CHAPTER XXIII.

FIGHTING BLOOD OF AMERICA.

It was Dick Merriwell’s theory that in an encounter that promised to be unequal a sudden and surprising assault might more than outbalance the odds.

In this case he determined to put the theory to the test.

Brad understood Dick so thoroughly that it was not necessary for the latter to utter a word of command. He simply made a slight signal that was unobserved by the Greeks, and when he leaped forward the Texan was at his shoulder.

It was a daring thing to do, considering the fact that Maro, the younger man, had drawn a knife. Still Dick knew they would be compelled to fight or surrender the girl, and he had no thought of following the latter course. As it was necessary to fight, it was better to attack than to wait for the attack.

Merriwell singled out the man with the knife. Before the fellow realized what was happening, the boy was on him. Then Maro tried to lift the knife for the purpose of using it, at the same time uttering a snarl of astonished rage.

That snarl was broken midway, for Dick seized the fellow’s right wrist with his left hand, preventing him from making a stroke with the gleaming blade. At the same time the daring American lad gave Maro an awful jolt with his right.

Dick knew how to put force into a blow, and he knew how to land a blow that would put the other fellow “all to the bad.” That punch, backed with the boy’s weight, simply knocked the wind out of his antagonist.

Then Dick gave the man’s wrist a wrench that seemed to snap the bones. The knife flew from Maro’s fingers and struck with a clang against a prone and headless marble statue.

Having succeeded thus swiftly in disarming the rascal and knocking the wind out of him, Dick felt confident that he had accomplished the most difficult part of the task.

In the meantime Buckhart, roaring like an angry bull, went at Tyrus Helorus. The older Greek was no mean antagonist. He side-stepped in a manner that enabled him to avoid the full fury of the Texan’s rush, at the same time seeking to get hold of the boy with his powerful hands.

“Fool American!” he grated.

“Whoop!” shouted Brad, wheeling and coming at the man again. “Shades of Crockett and Bowie! you’re some spry on your feet!”

The Greek clutched Brad’s collar.

“Ha!” he cried in satisfaction.

“Ha! yourself, and see how you like it!” said Brad, as he delivered a body blow in the ribs.

But that blow, although struck with just as much force, perhaps, was not as effective as the one struck by Dick, for the reason that it did not land on the spot to count as heavily.

The Greek jerked Brad nearer and fastened both hands on him.

“Fool!” he said again.

Then he gathered the lad in his arms.

“I’ve been hugged by grizzly bears,” said Buckhart, in relating the adventure afterward, “but I certain allow that that old Greek gent sure could out-hug them all. When he closed in on me I heard a general cracking sound all round my anatomy, and I allowed at least nine of my ribs was bu’sted then and there. I sure did.”

In fact, Brad was robbed of his strength by that squeeze, and, for the time being, was helpless in the power of Tyrus Helorus.

Professor Gunn had been hopping round, first on one foot and then on the other. He was terribly excited, but suddenly, in a most astonishing manner, he flew at the fellow who seemed to be crushing Brad.

“Let that boy go, you wretch!” he cried, in a high-pitched voice. “Don’t you dare hurt one of my boys!”

Then he proceeded to claw at Tyrus in a manner that bewildered and confused the man for the time being.

The Greek relaxed his hold on Buckhart, enabling Brad to get a breath. With a wrench and a squirm the Texan twisted clear. He half dropped, and then his arms closed about the knees of the man. A moment later the Greek was lifted clear of his feet and pitched headlong against a marble slab.

The shock seemed to stun him.

“Much obliged, professor,” panted Buckhart. “You certain chipped into the game at just the right juncture.”

“Hum! ha!” burst from Zenas, who suddenly realized that he had done something. “They want to look out for me when I get started. I’m dangerous—exceedingly dangerous.”

By this time Dick had punished the younger Greek in a manner that led him to take to his heels in the effort to escape.

“Stop him!” shrilled Zenas.

“Let him go!” exclaimed the boy promptly. “If he’ll keep on running I’ll be pleased.”

Maro dashed in amid the ruins of the Parthenon and disappeared.

Tyrus lay where he had fallen.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Zenas, gazing in apprehension at the prostrate man. “I hope I didn’t kill him—I really hope I didn’t. Of course, it was in self-defense—or, rather, in defense of one of my boys; but still I hope I didn’t finish him when I struck him that last terrible blow.”

The old man seemed to really believe he had knocked the Greek down.

Dick turned to look for the girl. Pale and trembling, she stood with clasped hands, seemingly quite overcome by what had happened.

“Don’t be afraid, miss,” said Merriwell. “You are safe for the present.”

She gave him a flashing look of admiration from her splendid blue eyes. Then suddenly she seemed to think of the fallen man, and a moment later she was kneeling by his side, calling him by name and crying that he was dead.

“I do not think he is dead,” said Dick, attempting to reassure her. “Let me see.”

Even as the boy placed an inspecting hand on the breast of Tyrus the eyes of the man opened and he heaved a sigh. The girl gave a cry of gratitude and relief. He turned on her a glance that made her tremble, and in his native tongue he began to mutter threats which sent her to her feet like a startled fawn.

“Don’t waste your sympathy on him,” advised Merriwell. “A man who can growl like that isn’t badly hurt. He’ll be all right in a short time.”

“Then—then he make me marree Maro!” she gasped. “I better die!”

“What are we going to do about it, pard?” asked Brad. “Whatever can we do to help her?”

“That’s a puzzling question,” admitted Dick. “Evidently this man is her guardian, and we’ll get into no end of trouble if we try to take her from him. She ought to be able to appeal to the proper authorities for protection.”

“Tak’ me to Charlee,” entreated the girl.

“Charlie?” exclaimed Dick. “Who in the world is Charlie?”

“I love heem!” she declared. “He grandes’ man in the world! He grandes’ man ever live! I marree Charlee!”

“Ah, ha! So that’s the way the wind blows?” cried Dick. “There is another man in the case, and that’s why old Tyrus is trying to force you to marry Maro?”

She nodded violently.

“Charlee come to tak’ me to my father, in India,” she said. “When Maro find that so he come to Tyrus, say I never go, say I marree heem. Tyrus say I must marree Maro. Say I never meet Charlee no more. That brek my heart. I cry no, no, no! They tak’ me from home, so Charlee never find me when he come. They tak’ me where I have to stay in small room all time till Maro marree me. I geet out. I run. I come here. Charlee say he come here often look at ruins. I think he may come now. I wait. Tyrus and Maro come find me. I try to run. I see you. I call for help. That all.”

“It’s enough!” cried Dick. “Where is this Charlie? We will take you to him.”

She shook her head in distress.

“He somewhere in citee,” she said, with a sweep of her hand.

“A whole lot indefinite,” observed Buckhart.

Dick asked the girl if she did not know in what hotel Charlie was to be found.

She did not.

“What is the rest of his name?” questioned Dick. “Do you know it?”

“Whole name Charlee Cav’deesh,” she declared.

“Cavendish?”

“That right.”

“It’s up to us, Brad,” said Merriwell, “to find Charlie Cavendish as soon as possible.”

“I opine it is,” nodded the Texan.

“In the meantime,” said the professor, “we’ll all be arrested for kidnapping the girl. Boys, boys, is it impossible for you to keep out of scrapes?”

“I’m afraid it is,” confessed Dick.