"Curse ye!" grated the hunchback. "You'll pay for this with your life!"
"Oh, I don't know!"
"I do."
Wiley's voice did not utter these two words; they were spoken by another person, and Frank was clutched from behind. Strong hands closed about his neck, and hard
fingers crushed into his windpipe, so that his breath was shut off in a moment.
Frank could not withstand this onset, he was forced to his knees. Being unable to breathe, he tried to tear those crushing fingers away, but the effort was in vain. He had dropped the revolver, and it was beyond his reach.
He knew at that moment that he was in the clutch of the ruffians who had murdered the man from Boston, and he had no doubt but a like fate was meant for him. Still he was powerless to save himself, for he was given no show. Things turned black and began to whirl around him, bombs seemed bursting in his head, bells were ringing in his ears, and then—nothingness!
When Frank recovered consciousness he felt as if his windpipe had been crushed, and he seemed numb and helpless in every limb. He realized immediately that he was being roughly handled, and he heard a harsh voice say:
"That's all right. He can't git erway. We can't waste any more time."
He opened his eyes and looked up into the face of the speaker—the cock-eyed man!