Frank Merriwell Down South Part 37

"Any more?"

"Yes; I want to know where she is, and you can tell me."

"Yo' say dat, but yo' can't prove it. I don't say anyt'ing, senor. 'Bo't how much yo' pay fo' that info'mation, ha?"

"Good money, and a fair price."

"Fair price notting; I want good-a price. Undarestand-a?"

"I understand."

"W'at yo' gif?"

"To know where she is? A hundred dollars."

Mazaro smiled scornfully.

"Dat notting. Yo' don' talk de biz. Yo' don' have-a de mon' enough."

"Wait," urged Frank. "I am a Yankee, from the North, and I will make a trade with you."

"All-a right, but I don't admit I know anyt'ing."

Manuel leaned back in his chair, lazily and deftly rolling a cigarette, which he lighted. Frank watched this piece of business, thinking of the best manner of approaching the fellow.

And then something happened that electrified every one within the cafe.

Somewhere above there came the sound of blows, and a cras.h.i.+ng, splintering sound, as of breaking wood. Then a shriek ran through the building.

"Help! Help! Save me!"

It was the voice of a female in great terror and distress.

Mazaro ground a curse through his white teeth, and leaped to his feet, but Frank was on his feet quite as quickly.

Smack! Frank's arm had shot out, and his hard fist struck the Spaniard under the ear, sending the fellow flying through the air and up against the wall with terrible force. From the wall Mazaro dropped, limp and groaning, to the floor.

Like a flash, the nervy youth flung the table against the downcast wretch's companions, making them reel.

Then Frank leaped toward the stairs, up which he bounded like a deer.

"Where are you?" he cried. "I am here to help you! Call again!"

No answer.

Near the head of the stairs a light shone out through a broken panel in a door, and on this door Frank knew the blows he had heard must have fallen.

Within this room the boy fancied he could hear sounds of a desperate struggle.

Behind him the desperadoes were rallying, cursing hoa.r.s.ely, and crying to each other. They were coming, and the lad on the stairs knew they would come armed to the teeth.

All the chivalry in his nature was aroused. His blood was leaping and tingling in his veins, and he felt able to cope with a hundred foes.

Straight toward the broken door he leaped, and his hand found the k.n.o.b, but it refused to yield at his touch.

"Fast!" he panted. "Well, I'll try this!"

He hurled himself against the door, but it remained firm.

There were feet on the stairs; the desperadoes were coming.

At that moment he looked into the room through the break in the panel, and he saw a girl struggling with all her strength in the hands of a man. The man was trying to hold a hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out again, while a torrent of angry Spanish words poured in a hissing sound from his bearded lips.

As Frank looked the girl tore the fellow's hand from her lips, and her cry for help again rang out.

The wretch lifted his fist to strike her senseless, but the blow did not fall.

Frank was a remarkably good shot, and his revolver was in his hand. That hand was flung upward to the opening in the panel, and he fired into the room.

The burst of smoke kept him from seeing the result of the shot, but he heard a hoa.r.s.e roar of pain from the man, and he knew he had not missed.

He had fired at the fellow's wrist, and the bullet had shattered it.

But now the ruffians who were coming furiously up the stairs demanded his attention.

"Halt!" he shouted. "Stop where you are, or I shall open fire on you!"

He could see them, and he saw the foremost lift his hand. Then there was a burst of flame before Frank's eyes, and he staggered backward, feeling a bullet near his cheek.

Not till that moment did he realize what a trap he was in, and how desperate was his situation.

"It is a fight for life!" he muttered, as he lifted his revolver.

The smell of burned powder was in his nostrils, the fire of battle gleamed from his eyes.

The weapon in Frank's hand spoke again, and once more he found his game, for the leading ruffian, having almost reached the head of the stairs, flung up his arms, with a gurgling sound, and toppled backward upon those who were following.

Down the stairs they all tumbled, falling in a heap at the bottom, where they struggled, squirmed, and shouted.

"So far everything is very serene!" half laughed the daring boy. "This has turned out to be a real lively night."

Frank was a lad who never deliberately sought danger for danger's sake, but when his blood was aroused, he entirely forgot to be afraid, and he felt a wild thrill of joy when in the greatest peril.

For the time, he had entirely forgotten the existence of Barney Mulloy, but now he remembered that the Irish lad had waited outside the cottage cafe.

"He has heard the rumpus," said Frank, aloud. "I wonder where Barney can be?"

"Whist, be aisy, me lad!" retorted the familiar voice of the Irish youth. "Oi'm wid yez to th' ind!"