ove; but now, knowing the Mexican's passion for her,
the motive of her capture was clear.

The thought of Inza in the hands of that villain fired Frank's blood.

"If Del Norte lives, O'Toole," said Merry, "I swear to you now that you
shall be avenged, for never will I know a moment of rest until Inza is
rescued and he is dead beyond the shadow of a doubt."

A gurgling groan came from the Irishman. Striking another match, Frank
saw the man was dead.

CHAPTER IX.

THE KNIFE DUEL.

The moon came up in due time and flooded the wooded mountain wilds with
its mellow light.

With the caution of a creeping panther Frank Merriwell had climbed the
mountain side. He had waited patiently for the moon to rise, believing
it would aid him on that unfamiliar ground. He was now in the vicinity
of the top of the precipice over which the Irishman had plunged to his
death.

Suddenly a sound reached his ears, causing him to crouch on the alert,
with his rifle ready for use.

He quickly decided that some one was approaching the precipice, and in
this he made no mistake. Twice he caught a glimpse of the man before the
latter appeared in the full moonlight. When this man did appear, Frank's
heart gave a mighty bound of exultation, and the butt of the rifle
leaped to his shoulder.

"Halt, Del Norte!" he commanded, in a low, distinct voice. "Stand in
your tracks! If you try to run I'll shoot you dead!"

Del Norte it was, and he stopped like a man turned to stone.

"Up with your hands!" ordered Merriwell. "Your heart is covered by my
rifle!"

For a single instant it seemed that the villain would make an effort to
reach cover. Had he attempted it Frank would have shot him down. This
Merry did not wish to do, as he intended forcing the scoundrel to give
Inza up.

The Mexican's courage to attempt escape by a plunge into the shadows
failed him, and reluctantly he lifted his empty hands, snarling an oath.

"Keep them up!" ordered Merry, as he slowly advanced.

But when he was fairly in the moonlight another voice issuing from the
shadows near at hand brought him to a halt.

"Drop um gun! Ben him ready to shoot!"

It was the redskin sentinel.

Frank glanced round without turning his head, but he could see nothing
of Red Ben.

"Shoot, Ben--shoot him down!" panted Del Norte.

"Ben got him foul," was the assurance. "Him shoot you, Ben shoot him."

"Shoot first, you fool!" snarled the Mexican.

"No shoot 'less have to