he Americans joined him and met the
first onslaught bravely. The handful of men was forced back against the
wall by sheer weight of numbers, but they struck out manfully with their
fists, with chairs, and with their feet, with any object that came to
hand, and men went down with bleeding heads. Peter was armed but he did
not wish to kill any one--his idea being to make a successful retreat to
the office, where the telephone would put him in touch with May's
Landing and reinforcements. Yakimov stood at the edge of the crowd,
waving a revolver, when a well-aimed missile from the hand of the Scot
sent him sprawling to the floor among the benches.

Peter and his crowd had fought their way to the door, when Flynn and
Jacobi who had led a group of men by the other door, fell on them from
the rear. Between the two groups their position was hopeless but Peter
fought his way out into the open, dodging a blow from Jacobi and using
the terrible _savate_ in Flynn's stomach, just as Shad Wells rushed at
him from one side. Peter saw the blow coming from a broken axhandle--but
he had no time to avoid it. Instinctively he ducked his head and threw
up his left arm, but the bludgeon descended and Peter fell, remembering
nothing more.

CHAPTER XX

THE RUSSIAN PAYS

When Peter came back to consciousness, he found himself lying in the
shelter of the underbrush alone. And while he attempted to gather his
scattered wits together a figure came creeping through the bushes toward
him. It was Brierly, the clerk, carrying a hatful of water which he had
procured from the neighboring rivulet. Brierly had a lump on his
forehead about the size of a silver dollar, and his disheveled
appearance gave evidence of an active part in the melee.

"What's happened?" asked Peter slowly, starting up as memory came back
to him.

But Brierly didn't answer at once.

"Here, drink this. I don't think you're badly hurt----"

"No. Just dazed a bit," muttered Peter, and let Brierly minister to him
for a moment.

"You see, there were too many for us," Brierly explained. "We made a
pretty good fight of it at that, but they buried us by sheer weight of
numbers. Yours isn't the only bruised head, though. Yakimov got his
early in the game--and Jacobi. And gee! but that was a 'beaut' you
handed Flynn--right in the solar plexus with your heel. The
_savate_--wasn't it? I saw a Frenchy pull that in a dive in Bordeaux. I
reckon Flynn won't be doin' much agitat