I'm ready. Go on!"
A dark form was standing beside the cuddy. But for his certainty that
the men were deaf, or nearly so, Merriwell would not have indulged in
even this whispered conversation. He crept now toward this man, with
Hodge crawling at his heels, and when near enough, leaped on the man
with a sudden and disconcerting pounce.
Though the surprise must have been great, the man, who was large and
strong, wheeled round to resist the attack, and the large dog, which had
before been seen, sprang up from the deck and flew at Merriwell's
throat. The ready club in the hands of Bart Hodge tumbled the dog over
with a howl, and Merry and the big fisherman began to struggle in the
growing darkness for the mastery.
To and fro on the deck they reeled. The dog leaped up again and tried to
come to the assistance of its master, but turned upon Hodge when he
struck at it again with the maul. Its eyes seemed balls of green fire in
the gloom, and the hoarse growl that came from deep down in its throat
was anything but pleasant to hear.
But Bart Hodge met its onset with a stout heart, raining his blows with
such swiftness and precision that it dropped to the deck. Then he
hurried to the assistance of Merriwell. But Frank was already the
victor. Though the man had the strength of an ox, he had not Merriwell's
science and skill in fighting, and Frank had not only knocked the breath
out of him, but had hurled him to the deck.
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