They were astounded that he did not succumb at once. He heard Durant order them to make way for him to get in a blow. The boy knew that meant a crack on the head, and he succeeded in squirming aside.
There was a cry of pain, a curse, and the fingers about his throat relaxed their life-crushing hold.
Frank had avoided the blow, which had reached Montparnasse, the pickpocket.
And now, with a marvelous burst of strength, the boy cast them from him, rising with one clinging leech-like to his back.
“Mon Dieu!” panted Lenoir, in wonder and admiration. “Will nothing hold him!”
“Down with the dog!” grated Durant, madly. “We should be able to handle one boy!”
Frank was on his feet, but he found it no easy thing to shake the man who clung to his back. That man twisted a leg about the boy and tried to cast him down again. Another struck at Frank with a short club. The boy ducked down and once more a blow that was intended for him reached one of his foes.
With a snarling cry of pain, the man on his back fell away.
“Free for the moment!” came through the set teeth of the dauntless lad. “Now for a weapon! I will make red work here!”
It was for his very life, and there was no reason why he should hesitate. He found one of his revolvers, and tried to draw it; but the weapon caught in his pocket, and the effort was baffled.