“Throw up your hands, youngster, or yer life ain’t worth a dead rabbit’s hide!”
Though taken completely by surprise, Little Hickory realized that he was at the mercy of these bold villains, and accordingly he did as he was bid, at the same time allowing his bicycle to rest against his body.
“Good!” exclaimed the spokesman of the twain, “ye act like a sensible chap. It pays to know when ye’re knocked under. See what he carries in his pocket, Jed.”
The waylayer addressed lowered his weapon and stepped forward to carry out the order of his companion, as he did so for a moment coming between his accomplice and the victim.
It was Little Hickory’s golden opportunity.
Quick as a flash he dealt the ruffians each a tremendous blow with his fists, sending them staggering back into the bushes, with exclamations of terror.
He had barely accomplished this feat and was about to follow up his advantage by seizing their weapons and thus turning the tables upon them, when a pistol shot came from the growth and a bullet whistled so close to his head that it cut away a lock of hair!
An oath followed the report of the weapon, when a hoarse voice cried out:
“Quick, lads! nab the fool chap afore he gets away!”
A crash in the bushes succeeded, another shot, and Little Hickory knew he was in the midst of enemies thirsting for his blood.