Probably it was the shock quite as much as the force of the blow that
brought down the steward's victim. But it was a heavy stroke, for the
wood of the feather duster was split into many pieces, and the stumps of
the feathers were scattered all over the table. The onslaught could not
fail to be very confusing to the ideas of the intruder, and he seemed to
be tangled up in the arm-chair in which he had been seated.
Captain Flanger was a man of stalwart proportions, and Christy realized
that he was no match for him in a hand to hand encounter, even with the
aid of the steward, for the ruffian would not fail to use his revolvers.
Dave was not satisfied with what he had done, and as his foe went over
in the chair, he sprang upon him, and tried to wrest the pistol from his
hand, and a struggle on the floor was begun, the result of which could
not be foreseen. Christy took in the situation at a glance, and while
the steward and his victim were rolling and writhing on the floor, he
darted into his stateroom, the door of which had been open all the time,
and took his heavy revolvers from the drawer where he kept them, charged
for immediate use.
When he rushed back to the cabin, Flanger had got the better of his
foe, and had risen to his feet, with his grasp upon the throat of the
steward.
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