Only one man out of all that party stood his ground, and that man was Captain Jerry Prime.
The fact of the case was that he would just as soon have shaken hands with the devil as with any one else, and therefore, even this alarming specter was not calculated to make him turn tail in affright.
The rest were badly scared, and they all dropped their arms.
Two of them, religiously superstitious, fell down upon their knees on the floor, and began to hurriedly jabber over some prayers.
Others turned to fly, and in the hurry and bustle of that demoralized moment they were not careful about putting their feet down properly, and one of the men kneeling on the floor got a number nine boot in his mouth with such hearty good force that he flew off to a distant corner, minus several teeth.
Others tumbled over the kneeling form of his comrade, and then the cursing and kicking began.
They fought, bit, cursed, kicked, gouged, and, in fact, did anything to get away from the terrifying spectacle.
Captain Jerry Prime seized some of the fools by the collar of their coats, and with no gentle hand lifted them erect.
“Silence!” he roared. “What the devil do you mean by this? Can’t you see that it’s the Steam Man standing up against the door? What the devil is the matter with you, Browning?”
“Yes, sir.”