Frank Merriwells Bravery | Page 8

stood up and faced them boldly, helpless as he was.
Burchel Jones, the detective, looked as if he would give something to
get away from that locality in a hurry.
A black scowl came to the face of Hank Kildare, and his hands dropped
to his hips, reappearing from beneath the tails of his coat with a brace
of heavy, long-barreled revolvers in their grasp. The muzzles of the
weapons were thrust right into the faces of the men nearest, and the
sheriff literally thundered:
"Git back thar, you critters, or by thunder, thar'll be dead meat round
hyar! You hyar me chirp!"
Lona Dawson, the banker's daughter, was badly frightened by the
sudden outbreak of the mob, and, with her older companion, she
retreated into the waiting-room of the station.
"Death to Black Harry!"
A man with strong lungs howled the words above all the uproar and
commotion.
"Bring the rope!" screamed another.
And then, as if by magic, a man struggled to the shoulders of those
about him, waved a rope in the air, and yelled:

"Hyar's ther necktie fer Black Harry!"
And then, once more, there was a roar, and a surge, and a struggle to
get at the handcuffed boy.
"Stiddy!" sounded the voice of Hank Kildare. "Back! back! back! or,
by the eternal skies, I'll begin ter sling lead!"
But twenty hands seemed reaching to clutch the lad and drag him away.
The sheriff saw that he would not be able to retain his prisoner if he
remained where he was.
"Inter ther station, boy!" came from the giant sheriff's lips. "It's yer
only chance ter git clear o' this yar gang!"
"Howly shmoke!" cried a familiar voice just behind the handcuffed
youth. "Pwhat are they doin' wid yez, Frankie, me b'y?"
"Yes," quavered another voice, likewise familiar, "what is this crazy
mob trying to do? This is something appalling!"
"Barney! Professor!" cried the boy, joyously. "Now I can prove that I
am what I claim to be!"
"I've got him!"
A big ruffian roared the words, as he fastened both hands upon the
manacled lad, and tried to drag him into the midst of the swaying mob.
"Thin take thot, ye spalpane!" shouted the Irish boy, who had appeared
in company with a little, red-whiskered man at the door of the station.
Out shot the hard fist of the young Irishman, and--smack!--it struck the
man fairly in the left eye, knocking him backward into the arms of the
one just behind him.
"It's toime ye got out av thot, me b'y," said Barney Mulloy, as he
grasped the imperiled youth by the collar, and drew him into the
waiting-room of the station.

"That's right, that's right!" fluttered the little man, who was Professor
Scotch. "Let's hurry out by the back door, the way we came in. We
were detained, so we did not arrive in time for the train, but we came as
quickly as we could."
"And arrived just in time," said Frank. "I am in a most appalling
position."
"Well, well!" fluttered the professor. "You can explain that later on.
Let's get away from here."
"Look!"
Frank held up his hands, and, for the first time, his friends saw the irons
on his wrists. They cried out in amazement.
"Pwhat th' ould b'y is th' m'anin' av thot?" demanded Barney Mulloy, in
the most profound astonishment.
"It means that I have been arrested; that's all."
"Pwhat fer?"
"Robbing, shooting, murdering."
"G'wan wid yez!"
"This is no time to joke, Frank," said Professor Scotch, reprovingly.
"Are you never able to restrain your propensity for making sport?"
"This is a sorry joke, professor. I am giving you the straight truth."
"But--but it is impossible--I declare it is!"
"It is the truth."
"Who arristed yez?" asked Barney, as if still doubtful that Frank really
meant what he was saying.

"A private detective, known as Burchel Jones. He surrendered me to
the sheriff of Canadian County, Hank Kildare. That's his voice you can
hear above the howling. He is trying to beat the mob back, so he can
get me to the jail before I am lynched."
"Before you are lynched!" gurgled the little professor, in a dazed way.
"What have you done that they should want to lynch you?"
"Nothing."
"Pwhat do they think ye have done?" asked Barney.
"I presume you have heard of Black Harry?"
"Yes."
"Well, they say I am that very interesting young gentleman."
Small man though he was, Professor Scotch had a deep, hoarse voice,
and he now let out a roar of disgust that drowned the stentorian tones of
Hank Kildare.
"This is the most outrageous thing I ever heard of!" fumed the
professor, in a rage. "Somebody shall suffer for it! You Black Harry!
Why, it is ridiculous!"
Barney Mulloy seemed