“I am—­eh?”

With another nasty oath Truax stepped quickly forward, the steel bar upraised.

He took but one step, however, for Captain Jack Benson had not retreated an inch.

Nor did Jack have his hands up in an attitude of guard.

“Are you going to put that bar down, Truax?” the young skipper demanded, in a voice that betrayed not a tremor.

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to make good in a moment, for we’re going to attack you.”

“Bah!  I can stave in two or three heads before any number of you could stop me,” sneered the fellow, in an ugly voice.

“You could, but you won’t dare.”

“I won’t?”

“Not you!”

At that instant rapid steps were heard.  Hal Hastings returned with three of the midshipmen, behind them Williamson trying to crowd his way into the scene.

“Just tell us what you want, Mr. Benson,” proposed Cadet Merriam, amiably.

“This fellow has been ‘doping’ our engines,” announced Captain Jack.  “And now he’s threatening to stand us off.  We’ll close in on him from both sides.  If he tries to use that steel bar on any of us—­”

“If he does, he’ll curse his unlucky star,” declared Midshipman Merriam.  “Come on, gentlemen.  We’ll show him some of the Navy football tactics!”

The three midshipmen approached Truax steadily from the right.  Jack, Hal and Williamson stepped in on the left.

With a yell like that of a maniac Sam Truax swung the bar.

Having to watch both sides at once, however, he made a fizzle of it.  The bar came down, but struck the floor.

Then, with a yell, the midshipmen leaped in on one side, Jack leading the submarine forces on the other.  Mr. Merriam’s trip and Jack’s smashing blow with the fist brought Truax down to the floor in a heap.

“Now, cart this human rubbish out of here!” ordered Jack Benson, sternly.  “Don’t hit him—­he isn’t man enough to be worthy of a blow!”

Swooping down upon the prostrate one, Hal and the midshipmen seized Sam Truax by his arms and legs, carrying him bodily out of the engine room.

“Williamson,” commanded Captain Jack, “stop the speed.”

“In the race, sir.  We—­”

“Stop the speed,” repeated Benson.

“You’re the captain,” admitted Williamson.  Grasping the twin levers of the two motors he swung them backward.

“Disregard any signal to go ahead until we’ve had a chance to inspect the motors,” added Captain Jack.

Then the submarine skipper darted out into the cabin.

Sam Truax lay sprawling on the floor.  Midshipman Merriam, a most cheerful smile on his face, sat across the fellow, while Hal and the other two midshipmen stood by, looking on.

“Hold him please, until I can have the wretch taken care of,” requested Captain Jack, making for the spiral stairway to the conning tower.

Just as the young skipper stepped out on deck he heard the “Hudson’s” bow-gun break out sharply in the halting signal.