Cavvy caught his breath and straightened. From his point of vantage he could follow the progress through the crowd of this new actor in the drama. Ducking, squirming, wriggling, the boy eluded a dozen hands stretched out to stop him. Away from those immediately surrounding the agitator, his progress was easier. So swift had been his action that many of those on the outskirts of the crowd had not even seen it. They did not know what it was all about. Suddenly Cavanaugh clutched McBride and dragged him down the steps.
“He’s getting away with it. It’s that Tallerico kid. Come ahead, quick. Maybe he’ll need some help.”
Their progress toward the point where Cavvy thought the Italian boy would merge was more or less hindered. The crowd was suddenly in motion, roughly pushing in to gain a nearer view of what was going on about the flag-pole. A bedlam of voices chattering half a dozen tongues took the place of that former tense silence.
At last, bursting from the crowd, Cavanaugh caught a glimpse of Tallerico darting down an alley, and impulsively he followed. Several half-grown mine boys were headed in the same direction, and he determined grimly that if they meant to stop the Italian they would not do it unhindered.
Down the alley he ran with Micky at his elbow. They passed the mine boys and presently emerged unopposed into the street beyond in time to see Tallerico disappearing through the doorway of the Jessup house.
“He’s got away,” said Cavvy with a sigh of relief.
He slowed down, and McBride paused with him.
“Some kid!” exclaimed the latter. “Took nerve to put across a stunt like that.”
Cavanaugh did not answer. He moved slowly on, and at the door of the old house he paused, a curious expression on his face.
“I’m going in,” he stated abruptly, a touch of defiance in his glance.