The driver, ready for his work, snatched up the girl's light form.

"Have a care what you do--all of you!" cried Jack Benson, warningly,
and now, in his hand, the revolver gleamed.

But one of the wretches, darting in at Jack's right, from behind, aimed
a blow with a cudgel at the weapon. He struck it from the young
lieutenant's hand.

Down to the ground it fell, but Lieutenant Benson was as quick as
thought, now.

He bent over, snatching up the weapon, then ducked away from a follow-up
blow at his own head, and sprang back.

"You first, then, Millard!" cried the young acting naval officer.

Full of purpose, Lieutenant Jack pressed the trigger. It stuck. No
report followed. That blow from the cudgel had jammed the cylinder.

Having dropped the senseless form of Daisy Huston in the cab the driver
sprang to the box, lashing the horses, just as Lieutenant Benson
discovered the uselessness of his weapon as a firearm.

Then, indeed, young Benson knew that this must be a fight to the very
death. Yet he was a naval officer at heart, as much as by special
appointment. At a time like this he held life cheaply.

The first man to get within reach was laid flat by a blow with the butt
of Jack's revolver.

Instantly young Benson wheeled, to strike at another pressing foe.
Instead, he received a glancing though painful blow on his own left
shoulder. Ere the assailant could recover, however, Benson leaped at
him and would have felled him had not Millard himself leaped in,
striking up the young naval officer's arm.

Once more Lieutenant Jack leaped back. His whole body was alert, nerves
and muscles responding magnificently. He fairly vibrated defense.

"Close in on him, men--surround him!" snarled Millard. "You've got to
get him! We haven't many minutes left. We don't know at what instant
to look for interference."

Jack landed effectively on another of the rascals. Just as he was
wheeling, however, to ward off the attack of another, a stick landed
against his left knee, partly crippling him.

In moving backward Benson almost stumbled over a stone half the size of
his head.

Right there, in the same movement with which he thrust the revolver into
one of his pockets, he bent down, snatched up the heavy stone, and held
it poised over his head.

"Now, come on! Now, close in!" cried Jack Benson, exulting. "The first
man who gets too close has his head split open! Who wants it?"

His usually, good-hu