Frank Merriwell at Yale Part 63

Smack! smack! smas.h.!.+ Three blows in rapid succession caused the ruffian to reel and gasp. Then for a few moments the fight was savage and swift.

It did not last long. The ruffian had been drinking, and Frank soon had the best of it. He ended the encounter by striking the man a regular knockout blow, and the fellow went down in a heap.

When the ruffian recovered he was astonished to find Frank had not departed, but was bending over him.

"How do you feel?" the boy calmly inquired.

"Say, I'm all broke up!" was the feeble reply. "Are youse der feller wot done me?"

"I presume I am."

"Well, wot yer waitin' fer?"

"To see how badly you are hurt. Your head struck the stones with frightful force when you fell."

"Did it? Well, it feels dat way! Here's a lump as big as yer fist. But wot d'youse care?"

"I didn't know but your skull was fractured."

"Wot difference did dat make?"

"I didn't want you to remain here and suffer with a broken head."

"Didn't, eh? An' I tried ter do ye up widout givin' yer any warnin'! Dis is der quarest deal I ever struck! I was tryin' ter knock yer stiff an'

den break year arm."

"Break my arm?"

"Dat's wot I was here fer."

Frank was interested.

"Then you were here on purpose to meet me?"

"Sure, Mike."

"But why were you going to break my arm?"

"'Cause dat's wot I was paid fer, me boy."

Frank caught hold of the ruffian, who had arisen to a sitting posture and was holding onto his head.

"Paid for?" cried the boy, excitedly. "Do you mean to tell me that you were paid to waylay me and break my arm?"

"I didn't mean ter tell yer anyt'ing, but a feller wot kin fight like you kin an' den stay ter see if a chap wot tried ter do him was hurt--dat kind of a feller oughter be told."

"Then tell me--tell me all about it," urged Merriwell.

"Dere ain't much ter tell. Some sneak wanted yer arm broke, an' he came ter me ter do der job. He paid me twenty ter lay fer youse an' fix yer.

I was hard up an' I took der job, dough I didn't like it much. Den he put me onter yer, an' I follored yer ter der house where youse went dis evenin'. I watched till yer comes out, and den I skips roun' ter head yer off yere. I heads yer an' asks fer a light. Youse knows der rest better dan wot I does."

"Well, this is decidedly interesting! So I have an enemy who wants my arm broken?"

"Yes, yer right arm."

"That would fix me so I'd never pitch any more."

"Dat's wot's likely, if ye're a pitcher."

"Would you know the person who hired you if you were to see him again?"

"Sure."

"Did he give you his name?"

"Dat's wot he did."

"Ha! That's what I want! See here! Tell me his name, or by the G.o.ds of war I will see that you are arrested and shoved for this night's work!"

"An' you will let me off if I tells?"

"Yes."

"Swear it."

"I swear it!"

"You won't make a complaint agin' me?"

"I will not."

"Well, den, yere's his card wot he give me.'"

The ruffian fumbled in his pocket and took out a card, which he pa.s.sed to Frank, who eagerly grasped it.

"Here's a match, me boy," said the man. "I had a pocketful w'en I braced yer for one."

He pa.s.sed a match to Frank, who hastily struck it on a stone and then held it so that he could read the name that was engraved on the card in his fingers.

A cry of astonishment broke from Merriwell's lips, and both card and match fell from his fingers to the ground.

This is the name he had read upon the card:

"Mr. Burnham Putnam."