CHAPTER LI.THE HOLDUP.
Dick and Brad, in a jovial mood, were returning from their evening call. It was about nine-thirty, and the night was dark, with a raw wind from Long Island Sound.
“This is a rather dark old corner,” observed Dick, as they started to turn into another street. “Wonder what’s the matter with the street light here? It doesn’t seem to be attending to its duties this evening.”
“Gone on a strike, perhaps,” observed Brad, with a chuckle. “This would be a good place to——”
“Hold up your hands!” commanded a hoarse voice, as two masked figures suddenly sprang out before them.
One seemed to be a big man, while the other was a rather undersized chap. Both held their arms outstretched, and, despite the darkness, the boys fancied they caught the gleam of nickel-plated revolvers held in the hands of the masked men.
“Be quick about it, youse fellers!” growled the one who had ordered them to put up their hands. “H’ist your paws if you don’t want to git the tops of yer heads blew off! Put ’em up, I say!”
“Yes, put ’em up!” wheezed the little chap, shaking his pistol. “Don’t try no funny business, fer dere’s two udder fellers behind ye, see?”
“Great horn spoon!” exploded the Texan. “Partner, it’s a holdup!”
“We’re right here,” announced a voice behind them, “We’re not going to hurt you unless you make a foolish move. Better act sensible.”
In spite of this warning, the Texan made a suddenduck and lunged at the small man who had confronted him. With a sidelong sweep of his arm, Buckhart struck the pistol aside. Evidently, this caused the man’s finger to contract on the trigger, for there was a sudden spurt of fire and a sharp report.
This astonished Brad, who had more than half fancied the holdup was a practical joke. Realizing that the masked men were carrying real pistols which were loaded, the Texan gave a snarl and grappled with the little fellow.
In the meantime, Dick Merriwell had sought to imitate his chum’s example, but had been clutched from behind and flung to the ground.
There were four of the assailants, two of whom had come upon the unsuspecting boys from the rear. These two sought to give their attention to Merriwell, and the trio went flopping and twisting and writhing into the gutter, striking against the electric-light pole with such violence that the stick of carbon in the globe far above their heads was loosened, a contact was made, and, with a spluttering, hissing sound, the light came on.
The big ruffian who had first commanded the boys to put up their hands now turned his attention to Buckhart, who had the smaller rascal pinned fast to the ground.
Reversing the pistol in his hand, the man lifted it and struck Brad a stunning blow upon the head. With a faint, gasping groan, the Texan fell across the little man.
“Come on here, Cully!” said the thug who had dealt the blow, as he kicked Brad one side with his foot, and attempted to lift his comrade.
Evidently, Cully was also knocked out, for he made no effort to rise.
Merriwell had seen Buckhart struck down. With ashout of fury, he smashed one of his antagonists a staggering blow, torn free from the other, whirled, and hurled himself upon the thug with the revolver.
“You whelp!” he said, seizing the fellow’s wrist and giving it a twist which caused him to drop the weapon.
Ditson and Wolfe were the two fellows who had come upon the waylaid boys from the rear. Like the thugs whom they had paid to assist them, they were masked and otherwise disguised. But they carried no weapons.
Duncan had made a bargain with the big man, Slugger Shea, who had proposed bringing along Cully as a companion.
Shea had ridiculed the idea that the boys might put up a fight. It was his belief that he could scare any two Yale men blue, and relieve them of their valuables without assistance. Still, he acknowledged that Cully would come in handy to go through the pockets of the victims. Besides that, Slugger had a friendly feeling for Cully, and he wanted his friend to share in the profits of the job. It was understood, however, that, under any circumstances, the two ruffians should be paid five dollars apiece, and they agreed to give up to their employers whatever papers, letters, or other documents they might secure.
Dunc and Bern had decided that it would be well enough for them to take a hand in the business, as they could then make certain of getting possession of such plunder as they desired. Besides that, they fancied Merriwell and Buckhart would be doubly frightened on finding themselves trapped between two fires. But the boys had upset the calculations of these rascals by unexpectedly showing resistance.
“Good gracious!” gasped Wolfe, in dismay. “Hadn’twe better hit the high places, Dunc? The police—that shot is liable to——”
“Buckhart is down and out!” hissed Ditson. “Give a hand here! We’ll have Merriwell down in a jiffy!”
Again he hurled himself on Dick’s back. He did this just as Merriwell, having secured a Japanese wrestling hold on Slugger Shea, sent the big ruffian sprawling.
Dick was nearly upset by Ditson’s weight, but he managed to keep his feet, squirm around, and get a hold on Duncan. Wolfe rushed in, seeking to render such assistance as possible. By this time Merriwell’s fighting blood was thoroughly aroused.
“The more the merrier!” he cried, with a strange, reckless laugh. “Call up your friends! Get them into it!”
In some manner he succeeded in slamming his elbow against Wolfe’s jaw, and Bern staggered backward, nearly knocked out.
Shea was a man with a violent temper, and without an oversupply of brains. By this time his fury was thoroughly aroused. Snarling like a madman, he rose to his feet, drawing from beneath his coat a long, keen knife, on which the cold white light of the street lamp glinted and gleamed.
“Hold him, cuss him!” cried the slugger, rushing at Dick. “I’ll cut him open!”
But, with a cry of horror, Ditson gave Dick a sidelong thrust, at the same time releasing his hold on the boy.
Merriwell tripped over Buckhart, tried to recover his balance, and went down heavily on his right shoulder. Shea followed the boy like a bloodthirsty panther, and pounced upon him as he struck the ground.
“For Heaven’s sake, let’s get out of this!” gasped Bern Wolfe, as he wheeled and took to his heels.
“I think we’d better,” muttered Ditson, imitating Wolfe’s example.
But, having fled a short distance, something caused Duncan to stop and cast a fearsome glance over his shoulder.
What he saw chilled him to the core. With Dick Merriwell still pinned to the ground, Shea had lifted that gleaming knife to plunge it into the boy’s breast.
“Murder!” thought Duncan, turning again to run as if his life depended on it.
Behind him a pistol shot ruptured the night, followed by a scream of pain.