He did not have long to wait for it, either. At once the man came at him. This time someone received a surprise, and it certainly was not Johnny. Came a sound as of a wagon tongue ramming an automobile, and the huge hulk of a man who had started the row, staggered backward. Boxing was the one thing Johnny knew a great deal about. Long years ago his father had taught him a great deal about defending himself. He had added to this knowledge as the years went by.
Johnny had not the slightest doubts of his ability along these lines. But that he was in grave danger, he knew quite well. While his assailant paused before resuming the attack, he allowed himself a few darting thoughts as to how this affair would end. Who was this man? Could he be the man they had driven out upon the breakwater, or was he some tramp who had come out here to sleep? Was he armed? If he had a knife or gun the affair would probably end shortly and tragically. Was it best to run? Probably it was, but being Johnny Thompson, he did not propose to run. He’d stand his ground and fight, and since fight he must, why not on the offensive? No sooner thought than done. With muscles tense, every nerve alert, he leaped squarely at the astonished giant.
Johnny’s chance came and he took it. As the man threw up his hands in an involuntary motion to shield his face, Johnny landed a haymaker square on his chin.
There are few men who can withstand such a blow but this man appeared to be made of uncommon stuff. He staggered like a drunken man but he did not fall. The next second he set his huge fists swinging.
As Johnny stepped back he stumbled over some hard object and all but fell. The obstacle suggested a way out, but he did not take it. In this ten seconds of confused thought he was suddenly seized in a death-like grip. The man, so much heavier, bore him to the ground with a crash that all but knocked his senses out of him.
In the struggle that followed his hand was pressed against something hard at the man’s belt.
“A knife!” Johnny thought excitedly.
The next instant his hand was on the hilt. Ten seconds of struggle and he had freed the hand with the long-bladed knife gripped tight.
Wildly his heart beat. The advantage was his. Should he follow it up? One thrust, perhaps two, and the struggle would end.
A second of thought. “No! No! Not that!” Suddenly his hand shot up and out. The knife, executing the arc of a circle, clanged to the ground some distance away.