"On my life, I believe I hear the voice of Professor Scotch!" he shouted.
"Yah!" said Hans, "I belief I hear dot, too!"
"They may be bringin' ther professor in," said Bushnell. "Ef he's thar, we'll take an interest in ther case, you bet yer boots!"
Into the hotel he dashed, and, in a moment, he returned with his Winchester.
Along the street came a horseman, clinging to the back of an unsaddled animal, closely pursued by at least twenty wild riders, some of whom were shooting at the legs of the fleeing horse, while one was whirling a lasso to make a cast that must bring the animal to a sudden halt.
"Ten to one, the fugitive is the professor!" shouted Frank, peering through the dusk.
"Then, I reckon we'll hev ter chip in right hyar an' now," said Bushnell, calmly.
He flung the Winchester to his shoulder, and a spout of fire streamed from the muzzle in an instant.
The fellow who was whirling the lasso flung up his arm and plunged headlong from the horse's back to the dust of the street.
"Professor! professor!" shouted Frank. "Stop—stop here!"