Crash! There was the sound of splintering glass as the knife shot over the head of the stooping boy, who had ducked lower, and fine particles of glass flew on top of the heads of all four of them.
Frank’s head came up instantly and he looked to see what would happen next. He realized that if they got into a fight the command of the situation would be in their hands.
Frank saw that Blinky, the undersized one, having hurled the knife without success, had grasped a chair in his hands and was just swinging it about his head, ready to brain Snadder if he approached.
“Quick, Lanky!” whispered Frank, getting his head down from the window. “You and Paul go to the front door, and Buster, you go to the rear door and see if you can get inside. When I think you’re there, or when I see the front door open, I’ll stick a rifle through this window. Get around there right away and we’ll get these fellows.”
The three boys ran quickly to do their part of the work.
In the meanwhile Frank looked again and saw Snadder hesitate before attempting to close in on his muscular adversary.
“Come on, Blinky, I ain’t mad any more. What’s the use of us fighting?” he said.
“Well, they ain’t no use of fighting,” answered the fat one. “But I’m mad yet, and you ain’t telling the truth. If you come near me I’ll brain you with this chair.”
Much of the drunkenness had disappeared in this sharp interchange, and Blinky’s words were not spoken as thickly as several minutes before.
“Come on, Blinky, can’t you believe me? We’ve been pals a long time and they ain’t no use fighting,” argued Snadder.