He grew dizzy and toppled over. Then Joe assisted him to his feet, but he stood there in a bewildered way. “Never felt so queer in all my life,” he muttered. “The wind seems all knocked out of me. I think I need a drink to brace me up.” “What are you going to do to the dude?” “I don’t think I’ll do a thing ter him now, but I reckon I’ll settle with him later. I’ll shoot him full of holes like a sieve! I’ll smash him like a fly! I’ll rope him like a—steer! I’ll brand him like a calf!” Joe seemed greatly disappointed. “I allow you made some talk like this before we came here,” he said; “but the dude kicked you down the stairs.” “I wasn’t ready for him. I wasn’t expecting him to move so quick. He took me off my guard. Ef he’d seemed at all dangerous, I’d been watchin’ out. But I’ll do him! He’ll never play in his old show ter-night! I promise you that, Joe. I’ll fix him so he won’t be able ter walk acrost ther stage!” With that threat, the cowboy staggered out of the building, aided by Joe. As Joe landed in a heap on Sam, Sawyer, the stage manager, stared at Frank Merriwell in wonder and admiration. “How did ye do it?” he muttered. “Why, Sam Hooker didn’t seem to bother you no more’n his brother Joe, and both of ’em was pie.” “Haw! haw! haw!” roared Ephraim Gallup, slapping his thigh. “I did think that big feller was dangerous, but he was disposed of so gol-darn easy that it was over before I knowed it hed begun.” “And he is the terror of the town!” gurgled Sawyer. “When he come up here, I ruther thought I’d like to be to hum on the farm, b’gosh!” confessed Ephraim; “but now I wouldn’t hev missed it fer a hull acre of pertaturs.” “Mr. Merriwell is a noted amateur athlete,” said Billy Wynne, speaking to Sawyer. “But he never boasts about it, and we, the members of his company, are just beginning to find it out.” “Well,” said the stage manager, “I’m glad he was able to handle Sam Hooker, but I wish he’d done the feller up so he couldn’t make any more trouble. He’ll try to get revenge, see if he don’t. He’ll make lots of trouble for Mr. Merriwell.” “He better not,” said the Vermont youth, grimly. “The best thing he kin do is ter keep still and mind his business.” “He won’t do that. Mr. Merriwell must be on the watch for him.” “I hardly think Mr. Hooker is very dangerous,” smiled Frank. “I have noticed in almost every case that bullies are overrated. People get to thinking them very dangerous, and thus they are able to carry on a reign of terror till somebody takes the wind out of them. After that they seldom amount to much. Sometimes they degenerate so that boys can handle them. I am willing to prophesy that Mr. Hooker will turn out one of this kind. As soon as it is well known that somebody has thrashed him, he will become an object of ridicule, and no one will have cause to fear him.” “Well, if you could bring such a state of affairs about, the whole town would owe you a vote of thanks,” declared Sawyer.