"Come on, you miserable cowards!" bellowed Jarvis. "We can't thrash all of the people all of the time, but we can thrash some of the people some of the time."
At this moment Steve had grabbed a fallen miner by the heels. The man was slight. Steve picked the fellow up and hurled him right into the face of the mob that was pressing in on him. Several men went down, but they were up again in a twinkling and charging the slender lads with redoubled fury.
During the tumult Cavard had made no effort to restore order. He stood calmly on the platform at the end of the hall, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face. He had known full well that this was coming, for he had skilfully brought it about. Little did he care if the Iron Boys were killed. There could be no responsibility on his part. He fervently hoped that they would at least be so thoroughly beaten that they would trouble him no further.
Thus far the lads had held their own. They were cool and collected, while those opposing them had lost all control of themselves. This gave the boys a slight advantage, but the lads knew they could not expect to hold out very long against those hundreds of angry men, who were fighting each other in their mad efforts to get at the "traitors," as they called the Iron Boys.
Steve was fighting with as much coolness as if he were in a friendly boxing match, except that his blows were delivered with considerably more force. Bob was proving himself a whirlwind, charging this way and that, using both feet and fists, all to equally good advantage. Many a shin felt the sting of his heavy boot and many a face bore the marks of his heavy fists for days afterward.
"Come down here, you coward, and I'll give you a dose of the same medicine!" yelled Jarvis, chancing to catch the eye of the presiding officer in a brief lull in the fighting. "It's coming to you, and you're going to get it some time, even if you don't to-night."
Suddenly Steve slipped and fell to the floor. Bob sprang to his assistance, jerking his companion to his feet. But the move was fatal.
A kick from a heavy boot laid Bob Jarvis unconscious on the floor.
With a yell Steve Rush hit the man who had delivered the kick, knocking him clear over two benches that had not yet been smashed in the scrimmage. In doing so Rush had turned his back on the most persistent of his enemies. They were not slow to take advantage of the opportunity thus offered, and leaped upon him.
Steve went down under the weight that had been suddenly put upon him, fighting, struggling, wriggling desperately to free himself. But the odds were too great, and besides he was exhausted by his exertions. He realized that the fight was ended so far as he was concerned.