To buy himself a pony,
Stuck a feather in his hat
And called it--_Maccaroni_!"
As the song began each man had quietly braced himself for one grand effort. At the sound of the last word the effect was tremendous.
The Senator threw his mighty arms round the Captain and the other bandit. They were both small men, as indeed Italians are generally, and beside his colossal frame they were like boys to a grown man. He held them as if a vice, and grasping their hands, twisted them back till their guns fell from their grasp. As he hurled the affrighted ruffians to the floor, the guns crashed on the stone pavement, one of them exploding in its fall. He then by sheer strength jerked the Captain over on his face, and threw the other man on him face downward. This done he sat on them, and turned to see what the others were doing.
Buttons had darted at No. 5 who was on his right, seized his gun and thrown him backward. He was holding him down now while the fellow was roaring for help.
Dick had done about the same thing, but had not yet obtained possession of the gun. He was holding the Doctor's pistol to the bandit's head, and telling him in choice Italian to drop his gun, or he would send him out of the world with twelve bullets.
The Doctor was all right. He was calmly seated on Bandit No. 3, with one hand holding the bandit's gun pointed toward the door, and the other grasping the ruffian's throat in a death like clutch. The man's face was black, and he did not move.
Mr. Figgs had not been so successful. Being fat, he had not been quick enough. He was holding the bandit's gun, and aiming blows at his face.
"Doctor," said the Senator, "your man's all right. Give it to Figgs's man."