Three more men were emerging from the brush.
In the meantime, Billy had put Saxon in behind the protection of the picnic table.

Mary, who was hysterical, had evinced a desire to cling to him, and he had sent her sliding across the top of the table to Saxon.
"Come on, you flannel-mouths!" Bert yelled at the newcomers, himself swept away by passion, his black eyes flashing wildly, his dark face inflamed by the too-ready blood.

"Come on, you cheap skates! Talk about Gettysburg.

We'll show you all the Americans ain't dead yet!" "Shut your trap--we don't want a scrap with the girls here," Billy growled harshly, holding his position in front of the table.

He turned to the three rescuers, who were bewildered by the lack of anything visible to rescue.