A bottle whizzed by Loring’s ear, breaking with a crash against the wall behind him. For an instant the sound of breaking glass caught the attention of the crowd.
“You want the money in the safe?” shouted Loring.
“Sí, sí, yes, sí, yes, sí!” roared the crowd, in a mixture of two languages.
The sound lulled for a second. Stephen waved his keys in the air. “You shall have it.”
The shouting was wilder than before, and echoed from end to end of the camp.
“Coward!” moaned McKay, sickened by such an exhibition. Some one in the crowd fired at Loring, luckily with drunken aim. The bullet kicked up the dust at the foot of the steps. Knowlton jumped to his feet, and leveled his gun at the crowd.
“Sit down!” roared Stephen. Not knowing why he did so, Knowlton lowered his gun and sank again into his chair.
“Do you want Knowlton?” shouted Loring, pointing to the deputy beside him. As he spoke, he glanced at his watch, which lay in his hand. His face was reeking with sweat.
“Do you want Knowlton?” he shouted again.
The howl that went up from the mob was as if from the throats of blood-hungry beasts.