LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      CHAPTER IX.

       THE ASSAULT ON THE JAIL.

       Table of Contents

      "Why don't Hank put on ther water?" groaned the deputy sheriff. "Et'll be too late in a minute!"

      Crash! crash! The assailants were using a heavy battering ram, and the door was beginning to give.

      "Oi'm afraid it's all up with poor Frankie!" gasped Barney.

      A wild yell came from the mad mob at the door.

      "Death to Black Harry!"

      Bang—splinter—crash!

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