THE STRUGGLE.

At times Professor Gunn became very garrulous, and on such occasions he invariably insisted that either d.i.c.k or Brad should listen to him. If both refused, he was mortally offended.

When Brad saw d.i.c.k had slipped away and left him with the old man he feared what was coming, and tried to edge toward the door; but Zenas promptly called him back, urged him to sit down, placed a chair before the open fire, and sat down himself.

"Now we're comfortable and cozy," said the old man. "Now we can chat, Bradley. I have a few things I wish to say to you. I have some advice I wish to give you, my boy."

Buckhart smothered a groan.

"Won't it keep until after supper, professor?" he asked.

"No, sir. I've been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you alone, and this is the time. I have taken note that you are greatly interested in Miss Budthorne. Now, you are young-far too young to fall seriously in love. Wait, sir; let me speak. I am doing this as a father. Indeed, I feel that while we are traveling together I must practically fill the position of father to you. You have some faults. I had faults when I was of your age. I wish to tell you a story, and at the end I will indicate the lesson it teaches."

Zenas then began a long-winded series of reminiscences about himself and his boyish love affair, to which Brad was forced to listen, little dreaming that in a room below d.i.c.k Merriwell and his enemy, Miguel Bunol, were sitting face to face, watching each other with eyes that never wavered.

Only for Professor Gunn's determination to talk Buckhart would have attempted to leave the room long before he did, and would have made a surprising and annoying discovery that came to him later when he tried the door.

"Whatever's the matter with this old door?" exclaimed the Texan, when he found it refused to open before his hand.

"Perhaps it sticks," suggested Zenas.

"Sticks-nothing!" growled Brad.

"Then what--"

"It's locked!"

"Locked?"

"Sure as shooting."

"It can't be."

"I opine I know when a door is locked," said the Texan; "and this yere door is locked tight and fast."

"How could it happen? I'm sure there is not a spring lock on the door."

"Not at all, professor. I wonder some if this is one of d.i.c.k's tricks. I wonder if he locked us in here?"

"Why should he do that?"

Brad did not explain that he fancied it possible d.i.c.k had done so in order to compel him to listen to the old man's lecture.

"Wonder if there's no other way to get out," he growled. "Mebbe the door to the next room is not locked."

He hurried into the adjoining room, but found, to his further disappointment and disgust, that the door leading from that room was likewise locked.

When Brad returned he began hammering on the door in earnest.

"Look out!" cried Zenas. "You'll knock a panel out!"

"That's what I sure will do!" roared the Texan. "I'll certain bu'st a hinge off if d.i.c.k doesn't hike this way and open things up."

"Perhaps he didn't lock the door."

"Then whoever did? That's what I'd like to know."

A sudden thought flashed through Buckhart's head. What if this locking them in was a trick to keep them away while an attack of some sort was made on Merriwell?

"I can pay for the door," he muttered; "and I certain ain't going to keep still when there may be deviltry of some sort going on."

Then he backed off a few steps and made a rush and a spring, flinging his shoulder against the door, with the whole weight of his body behind.

The door burst open with a crash. Brad stumbled out into the hall, nearly falling, but quickly recovering his feet.

As he did so a significant cry came to his ears, proceeding from the lower part of the building.

In another moment he was bounding recklessly down the dark flight of stairs.

In the meantime, d.i.c.k was having his hands full with the treacherous Spaniard. Bunol had whipped out his knife with astonishing swiftness and had struck a deadly blow at the boy's throat.

Quick as he was, however, either Merriwell antic.i.p.ated the movement or he was quicker, for he dodged and clutched the wrist of his enemy at the same time.

Bunol uttered a low exclamation of disappointed rage, attempting to wrench his knife hand free.

"No you don't!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, holding fast with a grip of iron. "You murderous dog! This ought to be enough to put you behind bars, and I think I'll see that you go there for a while."

"You'll never put me there!" palpitated the Spanish youth.

In the struggle to break away from d.i.c.k he dragged the boy back and struck against the chair on which he had been sitting, nearly falling to the floor.

"Furies!" he panted.

For a few moments in the first heat of the encounter Bunol possessed amazing strength, and he kept d.i.c.k busy on the defensive, but it was not long before the boy tripped his antagonist and flung him heavily.

The knife flew from Bunol's hand as he fell, clanging on the stone hearth, to lie gleaming in the glow of the open grate.

Although d.i.c.k had thrown the Spaniard, he found Bunol much like an eel to hold. The fellow slipped and squirmed, almost instantly writhing from beneath the American lad.

As the two started up and d.i.c.k reached to again clutch his enemy, the landlord came rushing into the room. His eyes falling on the combatants, he paused a second, aghast.

"What does this mean?" he cried.

Brad Buckhart was not a second behind the landlord, and his eyes recognized Miguel Bunol instantly.

A roar broke from his lips.

"Mig Bunol!" he shouted.