Only now and then he caught a syllable.
"Wake up!" floated out into the silence once. And again, "No, you don't,
my pretty little chicken!"
Then a girl's scream pierced the night and something darted out from the
darkness of the door-step, eluding the drunken men, but slipped and
fell!
Courtland broke into a noiseless run.
The men had scrambled tipsily after the girl and clutched her. They
lifted her unsteadily and surrounded her. She screamed again, and dashed
this way and that blindly, but they met her every time and held her.
Courtland knew, as by a flash, that he had been brought here for this
crisis. It was as if he had heard the words spoken to him, "Now go!" He,
lowering his head and crouching, came swiftly forward, watching
carefully where he steered, and coming straight at two of the men with
his powerful shoulders. It was an old trick of the football field and it
bowled the two assailants on the right straight out into the gutter. The
other three made a dash at him, but he side-stepped one and tripped him;
a blow on the point of the chin sent another sprawling on the sidewalk;
but the last one, who was perhaps the most sober of them all, showed
fight and called to his comrades to come on and get this stranger who
was trying to steal their girl. The language he used made Courtland's
blood boil. He struck the fellow across his foul mouth, and then
clenching with him, went down upon the sidewalk.
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