It was a desperate moment. Things happened with such incredible swiftness that those who saw them could scarcely tell what came first.
Texas had fallen just behind the door which the man had opened. Texas leaped up, his eyes blazing with fury. No risk was too great a risk to take now, for his cadetship was the stake. He was behind the jailer’s back as he rose up, and with the swiftness and force of a panther he flung himself upon the man’s back.
There was a moment of struggle. Texas devoted every effort to but one thing, holding that revolver. A bullet, even if it hit no one, would give the alarm, prevent the escape. He had seized the man’s hand in both of his, and he clung to that hand with all the strength that was in him.
The others sprang to his aid an instant later. Before the jailer could cry out Mark gripped him by the throat, and a moment later down he went to the ground, with the whole seven upon him.
The contest was brief after that. They got the revolver away, which was the chief point. The jailer was speedily choked into submission, bound and gagged. The seven prisoners rose up triumphant and gazed about them in eager haste.
But they were not safe yet by any means. They imagined that no alarm had been given; they had not calculated the effect of the first startled yell of the jailer, which rang and echoed down the silent village street. The plebes realized what was happening a moment later, as they paused and listened. There were sounds of hurrying feet, of men shouting to each other.
The town was awake.
The prisoners gazed about them anxiously, feverishly. They had yet a chance, a hope. But it would take them so long to unfasten that rope, tie it to another bar, and tear it out in the same way. The sheriff with his dreaded gun would surely be there before that. And they could not get through the window as it was. What then? The door! Mark thought of it an instant later. The jailer had left it open!
A moment more and the plebes were in the hall of the jail; Texas had stopped just long enough to snatch up the jailer’s revolver, and then rejoined them. There was still the front door, whether locked or not none of them knew. Mark tried it feverishly, shook it. It was locked. And as he tried it again, he heard a shout outside, felt some one on the other side trying it, too. A crowd was gathering! And what were they to do? The solution of the question flashed over Mark first. The key! The jailer! He sprang back into the room, rushed to where the man lay bound, and fell to rummaging in his pockets and about his waist. The others stood in the hall waiting anxiously, tremblingly. Would he find it?
The noise outside swelled. There came blows upon the door, shouts to open. And then suddenly Mark reappeared, his face gleaming with excitement and joy as he ran, holding in one hand the heavy key.