Through all, as a rat in a corner might watch a cat, the agent had watched him with deadly fascination. From the north window where he stood it was but a step to the door. Apparently Jake did not notice him take it, for he did not look up—even when the agent’s hand touched the upper bar.
“If I was you, Alberto, I’d come away from there.”
The agent froze. But Jake had spoken in English. The hand went again to the bar, was slowly lifting it when, following a second splintering crash, he fell forward on his face with a hollow cough.
“Through the lungs, I reckon.” Jake looked down at the gross body, writhing in its death agony. “I told you to keep away, Alberto.”
The man’s last convulsive clutch had swung the upper bar clear of its sockets, but Jake did not move. The lower bar still held and, standing up, he watched the oaken panels quiver and split under heavy blows. With rhythmic regularity came the crash of volleys fired point-blank into the shutters. Bullets, too, were spitting through the side window—to strike and flatten on the opposite wall. Over all, above the crash of rifle-fire, thud of the beam they were using on the door, rose the roar and howl of a blood-mad peon rabble.
“The hull town has come to the funeral,” Jake muttered. “Well, they’ll see some wake.”
As the door crashed in he stooped and blew out the light. Darkness fell through the room—darkness that pulsed with convulsive movement. Over the body of the agent the leaders tripped and fell. Upon them others piled in a heap, yet under the pressure of the howling crowd outside still others streamed in. Above the oaths, curses, mad howls, rose yells for some one to bring a light.
Presently it came, a piece of engine waste soaked in alcohol at the end of a stick; and when it did, the rolling eyeballs, furious faces, vicious mouths, stood out for a second, writhing in murderous lust, then set in sudden horror.
For the bluish flare fell full on a grim figure, tall, lean, topped with a hard face, steel-point eyes. The muzzle of Jake’s gun touched the top layer of powder. Cold, weird, satanic, he must have loomed in their vision as the Evil One in whose existence they all believed. Paralyzed by the impending doom, some stood staring. Others, screaming hoarsely, fought in vain to beat back through the crowd. Till the last moment, yes, till one hardier scoundrel raised a gun, Jake held them in torture, then—
Both shots were wiped out by the tremendous explosion whose thunder and red sky-flash were heard and seen by Bull fifteen miles away.