"We have the law of might, and that's enough. Stand aside now, or take the consequences!"
"Had it not struck you that you were talking to the wrong man?" asked Glenning. "Do you want to enter this place? Then the jailer is the man you want to see. What's the use of battering these doors down and arousing the town when you _might_ get the keys from him, and _maybe_ get in quietly? You need some one to lead you, men. What good is it to stand dickering with me? Rouse the jailer! He's the man you want to deal with!"
Before the words had left his mouth three or four shadowy forms had detached themselves from the group and run to the front door of the jailer's residence, which connected with the prison proper, only a wall intervening. They thumped, and pounded, and called, forgetting caution in their untrained zeal. They gained no response, and, fearing to force an entrance there, returned to their friends, baffled.
"Knock 'im down! Git 'im out o' the way!" The cries came again from the rear.
"You've told Bill we were coming," said the man who had formerly spoken, "and he's run off, or hidden. We can't waste time. Stand down! We are armed, and you will suffer if you resist!"
"Wouldn't you rather have the keys?" asked John, simply, "than to run the risk of bringing the citizens who love order about your ears? You can't force that door without dynamite."
"How can we get the keys when we can't get Bill?" demanded the spokesman, led on to conversation in spite of his haste by the apparently ingenuous frankness of the man before him.
"Bill gave them to me," answered John, naturally, "not ten minutes ago."
"Then you have them? Pass them over, please, at once, or we shall be compelled to take them from you by force."
"You're fooling with us!" retorted the man, angrily. "For the last time, get out of the way!"
"I'm not fooling you! I had the keys in my hand, but I have lost them. They are not on my person."
"To hell wid you 'n' de keys bofe!" exclaimed a burly form standing well back in the shadows, and with that it made a rush. The figure was to one side; there was no one else in line. Swiftly John raised the revolver in his right hand, and fired low. His wish was only to cripple, and he succeeded. The man dropped with a howl of pain and fright, and his mask fell off, revealing the face of a brutal looking negro. He sat up and nursed his shattered knee, and mouthed curses.