“Da warden! Gatheem! Queek! Queek!—”
Things began to happen in earnest after that. Indeed, events transpired so swiftly during the next five minutes that Jack could hardly believe that so much could happen in so short a time. There was the rush of feet and the muttering of the Frenchmen as they closed with the men in the doorway. Then came another rush from the rear as the rest of the posse came up. Jack was quite undetermined what to do. He could hear the voices of his friends and he could hear the curses of the Frenchmen, but for the life of him he could not tell which was which, and indeed for a moment he was helplessly jostled one way and the other by the swaying fighters, and afraid to wield his club for fear of hitting some one of his own party.
But presently a big fist shot out of the darkness and landed a stinging blow on his cheek. That settled the lad’s indecision. The club came down with a whack on the spot where the head behind that hand should have been. And it must have found its mark, for it landed solidly and was immediately followed by an explosion of French oaths.
Again Jack struck and again the club landed. But this time it was seized and wrenched from his hand. The lad realized on the instant that he would feel the club next unless he could lay hand upon the man who had torn it from his grasp. Like a bull dog he leapt forward and grappled with his assailant. Then with a thump and a grunt from the man on the bottom they both landed upon the floor and began rolling over and over, pummeling each other with their fists.
It was no mean antagonist that Jack had selected, as the lad realized when he felt the weight of the Frenchman. Nor did he have a soft fist or playful touch either. Indeed, every time that fist landed, Jack felt dazed for the moment. But he gave as much as he took. Every time his arms were free he drove a solid right at his enemy and each one brought forth a grunt and a string of curses.
Over and over they rolled. Sometimes they struggled to their feet, only to trip over tables and chairs and go crashing down again, and all the time they were working away from the center of the turmoil which was about the door and out upon the narrow porch. Indeed, as they swayed backward and forward Jack suddenly realized that they had fought their way clear across the room, for presently they brought up with a bang and a discordant jangle against the piano, tripped over the stool and crashed to the floor once more.
But this time the Frenchman was on top of Jack and had one of the lad’s hands pinned fast to the floor. The Vermonter struck with the other at the ugly face which he felt, rather than saw, close to his own. It was a stinging blow, for the Frenchman roared with pain. Then in his frenzy his big hand reached out and clutched Jack about the throat. For a moment the lobster thief did not seem to realize his advantage, but when he did his grip tightened about the boy’s windpipe.
Jack thrashed and punched as hard as he could but the Frenchman had him pinned fast and did not seem to mind the boy’s blows at all. Jack was frantic! The grip seemed to tighten! The veins in his neck burned under the pressure, and his head swam with dizziness! His lungs, too, seemed on the point of bursting with the air that was pent up in them! He grew sick and faint! Was this the end? Would the Frenchman hold on forever! Couldn’t he shake the big man off! Was he—
Jack’s right hand had been groping about on the floor for something to strike with. Suddenly it closed upon the iron pivot of the piano stool. Grasping it thus, the seat made an excellent mallet and with all his might Jack struck once, twice, three times, at the face that bent above him!
Jack felt the grip on his throat relax and the man who had pinned him down fell helplessly across his body. The lad tried to throw him off, but his strength was almost gone. Once more he tried but this effort was weaker than the last, and with a third attempt he fainted.