At last, as Cragthorpe retreated past him, almost stepping on the young assistant engineer's face, Jeff rallied his senses enough to recall what had happened.
For a few moments Tom Halstead cleverly fought his opponent forward, putting up effective parries and raining in his blows so fast that Cragthorpe had all he could do to save himself from being floored.
In those few moments Jeff managed to crawl past both, and down toward the engine room door.
The tide of battle turned, now, briefly at least. Cragthorpe, stung to greater fury by a glancing blow on the end of his nose, hurled himself into the fray with so much added energy that Halstead was compelled to give ground.
"Jeff, can you understand me!" panted Tom, as he retreated, an inch at a time, keeping his fists moving fast.
"Y-yes," stammered the Florida boy, still a bit dazed.
"Then pass the word for help, like a flash!"
But Jeff lingered by the doorway, holding to the frame for support. Only one thing was plain in the Florida boy's mind—that running away wasn't in his line.
"A-a-h!" vented Cragthorpe, gleefully. He had suddenly closed in quickly on Halstead, aiming a blow that it seemed must send the young captain to the floor senseless.
And so it would have done—only Tom wasn't there. He ducked low, passing under Cragthorpe's extended arm, and came up behind him, forcing the stranger to wheel about.