The others were ready to come at Bart again by this time. They were cursing in a manner that told they were genuine toughs of the slums. “Kill der bloke!” snarled one. “Give it to him, Bill!” howled the other. “That’s right!” cried Hodge fiercely. “Come right on and give it to me! You’ll find me here!” One of them succeeded in striking him a blow on the cheek that cut his face and started the blood to flowing; but that did not daze Bart for a second, and he got a kick at the ruffian that doubled him over and made him gasp and groan. Frank could use his feet, as well as his hands. He had learned the trick in France, where a style of boxing with the feet is taught. When a man can strike and kick with equal skill he is a dangerous antagonist, and it was not long before the ruffians found they had a Tartar in Merriwell. Frank watched his chance and then tried to tear the handkerchief from the face of the leader of the gang, but he failed in this, although he knocked the fellow’s hat from his head. “I know you just the same!” cried Merry. “You have proved to be just the kind of a fellow I thought you were!” “You know too much!” the fellow flung back. “You won’t know so much in a few minutes!” One of the other ruffians came in on Frank, who made a feint to strike, and then kicked him in the neck with such violence that he went down as if he had been shot. He lay on the ground like a log, and it was plain he had been knocked out. “Blazes!” howled one of the others. “He’s knocked Shiner out!” “All I want is a good chance at you,” laughed Merriwell. “You’ll get the same dose, my fine fellow!” “Hammer him—hammer him!” panted the leader. “Get in on him quick! We must do this job before the police come!” He rushed at Frank, who attempted to kick him over, as he had the other chap, but failed, for the fellow dodged. In a moment two of them were pressing Frank close. “Here’s where we do a little in-fighting,” said Merry, as if he were jubilant over the prospect. It was hot for some seconds, but it proved too hot for Merriwell’s assailants. Frank had a way of causing them to bother each other, and it sometimes seemed that one could have done much better against him. But Frank was not to escape without a scratch. He was unable to watch every enemy, and a blow on the ear made his head ring and staggered him. “Now we have him!” shouted the leader. They sprang upon him, and Frank found himself forced to his knees. “Down with him!” He fought them off, but they assailed him like furious tigers. He was struck repeatedly while on his knees. It happened that Hodge had beaten off his foes for a moment, and he saw Merry’s peril. With a growl such as might have issued from the throat of a wild beast, he whirled to aid his friend. Crack! crack!—with two blows Bart sent two fellows spinning, and then he dragged Frank to his feet. “Much hurt?” he asked. “No, not a bit,” was the cool answer.