Jack hopped about as nimbly as
possible, dodging all he could. Yet one part of his body after another
was hit.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Jack hardly comprehended what this new noise meant when
it grew in volume. Then a horseman rode into the yard at a charge.
"One down!" yelled the rider, with savage glee, as he drove his mount
squarely against one of the wretches, bowling him over and underfoot.
Hardly seeming to veer, the rider made for another fellow, and barely
missed him.
Just a second later, so it seemed, this valiant rider hauled the horse
on its haunches, and swung back, heading for another wretch.
Millard leaped at the horseman, a stone in his uplifted fist.
But Jack Benson saw him, and a well-planted blow sent Millard to the
ground.
"Bully good of you, Benson, old chap!" called a hearty voice. Then the
horseman spurred forward, running down another of Benson's late
assailants. The two remaining bolted as fast as they could, go.
"Mr. Abercrombie!" cried Lieutenant Jack.
"Yes, it's I: and jolly glad I got here in good time," laughed the
British naval officer, whom this brief rollicking battle had made as
gleeful as a boy.
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