Gordon was after a thug who was attempting to run away. He brought him to the ground with a single blow across the kidneys.
It was soon over. They rounded up the men of the gang, and one of the cops started off. Murdoch called, "Where are you going?"
"To find a phone and call the wagon."
"We're not using wagons," Murdoch told him. "Line them up."
When the hoods came to, they found themselves helpless, and facing police with clubs. If they tried to run, they were hit from behind; if they stood still, they were clubbed carefully. If they fought back, the pugnaciousness was knocked out of them at once.
Murdoch indicated one who stood with his shoulders shaking and tears running down his cheeks. The captain's face was as sick as Gordon felt. "Take him aside. Names."
Gordon found a section away from the others. "I want the name of every man in the gang you can remember," he told the man.
Horror shot over the other's bruised features. "Colonel, they'd kill me! I don't know."
His screams were almost worse than the beating but names began to come. Gordon took them down, and then returned with the man to the others.
Murdoch took his nod as evidence enough, and turned to the wretched toughs. "He squealed," he announced. "If he should turn up dead, I'll know you boys are responsible, and I'll find you. Now get out of this district, or get honest jobs! Because every time one of my men sees one of you, this will happen again. And you can pass the word along that the Stonewall gang is dead!"