“Oh, ho!” cried the tramp, “so you’ve got a protector, have you? Well, come on! I’ll fight the whole lot of you, women and men, too, and with one hand, at that!”
He loomed up like a giant beside the small, slender cyclist, but he was a drunken giant nevertheless and not prepared for what was about to happen.
However, at first, it appeared to them all that a little persuasion might be better than force.
“If you will let the young ladies go, my good man,” said the cyclist, “you will not regret it. You will be well paid. I would advise you to take a sensible view of the matter. You cannot kidnap us all, and it would not take long to get help. Would you prefer a long term in jail to a sum of money?” And the cyclist drew a leather wallet from his coat pocket.
“You think you are mighty smart, young man,” sneered the tramp, “but I can kidnap all of you, and nobody ever be the wiser. Do you think I’d let a chance like this go? My pals are right over there.” He pointed with his free hand to the woods back of him.
“You will be sorry,” said the cyclist.
With an oath, the tramp put his finger to his mouth and gave a long, shrill whistle.
But in that moment he was off his guard, and the cyclist leaped upon him like a leopard on a lion. One swift blow under the jaw and down tumbled the giant as Goliath fell before David.
The poor woman, who was crouching in terror behind a tree, jumped to her feet.
“Run!” she cried in a frightened whisper. “Run for your lives!”