"Now!" left Reade's lips with explosive energy, though the word was
low-spoken.
At "right foot---high foot" and "now" each youth suddenly shot his right
foot up into the air.
Tom's landed against Sambo's right wrist, kicking the automatic revolver
completely out of the negro's hands.
Dick's kick landed against the black man's left wrist. The pistol held
in Sambo's left hand was discharged, though the muzzle had been driven up
at such an angle that the bullet passed harmlessly over Prescott's head.
In a twinkling Ebony had been disarmed.
Darting low, Tom grappled with the negro's legs. Then Reade rose swiftly,
toppling Sambo over backward.
Dick Prescott bounded upon the prostrate foe, beating him with both fists.
Tom also threw himself into the melee.
While the black might have thrashed either youth alone he was not equal to
handling both at the same time.
"I've got him, now, and he'll behave, I guess," panted Tom Reade, at last.
"Slip off, Dick, and gather in the pistols."
As Prescott did so Sambo made the last few efforts of which he was capable.
He had been hammered so hard, however, that Tom did not have extreme
difficulty in holding him down.
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