"But I have sworn to succeed."

"You will fail utterly and miserably."

Bunol lifted one hand to caress the thin, black mustache upon his lip.

"That is what you believe," he said; "but I know I shall not fail. At Fardale I hated you, but I forgot you after I left the school. Never again would I have given you a thought had you not crossed my path in London. You crossed it at a most unfortunate time for me, as then I was on the very verge of accomplishing my great object."

"And that object was to ruin Dunbar Budthorne and to make his beautiful sister your wife."

"I love her!"

"You love her! Never! You love nothing but your own selfish, villainous self, Bunol. You were interested in her, and fascinated by her, because of her beauty; but had she been a poor girl you would not have dreamed for a moment of marrying her."

"How wise you are!" sneered Miguel, shrugging his shoulders. "Even if that is so, what does it prove?"

"It proves that you are a fortune hunter of the lowest and most contemptible sort."

"Is it such a crime to be a fortune hunter, as you call it? What are the ruined and penniless n.o.blemen of Europe who seek marriage with American heiresses?"

"You are not even in the cla.s.s of those men, for, though they may be cads, and sn.o.bs, and weaklings, and utterly lacking in manly qualities, few of them are downright scoundrels and desperadoes. At least, they have t.i.tles to give in return for the wealth their rich wives will bring them; but you have nothing to give."

"Yah!" snarled the Spaniard, showing his white, gleaming teeth. "You say things that sting, but some day your tongue will be silent with death!"

"Your threats do not disturb me in the least, Bunol, for I am confident that I shall live to see you hanged, as you justly deserve to be. Bunol, your power is broken and your great scheme has come to naught. You may as well seek other victims, for never again will your fingers handle a dollar of Budthorne's money."

With a sneer on his dark face, the Spanish youth had listened to Merriwell's words.

"It is a great wonder you think yourself!" he cried. "You think you have defeated me. How little you know me, boy! Did you imagine you had thrown me off the track and would see me no more while abroad? I am here. From Edinburgh you I followed to Glasgow, from Glasgow to Dublin, from Dublin to Manchester, Sheffield and here. I chose this spot to appear to you again and to let you know I am on your track. All this time you have known nothing of it, and you have thought me frightened by what happened in Scotland. While you remained in Scotland I did not care to appear, as I knew you would try to have me arrested.

"In Dublin there was no reason why I should make myself known, nor yet in Manchester or Sheffield. Here we are far from any town and in the heart of a forest. True, your friends are within call of your voice if you lift it; but I, too, have friends ready to spring in on us at a signal. My friends are all armed, and it is short work they would make of two boys and a cowardly, withered old man. Ha! ha! Call, if you like!

I am willing; I am ready. Utter a shout, and by the time your friends get down to this room you will be lying on this hearth in your blood."

"Are you trying to frighten me with such talk, Mig Bunol? You should know by this time that I am not easily frightened. You say you have followed me. That is good. While you were doing so Dunbar Budthorne and his sister were getting far beyond your reach. You have followed me in order to be near when they joined us again. That is it!"

d.i.c.k laughed triumphantly, for he had stated the reason why Bunol had so persistently dogged him about, and he felt that the fellow had been completely baffled.

d.i.c.k's laughter caused Bunol to turn pale with rage. He saw that the young American regarded him with positive contempt. In d.i.c.k he had not aroused an atom of fear-nothing but aversion, scorn and contempt.

"You cannot fool me!" he snarled. "The Budthornes are not very far away.

If you live, you will meet them soon. I shall be there."

"Will you?"

"Yes! I know your cowboy friend has become deeply interested in Nadia, but-bah!-what is he? I can dispose of him so." Bunol gave a careless flirt of his hand.

"It's plain enough you do not know the kind of stuff that Brad Buckhart is made of."

"He is nothing but a bl.u.s.tering braggart."

"He's a fighter, every inch of him; fearless as a lion. It was his bullet that pierced the shoulder of Rob MacLane, the outlaw, on the wall of Lochleven Castle, and sent him tumbling to the ground, where his career ended with a broken neck, greatly to the relief of all honest people."

"Still he is nothing but a bl.u.s.tering braggart, and any man of real courage can become his master. I mind him not. It is you I have set my heart to conquer and crush, and then Buckhart will be disposed of with ease."

"How do you propose to carry out your little project with me?"

"Don't think I'll not find a way. If I chose, you'd never leave this inn alive. You'd never rise from that chair, unless it were to drop dead on this hearth!"

"If all this is true, why don't you go about it?" cried d.i.c.k, his eyes flashing. "I'm watching you! I am waiting for you to begin!"

"I came here to force you to tell me where Nadia is."

Once more d.i.c.k laughed.

"And you fancied you could succeed? You fancied you could force a Merriwell to do your bidding? Bunol, you are a greater fool than I thought!"

"Oh, laugh, conceited idiot!" snarled the Spaniard. "You may be laughing in the face of death!"

"In some ways you are amusing, as well as disgusting. Now I know why you sat so still on that chair and pretended to sleep with the paper hiding your face. Now I know why you permitted the paper to slip down until you could peer over it. You have discovered that with your eyes and your mind you can govern weaklings. Your success with Dunbar Budthorne caused you to think you might hypnotize me, and force me to tell you where you could find Nadia. You have failed. What will be your next move?"

"I have failed, and my next move may be to put you forever out of the way of causing me more trouble."

"Begin!" was d.i.c.k's challenge. "I am waiting! Do you fancy you can do it alone? or will you call your paid ruffians to your a.s.sistance? Call Durbin! Call Marsh! Durbin has none too much courage, and Marsh is a miserable coward. I am here in this room alone. Call them to your aid and let's have it out!"

"How bold you are!" sneered Bunol, again. "But it is not on such as Durbin and Marsh I depend alone. A closed carriage pa.s.sed you on the road shortly before you arrived here. I was in that carriage, and with me were men ready to cut your throat at a word of command from me.

Should I give the signal they would come with a rush. Better be careful with that tongue of yours. If you do not arouse me too far, I may permit you to live yet a while longer; but in the end you shall die-and by my hand!"

d.i.c.k was becoming tired of the talk. He had fancied some one might enter the room, either the landlord or the friends he had left upstairs. Now, of a sudden, he heard a sound of heavy knocking coming from the upper part of the inn, as if some one were pounding furiously on a door.

"Your friends are growing impatient," said Bunol. "They wish to get out, it seems."

"Wish to get out?"

"Yes; they are locked in their rooms. One of my men attended to that after you left them, I presume. I gave orders to keep Buckhart and the old man away in case I found an opportunity to meet you face to face.

But the place will be disturbed by the racket they are making. I hope you enjoy your supper here and your night's rest. I'm sorry to say I have decided to leave you. It might be disagreeable if your party and mine were to remain beneath the same roof."

Bunol started to rise from his chair, as if to depart.

Instantly, without warning and with a great bound, d.i.c.k reached the Spaniard and clutched him.

"Wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "Don't be in such a hurry to go."

With a furious exclamation, Bunol flashed out a knife and struck at the boy's throat a blow that was much like a streak of lightning as the steel glinted in the gleaming firelight-a blow impelled by deadly hatred and murderous impulse.

CHAPTER XII.