There was a sound as of the clicking, of a lock, and he presented the muzzle of a shot-gun.
“Oh, say,” said McClintock, gently; “you had better not try to use that. It will only make matters worse. Your house has got to come down.”
“The hell it has!”
“Yes,” said McClintock, still gently. “We got to save what we can of the town.”
Williams made no answer to this, but McClintock saw him draw the butt of the gun up towards his shoulder.
The men at his back were perfectly still. They filled the street, and, breathing hard, pressed heavily against the picket fence, which bent beneath the weight of their bodies.
“You'd better be reasonable. We are losing precious time,” urged McClintock.
“The hell you are!”
It occurred to McClintock afterwards that there had been no great variety to Williams's remarks.
“In an hour or two this place will be on fire.”