“Whoop!” roared the elder. “Is this yar possible? Is it possible a hand-fed cosset calf will blat at this untamed old maverick in this yar manner? I reckon I’m dreamin’!” “It’s jest what he done, Sam,” declared the younger brother, eagerly. “He thinks he can do you.” “Waal, I reckon I’ll hev ter wipe up ther floor with him, jest ter teach ther blame fool a lesson.” Whereupon the cowboy spat on his hands and prepared to attack Merriwell, at whom he glared in a manner that expressed his contempt for such an insignificant person. Ephraim Gallup stood near, his mouth wide open and his knees seeming to shake beneath him. The aspect of the cowboy was so terrible that the Vermonter actually seemed frightened. Sawyer, the local stage manager, was also frightened, but he did not dare interfere, for he stood in great fear of Sam Hooker. “It’s too bad!” he said, in an aside to Billy Wynne. “There won’t be any show to-night, unless Mr. Merriwell has an understudy. Sam Hooker will stave him all up.” “Perhaps so,” said Wynne. “But Frank Merriwell is quite a scrapper when he is forced to fight.” “He’ll be a baby in Sam Hooker’s hands.” “I hope not.” “It’s no use hoping. He’s done for! Too bad!” “Are ye reddy, tenderfoot dood?” shouted the cowboy. “I warn you again to keep away and let me alone,” said Frank, grimly. “I do not wish to fight with you.” “To be course ye don’t! Haw! haw! Ye’d be a fool ef ye did! But ye’ve made some loose talk, so that I’ve gotter chaw ye up. Be ye reddy?” Frank stood with his hands at his sides, his eyes watching every motion of the ruffian. He seemed perfectly careless and unprepared, but, in fact, he was quite ready for anything. Sam Hooker took a step forward, but paused in astonishment when Frank did not cower or attempt to run away. “Give it to him!” urged Joe, who seemed anxious to “get even” with the youth who had handled him so easily. “He’s a dodger! Look out for him!” “He won’t be able to do no dodgin’ when I’m done with him,” declared the vicious cowboy. “Mr. Sawyer,” said Frank, speaking in a cool manner to the local stage manager, “please hold the door wide open, so I can throw this ruffian downstairs without trouble.” Sam Hooker gasped. “Do my ears hear straight?” he gasped. “Throw me downstairs! What—that? Waal, may I be jiggered!” Then, with a roar, he made a leap at Frank. CHAPTER XIV. THE DOWNFALL OF SAM HOOKER. To the astonishment of Joe Hooker, Frank Merriwell did not attempt to dodge. Instead, with a sweep of one arm, he knocked Sam Hooker’s hands aside, and then planted a blow on the cowboy’s chin. It was a swinging uppercut, and it literally lifted the ruffian off his feet.