But it was all Svenson needed. He was putting up the fight of his life. It was a beautiful demonstration of Scandinavian defense methods—one man unarmed against five with knives and clubs! His huge arms were working like flails. His powerful, supple body bent and heaved this way and that with powerful sweeps as he met the incessant attack. As fast as they came at him he sent them hurling off their balance.
He seemed to have a defense for every kind of attack. As Kendrick and McCorquodale first got sight of him three of the gang were rushing him simultaneously. He knicked the knife spinning from one man's hand with his heavy hob-nailed boot, grabbed the fellow by the waist and tossed him backward over his head, grabbed a second one and whirled him across his hip clean into the bushes; number three he laid out with a knee in the stomach and an uppercut that must have broken his jaw. All this like lightning. Svenson was indeed proving himself "gude smart mans," and that was, in very truth, "no yoke." Svenson was making good his promise "tew rase hell."
"Oh boy! Oh boy!" McCorquodale kept muttering to himself, pausing an instant in amazed admiration.
One glance assured Kendrick that the girl was nowhere in sight.
Evidently Cristy was carrying out instructions to the letter.
Stiles! Where was Stiles? Jimmy had "stuck," but he had gone under early. He lay prone in the foreground, his face ghastly with a smear of blood across the cheek. The fellow who had done it was still standing there, looking down at the inanimate form.
Distant shouts and the noise of reinforcements approaching through the timber announced the gravity of the situation. In another moment the whole crowd would be upon them.
"I eats this guy up, 'bo," whispered McCorquodale, pointing to Stiles' victor with his thumb, "'n'en I helps Swedie, see. You grabs Jimmy on your back an' beats it fer the canoes. The girl's away already an' Swedie an' me'll join you in a jiff an' the whole bunch of us vamooses, see. You grabs Stiles——"
Kendrick silenced him with a look and together they leaped into the fray. Phil knocked out the man standing beside Stiles with one blow on the head from the butt of his revolver. Shouting encouragement, McCorquodale went to the hard pressed Svenson's assistance—Iron Man McCorquodale, former near middleweight champion—and the light of battle was in his eye.
A man ran out of the bush, his yellow teeth bared in a snarl of rage. He wore a bandage across his forehead and came at Kendrick, levelling his rifle. Just as he pulled the trigger he tripped on a root and pitched full length into the open, the gun exploding harmlessly into the ground. Phil had him by the throat in an instant.
"Kom on! Kom on, by Yiminy!" bellowed Svenson exultantly as he shook his tawny head and blew the blood from his mouth. "Yust took a look at may! Ay ben give you nodder bellyful, y'batcha!" He ducked low to avoid the vicious sweep of a heavy stick, grabbed the assailant by the ankles and swung him around his head as if the man had weighed but twenty pounds. Only two were left facing him now and they fell back before this terrible antagonist, swearing impotently.