He struggled, of course, and tried to cry out, but the muffled sounds went no further than his lips.
He writhed and tugged and fought madly to free himself, but those inflexible arms did not yield.
A hand snatched away his watch, another went through his pockets with practiced deftness, then came a muttered exclamation, and the lad found himself being lifted from the ground.
This last movement wrung a cry of terror from his lips. He knew the intention of his assailants.
They meant to hurl him from the wall!
Crying frantically for help, Clif made one final, desperate effort to escape.
He struggled to free his arms until the muscles stood out in great bands; he kicked and butted, fought with hand and knee and teeth, but he was slowly and surely forced back against the hard stone rampart.
Then came the end. There was a last mighty effort, then a wild cry rang out into the night echoing down, down, down until a soft, crouching thud placed an abrupt period to the horrible shriek.
And then, silence!