Then, on being recognized, Harry was allowed to reach the side of his chum.
“Mr. Reade!” called a husky-toned voice, “won't you order your men to let me through to see you? I want to talk with you about tonight's outrage.”
Tom recognized the speaker as a man named Beasley, one of Paloma's most upright and courageous citizens.
“Let Mr. Beasley through,” Tom called. “Don't block the streets, men. Remember, we've no right to do that.”
A resounding cheer ascended at the sound of Tom's voice. In the light of the lanterns Tom was seen to be signaling with his hands for quiet, and the din soon died down.
“Mr. Reade,” spoke Beasley, in a voice that shook with indignation, “the real men of this town would like an account of what has been going on here to-night. If Duff and his cronies have been up to anything that hurts the good name of the town we'd like the full particulars. You men there—don't let one of the rascals get away. Jim Duff and his gang will have to answer to the town of Paloma.”
“Men,” ordered Reade, “bring along the crew you caught in the cellar. Don't hurt them—remember how cowardly violence would be when we have everything in our own hands.”
“The men of Paloma will do all the hurting,” Mr. Beasley announced grimly.
Tom's own deliberate manner, and his manifest intention of not abusing his advantage impressed itself upon the decent men of Paloma, who now swarmed about the frightened captives from the cellar.
“I know 'em all,” muttered Beasley. “I'll know 'em in the morning, too. So will you, friends!” he added, turning to the pressing crowds.