“I have heard of such things being done,” said Frank, still without showing alarm; “but I’ve never happened to see anybody do it yet.” “I know he broke one of Mose Herrick’s ribs with a blow.” “Well, I shall do my best not to let Mr. Sam Hooker hit me in that manner. That is all.” “If you do your best, you will get out and go to the hotel. If he comes there you’ll have somebody tell him you have gone somewhere else.” Frank laughed. “Just keep that stage door wide open,” he directed. “I threw Joe Hooker down those stairs, and it may happen that his brother will take the same sort of tumble. Go on putting the stuff in, and don’t worry about me.” So the work continued, although everybody but Frank seemed anxious and nervous. Merry was perfectly cool, and seemed to have forgotten all that had occurred and that Joe Hooker had departed to look for his terrible brother. It was not much more than thirty minutes before there was the sound of heavy feet on the stairs, and, after taking a look down, Ephraim ran to Frank, exclaiming: “They’re comin’, by gosh!” Not a word did Merry say, but he advanced to meet the Hookers, buttoning his coat tightly around him. Joe Hooker came in first, his face shining with triumph. He was followed by a large man, who was dressed in the rough garments of a cowboy and wore a wide-brimmed hat, with a cartridge band round it. This fellow had a flushed face and reddish eyes. He did look decidedly savage. “Wherever is this yar kay-o-te?” he demanded. “Right there!” cried Joe, pointing at Frank Merriwell. “That is the chap! He’s the one, Sam!” The cowboy stopped, placed his hands on his hips, and glared at Frank in great amazement. “Hey?” he shouted. “Is that him?” “It is,” assured Joe. “An’ he slammed yer round?” “Yep.” “This yar dood did?” “Yep,” sheepishly admitted the younger brother. “Yer must bin dreamin’!” “No; he done it, Sam.” “An’ he allows he kin fight?” “He does.” “Why, he wouldn’t be a bite fer me. Look hyar, ef you can’t handle that yar lily-faced chap, yer ain’t no brother o’ mine. I reckoned yer was goin’ ter put me up ag’in somethin’ what wuz wuth tacklin’.” Sam Hooker seemed to be on the point of turning about and leaving, much to the relief of Ephraim and the local stage manager. But Joe had no thought of letting the affair end like that. “If you don’t thrash him, Sam,” he said, “he’ll blow all over town that he walloped a Hooker.” “Hey?” “He’ll do it, sure.” The cowboy turned and looked Frank over again. “Did yer slam my brother around somewhat?” he asked. “Your brother did not obey me when I asked him to stop hammering at some of my scenery, and I was compelled to handle him roughly,” admitted Frank, quietly. “Did yer throw him off the stage?” “Yes.” “Down ther stairs?” “Yes.” “An’ yer said ye’d handle me rougher than that ef I come round?” “I believe I made some such remark.” “There!” shouted the younger brother, in delight. “I told ye!”