The cry was the trumpet for action.  Instantly every one was in motion.  Again arose the Babel of voices,—­voices cursing, arguing, encouraging.  The circle of malevolent faces which had surrounded the youth would not longer be stayed, closed hotly in.  He felt the press of their bodies against his, their breath in his face.  With an effort, marking his place, the extended right hand went up once more into the air.  The slogan again sprang to his tongue.

“For the law of J. L. Rankin, men!  The law of—­”

The sentence died on his lips.  Suddenly, something lightning-like, scorching hot, caught him beneath his right shoulder-blade.  Before his eyes the faces, the lighted lanterns, faded into darkness.  A sound like falling waters roared in his ears.

CHAPTER XVI

THE QUICK AND THE DEAD

When Ben Blair again woke to consciousness the sunlight was pouring upon him steadily.  He was in a strange bed in a strange room; and he looked about him perplexedly.  Amid the unfamiliarity his eye caught an object he recognized,—­the broad angular back of a man.  Memory slowly adjusted itself.

“Grannis—­”

The back reversed, showing a rather surprised face.

“Where am I, Grannis?”

The foreman came over to the bed.  “In the hotel.  In the bridal chamber, they informed me, to be exact.”

Ben did not smile.  Memory was clear now.  “What happened after they—­got me last night?”

Grannis’s face showed distinct animation.  “A lot of things—­and mighty fast.  You missed the best part.”  Of a sudden he paused and looked at his charge doubtfully.  “But I forgot.  You’re not to talk:  the doctor said so.”

Ben made a grimace.  “But I can listen, can’t I?”

“I suppose so,” still doubtfully.

“Well—­”

Grannis hearkened equivocally.  No one was about, likely to overhear him disobeying instructions, and the temptation was strong.

“You know McFadden?” he queried suddenly.

Blair nodded.

“Well, say, that Scotchman is a tiger.  He got to the front somehow when you called for reinforcements, and when you went down he was Johnny-on-the-spot taking your place.  Some of the rest of us got in there pretty soon, and for a bit things was lively.  It was rather close range for gun-work, but knives were as thick as frogs after a shower.”  With a sudden movement Grannis slipped up the sleeve of his left arm, showing a bandage through which the blood had soaked and dried.  “All of us got scratched some.  One fellow of the opposition—­Mick Kennedy—­met with an accident.”

“Serious?”

“Rather.  We planted him after things had quieted down.”

For a moment the two men looked at each other steadily, and the subject was dropped.

“Well,” suggested Blair once more.

“That’s all, I guess—­except that Ralston has the prisoner.”  A grim reminiscent smile came to the speaker’s lips.  “That is, he’s got him if the floors of the cells here are paved good and thick.  Last time I saw T. Blair he was fairly shaking post-holes into the ground with his feet.”