Kendrick gnashed his teeth as he watched and waited. His throat was dry, his fingers twitching with repressed rage. When at last he spoke his voice was hoarse.
"Ready, Cork? There's only one in sight. Come on!"
"Leave'm to me!" growled McCorquodale huskily, grabbing up a stout stick. "You look after Stiles."
They dashed into the open at top speed. The man who had remained behind to guard the second prisoner was still standing in the same spot, holding Stiles by the coat-collar and listening to the receding uproar and the wild screams of Podmore as he fled for his life. Both the man and his prisoner were gazing off towards the tote road down which the stragglers of the chase were just disappearing. McCorquodale was within ten feet of them before the fellow turned. As the detective scooted at him he let out a startled yell which was effectively chopped in the middle by the descending blow.
"Mr. Kendrick!" gasped the white-faced Stiles, his eyes bright.
"Quick, Jimmy!"
He cut the cords that pinioned the other's arms and hustled the speechless youth across the clearing.
"Hi, there! Stop!"
Red McIvor at the door of the shanty had just caught sight of them. He jumped back inside for a rifle.
"Beat it!" yelled McCorquodale. "Under cover!"