Uncle John freed an arm and planted his fist squarely in the Austrian’s face.  The latter gave a cry of rage and shouted for help.  Uncle John smiled grimly.

“You’ll need it,” he said.

Again he raised a fist and brought it down with all his force.  The Austrian’s arms relaxed their grip.  He quivered a bit, and then sank back unconscious.  Uncle John got to his feet.

“I’m not so bad at that,” he told himself modestly.  “I wish the boys could have been here to see that.  Now to get out of here.”

He moved toward the door, but even as he would have opened it, it moved back and three men stepped inside.  They saw Uncle John and the unconscious form of Robard at first glance, and sprang upon Uncle John with a shout.

Uncle John drew a long breath and waded into the midst of them.

The newcomers also proved to be novices in the fistic art, and as long as Uncle John was able to keep them at long range he gave a good account of himself.  But, realizing that they were getting the worst of this kind of fighting, one of the men gave a command to close in.  In vain Uncle John strove to keep them off.  One threw himself to the floor, and avoiding a heavy kick, grasped Uncle John by the leg, pulling him down.  The others piled on top of him.

Two minutes later Uncle John had ceased to struggle, and lay powerless in the hands of his captors.

“Well, you’ve got me,” he said.  “Now what?”

Still keeping a tight grip upon him, the men assisted Uncle John to his feet.  One drew a revolver and covered him.  The other two went to the assistance of Robard, who was just getting to his feet.  The latter came forward with an angry gleam in his eye.

“So I’ve got you at last,” he said.  “Well, I’ll see that you don’t get away this time.”

“You weren’t big enough to get me alone,” said Uncle John, panting from his exertions.

“I wasn’t, eh!” shouted Robard, now furiously angry.  “I’ve got you now, and you shall pay.  Take that!”

He dealt Uncle John a heavy blow with the back of his hand.

In his early days Uncle John had been noted for his fiery temper.  It was said of him that when his temper was aroused, he became a maniac.  So it was now.

Taking no thought of the man who held the revolver almost in his face, Uncle John, his cheek red from the imprint of the Austrian’s hand, uttered a cry of rage, and leaped forward.  His move was so unexpected that the man with the revolver did not fire, and when at last he had again brought his revolver to bear, he feared to press the trigger lest he might hit his friend as well as foe.

Uncle John, in a moment, was the center of a struggling, shouting mass.  His fists flew about like flails and he kicked out with his feet whenever occasion presented itself.  One, two, three heavy blows he landed upon Robard’s face, and the Austrian suddenly collapsed in a heap.  Still fighting mad, Uncle John whirled upon the other three, who now closed with him.