“Put it down,” he repeated, as he stepped quickly towards Williams.
The listening men pressed heavily against the fence in their feverish anxiety to miss nothing that was said or done. The posts snapped, and they poured precipitously into the yard. At the same moment the gun exploded, and a charge of buckshot rattled harmlessly along the pavement at McClintock's feet.
Then succeeded a sudden pause, deep, breathless, and intense, and then the crowd gave a cry—a cry that was in answer to a hoarse cheer that had reached them from the square.
An instant later the trampled front yard was deserted by all save Williams in the doorway. He still held the smoking gun to his shoulder.
CHAPTER XXV
WHEN Roger Oakley appeared on the platform at Buckhom Junction, Durks started violently, while Dan took a quick step forward and placed a warning hand on the old convict's arm. He feared what he might say. Then he said to the operator: “He'll do. Go see if you can get Antioch. Try just once more. If you succeed, tell them the engines and hose will be there within an hour, or they need not look for them. Do you understand?”
“All right, Mr. Oakley.” And Durks moved up the platform with alacrity. He was relieved of one irksome responsibility. He had his own theories as to who the stranger was, but he told himself it was none of his business.
As soon as he was out of hearing, Dan turned to his father, and said, earnestly: “Look here, daddy, I can't allow you to do it. We are neither of us popular. It's bad enough for me to have to go.”