“It was not so many weeks ago that he attacked me at New Haven,” said Frank.  “He failed to do me harm.  When he found I was going abroad he declared he would go along on the same steamer.  At the time he must have thought I was going by one of the regular liners; but it is plain he followed me up pretty close and found I was going over this way.  As there is no second-class passage on this boat, he decided he could not travel in the same class with me without being discovered, and he resolved to go as one of the crew, if he could get on that way.  That’s how he happens to be here.”

“If what you say is true, it will go pretty hard with Mr. Harris.  We’ll have him ironed and—­”

A cry of rage broke from the lips of the accused.

“There is no proof!” he snarled.  “No one can swear I attacked this fellow and threw him into the stoke-hole!”

“Oh, yes!” said the stoker who had come up from below.  “I saw the whole business.  By the light from the furnaces, I plainly saw the man who did it, and you are the man!”

“That settles it!” declared the engineer.  “You’ll make the rest of the voyage in irons, Mr. Harris!”

“Then I’ll give you something to iron me for!” shouted the furious young villain.

He leaped on Frank Merriwell with the fierceness of a wounded tiger.

Frank was not expecting the assault, and, for the moment, he was taken off his guard.

They were close to the moving machinery.  Within four feet of them a huge plunging rod was playing up and down, moved by a steel bar that weighed many tons.  Harris attempted to fling Frank beneath this bar, where he would be struck and crushed.

The villain nearly succeeded, so swift and savage was his attack.

Frank realized that the purpose of the wretch was to fling him into the machinery, and he braced himself to resist as quickly as possible.

Shouts of consternation broke from the engineer and his assistant.  They sprang forward to seize Harris and help Frank.

But, before they could interfere, Frank broke the hold of his enemy, forced him back and struck him a terrible blow between the eyes felling him instantly.

Merriwell stood over Harris, his hands clenched his eyes gleaming.

“Get up!” he cried.  “Get up you dog!  I can’t strike you when you are down, and I’d give a hundred dollars to hit you just once more!”

But Harris did not get up.  He realized that his second attempt had failed, and he stood in awe of Frank’s terrible fists.  He looked up at those gleaming eyes, and turned away quickly, feeling a sudden great fear.

Did Frank Merriwell bear a charmed life?

Surely it seemed that way to Harris just then.  For the first time, perhaps, the young rascal began to believe that it was not possible to harm the lad he hated with all the intensity of his nature.

The engineer and his assistants grabbed Harris and held him, the former swearing savagely.  They dragged the fellow to his feet, but warned him to stand still.