"You have struck me!" snarled the Sicilian in his own language. "Why?"
Then, uttering a peculiar cry, the man, with a movement of wonderful swiftness, drew a knife. In the dim light that blade flashed like subdued fire.
"One, two, three—out!" gritted Dave Darrin, leaping forward.
Striking up the fellow's arm, Dave caught at the knife-wrist. He twisted it savagely and the weapon clattered to the rough pavement.
Bump! Dave struck the fellow hard between the eyes, sending him to earth, where he lay still.
Dan, now keenly alert, discovered that the pretended shop-keeper had also drawn a knife.
"To quarters!" yelled Danny Grin.
"Back to back!" shouted Dave, placing his shoulders close to his chum's. "Dan, we must fight for our lives. The lives of all these cattle are not worth a scratch on our bodies! Down 'em!"
"We'll make ten-pins of 'em," hissed Dalzell.
And Monsieur Dalny? That honorable gentleman was now scuttling down the street to safety.