[CHAPTER I.]
THE WHITE-CAPS.
"Vat's der madder mit you? Ach, du lieber! Vaid a minid! For vy you do dot monkey-doodle pitzness? Hoop-a-la! Oof it vas a fighdt, den ged avay, a gouple oof tozen oof you, und come ad me vone py each. I show you somet'ing, py shings, vat you don'd like und—Wow! Himmelblitzen——"
The clamor which suddenly arose in that dark Denver cross-street was as suddenly hushed.
It was about nine o'clock in the evening, and two lamps on distant corners shed about as much light as a pair of tallow-dips. Midway between the two street-lamps lay the mouth of a gloomy alley, and here it was that the frantic commotion burst out and died abruptly.
A Dutch boy had been walking along the street, accompanied by a "loudly" dressed youth. At the entrance to the alley the Dutch boy's companion had stopped and given a low whistle. Almost immediately, and before the Teuton fairly realized what was going on, three figures had rushed from the gloom of the alley.
The Dutchman was caught from all sides, and, as he struggled, broke into a wild torrent of words. The torrent was suddenly stemmed by a cloth which was thrown over his head from behind; then, while smothered into silence and held helpless, he was lifted and borne along the alley to a basement door.
One of the four captors descended to the door and knocked three times in a peculiar manner. The door was pulled open, captors and captive vanished swiftly inside, and the door was closed. An inner door now confronted the party, and the same knock was given here as had been given outside.
"Who approaches?" demanded a sepulchral voice.