To save a snarling cur.
The struggle was short, for the sides of the canvas building were frail; and as the flames ran swiftly up one side and the burning rags of the canvas roof began to fall upon the struggling crowd, a wave rushed against the opposite side, which gave way like so much paper, and the panting, half-stifled sufferers gained the cool fresh night air.
“Any one left within?” panted the judge; but the silence which followed was enough to indicate that all had escaped.
“Where are the other prisoners?”
“We are here—my cousin and I,” cried Abel, for they had made no attempt to escape.
“And the witnesses?” cried the judge. “I have the scoundrel who dashed down the lamp.”
“We have the other two here,” replied voices.
“Then, gentlemen,” said the judge, “I think we had better have another trial in the open air. What do you say to that as an attempt at wholesale murder? Come and help me here, some of you. I’ve got the big man down, but he’s as strong as a horse. I couldn’t have held him if I hadn’t thrown a biscuit-bag over his head.”
It was light for a few minutes while the canvas roof of the saloon burned; but as the woodwork was rapidly torn down and trampled out to save the so-called hotel, all was dark again, with a pungent smoke arising.
Two men were dragged into the circle which had formed round the judge, whose figure could be just made out as he kneeled between the shoulders of the man he had down; and Dallas and Abel stood close by, fascinated as it were, and feeling a thrill of horror as they thought of their enemies’ impending fate.