"Back!" shouted Frank, lifting the revolver. "I'll not waste another bullet!"
"Thot's th' talk, me laddybuck!" rang out a familiar voice. "Give th' spalpanes cold lead, an' plinty av it, Frankie! O'im wid yez!"
"Barney Mulloy!" Frank almost screamed, in joyous amazement.
CHAPTER XVIII.
BARNEY ON HAND.
"Thot's me name, an' this is me marruck!" cried the Irish lad, from the darkness.
There was a hurrying rush of feet, and then—smack! smack!—two dark figures were seen flying through the darkness as if they had been struck by battering-rams.
"Hurrah!" cheered Frank, thrusting the revolver into his pocket, and hastening to leap into the battle. "Give 'em glory, Barney!"
"Hurro!" shouted the Irish youth. "Th' United Shtates an' Ould Oireland foriver! Nothing can shtand against th' combination!"