THE LYNCHERS.
When Barney returned to the hotel he found Professor Scotch in a very
agitated and anxious mood.
"This is terrible--terrible!" fluttered the little man, wringing his
hands. "How can we save him?"
"Phwat has happened now, profissor?" asked Barney, anxiously.
"I have received no reply to my telegrams."
"Kape aisy; the reploies may come lather on."
"And they may not till it is too late. I leaned out of the window a
short time ago, and I heard a crowd talking in the street below. That
horrible ruffian, Bill Buckhorn, was with them, and he was telling them
how to make an attack on the jail. Some of the crowd laughed, and said
Hank Kildare had been very slick about getting his prisoner under cover,
but he would not be able to keep him long after night came."
"Av they make an attack on th' jail, it's oursilves as should be theer
to foight fer Frankie," said the Irish lad, seriously.
"Fight!" roared Scotch, in his big, hoarse voice. "Why, I can't fight,
and you know it! I can't fight so much as an old woman! I am too
nervous--too excitable."
"Arrah! Oi think we have fergot how ye cowed Colonel La Salle Vallier,
th' champion foire-ater av New Orleans."
"No, I have not forgotten that; but I was mad, aroused, excited at the
time--I had completely forgotten myself."
"Forget yersilf now, profissor."
"I can't! I can't! It's no use! I would be in the way if I went to the
jail. I shall stay away."
The professor was an exceedingly timid man, as Barney very well knew, so
he did not add to his agitation by telling him that, while returning
from the jail, he had heard it hinted that the boy prisoner had two
friends in the hotel who might be treated to a "dose of hemp necktie."
The professor, however, suspected the truth, and he kept in his room.
Danger could not keep Barney there, and, having reported the result of
his conversation with Frank, he went out to learn what was going on.
Two persons very much in evidence since the arrival of the train were
the Jew and the dude. The Jew had a way of insinuating himself into the
midst of any little knot that was gathered aside from the general
throng, and, if they were speaking guardedly, he seemed sure to hear
what they were saying and enter into the conversation. As a rule, this
was not what would be called a "healthy" thing to do in such a place and
on such an occasion; but the report of Solomon's encounter with Bill
Buckhorn, the Man from 'Rapahoe, had been circulated freely, and the Jew
was tolerated for what he had done.
While he appeared very curious to hear anything that seemed like private
conversation, the Jew did not neglect any opportunity to transact
business, and he made so many trades during the day that the size of his
pack materially decreased.
The dude seemed scarcely less curious than the Jew. He had a way of
listening with his eyes and mouth wide open, but he lost no time in
getting out of the way if ordered to do so. For all of his curiosity, he
seemed very timid.
The day passed, and night came. Still Professor Scotch had received no
answers to his telegrams.
Shortly after nine o'clock that evening, the report spread rapidly that
Robert Dawson, the Eastern banker, was dead.
Immediately there was a swift and silent stirring of men--a significant
movement.
"Thot manes throuble!" was Barney Mulloy's mental exclamation. "Th'
sheriff should know av it."
The Irish lad believed that he was watched, but he hurried to the
professor's room, telling him to lock the door and keep within till the
storm was over, and then he slipped out of the hotel.
Barney did not hurry toward the jail at once, but he took a roundabout
course, dodging and doubling, to bother any one who might attempt to
follow him.
Finally, having doubled on his own course, he struck out for the jail.
There was a moon, but it was obscured at times by drifting clouds,
something rather unusual in that part of the country for a night that
was not stormy, and did not threaten to become so.
Coming suddenly to the main street of the town, which led straight from
the hotel to the jail, Barney paused and listened.
He heard a sound that caused his heart to beat faster, while he held his
breath and strained his ears.
Tramp! tramp! tramp! It was the swift and steady rush of many feet.
There was no sound of voices, but the crouching boy knew a body of men
was approaching.
Barney drew back, concealing himself as well as he could, and waited.
Nearer and nearer came the sound.
A cloud passed from the face of the moon, and then the watching boy saw
a band of men rushing swiftly past his place of concealment.
The men were masked, and all were armed.
They were moving straight toward the jail.
"Th' lynchers!" panted Barney. "They are afther Frankie! Oi must get to
th' joail ahead av thim!"
He ran back along the side street till he came to another that led in
the same direction as the one along which the mob was rushing. Turning
toward the jail, he ran as he had never ran before in all his life.
On the front door of the jail was a push-button that connected by a wire
with a gong within the building. A push on that button set the gong to
clamoring loudly.
"Rattle-ty-clang-clang! rattle-ty-clang!
"Wa'al, what's thet mean?" growled Hank Kildare, as he leaped up from
the couch on which he had been reclining lazily. "What derned fool is
punchin' away at thet thar button like he hed gone clean daft! Hyar ther
critter ring!"
Kildare looked at his revolvers, then picked up a short-barreled
shotgun, and went out into the corridor that led to the door. Reaching
the door, he shot open a small panel and shouted:
"Whatever do yer think ye're doin' out thar? Will yer stop thet thar
racket, ur shall I guv yer a dost out o' this yar gun!"
"Mr. Kildare, is thot yersilf?" panted a voice, which the sheriff had
heard before, and which he immediately recognized.
"Wa'al, 'tain't nobody else."
"Will yes be afther lettin' me in?"
"What's ther matter?"
"Th' lynchers are comin'!"
Kildare peered out, and the moon, which did not happen to be hidden at
that moment, showed him the boy who stood alone at the door.
Clank, clank, clank!--the sheriff shot back the bolts which held the
door, open it swung a bit, out shot his arm, and his fingers closed on
Barney Mulloy's shoulder.
Snap--the boy was jerked into the jail. Slam--the door closed, and the
bolts shot back into place.
"Howly shmoke!" gasped Barney. "Is it all togither Oi am, ur be Oi in
paces?"
"Ye're hyar," came in a growl from the sheriff's throat. "Now tell me
w'at yer mean by wakin' me an' kickin' up all this yar row."
"Th' lynchers are comin'."
"How do yer know?"
"Oi saw thim. Less than thray minutes ago."
"Where?"
"Back a short pace."
"How many of them?"
"I didn't count, but it's a clane hundred, sure."
Kildare asked Barney several more questions, and he was satisfied that
the boy spoke the truth.
The deputy sheriff had slept in the jail that night, and, together with
the guard, he was now at hand.
"Look out fer this yar boy," directed Kildare. "One o' yer git ther hose
ready. I'm goin' ter try my new arrangement fer repellin' an attack."
He rushed away.
The deputy sheriff, whose name was Gilson, opened a small square door in
the wall of the corridor, and dragged forth a coil of hose.
"Pwhat are ye goin' ter do with thot?" asked Barney, in surprise.
"Wait, an' ye'll see," was the reply.
Then the deputy spoke to the guard.
"Tyler, be ready ter let ther prisoner loose if the mob breaks in an'
gits past me. You kin tell by watchin'. You know it's Hank's order thet
ther cell be opened an' ther poor feller give a chance ter fight fer his
life."
"Where is he?" palpitated Barney. "Oi'll shtand by him till he doies!"
"Ye kin do better by stayin' hyar," declared the deputy. "Ye may be
needed."
Bang! bang! bang!
The lynchers had arrived, and they were hammering on the door. The gong
began to clang wildly.
"Open this door!"
"Why don't Hank turn on ther water up above?" came anxiously from the
lips of the deputy. "Kin it be thet his tank on ther roof has leaked
dry? Ef so, his new scheme fer repellin' an attackin' party won't work
very well."
"Open this door!" shouted a commanding voice outside.
The deputy sprang to the small panel and flung it open.
"What d'yer want yere?" he demanded.
"We want to come in," was the answer.
"Wa'al, yer can't."
"We'll agree to stay out on one condition. If you will pass out
something, we'll agree not to break in."
"What's ther something?"
"Black Harry."
"I reckoned so."
"Will you give him up?"
"No."
"Then we shall break down the door, and I warn you that it will be very
unfortunate if any of us is injured. It might bring about the lynching
of other parties besides Black Harry."
"Wa'al, I warn yer ter keep away from yere. We're goin' ter defend ther
prisoner regardless, an' somebody's bound ter git hurt."
"For the last time, will you open?"
"No."
"Down with the door!"
Crash! crash!--the assault on the door began.