There was a yell of rage at the first fire, and other yells at the second, third, fourth, and others.
Men dropped to the ground with howls of rage and pain, and writhed in agony, for the detective was aiming his shots at their legs and not at their hearts. He had no desire to kill, save where it concerned one man, and he could not see Rogers anywhere among those at his side of the house.
Within the space of ten seconds from the instant he fired the first shot, the attacking-party broke and fled; but, even as they did so, there were loud shouts behind them.
Lights flashed upon every side. There came the sound of galloping horses, the screech of a steam fire-engine, and the encouraging cries of a throng of rescuers who had started out from the village upon the summons of the girl at the central office of the telephone who had given the alarm.
Not one of the sixty-five marauders succeeded in entering either the house or the stable, and only five of them succeeded in escaping.
It seemed to Nick as if the entire village had turned out and hastened to the rescue, as, indeed, it had, and as they had arrived on the scene at the very moment when Nick and Tom began firing, the attention of the attacking-party had been distracted from their enemies in the rear until they were entirely surrounded, and there was left to them no chance of escape.
Thirty of the marauders were wounded, although none of them was seriously injured.
Only one was killed outright, and he laid upon his face in front of the porch, with a bullet-hole squarely between his eyes.
And what of Tom Danton?
He was also wounded.