The man, who was a coarse-looking young ruffian, ground his teeth and uttered some violent language. "Git out the way!" he snarled. "I'm a fighter, and I'll kill yer! I can put yer ter sleep with one punch!" Merriwell's blood was thoroughly stirred, and he felt just like teaching the fellow a lesson. Although a youth in years, Frank was, as my old readers know, a trained athlete, and he could handle his fists in the most scientific manner. "I am going to give you a chance to put me to sleep," he shot back. "I see your dirty game from start to finish! You are a fakir of the worst sort, and you tried to work me. You did something to my horse to make him lame, and you thought you would get a fat pull out of me for doctoring him. Instead of that, you have run your head into a bad scrape, and it will be damaged when you get it out." "You talk big for a kid. Why, I can blow yer over with my breath." "It is strong enough. But I don't go over so easy. Up with your hands if you are such a fighter! I'm coming for you!" "All right! If ye're bound to have it, come on!" The man put up his guard, and then Merriwell went at him, while Grody gasped for breath, thinking the college lad could be no match for the young ruffian. There were a few swift passes, and then Frank went under the fellow's guard and gave him a terrific uppercut on the chin. That was a staggerer, and the boy followed it up while the man was dazed. Punk!--biff!--two blows, one on the body and the other fairly in the eye. The second blow nearly knocked the man down, and it made him as fierce as a famished tiger. Snarling like an enraged beast, he tried to close in on the lively lad. "Oh, let me get hold of you!" he grated. "I'll crush the life out of ye!" Frank avoided the rush by stepping aside, and gave the fellow another body blow as he passed. Body blows, however, were not as effective as they should have been, on account of the fellow's clothing, and Merriwell quickly decided to waste no more energy in that manner. The man turned, and went for Frank again. This time the boy did not try to get out of the way, but he met his antagonist squarely, and gave him a heavy one in the other eye. "That ought to make them mates," said Frank, with a laugh. "You won't know yourself when you look in the glass to-morrow morning. Perhaps it'll teach you better than to try any of your rackets on a boy. You can't always tell what you are getting up against." The man's teeth could be heard grinding together. He was so furious that he quite lost his head. Then Frank sailed in to finish the affair as soon as possible. Grody held his breath, nearly bursting with astonishment and admiration. "Oh, say!" he chuckled. "I never saw a youngster what were that fellow's match! He's hot stuff!" The hostler could scarcely believe it possible that Merriwell was giving the scoundrel a first-class whipping, but this became more and more evident with each passing moment.