“We can do nothing here, Bill. Those vigilantes have no business on the hill. Get word to them, if you can, that the stores are being robbed. They can’t save the jail; they ought to come back and save their own property. I can’t bring men up from the roundhouse. We’ve got to protect our own property first. If we could get word to them––but a man never could get through that mob to the jail.”
“I reckon I can, colonel,” said Bill Dancing, throwing off his coat.
“They will kill you, Bill,” predicted Stanley.
“No,” growled the lineman, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “Not me. I wouldn’t stand for it.”
CHAPTER XXI
Slipping away behind the long warehouses in Front Street and moving swiftly in and out of friendly shadows on his long journey up the hill, Dancing started for the jail. He was hardly more than well under way when he was aware of one following him and, turning to fell him with his fist, he started as he found it was Bucks.
The latter confronted him coolly: “Go ahead, Bill; I am going with you.”