“He won’t let us up,” growled one of them.
“Who won’t?” demanded Bannister sharply, and at once came leaping up the stairs.
“Nothing doing,” drawled Frisco, and tossed him over the railing on to the heads of his followers below.
They carried Bannister into the open air, for his head had struck the newel-post in his descent. This gave the defense a few minutes respite.
“They’re going to come a-shooting next time,” remarked Denver. “Just as soon as he comes back from bye-low land you’ll see things hum.”
“Y’u bet,” agreed Missou. “We’ll last about three minutes when the stampede begins.”
The scream of an engine pierced the night.
Denver’s face lit. “Make it five minutes, Missou, and Mac is safe. At least, I’m hoping so awful hard. Miss Helen wired for the militia from Sheridan this mo’ning. Chances are they’re on that train. I couldn’t tell you earlier because she made me promise not to. She was afraid it might leak out and get things started sooner.”
Weak but furious, the miscreant from the Shoshones returned to the attack. “Break in the back door and sneak up behind on those fellows. We’ll have the men we want inside of fifteen minutes,” he promised the mob.
“We’ll rush them from both sides, and show those guys on the landing whether they can stop us,” added Bostwick.