning--you know how Merriwell stood by me on our trip
when all the rest of you turned against me, because I was out of sorts.
You know how he stood by me when I raved at him. Another fellow would
have told me to go to the Old Nick. I haven't forgotten those things. I
am ready to do anything for him!"
"But if it should happen that you have killed this freshman----"
"What then?"
"It will go hard with you. A little while ago, in Merriwell's room, you
were saying you would kill him. It will look like a premeditated
murder."
This hit Jack hard, but it did not stagger him.
"I can't help it. I did the trick to keep him from killing Merriwell.
Merry was down, and that brute was kicking him. No one would dare try to
stop Mason with bare hands. I used the best and only means to stop him.
If he dies----Well, I'll take my chance with a jury of honest men."
Browning felt that Diamond had nerve, for all that he was hot-headed and
passionate.
"Well, we'll hope the fellow isn't hurt much."
Some one was bending over Mason, fanning him, while others were pushing
the crowd back.
"Get back--give him air! Do you want to smother him to death?"
"Smother time, perhaps," chirped Danny Griswold, who could not hold back
the pun, for all of the gravity of the situation.
The rush had begun and ended so quickly that the faculty did not seem to
be aroused. Some of the students were watching for the expected
appearance of the professors, however.
Water was brought, and Mason's temples were bathed. He continued to
breathe hoarsely for some time, plainly drawing his breath with the
utmost difficulty, but the sound gradually lessened, and he finally
struggled to sit up.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he growled, harshly. "Let me
alone! Let me get up!"
Some one offered to help him.
"Get out!" he snarled, flinging the fellow off. "What do I want of help?
What's the matter with my head? It is whirling."
He got up, although it was with the utmost difficulty he could do so,
and there he stood in the midst of the crowd, swaying and putting his
hands to his head.
Some could not believe their eyes. They had not thought it possible Hock
Mason could betray weakness.
"Somebody struck me!" he harshly grated, glaring around. "Where is he?
I'll wring his neck as if he were a chicken! Where is the fellow?"
All were silent.
"Oh, I'll find out who it is," declared the bully, "and when I do,
I'll make him weep tears of blood. I'll make him wish he never had
been born. I'll----What's the matter with my head? It's going
around--around--around----"
He would have fallen, but some of the freshmen caught hold of him, and
he was led from the campus toward his room.