The huge black figure might have been a log for all the answer that came forth.

“All right, then; it’s your own fault,” Harry Hazelton continued calmly.  “As you won’t speak I’m going to crack the nut for myself.  Your head will be the nut, and this rock I have in my hand shall be the hammer.  I’m going to slam this rock on your head with all the force I’ve got, and I’m a good, straight thrower.”

Yet, though Hazelton spoke with such confidence, he was far from meaning all he said.  In the first place, he had no legal right, under the circumstances, to go as close to murder as it might be for him to throw the rock at the rascal’s head.  Moreover, Harry would hardly have exercised such a legal right, had he possessed it, without the strongest provocation.

From the black prowler came a sudden, fierce snort.  It sounded altogether like defiance.

“Ho—–­ho!  You’re finding your voice, are you, my man?” Hazelton jeered.  “Then talk up in time to save yourself!”

Instead the huge black man began to writhe forward.

“Stop that!” ordered Harry dangerously.  He did not retreat from the writhing human thing, but he took better aim, noting that the black man was hatless and that his head offered a fair mark.  “You’re going to get hurt in just about a second more,” he added.

Uttering another snort the bulky black sprang to his feet with surprising agility in one of his great size.

Harry now let his right hand fall back quickly.  He was poising for the throw in earnest, for there could no longer be any doubt that the stranger was planning a deadly assault.

“Take it, then, since you want it!” snapped out Harry Hazelton.  The fragment of rock left his hand, propelled with force and directed with accurate aim at the negro’s face.

But the crafty black dodged just in time, at the same instant throwing up his hands.

Harry gasped as he saw his unknown assailant deftly catch the rock fragment as though it had been a base ball.

“Ha, ha!  Ho, ho!” jeered the black, in a hoarse, rumbling voice.

He threw back his hand, gathering impetus for the cast.  Hazelton could do nothing but throw himself on the defensive, planning to duplicate the black man’s catch.

Then the stone came—–­but it did not go high, instead, by a jerk of his wrist, the negro hurled it at Harry’s right foot.

That granite-like fragment struck Hazelton’s foot with full force.

“You—–­you scoundrel!” groaned Harry, in an all but admiring gasp.

Like a flash he bent over, snatching up the fragment for his own use.

“Now, I’ll slam you into the middle of the Gulf of Mexico!” cried the young engineer, vengefully, as he tried to straighten up.

A groan escaped him.  His injured foot was paining him more than he had expected.

“Ha, ha!  Ho, ho!” harshly jeered this mysterious, evil creature.  The black man had halted as Harry prepared to throw, but he showed no sign of hesitation.  Though he stood still, he thrust his repulsive, leering face forward, as though to offer that face as the best mark.