LITMIR.BIZ

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den, I s'pose I'll have ter go wit'out er light, but—you'll take dat!"

      Like a flash the man struck straight and hard at the youth's face. It was a wicked blow, delivered with marvelous swiftness, and must have knocked Frank down if it had landed.

      But Merriwell had suspected all along that it was not a light the man was after, and he had been on the watch for just such a move as was made. For all of the man's swiftness Frank dodged, and the blow passed over his shoulder.

      When Frank ducked he also struck out with his left, which he planted in the pit of the assailant's stomach.

      It was a heavy blow, and for a moment it rounded the man up. Before the ruffian could recover he received a thump under the ear that made him see stars and sent him sprawling.

      But the man had a hard head, and he hastily got upon his feet, uttering fierce words. He expected to see the youth in full flight, and was astonished to perceive that Frank had not taken to his heels.

      With a snarl of fury the wretch rushed at Merriwell.

      Frank dodged again and came up under the man's arm, giving him another heavy blow. Then the man turned, and they sparred for a moment.

      "Durned if youse ain't der liveliest kid I ever seen!" muttered the astonished ruffian. "Youse kin fight!"

      "Well, I can fight enough to take care of myself," returned the lad, with something like a laugh.

      Smack! smack! smash! 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 gods 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 passed 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 passed 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."

      CHAPTER XXXII.

       DITSON IS TRAPPED.

       Table of Contents

      "It don't make a dit of bifference, Frank!" spluttered Harry Rattleton. "I don't care if you have got his card! That thug lied like blazes! Putnam may be selfish—he may have other faults, but he never hired anybody to break your arm."

      "I cannot think he would do such a thing myself," said Frank; "but this Plug Kirby, as he is called, seemed honest and in earnest. He stands ready to identify the fellow at any time."

      "Then why not settle it by bringing him before Putnam this very afternoon? That's the way to mix the fatter—I mean fix the matter."

      "It is a good idea, Harry, and we will have to carry it out. I'll need your assistance."

      "You shall have it, old man."

      So Frank and Harry arranged to bring Putnam and his accuser together that afternoon, it being the day after the assault on Merriwell. Frank was to look out for Kirby while Harry brought Putnam along to the saloon over which Buster Kelley had rooms.

      Frank and Kirby were there in advance, and they sat down in a corner, where they were not likely to be observed by anybody who entered.

      Kirby's face was cut and scarred where he had felt Frank's hard fists, and the tough looked on the cool lad with genuine respect and admiration.

      "I wants yer ter understan' dat I'd never gone inter dat game if I hadn't been hard up an' in a bad way," he said, trying to apologize for himself. "T'ings have been runnin' agin' me, an' I've been on de rocks fer a long time, an' I didn't know how I was ter make a haul any easier dan by breakin' a kid's arm. It warn't no killin' matter nohow, an' so I took der job. I never s'pected I was ter run up agin' anyt'ing like wot you are. If I had, why, wild hosses wouldn't get me ter tried it."

      "My enemy knew enough not to meet me himself."

      "Dat's

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