Frank Merriwells Pursuit | Page 3

man's
head.
"You are certain, señor, that this injury is not serious?" questioned the
wounded man, when everything had been done.
"I see no reason why it should be," was the answer. "It is not liable to
give serious trouble to a man of your stamina, endurance, and nerve."
The doctor's bill was paid, and then they sought a hotel, where they
found accommodations, and the wounded one was put into bed. Ere
getting into bed he shook hands with his two companions and said:
"It's not easy, señors, to kill one in whose veins runs the blood of old
Guerrero. They thought me dead, but the dog that fired the shot shall
pay the penalty of his treachery, and I swear I will yet crush Frank
Merriwell as the panther crushes the doe. That's the oath of Porfias del
Norte!"
CHAPTER II.
THE TERROR OF O'TOOLE.
Watson Scott, familiarly known as Old Gripper, was a man of great
hardihood and endurance, and, therefore, for all of his recent
experience with Frank Merriwell's enemies, for all that he had been
imprisoned by his captors in a natural well and had stood for hours in

water up to his hips, he rapidly recovered after arriving once more at
the cottage of his friend and business associate, Warren Hatch, on Lake
Placid.
But Old Gripper had been aroused, and he was determined to make it
hot for his recent captors, who, led by Porfias del Norte, had gone to
desperate lengths to obtain valuable papers which were the basis of a
business combination that threatened the interests of Del Norte and his
associates.
"Unless they move on the jump I'll have the bunch of them nipped
before long," Old Gripper declared.
To his vexation he found it was impossible to properly swear out a
warrant for the arrest of Del Norte's companions without making the
journey to Saranac Lake.
"I'll do that the first thing in the morning," he said.
In the morning, however, he found himself stiff and lame, and he was
induced to delay until noon.
During the forenoon he decided to return without further delay to New
York. Having settled on this, he sent a message to Saranac Lake,
stating his charges against Porfias del Norte's band of desperadoes, and
asking that the warrant be drawn up and brought to him at the station as
he was passing through. He also gave instructions that officers should
be on hand to immediately take up the work of running the gang down.
Before noon Belmont Bland, Old Gripper's private secretary, was
apparently taken ill, and when the time came for Scott to depart Bland
seemed unable to travel. He asserted that it was one of his usual
nervous attacks, and declared he would be all right by the next day.
Therefore it was arranged that he should remain at Lake Placid.
Frank Merriwell had given in to the urging of Warren Hatch, who
almost begged him to stay over another day and fish again in the
morning.

"It's not often I strike a fisherman after my own heart," said Hatch.
"When I do I don't like to let him slip through my fingers. Stay over
until to-morrow at least, Merriwell. There is no reason why you should
tear away in such a hurry."
"You can stay, Merriwell," declared Scott. "We have settled the
railroad deal right here. Bragg and I will get things to moving in the
city. Leave that to us."
"I'm very willing to leave it to you," laughed Frank. "I'll stay one more
day, Mr. Hatch."
"If we can have another good morning to fish--ah, we won't do a
thing!" chuckled Hatch, ending with a cough.
"You ought to stay up here for the next month," declared Old Gripper.
"That cough of yours----"
"Oh, it's nothing! I've had it for a year, and it's not serious in any
way--only annoying."
At Saranac Lake Scott saw that the warrant for Del Norte was placed in
the proper hands and the machinery of the law set in motion.
When Frank and Warren Hatch returned to the cottage of the latter they
were surprised to find the place locked, the shutters closed, and an air
of desertion hanging over everything.
But it was not deserted.
While Hatch was fumbling on the door they heard a stir within and a
voice shouted:
"Be afther getting away from there, ye divvils, ur Oi'll blow yez full av
lead! It's arrmed Oi am to th' tathe!"
It was the voice of Pat O'Toole, an Irishman who had been one of Del
Norte's gang, but out of gratitude, had saved Frank's life and had been
actively concerned in the rescue of Old Gripper.

"O'Toole!" cried Frank; "why the dickens have you locked yourself up
this way?"
"Is it