Dick Merriwell's Pranks Part 37

If you force me, no hesitation will I have in using it."

"Why did you come here?" asked d.i.c.k. "Why didn't you hasten to send information to the governor?"

"Because that was not necessary, and I came here to enjoy the pleasure of witnessing your disturbance in the face of certain death."

"You came to gloat over us?"

"Have it so, if it pleases you. Why shouldn't I? Many times you have gloated over me."

"Never! Never yet have I gloated over a fallen enemy."

"But you have been triumphant, and I have suffered defeat."

"Which you deserved, for you are a scheming snake in the gra.s.s!"

"You say so, but you are not my judge. Many times have you brought disgrace and shame upon me, until I have come to hate you with a burning hatred. But for you, Nadia Budthorne would now be my wife."

"And such a fate would be more terrible than death for any refined girl.

When the officers come, you will denounce her if you denounce us. You cannot help it, for it is said that a girl was concerned in the affair that ended with the death of Hafsa Pasha. Are you wretch enough to send Nadia to her death?"

Bunol shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps if she were to swear to marry me--"

"Which she'll never do, you dog!" panted Buckhart.

"Oh, is it you who think you will secure her, you uncouth creature from a land of savages!" cried Bunol. "Bah! It's a pity you cannot see yourself as you are, hulking, awkward, dull-faced, slow-witted, unpolished, swaggering, conceited-a worthy product of that raw portion of your miserable country called the West. You Americans of the East are more than enough bad; but those who come from the West are sickening to one of culture and refinement."

Buckhart took a step toward the insulting speaker, but Bunol whipped out a pistol.

"Stay!" he hissed. "One more step will be the last you will ever make!"

At d.i.c.k's elbow was a writing desk, on which lay a heavy metal paper weight.

While Bunol's attention was given almost wholly to Brad, Merriwell's fingers closed quickly on the paper weight. Suddenly, with a motion that was amazingly rapid, he lifted his hand and launched the paper weight at the Spaniard.

Bunol attempted to dodge, having seen the sudden jerking movement of Merriwell's arm.

He was a second too slow.

The paper weight struck him squarely between the eyes, and he dropped unconscious to the floor.

Like a panther, d.i.c.k crossed the floor in one great bound and fell on Bunol, his fingers closing on the fellow's windpipe.

Breathing hoa.r.s.ely, Buckhart was on hand to render a.s.sistance.

"Great work, pard!" complimented the excited Texan. "He had me under his gun, and I couldn't do a thing."

He picked up Bunol's pistol, which had dropped from the fellow's fingers.

"This may add to our armament," he observed. "We're likely to need all the guns we can handle pretty soon."

d.i.c.k had discovered by this time that there was no need to choke the Spaniard, for the paper weight had fixed the fellow so he would offer no resistance.

"Bring me the rope we found in the wardrobe yonder, Brad," directed Merriwell, "and bring it quickly. We must tie this fellow up good and solid before he recovers."

The other boy hastened to bring the rope.

"Looks like somebody used this for a trunk strap," he observed. "Lucky they left it in the wardrobe."

d.i.c.k directed Brad to cut the rope into pieces of certain length, and with these pieces he proceeded to tie Bunol in such a manner that it would be difficult for the fellow to do much more than wiggle a toe on recovering consciousness.

"He'll be liable to howl some when he comes round," observed Brad.

"Not when I have finished with him," a.s.serted d.i.c.k. "Hand me that clothes brush."

Buckhart did so.

d.i.c.k took the brush across his knee and broke off the handle in a twinkling. Then, with the aid of his comrade's knife, he soon fixed the handle so it would serve as a gag, and this he fastened between the teeth of the Spaniard.

As he was completing this task, d.i.c.k saw that Bunol was coming round.

The fellow's breast heaved, he opened his eyes, and for the time being he seemed completely bewildered and at a loss to understand what had happened.

"Now, what will we do with him, pard?" questioned Brad.

"We'll chuck him into that closet," decided d.i.c.k, at once.

A step sounded outside the door.

Instantly Brad leaped to the door and set his shoulder against it.

"Go on, d.i.c.k!" he palpitated. "Get Mig out of the way somehow, while I hold the door."

Merriwell stooped to lift his enemy. As he did so his eyes met those of Bunol, and in the dark orbs of the helpless Spaniard he saw a murderous look of hatred.

On Bunol's forehead there was a swelling, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

d.i.c.k had been compelled to jerk the paper weight at the fellow with a quick, snapping movement. Had he thrown the thing with all his strength the rascal's skull might have been fractured.

Unheeding the venom in Bunol's glance, d.i.c.k lifted the fellow's limp body and carried him quickly across the room, thrusting him into the small closet. He placed the helpless wretch in a sitting position on the floor, with his knees curled up to his chin, and then closed the closet door.

Some one was rapping on the door Brad was holding.

"Let them in," directed d.i.c.k coolly.

Buckhart stepped away from the door.

Professor Gunn entered, followed by a huge black man, wearing immense bra.s.s rings in his ears.