"It will make it all the worse for them, if they do," snapped Harris, his temper rising with each succeeding failure to get into the house. "We'll get a stick of cordwood and smash in this back door."
There was a pile of cordwood near the garage, and Harris ran and got a heavy, four-foot section of elm. Matt jumped to help him.
"You'd better take Sanders' gun and stay behind the woodpile, Matt," said Harris, "and let Sanders and me do this. There'll be more shooting and——"
"Sanders will watch the door better than I can," broke in Matt, laying hold of one end of the heavy stick.
"All right," acquiesced Harris, and they ran at the door.
The shooting continued, but it was plain that the men in the house were not in good range, for their ammunition was wasted.
The end of the stick of wood crashed into the door and set it to shaking. A second blow still further loosened it, and a third sent it smashing inward.
The giving 'way of the door under the impact threw both Harris and Matt from their feet, and the two of them, with the stick, tumbled into the kitchen.
Matt, quick as a cat to regain his feet, saw Whipple and Pete bearing down on Harris with clubs. The officer lay on the floor, half stunned. Grabbing him by the feet, Matt jerked him back to safety, followed by a torrent of oaths from the two fugitives.
The door slammed. While Harris was getting to his feet, Pete and Whipple could be heard piling things against the door on the inside.