CHAPTER XXXVII.

HIS FOES “SCATTERED AROUND.”

Buster Bill had met the surprise of his life. He had not dreamed of anything like this. Why, he would have bet his life that he could whip any man in Yale with one hand tied behind his back! That was before the encounter. After the encounter he felt differently about it.

Never in all his life had he found a man so hard to hit as this fellow Merriwell. Never in all his career at the ringside had he seen a man who could do such lively foot-work. The manner in which Merriwell got in, punched, and got away was something very exasperating to Mr. Riley.

At first the ruffian had fancied he was doing the rushing, and he tried to follow his nimble antagonist about; but the time quickly came when he discovered that he was not doing nearly as much rushing as he had fancied.

The college man was a perfect tempest. He was here, there, everywhere. He went under Riley’s arm with a ducking leap, came up behind the fellow and smote him a staggerer on the back of the head.

When that happened Mr. Riley got down on his knees. It was a most unusual position for him, and he wondered to find himself there. With an expression of dissatisfaction at the way things were occurring, he hoisted himself in time to get a lovely jolt on the jaw.

Riley tried to induce the other chap to stand still and be hit a few times, just to even things up a little; but Frank Merriwell proved to be a most unaccommodating fellow at this point. He declined to let Riley get in another blow.

Then it was that Buster Bill began to be sorry that he had not used a brick when he hit the fellow at the start. A brick would have settled it at once, and there would have been no taking chances.

But he had not fancied he was taking chances, anyhow. We have all to live and learn. To-morrow Mr. Riley and his friends were to make remarks about Frank Merriwell, and, even though those remarks would not do for printing in the program of a Sunday-school concert, they were to be highly complimentary.

Bill snarled and frothed, but all that amounted to nothing. He found it was no use; he could not hit Merriwell, and he was swiftly getting cut all to pieces. When his wind gave out, he began to feel unspeakable alarm.

I hate to confess it about such a brave scoundrel as Bill, but there was a moment when he actually thought of taking to his heels and running for it.

Then he remembered that this Merriwell had the reputation of being a sprinter. Whatever he had ever said about college men, he had never denied that they could run.

Besides that, there were the fellows back there behind the old building, waiting for him to do the job. They were peering wonderingly through the gloom, he knew, speculating over the astonishing encounter that was taking place. If he ran away his days of leadership would be over with “the gang.”

Then he thought of shouting to them, but it seemed almost equally as disgraceful to call for help, and his pride held his lips for a time.

Merriwell improved that time of silence by hitting the thug some jabs that made him somewhat weary. Not until he found himself groggy and going to pieces swiftly did Bill yell for his companions.

Up to that time Frank Merriwell had fancied his assailant was there quite by himself; but with that first cry Merriwell realized there might be other ruffians there.

Then Merry redoubled his efforts to finish Bill before the others appeared. He heard their footsteps, and from a corner of his eyes he saw dark forms coming swiftly toward him.

Then Merry did his level best to dispose of Bill before the others came up. He got in two terrible blows, and the second one stretched the thug senseless on the ground.

But he did not try to avoid the encounter with Buster Bill’s friends. He met them, actually springing forward to do so.

The one in advance received a surprise in the shape of a hard fist on the chin, and he lay down to think it over and wonder just what had happened. There were three left, and they went at Merriwell with intense ferocity.

Surely by this time Merriwell must be pretty well played out. It looks bad for him. These fellows are likely to find him an easy victim now.

But are they? Merry seemed just as fierce, just as lively, just as terrible as he had been when at his best in the little affair with Mr. Riley. He was not aware that he felt the least fatigue, and the way he met and smashed into those fellows was as much a surprise to them as his same style of conduct had been to Buster Bill.

Where was Bill? They called to him, but he did not answer. Could that be him on the ground? What was he doing down there? It must be that he had been knocked out with a slung-shot. No other explanation could be accepted.

The same kind of slung-shot was coming at them. Look out for it, you thugs of the long docks, or you’ll find yourselves imitating your leader!

Why was it they could not seem to get at him and crush him at once? Why was it that he seemed able to keep them in the way of one another, so that they were bothered to reach him? When one of them opened his arms to grasp Merriwell around the waist from behind he succeeded in clasping a friend and throwing him down. And while he was doing this Merriwell got in a crack at the third man that caused him to seek a reclining position beside Buster Bill and the other “gent” that had hastened at the call for aid to bump into Frank.

Then they found there were but two of them left to down this Yale man who should be such an easy mark for any one of them. Perhaps two would be able to do a better job than more of them. Two would not get in each other’s way so often.

They were not given much time to think about this, for Merriwell followed up the fight and waded into them.

This put the ruffians on the defensive, which was something quite against their liking. He knocked one of them up against the other, and then tried to drop them both with a swinging right and left.

They separated and closed in on him from opposite sides. He struck one and kicked the other in the stomach. That kick had been most surprising, for the fellow was coming up behind Frank, and looked for nothing of the sort. It doubled him up gasping, and while he gasped, Merriwell went in to polish off the other chap. He found that fellow easy beside Buster Bill, and he took pains to swing accurately without chancing it. The blow was perfect, and the fourth thug went down and out.

This left but one man on his pins, and he was just recovering his breath, which had been knocked out of him by that terrible kick. He straightened up as Frank turned on him. Then he saw four dark forms on the ground, and his desire was to be a long distance away from that vicinity.

But he knew his wind would not let him run fast, and so he was compelled to stand up and take his medicine like the others. He put up his guard and ducked Merry’s first blow. In following the fellow up, Frank caught his toe over the prostrate body of one of the men on the ground, and went down to his knees.

Uttering a snarl of joy, the last thug sprang in. This was his chance. He would get the best of this remarkable college man now. He would upset him, jump on him with both feet, half-kill him! Then, when the others sat up and took notice of things, he would say: “Behold, I did it!” or words to that effect.

It was a real pleasant dream, but it proved to be nothing but a dream. He did not even hit Merriwell, who dodged, leaped up, closed in, and kicked him reeling.

It was amazing how the Yale man could follow up an advantage. As that fellow staggered, he went in on him, deliberately selected the knock-out spot, and let him have it.

That ended the fight, for the fifth one of the gang joined his weary friends on the ground.

Frank stood in the midst of his fallen assailants, looking about.

Two men came rushing up through the darkness. They were Starbright and Hodge, who had decided to walk in from the field, and happened to be coming along behind him. They had heard the sounds of battle as they approached, and fancying Frank might be in it, rushed forward to offer assistance.

“Merry,” cried Bart, “is that you?”

“Yes,” said Frank, in a calm, undisturbed tone, “I think it is.”

“You—you’ve been attacked?” palpitated the giant freshman, who accompanied Hodge.

“Something of the kind happened,” admitted Merry.

“Your assailants—where are they?” demanded Hodge.

“You’ll find them scattered around here,” answered Frank, as, with one hand in his pocket, he made a gentle, sweeping gesture with the other.