Two tall Russians were directly in front of the old Yankee gunner, and both fell upon him with their cutlasses at the same instant. Luke was capable of warding off the weapon of one, but he was no match for the pair, and it speedily looked as if they would surely kill him.
"Back with ye!" he yelled, and swung his cutlass as rapidly as he could, but they crowded him still closer and then one made a thrust at his face and another at his
body. It was at this critical moment that Larry, who had been engaged with somebody else, saw his old war chum's predicament. With a leap he gained Luke's side, and down came his cutlass with a sweeping blow on the wrist of one of the enemy. The Russian dropped his cutlass to the deck and staggered back, his hand almost severed from his arm. Then Luke slashed the other Russian across the cheek, and both of the enemy hurried back behind the other fighters.
"Good fer you, Larry!" panted Luke, when he could speak. "They had me about cornered!"
"These fellows certainly know how to put up a stiff fight."
"You're wounded yourself. Better go below."
"No, I'm going to see it out. Why don't you go down yourself?"
