"I—I got a warrant for your arrest. Come along now! Don't resist. Don't make a fuss. Come along peaceably. I—"
"I'll come, Mr. Crow. I was dragged into this thing against my will. Gott in Himmel! Gott!—"
"Never mind what you got," exclaimed Anderson sharply. "You come along with me or you'll get something worse'n that."
"Is—is he dead!" groaned Bonaparte, his eyes almost starting from his head.
Anderson backed away from the sprawling, motionless figure on the floor.
"I—I—gosh, I hope not. I—I was as much surprised as anybody. Say, you see if he's breathin'. We got to git him out o' this place right away an' send for a doctor. The good Lord knows I didn't intend to light on him like that. It was an accident, I swear it was. You know just how it happened, an'—you'll stand by me, won't you, if—"
Just then a loud voice came from above.
"Hey, down there!" A second's pause. Then: "We've got you dead to rights, so no monkey business. Come up out o' that, or we'll pump enough lead down there to—"
"Don't shoot,—don't shoot!" yelled Mr. Bonaparte shrilly. "Tell your men not to fire, Mr. Crow!"
"Tell—tell who?" cried Anderson blankly. Suddenly he sprang to his companion's side; seizing him by the arm, he whispered hoarsely: "By gosh, I thought there was somethin' queer about that gang. Have you got any of the gold here? I recollect that feller's voice, plain as day. They're after the gold. They've heard about—"