The Dreadnought Boy's challenge was still vibrating when, from every side, dark figures seemed to spring. They rushed at him like so many tigers. Ned struck out blindly.
It was hard to distinguish anything in the darkness, but twice in the first few seconds of his desperate battle against odds, he felt his fists encounter some one's features. The feeling gave him a sense of distinct satisfaction.
"One! Two!" counted the young man-o'-war's-man grimly, as his fists shot out right and left like sledge-hammers.
But Ned knew, as well as his opponents, that four to one are almost insurmountable odds. Already he had knocked two of his foes sprawling, when he was struck a blow from behind that staggered him. But it was only for an instant. The next moment he had turned and seized by the throat the man who had aimed the blow. He shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. He could hear the fellow's teeth chatter, but it was too dark to distinguish features.
In the meantime, his fallen opponents had picked themselves up. So far the fight had progressed in ominous silence, save for the deep breaths and stamping feet of those engaged in it. But now, fury at this unexpectedly stubborn resistance brought words to the lips of his foes. They were not nice words, and Ned thrilled with a desire to silence their utterers, for he was a clean-spoken boy, who hated profanity in any form.
Suddenly, as if by concerted consent, his foes ceased their separate attacks, and massed like a wolf pack preparing to finish its prey. Ned had hardly sensed the new situation and braced himself to meet it before they were upon him.
Thud! thud!
The lad's fists met their mark fairly, and once more two of his opponents reeled back. But this time they did not fall. Instead, they rallied to the attack.
As if they had been one, all four of his assailants hurled themselves on the Dreadnought Boy. Strive as he would, Ned felt his arms pinioned to his sides, and he was borne down by sheer weight of numbers. He struggled with every steel-like muscle in his powerful young body. With teeth set and eyes that flamed, he fought with every fraction of an ounce of strength he possessed. But, with two men hanging like bulldogs to his neck from behind, and two more clinging to his arms and battering him in front, the lad could do nothing. With a sickening sense of helplessness, he felt a leg slide under his, and tottered backward.
With his four foes still clinging like leeches to him, Ned felt himself borne to earth, and then, despite his frantic struggles, a hand was thrust rapidly into each of his pockets. A cry escaped him for the first time—a cry of rage.