“I’m killed!” he shouted. “Murder! Oh, wow! Throw some water on me!” “He wouldn’t mind having the hose turned on him now!” laughed Frank. Joe tried to get up, but he was kicked full against his brother. In his agony, Sam struck out and smote Joe full on the nose, causing the blood to flow. “Why, this is a regular merry old spree of a time!” exclaimed Frank Merriwell, as he danced backward, still laughing. “You chaps seem to be having lots of fun with me! Aren’t you glad you brought me here? Isn’t it a real jolly time?” Then he actually charged on the masked rascals, and they dodged to get out of his way. Then might have been seen the remarkable and ludicrous spectacle of three men making frantic endeavors to avoid one whose hands were tied behind his back—one whom a few moments before they had regarded as a helpless captive! “Whar’s my guns?” roared Sam Hooker. “I’ll shoot ther critter full o’ lead! I’ll kill him! I’ll——” “You seem to have a little tar on you, Sammy,” laughed Frank. “Why, you make a real laughable spectacle! If you could see yourself in a mirror you would be greatly amused. It will take you several days to comb the tar out of your hair.” “I’ll kill you!” “I heard you say so before. You were going to tar and feather me, but your scheme seems to have miscarried. You’ve got the first dose of tar yourself.” “Where’s that baseball bat?” howled Joe Hooker. “I’ll beat his brains out! Give me that bat!” He saw it and made a scramble for it, but Frank headed him off and bowled him over, although Joe made a desperate attempt to get hold of Merry. Sam Hooker had not found his “guns,” but he was on his feet now, and in his hand glittered a long knife. “Oh, I’ll fix him now!” he snarled. “Hold on!” cried one of the masked men. “That is going too far! We don’t want a hand in a murder!” “You go to blazes!” snarled Sam. “I’ll cut his throat!” He made a rush for Frank, brandishing the knife. Merry knew his life was in danger, but that did not rob him of his nerve. He actually laughed again. “Brave fellow!” he cried. “It is what I expected of you!” Then came a startling cry from one of the masked men: “Fire! fire! The house is on fire!” In the excitement of the struggle none of them had noticed it, but now they saw the room was filling with smoke. And they paused, they could hear the crackle of the flames. “Where is the fire?” One of the men leaped to the door and tore it open. Then they saw the gleam of the flames, and, for a moment, they were appalled. “The old house is all afire!” shouted the man at the door. “We must get out in a hurry if we want to get out at all!” Then there was a rush for the door. Sam Hooker was the last of the gang to reach the door. He turned a moment, and his tar-bedaubed face made him look like a fiend. “Stay here and roast to death, Frank Merriwell!” he snarled.