"Hold that position, sir," yelled Bates.

Morgan had directed the attack against me and I was

driven upon the hearth before the great fireplace. The

sheriff, Morgan and Ferguson hemmed me in. It was

evident that I was the chief culprit, and they wished to

eliminate me from the contest. Across the room, Larry,

Stoddard and Bates were engaged in a lively rough and

tumble with the rest of the besiegers, and Stoddard, seeing

my plight, leaped the overturned table, broke past

the trio and stood at my side, swinging a chair.

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At that moment my eyes, sweeping the outer doors,

saw the face of Pickering. He had come to see that his

orders were obeyed, and I remember yet my satisfaction,

as, hemmed in by the men he had hired to kill me

or drive me out, I felt, rather than saw, the cowardly

horror depicted upon his face.

Then the trio pressed in upon me. As I threw down

my club and drew my revolver, some one across the

room fired several shots, whose roar through the room

seemed to arrest the fight for an instant, and then, while

Stoddard stood at my side swinging his chair defensively,

the great chandelier, loosened or broken by the shots,

fell with a mighty crash of its crystal pendants. The

sheriff, leaping away from Stoddard's club, was struck

on the head and borne down by the heavy glass.

Smoke from the firing floated in clouds across the

room, and there was a moment's silence save for the

sheriff, who was groaning and cursing under the debris

of the chandelier. At the door Pickering's face appeared

again anxious and frightened. I think the scene

in the room and the slow progress his men were making

against us had half-paralyzed him.

We were all getting our second wind for a renewal

of the fight, with Morgan in command of the enemy.

One or two of his men, who had gone down early in the

struggle, were now crawling back for revenge. I think

I must have raised my hand and pointed at Pickering,

for Bates wheeled like a flash and before I realized what

happened he had dragged the executor into the room.

"You scoundrel-you ingrate!" howled the servant.

The blood on his face and bare chest and the hatred

in his eves made him a hideous object; but in that lull

of the storm while we waited, watching for an advantage,

I heard off somewhere, above or below, that same

sound of footsteps that I had remarked before. Larry

and Stoddard heard it; Bates heard it, and his eyes fixed

upon Pickering with a glare of malicious delight.

"There comes our old friend, the ghost," yelled Larry.

"I think you are quite right, sir," said Bates. He

threw down the revolver he held in his hand and leaned

upon the edge of the long table that lay on its side, his

gaze still bent on Pickering, who stood with his overcoat

buttoned close, his derby hat on the floor beside him,

where it had fallen as Bates hauled him into the room.




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