Brady, in sudden temper, hurled himself at Matt. The other man, taking his cue from Brady, jumped for Carl and grabbed him by the arm.
"Hoop-e-la!" tuned up Carl. "Be jeerful, eferypody! Here's somet-ing vat ve ditn't oxbect!" And, with that, the Dutch boy began struggling and using his fists.
[CHAPTER IV.]
THE KETTLE CONTINUES TO BOIL.
Both Matt and Carl were well skilled in the art of self-defense. Matt, perhaps, was a shade more adept in the use of his fists. Neither of the lads, however, had been looking for violence, and the sudden attack of Brady and the other man had taken them by surprise.
The two men had plenty of muscle, and Brady was desperately determined to secure the roll of papers. The very fact that he was using force to accomplish his designs proved that he was not entitled to the papers. For that reason, Matt was determined to keep them away from him at all costs.
"Hold the Dutchman, Pete!" puffed Brady, hanging to the collar of Matt's leather coat and trying to get one hand into the inside pocket.
"Quiet, Dutchy," threatened Pete, as he and Carl swung back and forth across the big shed. "I'll strangle ye if ye ain't peaceable. Ye ain't got no sense, roughin' things up like—wow!"
At that instant, Carl landed a telling blow on the point of Pete's chin. A bushel of shooting-stars must have danced in front of Pete's eyes, for the jolt hurled him backward and caused him to claw the air in an attempt to keep his balance. He was not more than an instant getting the whip-hand of himself, and when he came out of his brief daze he was as mad as a hornet.