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 sturdy 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 nobly, 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.
"I see!" he murmured gravely to himself.
In the bottom of the bag was about thirty pounds of brass fittings. Ralph had seen bin after bin of their counterparts in the supply sheds near the roundhouse, and never in any quantity anywhere else.
These, like those, were stamped, and bore the impress that they were railroad property.
"You can come with me, Van," said Ralph, and turned back in the direction of the roundhouse.