“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.