The ruffians were astounded by the fight made by the two fellows they had expected to overcome with ease. They had never before struck anything just like that, and, for a moment, they hesitated. The leader, however, was raving like a madman, made insanely furious by the rebuff. “At ’em again! at ’em again!” he fumed. “I’ll make it ten more each. Do ’em up some way!” A scornful laugh came from Frank. “So these are your hired bruisers, my fine chap!” he cried. “Well, they are fit associates for a creature of your low instincts. It’s a hundred to one you land behind the bars with the rest of them.” The fellow urged his satellites to a fresh attack, and they came at the boys once more. The one Frank kicked had recovered and joined in the new assault, although he took care not to get another one from Merry’s feet, for which he had a healthy respect. The fight was resumed with fresh vigor, but still Frank and Bart held their own, for they had been given a few moments to recover their breath. “Why, this is a regular cinch!” cried Frank as with a corking left-hander he bowled one of the masked rascals over. “I haven’t struck so much sport as this in an age! Hit hard, Bart—hit hard!” No need to tell Hodge to hit hard; he was putting in his best licks, and they were counting. Blood was running down his face, but he did not realize he had been touched at all. Again Frank resorted to the use of his feet, and he sent one chap back with a sharp kick in the middle, while another caught his heel on the back. Then it was that one of the ruffians cried: “We can’t do ’em without the others. Call the guards!” A shrill whistle cut the air, and it was answered from up and down the street. “There are more coming, Bart!” cried Merriwell. “Put as many of these fellows out of the game as you can before the others get here! This has turned out to be a very warm evening!” CHAPTER XXXV—MERRIWELL’S CLOSE CALL Frank had quite forgotten his burned hands; there was no time to think of them then. Had both arms been in splints, he would have tried to defend himself just the same. Down the street came a running figure; up the street came another. They were two of the gang, who had been set to watch for the approach of officers. Although there were three of the ruffians to one of the boys they had attacked, the gang had been forced to call on the watchers for assistance! “What’s the matter?” panted one, as he came up. “You’re making an awful racket! Can’t you do them two stiffs?” “Get at ’em!” ordered the fellow whose coat was turned. “It’ll take all of us to do the job.” “All of you may not be able to do it,” cried Merry. But the two fellows who had been on guard were fresh, and they pitched in fiercely. In a short time Bart and Frank found they were being overpowered. They were blinded by blows and beaten breathless, but still they fought. Hark! What was that? The sound of singing from a distance—the old, familiar song: