Instantly there was a rush for the door. But Grandfather Norton was there before them.
“Steady, boys,” he held up a hand, “you’re not going to a picnic. I don’t know why those men are there, but I do know they are armed. We must organize our party.”
“That’s right, sir!” an Army sergeant agreed. He gave an order to his men. They disappeared.
Next instant the door opened, silently, and in stepped Sperry. His eyes were wide, his tongue fairly hanging out. “I ran into a hornet’s nest,” he whispered. “I got away just in time!”
What he had to say left no room for doubt. A fight was in the making.
When the Army squad returned it was with arms loaded. There were rifles, tommy-guns, pistols, and stacks of ammunition.
Then after one weapon had been selected for each Black Knob man, the sergeant said, “Take your pick.”
Instantly, from every corner, came the men whose boat had been struck.
“We’ll kill the rats,” the burly seaman snarled. His right arm was in a sling, but with his left he gripped an automatic.
“Somebody find me a cane,” one seaman begged. His leg was bandaged and splinted. “I’m the best darn shot in the crew. That’s what I am!” From somewhere a crutch was produced.