The next move of the little sheriff was a clever one. Hard by the door stood a hand-car used for the moving of casks to the slant of the cellar-way. Its wheels were made of sections of pine logs revolving on rudely fashioned axles. This car Ellyson rolled directly in front of the doorway, and then getting behind Ingle gave him a push which sent him forward face first upon the car.
"What say ye now, Neale?" whispered Cornwaleys, pressing closer than ever into the shadow.
"Say? I say the devil is let loose and helping the little sheriff. Let us follow. His luck may have a turn."
Down the street went the four men, Ellyson grunting and sweating under his burden, but full of the joy of conquest over an unequal foe, and of the complacency born of a sense of duty fulfilled, combined with the hope of preferment. Already he saw himself promoted to fat office, perhaps to the Council itself. But at this juncture a strange thing happened.
The night air had begun to cool Ingle's hot head and clear the beer-befuddled brain. With a mighty effort he tore his arms loose from the encircling cords, and reaching for the poniard in his breast sprang from the car.
Luckily for Ellyson, Ingle's legs were still unsteady. As it was, the doughty little man was consumed with terror at the sight of the giant lunging about with his weapon gleaming in his hand, as he waved it wildly and aimlessly about his head. In his terror Ellyson called aloud for help; but excitement made his voice so weak it could scarcely be heard a hundred feet away.
"The end has come," said Neale and Cornwaleys in a breath.
Then to their dismay, they saw the door of a cottage open and a young man dash out half-clad, but with a loaded pistol in his hand.
"Who cried for help?"