If ever I felt sick it was then, but I had hope.
The voice which talked to me through the lumber yard fence was Old King Brady’s.
He ought to be on hand with a posse of police even now.
“Oh, you needn’t look for your friends,” cried Red McCann sneeringly. “We seen you talking with them down by the lumber yard. We’ve fixed all that—we’ve given ’em the proper steer.
“Hey fellers!” he added, “this is the bloke what tought he was goin’ ter ring in wid us. What’ll we do wid him! It’s for you to say.”
“Punch him! Slug him! Shoot him! Drown him?”
These and several other pleasing suggestions were offered by the crowd.
Where was Old King Brady?
Was it as Red claimed that he had been thrown off the scent.
I felt that I was lost then, and I am willing to admit that I gave myself up to die, for they fell upon me like savages, kicking and beating me, dragging me at last to the edge of the rocky bluffs which overhung the East river, and pushing me over.