Читать книгу The Sea Scouts of the Kestrel - Percy Francis Westerman - Страница 4

It was a difficult matter to see under the water in the failing daylight, but before the stone touched bottom, Peter’s left hand caught the fiercely struggling puppy. One quick movement of the keen knife and the deed was done. Still retaining his hold of the released animal, Craddock shot to the surface, and amidst the ringing cheers of his now thoroughly excited chums struck out for the stone steps at the end of the quay.

But Blueskin had yet to be reckoned with.

“That’s my pup,” he declared angrily, planting himself in front of the dripping Sea Scout. “ ’And ’im ower tu me. In ’e goes intu the ditch agen, I tells yu.”

“Excuse me,” protested Peter coolly. “It was yours. When you threw the dog in you threw away all rights to it. It’s ours now.... Take charge of it, please, Brandon.”

The Patrol Leader took the shivering pup. The animal, fearing further punishment, struggled frantically to gain the shelter of its rescuer’s protecting arms.

Carlo Bone was flabbergasted. His slowly acting brain was trying to think out the problem. No doubt that interfering “furriner” was right. He was a fool not to stop him from diving to the rescue. There yet remained the question of brute force. He would be more than a match for the whole crowd of “they Sea Scoutses.”

“Gimme that dawg!” he shouted, striding towards the Patrol Leader.

Peter barred his way. Blueskin aimed a vicious blow at Craddock’s chest. The Sea Scout, in successfully evading the massive fist, stepped backwards. As he did so his rubber-soled shoes slithered on the stones, for no footgear is proof against the slippery quays of the West Country where fish have just been landed. He fell. The bully promptly dealt him a kick with his heavy sea-boot.

There is a limit to human endurance, even to that of a well-disciplined patrol of Scouts. In an instant Fred Heavitree planted himself between Blueskin and the prostrate Craddock.

Heavitree was the latest recruit to the “Otters.” He was a tall, slim youth of a somewhat retiring disposition, keen at his work and yet never before displaying any signs of unusual strength and activity. His chums were about to get one of life’s surprises; so was Blueskin.

“Keep back, you fellows,” cautioned Heavitree in a low yet compelling tone.

The bully, thinking he had an easy task, let out a terrific left. Had it reached its objective, Heavitree would have been lifted clean off his feet. The Sea Scout was unable to spring back out of harm’s way, because Craddock was still on the ground. Instead, without moving his feet, he inclined his body from the waist.

Blueskin’s fist met nothing more resisting than air. Before he could recover his balance, the Sea Scout had him properly. A tremendous thud as Heavitree’s left caught the bully fairly between the eyes was almost simultaneously followed by a heavy right straight to the solar plexus.

Heavitree stood his ground, guarding to meet a counter-attack. It was a judicious but unnecessary precaution, for Carlo Bone, his arms whirling like windmills, staggered backwards for three or four yards, and collapsed in a heap upon the rough pavement.