The band was advancing with a frightful din, but was making more noise than speed. Evidently it had little heart for its job.
I looked into the yelling mob for the snake-eyed agent of Doddridge Knapp, but could not single him out.
I dared wait no longer. Aiming at the foremost I fired twice at the advancing assailants. There were shouts and screams of pain in answer, and the line hesitated. I gave them the remaining cartridge, and, seizing the smaller weapon from Luella, fired as rapidly as I could pull the trigger.
The effect was instantaneous. With a succession of howls and curses the band broke and ran—all save one man, who leaped swiftly forward with a long knife in his hand.
It would have gone hard with me if he had ever reached me, for he was a large and powerful fellow, and my last shot was gone. But in the dark and smoky passage he stumbled over the prostrate body of the first desperado whom I had been fortunate enough to knock down, and fell sprawling at full length almost at my feet.
With one leap I was on his back, and with a blow from the revolver I had quieted him, wrenched the knife from his hand, and had the point resting on his neck.
Luella gave a scream.
“Oh!” she cried, “are you hurt?”
“No,” I said lightly, “but I don't think this gentleman is feeling very well. He's likely to have a sore head for a day or two.”
“Come back here,” said Luella in a peremptory tone. “Those men may come again and shoot you.”