"Wake up! Give me the key! They're murdering a woman in the street!" I shouted, loud enough to be heard in the next world.
But he did not wake, and the Colonel, too, slept on, those despairing cries in his ears, as peacefully as if his great dream of peace had been realized. Still those dreadful shrieks, mingled now with curses hot from the bottomless pit, came up through the window. No time was to be lost,—so, giving another and a desperate tug at Javins, I thrust my hand under his pillow, drew out his revolver and the door-key, and, three steps at a time, bounded down the stairways. At the outer entrance a half-drunken barkeeper was rubbing his eyes, and asking, "What's the row?"—but not another soul was stirring. Giving no heed to him, I hurried into the street. I had not gone twenty paces, however, before a gruff voice from the shadow of the building called out,—
"Halt! Who goes thar'?"
"A friend," I answered.
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."
"I don't know it."
"Then ye carn't pass. Orders is strict."
"What is this disturbance? I heard a woman crying murder."
The stifled shrieks had died away, but low moans, and sounds like hysterical weeping, still came up from around the corner.
"Oh! nothin',—jest some nigger fellers on a time. Thet's all."