At the brow of the hill Pretty found himself alone, and turned and looked at the on-coming trio with defiant sternness. After a moment, which gave him some much-needed rest and a chance to gain new breath, he realized that one half a battle is with the warrior that is wise enough to make the first onslaught. So, after a tremor of very natural hesitation, the boy dashed full at the three hulkish tramps.
XXI
The overgrown brutes were so much taken aback at the change of front on the part of the young fellow whom they had hoped to run down like a scared rabbit, that they stopped short in sheer surprise.
But this was only for a moment. Then the leader of the three rushed forward, with a large club. He carried it high in the air in the same indiscreet manner in which Pretty had once attacked the Senior.
Just before the tramp and the boy came to close quarters Pretty made a diving sidelong dodge, and as the tramp's club whisked idly through the air past him, he dealt the fellow a furious blow across the left shin. Now, as any one who was ever struck there knows, a man's shin is as tender as a bear's nose; and the surprised tramp was soon dancing about in the air, hugging his bruised leg and yowling like a wildcat. But Pretty had run on past, leaving him to his misery.
Now he came up to the other two, who moved in single file toward him. The first man Pretty received right upon the point of his cane, driving the hard metal ferrule straight at the man's solar plexus. The combination of the man's rush and Pretty's powerful thrust was enough to lay the wretch upon the ground, writhing and almost unconscious.
For the last thug Pretty had prepared a beautiful back-handed slash across the face; but the villain, seeing what was in store for him, dropped down, and rushed at the boy low enough to evade the stick. Pretty, however, had a check for this move also, and a quick step to one side saved him from the man's clutch.
Now he recovered himself quickly enough to deliver a vicious whack straight at the back of the man's head—a blow that would have settled the tramp's mind for some time to come, but the fellow was running so fast that Pretty missed his aim, and his stout weapon only dealt a stinging blow upon the man's left shoulder.
The thug ran on far enough to gain a good vantage-ground, and then, whirling, came at Pretty again. Now his uplifted hand held an ugly knife.
The look of this was not pleasant to Pretty's eyes; but the excitement of the situation was much increased when a glance out of the side of his eye showed him that the first thug had regained enough nerve to come limping forward in the endeavor to throttle him.