The man stood shaking in the doorway, but did not answer. John grasped him by the shoulder, and spoke again.
"Don't you hear? They're coming for your prisoner to hang him! Protect him! Get your pistol and guard the jail!"
"Who?—What?" stammered the terrified man.
"The mob! I've seen them gathering! You've no time to lose!"
"I'll give 'em the keys if they ask me for 'em!" exclaimed the jailer. "They'd shoot me if I didn't!"
"You're sworn to duty!" expostulated John. "Don't let them murder this fellow. Has Goodloe died?"
"I don't know—but they can have the keys!"
He drew them from his pocket and jangled them in his hand, a pitiful object.
"Listen!" whispered Glenning. "They're coming. Hear their feet? Give me your keys! Bring me your pistols—quick!"
He took the bunch of heavy keys from the unresisting fingers, and the jailer hastened indoors. He was back in a moment with a brace of revolvers which he held out eagerly.