The remainder held themselves in readiness to rush forward, in case their comrades should need any help. Four of the men were secured without any noise, other than a slight scuffle, but the other party were not so fortunate.
One of the guards caught a glimpse of the rescuers, and hailed them. The answer was an instant rush, at which the guard fired a shot, that brought one of his assailants to the ground.
But, he never fired another, for a long knife was plunged downward, the steel gritting as it severed his breast-bone, and with one faint gurgle, Alfred Wigan was a dead man!
CHAPTER VI.
THE HUMAN BLOODHOUND.
At the first report, Polk Redlaw sprung to his feet, with all the Indian instincts of his nature fully aroused. He caught a glimpse of the main body rushing forward, and not knowing who they were, he dropped to the ground and glided to a safe distance, but from whence he could still see those out in the open ground.
At first he thought it was the vigilance committee returned to finish up their work, but he was not certain, and deeming discretion the better course, determined to keep shady until he knew what card to play. If a rescue, he resolved to dog them wherever they might go, for his hatred of Poynter could only be assuaged by the latter's death.
When the double tragedy was over, and the other guards secured, the band rushed forward and forcibly burst in the door of the tavern; and were proceeding toward the "long-room," when Henderson called out from the loft:
"Who the devil air you, an' what ye want?"