"I surrender," he said quietly.
CHAPTER XXIII.
AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
Two of Chester's pursuers approached him warily with leveled revolvers, apparently fearing a trick. Coming within striking distance, one of them dealt the lad a heavy blow with his fist. Chester fell to the floor without so much as a groan, unconscious.
When the lad again opened his eyes he was once more in the council chamber of the conspirators. In the dim light he could discern the masked circle of faces that had gazed at him when he had entered the room for the first time. The only difference being that there was here and there a vacant chair.
Chester recovered consciousness fully alert to what was going on about him. He took in the situation at a glance, and a grim smile lighted up his face as his eyes fell upon the vacant chairs.
"Looks like I had done a fair job, at any rate," he told himself.
His gaze turned toward the chief's platform. The chief was there, but his head was swathed in bandages.
"Too bad I missed him!" Chester muttered. "He is evidently the ring-leader, and to have downed him would have been the proper thing."
Any further reflections the lad might have had were interrupted by the booming voice of the chief, who now rose to his feet.