Dick Merriwell Abroad: or, The Ban of the Terrible Ten

“I don’t know that we can blame him much,” said Dick, seeking an excuse. “He’s very nervous, and the spectacle of Reggio and his antagonist fighting like tigers for their lives must have caused him to lose his head.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” said Brad hastily – “he’s all right when he doesn’t tell people how brave he is.”

In the meantime Reggio was reassuring his sister, who had seemed quite horrified by the spectacle of her brother engaged in the deadly struggle with Nicola Mullura. He placed his arm about her supportingly, speaking soft words into her ear. She was white, and the candle in her hand trembled violently.

“What can we do, Reggio?” questioned Dick, in very poor Italian. “The professor is gone, and the gondola with him.”

“Come in da house,” invited the gondolier, abandoning his own tongue for the time being. “Spik da English-a to me-a. I understand-a heem vera much-a well.”

“But he can’t understand your talk, pard,” chuckled Buckhart. “That’s a horse on you.”

“I suppose we had better accept his invitation. We can’t stay out here.”

“Sure – we’ll accept it,” nodded the Texan.

So they followed Reggio and his sister into the house, the door being closed behind them. They mounted some stairs, threaded a passage of several angles, and came to a lighted room.

“Teresa,” said Reggio, “I introduce-a you my ’Merican friends. They very fine-a gentleman.”

“Wow!” muttered Brad. “Our gondolier calls us his friends, pard!”

Reggio seemed to catch the meaning of Buckhart’s low-spoken words, which were not intended for his ears, for he straightened up with an air of pride, quickly saying:

“You hear me tell-a Nicola Mullura my ancestor they belong-a to da Castellani. Mebbe you no understand-a me? I spik to him in da Italian. I poor gondolier now. My family good one. Da blood-a of da gentleman run here in me-a. I no tell-a it ev’rybody. What da use? I tell-a you now. Da Mullura blood vera bad – vera bad. Da Mullura belong-a to da Nicolletti – common class-a. My sist’ she fine-a lady.”

This was said with considerable effort, and suddenly Dick began to understand that this Venetian gondolier really believed himself and his sister of greater distinction than most of the foreigners he rowed about the city in his boat. Indeed, there was something that carried the impression that Reggio really believed he was unbending and bestowing on them a favor by permitting them to meet his sister.

“No offense, Reg, old man,” said Brad, in his frank, Western way. “I can tell that your sister is an aristocrat by looking at her. You don’t have to explain that any to me. She is all right, and so are you. I certain admire the way you polished off old Mul, out on the front steps. All the same, I didn’t think you had cooked his hash when you sheathed your knife in his dirty hide, and it was a surprise for the Unbranded Maverick of the Rio Pecos when he failed to rise to the surface after going in for that little swim.”

“His shoulder,” said Reggio; “I strike-a him in da shoulder. He no swim-a.”

“Well, it was a right fine job, Reg.”

The gondolier now questioned his sister in Italian, and she told him how she had endured terror while Mullura was outside the door, on which he knocked and knocked, demanding admittance. At first, on hearing his rapping, she took a candle and crept down to the door, asking who was there. He answered, saying it was a friend from her brother; but she recognized his voice, and fled back to her room, where she remained, praying that the door would not yield until her brother returned. After a time he ceased to knock, and she hoped he had departed. Still, knowing how bitterly he hated Reggio, she feared he was waiting to attack him at the door, and therefore she had given the danger signal by flashing the light when she heard her brother’s whistle.

Reggio explained how Mullura had attempted to force his attentions upon Teresa. He was a reckless character in Venice at the time, with a very black reputation, and the girl had shrunk from him with the greatest aversion.

On discovering that Teresa feared him, the fellow became more and more persistent in his annoying attentions. At last he insulted her, and then, burning with fury, Reggio sought the scoundrel, intending to kill him. They fought, but were separated before either had been harmed.

Then and there Mullura swore to obtain possession of Teresa and to kill Reggio if he lifted a hand to prevent it.

But directly after that the authorities obtained conclusive evidence that Mullura had been concerned in a number of crimes, the most dastardly being a cold-blooded murder. The fellow was forced to flee from Venice, much to the relief of both Reggio and Teresa. He emigrated to America, but sent back word that some day he would return and secure Teresa, in spite of herself and her brother.

All this was explained in a broken manner to the boys, upon which Brad cried:

“Good riddance to old Nic! You won’t have to worry about him any more, Reg. Both you and your sister are safe.”

“No, no!” muttered the man, a dark shadow coming to his face. “Nicola Mullura gone-a, but I have-a da iron ring-a.”

At this Teresa, who understood a little English, gave a cry and caught her brother by the arm. In Italian she plied him with questions. At first he tried to put her off, but his manner added to her alarm, and she insisted that he should tell her the truth.

“I have-a to tell-a her!” he murmured sadly. “Mebbe bet’ tell-a her now. She find-a out prit soon, best I can-a do.”

Then he took her in his arms, looking sadly and lovingly down into her upturned face.

“Little sister,” he said in soft Italian, “my heart is sore, for it is true that the Ten have placed the death seal upon me.”

She cried out in horror, clutching him and clinging to him.

“No, no, no! Oh, Reggio, my brother, my dear, good brother, why should they do it? It cannot be true!”

“You know, little sister, that a Tortora never stained his hand with crime. The Ten live and grow fat on the proceeds of crime. Every man who fails to contribute his share of loot at their command is sure in the end to get the iron ring. When that happens, unless he is able to flee from Venice at once, he is doomed to die. I have no money. I cannot flee. The ring was tossed at my feet. Within twenty-four hours from the time it fell there I shall be dead. Poor, little Teresa! What will become of you?”

She put her slender arms round him and clung to him with fierce affection, as if she would in some manner protect him from the black peril that threatened. Again and again she cried that it could not be, this terrible thing. She drew him down, wound her arms about his neck and kissed him.

“Brad,” said Dick, in a husky voice, “we must save Tortora somehow.”

“Right you are, partner!” agreed the Texan heartily. “I was thinking of that some before getting a look at his sister; and I am thinking it a heap sight more since. However are we going to do it?”

“We must get him out of Venice before the blow is struck by the Terrible Ten.”

“Or take to the warpath and chaw up the Terrible Ten. That would suit me a heap better.”

“That’s out of the question. The only way is to smuggle Reggio out of Venice. I have a way. The fishing boats! They start out for the fishing grounds of the open sea before daybreak. We must find a man who, for a sufficient bribe, will hide Reggio aboard his boat, take him out of the city, and keep him until we can get along with a little steamer. It will cost a lot of money, but what is money when a human life is in the balance!”

Reggio had been listening to Dick’s words. He now put his sister gently aside, turning to the boy, placed his hands on Merriwell’s shoulders, and spoke with deep feeling:

“A thousand times I thank-a you, my frien’! You good-a, kind-a! No use to try. No do-a it.”

“Why not?”

The gondolier explained that in all Venice there was not one fisherman who would dare smuggle him away on learning that he had been condemned by the Ten, and had been given the iron ring. The man who did it would be assassinated in less than a day and a night after his return to the city.

“But why tell him that you have received the ring?” asked Dick.

For a moment Reggio’s face brightened, and then the shadow returned and settled upon it.

“Would you hav-a me getta poor feesh’man killed?” he asked. “That what come-a to him. You gent’man-a. You save-a me from da Ten, but you gitta da in’cent man-a kill.”

“Well, that sure takes the prize!” muttered Brad. “I’ll never say again that a dago has no sense of real honor and justice. How many men would think of that? What would they care? To escape they would be willing to sacrifice a dozen innocent men. Pard, it sure is a whole lot amazing!”

Dick agreed that it was. Then he talked earnestly with Reggio, seeking to discover or invent some plan by which the escape could be contrived.

The gondolier insisted that all efforts were useless. Never had any man placed beneath the ban of the Ten escaped. He seemed to think the power of the Ten was almost infinite. In the old days the Council of Ten had possessed unlimited power, but even the original council, it seemed, had not been more dreaded than were the Ten of modern times.

At last Reggio said:

“You want-a do somet’ing for me-a? Good! You have-a da mon’. You honorable gent’man-a. See my little sister? I leave-a her all ’lone in da worl’. You take-a her to ’Merica? Over dere, in da cit’ of New York-a live one Antonio Melino. He know-a me – know-a my father – know-a my sister. You take-a her to him; he take-a care of her. What you say to dat?”

“It shall be done!” cried Dick.

Then, of a sudden, came a loud hammering on the door at the foot of the stairs, heavy blows that resounded crashingly through that part of the building.

“They have come!” said Reggio, in Italian.

CHAPTER XIX. – THE BURSTING OF THE DOOR

Plainly the door was being attacked by heavy instruments for the purpose of battering it down. Again Teresa clutched her brother and clung to him.

“Little sister, little sister,” he said, “if you cling to me so, how shall I defend myself?”

“I cannot lose you, Reggio!” she sobbed. “It is wicked! They shall not kill you!”

He implored her to release him.

“Let me go down and meet them,” he said. “If they come here to do the deed, then, in order to leave no living witnesses, they may destroy you and these good American friends who have promised to help you reach Antonio Melino.”

“Do you think the assassins have come to do the work?” asked Dick, his black eyes gleaming.

“I think so.”

“Then give us weapons! Let’s stand together! We can thin out this dastardly gang somewhat before they can do the job!”

“That’s the talk, pard!” shouted Buckhart. “Whoop! If we were supplied with shooting irons, we’d sure come pretty near wiping the old Ten off the map to-night. Give us something – anything! We’ll make a hole in the bunch! You hear me warble?”

“It is madness!” exclaimed the gondolier, as the blows continued to resound. “It means the death of all! Flee with Teresa! For her sake – ”

Brad had been looking around. The room was rather poorly furnished. At one side sat a rude wooden table. This the Texan seized, turning it bottom up in a twinkling. Planting his foot upon it, the Texan grasped a leg of the table and gave it a mighty wrench, literally twisting it off. This leg he flourished over his head.

“Here’s my war club, pard!” he shouted. “I opine I can crack a head with that.”

Dick followed Brad’s example, and in a moment or two he had torn off another leg of the table.

Reggio looked on in wonderment. He could not understand why these American boys should sacrifice their lives for him. Never before in all his life had he seen boys like these.

Teresa clasped her hands and gazed at them also, her eyes kindling with unspeakable admiration.

Crash! crash! crash! sounded the heavy blows.

The door was falling.

Suddenly Reggio awoke. His bloodstained knife appeared once more in his hand, and he flourished it above his head.

“Let them come, then!” he cried. “If we all die, we’ll do what we can to destroy the Ten who have a hundred poor Venetians beneath their feet!”

“That’s the talk!” said Dick, whose face was flushed and whose eyes gleamed, “To the stairs, Reggio! Let Teresa hold the light, that we may see. There will be some broken heads before they do the job they have blocked out.”

“Talk about Texas!” burst from Brad. “Why, Texas is a Sunday-school picnic all the time compared with Venice! The wild and woolly West won’t seem half so wild and woolly to me if I ever get back to it.”

Teresa was brave. She caught up the candle, and said she was ready. As they hurried from the room to the stairs, the door fell with a sound of splintered wood.

“Just in time!” exclaimed Dick, hearing many voices and the sound of feet at the foot of the stairs.

They reached the head of the flight. Teresa was close at hand, and she held the candle as high as she could reach, in order that its light might shine down those stairs.

At the bottom of the flight were a number of men – not less than six or seven. They paused as the light revealed them.

Reggio Tortora gave a shout of astonishment.

“They are not the Ten!” he declared. “The Ten are always in cloaks and hoods.”

“Then who are they?” questioned Dick.

“Bravos, desperadoes of the city – men who rob and murder! They have been sent by the Ten, for – ”

He stopped, catching his breath. Among those men, and at the head of them, he saw a man whose clothing still hung dripping damp upon his limbs. This man’s jacket was gone, and about his shoulder were many bandages. His arm was bound in a bent position to his side.

“Mullura!” gasped Reggie. “He still lives!”

“You’re right!” savagely retorted the leader of the bravos. “I still live, and I’ll yet have Teresa for my own! You shall die the death of a dog!”

“This is a whole lot interesting!” observed Brad Buckhart.

At this point Teresa produced a slender dagger, which she held aloft, crying down the stairs:

“Ere you put your hands on me, Nicola Mullura, I’ll plunge this into my heart! It is my dead body you may obtain – no more!”

For a moment Mullura seemed taken aback. Then he forced a laugh, sneering:

“Very finely spoken, but your courage will not take you that far, beautiful Teresa. You’ll not be so foolish. I’ll take you with me to America, where I am a great man, and you shall be my wife. If your brother agrees to this, I will not lift my hand against him, even though he so nearly destroyed me to-night. Come, my Reggio, what say you?”

“Teresa, it is for you to answer,” said the gondolier.

“Then I will answer!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes flashing fire. “Not if he were king of all America would I consent!”

“You have had your answer, Nicola Mullura!” cried Reggio, in satisfaction.

“And it seemed good and hot,” chuckled Buckhart.

“Have it as you like!” snarled Mullura. “These men will soon overpower you. Your resistance will simply make them all the more furious.”

“Let them come on,” said Tortora; “but see that you come at their front. My knife found your shoulder a while ago. Next time, if the saints are with me, it shall find your black heart!”

“They are going to rush in a moment, Brad!” breathed Dick. “They are getting ready.”

“I’m ready, too,” declared the undaunted Texan. “I’ll guarantee that I’ll crack one head, at least, with this table leg!”

Dick was right. Mullura spoke to his companions in low tones. They gathered themselves, and with a yell, they came charging up the stairs.

“Whoop!” roared Buckhart. “Wake up snakes and hump yourselves! Now there will be doings!” The fighting Texan seemed in his element. His face glowed with a sort of fine frenzy.

Dick Merriwell’s eyes shone like stars. He laughed as he saw the bravos coming. It might be a fight to the death, but, with his blood bounding in his veins, he felt no thrill of dread. He was defending the innocent; his cause was just, and he gloried in the encounter.

The desperadoes flourished their gleaming knives, seeming to hope to intimidate the defenders in that manner. In truth, they were a savage-appearing set.

Reggio, too, was undaunted. The dauntless bravery of the boys was infectious.

There was little time to wait. Seeming to look at one man, Dick swung his club and smote another wretch over the head.

The fellow went whirling end over end down the stairs.

Buckhart dropped another in his tracks.

Reggio tried to get at Nicola Mullura.

“Come within reach of my arm, you dog!” he entreated. “America will lose one great man, who will return no more.”

But it was another of the ruffians who tried to get under the guard of the gondolier and drive his knife home.

Reggio was too quick for the man. He struck and thrust his own blade through the fellow’s forearm.

With a shriek, the wretch dropped his own blade, clutched his wounded arm, which quickly began to drip blood, and fell back against the man behind him.

“Oh! if you were looking for two kids who couldn’t fight any, you’re beginning to understand your mistake,” shouted Buckhart.

Mullura urged them on. Still he continued to take pains to keep beyond the stroke of Reggio. The gondolier taunted him with cowardice, and begged him to come nearer. In his desire to get at his enemy once more, he forgot the peril of the others.

Dick saw a bravo strike at Reggio, but Merriwell struck at the same time. His club fell across the arm of the ruffian, which was broken.

In that moment, however, Dick exposed himself, and one of the ruffians, who had been struck down on the stairs, crept up and clasped him about the knees.

The boy was pulled off his feet. He seized his assailant as he fell, and together they rolled down the stairs. Of course Merriwell’s club was lost, and he was compelled to fight the bravo hand to hand.

The man tried to get his fingers on Dick’s throat. Now, although a boy, young Merriwell was a trained athlete, and in the finest condition possible. If that ruffian fancied he was dealing with an ordinary boy who could be handled easily, he met the surprise of his life.

For a time they twisted and turned there in the gloom at the foot of the stairs. The boy baffled the ruffian in his efforts, all the while seeking to secure the advantage himself.

While this was taking place Dick heard a cry of distress from Teresa, and at the same moment the candle and candlestick fell on the stairs, the light being extinguished.

At this juncture Merriwell obtained a hold on the ruffian’s arm, giving it a twisting wrench that robbed the fellow of strength and nearly rendered him unconscious. In a twinkling the boy was the master.

Just then some one came hastening down the stairs and nearly fell over them. This person swore as he gathered himself up and rushed out on the steps.

Something led Dick to follow.

The darkness between the buildings was not as deep as that within, and he saw a man placing a huge bundle in a gondola that floated at the foot of the steps.

Something told Dick this bundle was Teresa. Unhesitatingly he leaped forward.

The man turned in time to meet the attack of the courageous lad. Just as Dick would have grappled with the fellow, he slipped. Before he could recover, he received a stunning blow that hurled him flat and helpless, although he was still conscious. He lay quite still, unable to lift a hand.

The man produced a knife, seemingly determined to finish the boy without delay. Although he realized his peril, young Merriwell could not lift a finger or make a move to save himself. As the desperado stepped toward him, the lad gave himself up as done for.

At that moment, unseen by the murderous thug, another dark form issued from the doorway onto the steps.

The man with the knife bent over Dick, lifting the weapon. A pantherish figure shot forward, and a club fell with crushing force on the head of the wretch, who was stretched prone and senseless beside his intended victim.

“This yere old table leg has sure done its duty tonight,” said a voice that thrilled Merriwell.

With a supreme effort Dick softly called:

“Brad!”

“It is you, pard!” exclaimed the Texan, in delight. “I certain was seeking for you some! What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“Give me a hand,” urged Dick. “I was stunned. You saved my life, Buckhart. That fellow would have finished me only for you and your table leg.”

In a moment Buckhart had Dick on his feet, supporting him with a strong arm.

“You’re not cut up, are you, partner?” anxiously inquired the loyal fellow. “I saw you go bumping down the stairs with one of the bunch, and I was a heap concerned for you. First opportunity I found I hiked to look for you. I thought mebbe that galoot with the sticker might be after you, and that’s why I lost no time in cracking him on the kabeza.”

“I don’t think I’ve been cut. Couldn’t tell just what did happen in the fighting, but I believe I’ll be all right in a few moments.”

“Then it’s up to us to do something for Teresa. I sure would like to know what has become of her. The gang up there are hunting high and low for her.”

“Why, one of them brought her down the stairs and placed her in this gondola. I’m sure of it.”

“Great horn spoon! Then it’s us to the gondola and away from here!”

“But Reggio?”

“We can’t do anything for him.”

“Why not?”

“They’ve finished him.”

“Killed him? Do you mean that?”

“That’s whatever. Teresa dropped the candle when she saw him knifed. Didn’t you hear her scream?”

“You’re sure – you’re sure Reggio was killed?”

“Dead sure, pard.”

“Then let’s get away in the gondola. If I was not mistaken in thinking this wretch placed Teresa in it, we can save her, at least.”

Dick was not mistaken, as they found when they sprang into the boat. Teresa lay unconscious amid the cushions.

By this time Merriwell had recovered his strength in a measure, and he started to cast off the line that held the boat beside the steps.

“The galoots are coming, pard!” hissed Brad, as he seized the oar.

The bravos were coming. Just as Dick freed the line from the iron ring, several of them hastened out onto the steps.

The Texan gave a great thrust with the oar, pushing the gondola away.

The voice of Nicola Mullura shouted to them, commanding them to stop.

“We’re in a hurry,” retorted Dick. “Our time is very valuable. We can’t stop just now.”

“Not even a little minute,” said Brad, as he continued to use the oar with as much skill as he could command.

“Look out, Brad!” shouted Dick, warningly, at the same time dropping quickly.

He had seen Mullura making a sweeping movement with his right arm.

Dick dropped barely in time, for through the air whizzed a knife, cast with great precision, and with such force that it clanged against the wall of the opposite house, dropping back with a splash into the water.

“A miss is as good as a mile,” said Merriwell. “But look out for yourself, Brad. Another may follow.”

Another of the desperadoes did cast a knife at them, but his aim was poor, and soon the gondola shot out from the narrow passage onto the bosom of a broader canal.

They came near colliding with another boat that was moving swiftly and silently along.

“Look out, there!” cried Brad. “Clear the trail for us, or you may get yourself run down a whole lot.”

Behind the curtains of the other gondola there was a stir. The curtains parted and a familiar face peered forth in the moonlight.

“Hi, there – hey!” cried the excited voice of Professor Gunn. “Stop! stop! I have found you!”

“Professor!” exclaimed Dick. “Where have you been?”

“Seeking assistance. Looking for officers. Can’t find them. Had no end of trouble. Bless my stars! I was afraid I’d never see you boys alive again. Goodness knows I’m thankful to behold you!”

“But what made you leave us?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t intend to do it. I was excited. I confess I was excited. Who wouldn’t be under such circumstances? Two men – two mad men were trying to cut each other into shreds right before my eyes. I slipped the line from the ring. Didn’t know what I was doing. The tide carried the boat away. I clutched the oar and tried to row back. Made a mess of it, and lost the oar. In the midst of my excitement, after the tide had carried me out of that canal, a human head appeared beside the boat. Yes, sir – exactly so. A man was in the water. He was hurt, too. Swam with one arm. Other arm didn’t seem to have much strength. He appealed to me for assistance. Of course I rendered assistance.”