It was a lusty blow, backed by venom and muscle.
Private Hal Overton simply crumpled up and fell to the floor, motionless.
"You sneaking dogs!" rang Private Hyman's scornful voice from the doorway. "Get your hands up now, all of you, or there'll be some real war!"
Backing Hyman, Noll Terry darted into the room.
Hal's first shot had not been heard, but Hyman's quick ear had heard the second.
Scenting trouble, in an instant Hyman had summoned Private Terry, who just then appeared on the street, and both had dashed into this place.
"Get your hands up, all of you, before I shoot fast and hard to square matters for the kid!" Hyman now insisted savagely.
Noll got a glimpse of Hal lying on the floor, and added savagely:
"Oh, I'm just itching for an excuse to shoot!"
There could be no doubt of the temper of these newcomers. Danger partially sobered these ugly ones. Up went their hands without further delay.