Part 24 (1/2)

”Foul, eh!” scowled the big fellow, hunching towards Ralph.

The young railroader with a contemptuous smile extended both free palms.

He shut them quickly together again, however, for he saw that Slump's crowd did not know the meaning of either honor or fairness.

So determined and ready did he look that the big fellow hesitated. Ralph heard him give some directions to his companions, and the crowd moved forward in unison.

”A rush, eh?” he said. ”You're a fine bunch! but--come on.”

Ralph's spirit was now fully aroused. He had no ambition to s.h.i.+ne as a pugilist, but he would always fight for his rights.

The big fellow dashed at him, calling to his companions. Ralph shot out his right fist as quick as lightning. The blow went home, and the big bully blinked, spluttered, and reeled aside with his nose flattened.

Two of his companions sprang at Ralph, one on each side. Ralph caught one by the throat, the other by the waistband. They were hitting away at him, but he knew how to dodge. To and fro they wrestled, Ralph knocking them together whenever he could, never letting go, and using them as a s.h.i.+eld against the big fellow, who, as mad as a hornet and with a reckless look in his eye, had resumed the attack.

Suddenly the latter managed to dodge behind Ralph, put out his foot, tripped him, and the trio fell to the ground.

Ralph held on to his first a.s.sailants, struggling to a sitting position.

At that moment the big bully ran upon him. The cowardly brute raised his foot to kick Ralph. The latter saw he was at the rascal's mercy. He let go the two squirming at his side, shot out a hand, and catching the uplifted foot brought its owner pell-mell down upon him.

The bully struck his head in falling, and was momentarily dizzied. Ralph flopped clear over, sat upon him, and was kept busy warding off the blows of the two fellows he had released.

There were six others in the gang. These now made an onrush. Ralph tried to calculate his chances and map out the best course to pursue.

Just then a new element was injected into the scene.

Around the corner of the pile of ties came a new figure with cyclonic precipitancy.

It was Van, the guest of the cottage. He must have witnessed the scene from a distance. He swung to a halt, his face imperturbable as ever, but his eyes covering every object in the ensemble.

”Fight,” he said simply, and swinging both arms like battering arms sailed into the nearest adversary.

”Don't strike him!” called out Ralph instantly--”he's wrong in his head!”

”We'll right it for him!” announced one of the crowd.

The speaker swung a bag as he spoke. It seemed to contain something bulky, for as it just missed Van's head and bounded on the shoulders of one of the user's own friends, the latter went down like a lump of lead.

Van never stopped. In a kind of windmill progress he struck out, sideways, in all directions. In two minutes' time he had cleared the field, every combatant was in flight, and leaning over and seizing the big bully squirming under Ralph, he weighted him on a dead balance for a second, and then sent him sliding ten feet along the ground after his beaten fellows.

Ralph released the other two and let them run for safety, actually afraid that his friend Van would do them some serious injury with that phenomenal ox-like strength stored up in his st.u.r.dy arms.

But Van was as cool as an iceberg. He was not even out of breath.

”More,” he said

”No, no, Van!” demurred Ralph. ”You've done n.o.bly, old fellow. Let them go, they've had their medicine. Carry this for me,” and Ralph thrust his dinner pail into Van's hand, more to divert his attention than anything else. ”They've left something behind, it seems.”

Ralph picked up the bag he had seen used as a missile. Its weight aroused his curiosity, he peered into the bag.