The man, a stout, short fellow, seemed partly to comprehend his meaning, and rather reluctantly moved out from his fellows.
"We shall want as many as seven or eight of them," remarked Wade.
"Form a ring around this one, then, while I get out another," said Kit.
But the second one backed off as Kit approached him, gesticulating, and shouting, "_Na-mick, na-mick!_" and, on Kit's laying his hand on his shoulder, he let out a "straight left" with considerable _vim_.
"Donovan," said Kit, "take hold of him!" Don made a rush, and, clutching one hand into his hair, shook him about, tripped him up, and held the point of the butcher-knife at his throat.

The savage howled and begged.

With a single effort Donovan set him on his feet, and thrust him into the ring.

The third, fourth, and fifth man came out at a mere tap on the shoulder.

But the sixth--a little dark fellow--jumped back when Kit stepped up to him, and struck with a rough dagger-shaped weapon made of a walrus-tusk.