CHAPTER V.
HURRIED TO JAIL.
At this moment another wild roar rose outside the station, telling that something had again aroused the mob:
Hank Kildare was in the doorway, blocking it with his gigantic form, his long-barreled revolvers holding the crowd at bay, while he hoarsely cried:
"You galoots know me! Ef yer crowd me, some o' yer will take his everlastin' dose o' lead!"
They dared not crowd him. He could hold them back at that point, but there were other ways of reaching the interior of the waiting-room, where the prisoner was.
"Ther back door!" howled a voice. "We kin git at him thet way!"
"Hear that?" fluttered Professor Scotch. "They're coming, Frank! We must get out before they get in that way! Quick!"
He caught hold of the boy, and started to urge him toward the rear door; but Lona Dawson placed herself squarely in their path, flinging up one hand.
"Stop!" she cried, her eyes flashing. "You cannot pass! You shall not escape!"