"God, man! Stop! They've give in!"
"Look out!" A shove sent Tom staggering, and Petersen was away. "I lick 'em all, by God!" he roared.
With annihilating intent he bore down upon Bill and Smoky, who stood back to wall on fearful defense. An inspiration flashed upon Tom. "Your wife, Petersen! Your wife!" he cried.
Petersen's raging strides checked. He looked slowly about. "Vot?"
"Your wife!"
"Anna!... Anna!" Dazed, breathing heavily, he stared at Tom. Something like a convulsion went through him. His face faded to dullness, then to contrition.
"Better let me have the gun," Tom said quietly, after a minute had passed.
Petersen handed it over.
"Now get your hat and coat, and we'll go."
Without glancing at the three, who were staring at him in utter bewilderment, Petersen dully put on his hat and coat. A moment later he and Tom were backing toward the door. But before they reached it Tom's steady gaze became conscious of the curtains at the further end of the room. His square face tightened grimly with sudden purpose.