“You will wish you were, before we get through with you,” growled Nepahak, at the same time putting his hand to his belt.
Don had been thinking rapidly. Had the revolver he was carrying in his pocket been loaded, it would have put him more on a par with his enemies. But it contained no cartridges. He had seen that when he picked it up.
Revolvers, however, have more uses than one. Don, who was as quick as lightning, plucked it from his pocket and threw it with all his force at Tezra’s head. It struck that worthy full between the eyes, and he went down with a crash.
Scarcely waiting to see the result of the blow, Don lashed out with both fists at Nepahak. The latter had been staggered at the sudden downfall of his more dominant companion, to whom he played the role of jackal. He had no stomach for punishment, and, bewildered by the storm of blows that Don rained on him, made scarcely more than a pretext at resistance. In a moment he had turned and made off with as much speed as his short legs could master.
Tezra was trying to stagger to his feet. Had he been unconscious, Don would have stayed and done what he could for him, even though he was his enemy. As it was, Don picked up the revolver, with a mental blessing for the service it had rendered him, and hurried away until he had reached a broad and brightly lighted thoroughfare. Then he abated his speed, though still walking rapidly, until he reached the villa of Phalos.
“What’s up?” asked his Uncle Frank quickly, as he noted Don’s panting breath and his flushed face.
“Had a run in with those two beauties, Tezra and Nepahak,” explained Don, sinking into a chair and tossing the revolver on the table.
“Tezra and Nepahak!” exclaimed the professor. “Have those birds of evil omen turned up again?”
“Very much so,” answered Don.
“Are you hurt?” asked the captain anxiously.